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53,502	1,458	5	2,049	6,923	Calren Agorian sat hunched over a letter he'd been writing from within the confines of the deep mountain tunnels he and his men had called home for the past month and a half. Hailing from the great Tevinter Imperium he would literally have preferred to be anywhere but some cold damp cave in the backwater nation of Ferelden but he was more then wise enough not to question the orders of his superior Magister Gereon Alexius; the very man Calren was currently scrawling a note to. "To my dear friend Gereon. You will be pleased to hear that the rumors of red lyrium in this accursed place have actually proven to be true; even better though is the seemingly endless supply of free labor we have been able to acquire from the surrounding villages. It seems the locals lords are far to busy to worry about the fate of some forgotten coast towns-this has also allowed me to make great strides in my expiermentations, the results of which I am sure you will be extremely pleased to see. Also worth mentioning is the fact that the amulets given to us by our soon to be master have done as promised-none of my six fellow mages have seen any negative side effects despite our prolonged exposure to the red lyrium. This however has not been the case for our volunteer work force, the people of which seem to share a pattern of declining madness quickly followed by uncontrollable violent urges. As it stands now our workforce has been completely depleted save for a handful of men and women who work within my own personal lab, the rest of the lot having been drivein to the point where we can no longer feasibly control them. This has lead to us locking the scum within the Southern tunnels effectively blocking off any surprise guests for the time being-likewise the front entrance is still heavily fortified by the undead I and Radaborn were able to raise along the way here. The younger mages in our group are actually scared of these beautiful works of the arcane, the fools. Needless to say within the next day we shall be journey out into the surrounding areas to bring back more workers. As usual I shall keep you updated with anything worth mentioning and the shipments for this month look to be right on schedule. Sincerely your dearest friend, -Calren" Looking his handiwork over Calren seemed pleased, the old mage folding the fragile parchment and sealing it with a wax stamp of his personal signature. Standing from his desk, which was crammed alongside his bed in the tiny place he called a room, Calren wasted no time making his way out of his room and into the larger chamber where the rest of his cohorts resided. As he walked he held his robes up slightly with his one free hand to keep them dragging on the dirty ground; his other hand clutching a black menacing looking staff. Making his way into the largest tunnel by far in their little mining operation Calren was quick to track down a younger mage, his grumpy face scowling at the first passerby who happened to be a poor soul named "Donovan!" Calren snarled, hobbling his way over to the recently startled young mage. Apparantly Donovan had chosen the worst spot to read his book that night "Its about time you make yourself useful to the cause, here." He hastily shoved the recently written letter into Donovans hand. "Ride this to our men in Redcliff-and I'll know if you dally, clear?" "B-But...will I have to walk past those...things out front? The young mage stuttered as he did his best to meet the razor sharp eyes of Calren. "Not at all boy, by all means take your chances with the lunatics in the back passages-you know, the ones my magic doesn't control. Stupid fool." Without waiting for a response Calren turned on his heel, no doubt off to perform some twisted experiment in his laboratory. Knowing just how unwise it was to upset Calren Donovan set out immediately. He made it just out of site from the caves before a arrow tore threw his throat. Perplexed at the newfound sensation Donovan stared down at the vast amount of blood now rushing from his neck, however before he could even properly respond another arrow found its mark square in his chest dropping the young Tivinter noble. He was dead before he hit the ground, never having seen the bandit that killed him.	"It is who I am" Name Vat-Katari Age 30 Gender Male Race Vashoth Appearance Vat-Katari, like the rest of his people, is a massive individual when compared to the other races. Standing at a staggering 7'4" and having a incredibly robust body build many consider Vat-Katari to have quite the intimidating stature. His hair is a wild white mane that hangs down below his shoulders that is paired with a fair amount of facial hair, though no where near the standard Dwarf amount. His eyes are a bright copper color, being borderline red. Vat-Katari is covered from head to toe in a mind boggling amount of scars, looking like has had been attacked with everything from an arrow to Mage lightning. He dawns a various assortment of piercings all over his body, even on his horns. Nationality Was born on Seheron Group Affiliation Tal-Vashoth Occupation Bandit Chief Specialization Saarebas Equipment/Weapons Vat-Katari's arsenal differs dramatically from what is expected from most Mages who inhabit Thedas. For example he doesn't carry nor use a staff, he finds them ineffective and cumbersome. Instead of robes Vat-Katari wears a small amount of armor paired with a full body painting of Vitaar for protection. He keeps a small pack of essentials on him at all times that consist of food, healing potions, coin, and other such things. He also makes sure to always have some lyrium on him in case he needs a boost. Bio Despite being born on the Qunari controlled island of Seheron Vat-Katari was never under the rule of the Qun do to his parents being a pair of Tal-Vashoth warriors, which in retrospect may have given him a better start in life when in comparison to other Qunari mages, though that may only be true to a small margin. Being raised Tal-Vashoth is the basic equivalent of nonstop combat training, Vat-Katari was practically expected to be able to kill a man before he could speak. Luckily for Vat-Katari he took to fighting like a Darkspawn to the Deep Roads, finding quite the thrill in bloodshed. His training only became more intense once his magical capabilities revealed itself, the Tal-Vashoth wouldn't waste the power of a mage especially one as promising as Vat-Katari. He picked up the magic style of the other Tal-Vashoth mages, some former Saarebas while others being born into the Tal-Vashoth like himself, rather quickly and was eventually put into the Tal-Vashoth's battle against the Qunari. Vat-Katari spent years battling Qunari forces across Seheron, even managing to become one of the Ben-Hassrath's most wanted fugitives. His battling the Qunari may have gone on even longer if Vat-Katari's greed didn't push him to pursue different interests. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of battle Vat-Katari loved wealth even more and he realized that he wouldn't get that by being just some Tal-Vashoth warrior. So he began to raid villages, stealing anything and everything of value. Eventually Vat-Katari wanted more than what the small villages of Seheron could offer so he set off for the mainland. It took a few years and more than a few broken bones, luckily most of which weren't Vat-Katari's, but Vat-Katari was able to build himself a pretty impressive bandit clan. They namely focused on knocking over large trade caravans with the occasional village raid thrown in. They are currently set up in an abandoned fortress located on the Storm Coast, it is easy to defend and great for hording their loot.
53,503	1,458	6	2,430	441	Ah, of course you packed enough powder to blow us to the Hinterlands. Erika replied with a light laugh. "Well, keep it handy. We may need your pyrotechnic expertise after all." She said. Erika was more than relieved to have made it to the nearby cave, safe from the everlasting pounding of the raindrops outside. It was almost like torture, being that cold and wet. She had to admit, it was impressive Flint held his ground for so long without escaping into one of these tunnels himself while he was waiting on her. Suddenly, a sickening laughter came bellowing off the walls of the cavern at the pair. Erika turned and had an arrow notched in her bow in an instant, her stance was offensive and quiet as she moved to the far wall of the cave. Unfortunately, the cloud cover outside left little light to flood the cave, and she soon realized her bow may not be of much service to her, no matter how good of a shot she was. If she couldn't see, she couldn't guarantee the shot. Instead, her hands swapped out the long bow for the dagger at her hip, which she brought up in a defensive motion just as the source of the ill cackle came rounding the corner of the stone walls around them. He had the benefit of a Templar's uniform, shrouded in metal head to toe except for the helmet which he was lacking. In a few swift motions, Erika moved her dagger across the trained weak spots in the armor, ending with a final stab to the throat. Poor sap barely saw it coming. Blood trickled down the shiny metal of the Templar's armor, from the wrists and elbows where the assassin's dagger had slipped through the joints in the steel to find the veins that lie in the flesh beneath. The body slumped against the cold damp wall, a soft ching sound as it did. Erika turned to Flint with a look of relief on her face, but as she went to open her mouth to say something (a smartass comment, no doubt), the reverberating sound of footsteps could be heard echoing towards them from further down the tunnel. A lot of them. "Tarek?!" A voice called out. But Tarek wouldn't be answering them. The bard's eyes widened and she looked at her comrade. There was little chance they could take on the lot of them if they were jacked up on lyrium or worse. Not without any backup at least. "I don't suppose you have that Gaatlok you were talking about earlier handy, do ya?" Erika said with a bit of humor in her voice. "Subtlety is overrated, anyway." She said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. There was one thing for sure, they weren't going to fare well in this dark cave if a handful of Templar's wanted revenge for poor ol' Tarek there. At the very least, they needed to take the fight outside. Of course, blowing the cave and trapping them all underneath piles of rubble wasn't a bad option either. "C'mon, we're about to have company. And not the kind who shares their tea." Erika said before quickly exiting the cave, drawing her bow from her back again as she made her way out. "I'll cover you while you set the powder, go on then Flint. Just try not to blow your eyebrows off."	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,504	1,458	7	456	59	Alarand The Reaver “Ah, but it is the perfect place to find some peace and quiet- Can’t you feel the solitude soaking into your soul?” Alarand felt his the muscles in his legs and arms relax when the red-haired woman lowered her bow, part of him wondering how much control he really had over himself. It was hard to separate instinct and the beast from eachother, and the two often acted in concert when danger was involved. This pleasant conversation was enough to sate the monster, for now. He twitched when she moved suddenly, turning sideways to make himself a smaller target, his hand twitching. The smile on the woman’s face at the death shriek of the animal made him slightly less sure of this working out. “Would you care to join me for breakfast?” A decent offer, if dangerous. She had already passed up a chance to plant an arrow in his back though. On the other hand, he was cutting the meeting date close. They were supposed to gather at the entrance tonight. Though, as far as he knew, not many had been sent. His orders were to explicitly avoid combat unless strictly necessary. For good reason, of course. He wouldn’t be doing much unless things went very wrong. It shouldn’t hurt to risk being a bit late to the party. They could leave early to get there directly after eating, with half a day to spare. “We’ll see if you think the same when I tell you where we are going.” Alarand shook his head at her smile. She was going to be stuck with them, at least until the mission was over. It wouldn’t be good for word of Inquisitors to hit the area, just before they went in. Asha’ren The Guide Asha shrugged. "As long as you have coin I don't much care where you're going." She put her bow over her shoulder and drew a dagger, crouching to quickly field dress their breakfast. "For now the Coast is my home, such as it is. So as long as you'll pay me for my help, I'm happy to get you wherever you need to go." She wiped the gore off her hunting knife onto the wet grass and buried the entrails in the mud before similarly cleaning off her hands and slipping her knife back into her boot. "But let's discuss this over a hot meal, that's how business is best discussed, in a warm room with a full belly. My cave will have to suffice." "If you say so, then I have no qualms with that." Alarand shrugged, spraying a bit of water. "Lead the way." There were going to be consequences with getting her involved though. It wasn't something he quite wanted to decide in the moment though. Uprooting another's life wasn't a small matter, I of all people have to respect that. This wasn't exactly a safe mission either. A good part of him was turning towards the option of just getting some pointers and heading off. The clearing was near one of the larger entrances to the cave systems, so he should only have to follow the forest along the mountain one way or another to find it. "I am afraid you might have to wait a bit on the pay though, since my last trip I have avoided taking much more than a handful of coins in my purse at a time." He had thought she was a bandit at first, and it was still a possibility now, though she seemed genuine. Best to make it known before it was a problem, anyway. "But I can make sure you are compensated, if we rejoin my companions later on." Asha frowned slightly then turned and led the way to the cave. "I can't say I like the idea of working on commission." The frankness of her words seemed not to match with the calm tone she used. She could see him tense slightly and shook her head. "I won't roll you for whatever coin you have and leave you dead. I won't even leave you out here to fend for yourself. I'll help you, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." She led the way through the tall grass, leading them on a circuitous route just in case he attacked and she had to flee. While she was willing to help someone in over their head, she certainly wasn't stupid enough to lead them to her cave without taking some precautions. “Bring me to a fire, and I’ll cut off my pockets and give them to you.” Alarand brushed his wet hair out of his face. It was becoming long again. He eyed the trees around them, an intermixing of pine and spruce. Next time he set out on a journey, he was going to pack a spare set of clothing. His long clung to his arms, restricting movement, and his boots sloshed with each step. Occasional, he could even feel some suction. It feels like pulling a mace out of a corpse. In all honesty, even if he had arrived at the clearing, if no one had been there the rest of the group might have met around a grave at nightfall. Alarand jerked to a stop, blinking. He needed to avoid negative thoughts. It was slowly embracing his mind, insidiously. “Well, it could be worse.” He spoke a bit louder than was necessary. “At least it isn’t snowing!” ]Yet. Alarand quickly switched topics, weather was a bad one. “It’s good to see another free elf. There aren’t enough of us around.” "I'm not an elf. Not fully anyway." Asha said. "My mother was human." She stopped speaking suddenly, not sure why she was sharing her life story with this elf she'd just met. "Don't ruin our luck. I've seen snow out here on the Coast, and if you think this is miserable, you really don't know the meaning of the word. Here we are." Asha pushed aside a few branches and revealed the entrance to a cave. She went in first, and immediately started tending the fire, feeding small pieces of dried wood that she'd set inside several days ago. Once she had the fire going again she turned to Alarand. "Make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back." Without waiting for him to respond she left the cave and disappeared into the surrounding trees. Asha took a small hatchet from her pack and cut several branches of varying lengths before cleaning the bark off the smaller ones and splitting them halfway along their length. The larger four she sharpened one end of and then hurried back to the cave, hoping that he had been canny enough to keep the fire going. Interesting. A mixed blood was rarer than an Elvish merchant. Alarand let conversation die off. Neither of them were much in the mood for it anyway, forced or not. The trees had thickened considerably since she had lead him away from the animal trails, but Asha’ren seemed confident enough, though the pine needles felt harsh whenever they had to brush past a pine, the needles felt especially cruel to numb skin. He had resigned himself to the idea that trudging after her was some sort of purgatory- punishment for unforgivable crimes committed that he would never remember. His mind barely registered the entrance to the cave. To him, it appeared as if the forest had suddenly gained a ceiling and walls. I would die out here. It hadn’t occurred to him on previous missions, but there was a true difference between a city elf and the elves of old. Nature wasn’t a friend. The moment he was in the cave, he didn’t pause for her to finish speaking before dropping his pack and fumbling with his belt, stripping off the outermost layers of robes, leaving a plain white linen shirt and the black pants on. When she left, he immediately moved to the fire, careful to avoid dripping over it. He took three pieces from the stack she had gathered and used one to collapse the fire in on itself, raking it into a tighter pile and then sandwiching it between two of the logs on the sides, placing the third piece across the two logs and up against the side of the pile of embers. He was definitely not a woodsman, but he knew how to set a cookfire. Living in an alienage hadn’t been an easy life. The heat was addicting, and he leaned in, the moderate heat from the fire feeling almost as intoxicating as blood lust. He eventually lay out his over-shirt and outer robe to dry, his pack had done far better than he had, the thick wax coating on the canvas had kept most of his sleeping roll dry. He had resisted the urge to wrap himself in it though, piling his meager gear away from the drips and wetness outside, leaving only his sword strapped to his waist. The clothing he still had one was still soaked though, and every moment away from the fire was agony. Alarand crouched next to it, trying to coax it larger without using too much of wood pile, rotating from time to time to warm his back. Asha stepped back through the entrance of the cave and found Alarand huddled next to the fire. She quickly drove the stakes into the ground a foot or two away from the fire and then immediately pulled her boots off and put them over two of the stakes. “If you don’t dry your boots you’ll be miserable for the rest of the day.” She said, motioning to his boots. She pulled the canvass of the rock she’d laid it out on to dry and used it to block the bit of wind coming through the doorway and soon the cave had warmed. Seeing Alarand still shivering she put her blanket around him, the wool warm from the rocks around them. Once he looked a bit better, Asha put the smooth piece of slate over the fire and dropped the skinned rabbit onto it, smiling as she heard it hiss. “Shouldn’t be too much longer and we’ll be warm from the inside out.” Asha smiled, feeling her linen shirt begin to dry as she wiggled her toes in the warm sand that covered the floor of the cave. “Now, where are you going?” Asha asked, wanting to know just where she was taking the strange elf.	Name: Asha’ren (Asha or Ash) Age: 31 Gender: F Race: Elf-blooded Nationality: Born in Kirkwall in the Free-Marches Group Affiliation: none Occupation: Guide-Though she started out as a petty thief and card-sharp, she’s found that life after the incident at the conclave her skills are much better used to help navigate civilians through the perilous wilderness, for a decent sum of course. Appearance: Asha has auburn hair and piercing grey eyes that are always taking in the world around her. She’s a master at gathering information, whether it’s by making contacts within a city or tracking dinner through the forest. Though she has the build of her human mother, tall and solid, her facial features and ears reveal her elven father’s heritage. Equipment/Weapons: Asha carries a well made bow and a couple mismatched daggers. She typically wears leather leggings, knee high boots and some combination of a vest and blouse combo with some bracers over her sleeves to protect the fabric from the bowstring. A brown wool cloak trimmed with fur from animals she’s hunted since leaving the city tops off her ensemble. She carries a small satchel that she wears slung across her body and that contains all she owns in the world, a doll her mother made her, a few necessary survival tools, bits of food and a map of the area she’d managed to lift off a merchant. Bio: Asha’ren was born to a Low-Town merchant and her elven husband who hailed from Kirkwall’s alienage. As she grew up she helped in her mother’s shop until her mother got sick and perished. Her father wasted away, mourning for his lost love. Several years after her mother died, her father followed, leaving her in charge of the small shop. Though she tried her best to maintain the business, other merchants pushed her out and she eventually had to close shop. After her business failed Asha tried to stay with her father’s family in the alienage but they turned her away, telling her that having someone of her blood around would put the rest of them in danger. As a parting gift, Asha’s grandmother gave her a gorgeous bow and a quiver of arrows to protect herself. Heartbroken and homeless, Asha spent some time in the Hanged Man winning enough at cards to buy some food and a dry place to sleep for a week or so before being kicked out. She stole a couple daggers and some gold on her way out, fleeing to the docks and stowed away onto a cargo ship. As her luck would have it, she was discovered as the ship was just hitting the Storm Coast. She was unceremoniously dumped overboard and by some miracle managed to keep her things with her. She swam to shore and has been lurking around the Storm Coast ever since, hunting for food and scavenging goods that washed up. Occasionally she’ll act as guide to travelers who weren’t prepared for the perils of the coast. She has created a little camp and makes a tidy enough living to keep herself in warm clothes and good ale. She’ll occasionally foray into the city to sell the things she’s found but has become accustomed to the solitude she finds out on the coast.
53,505	1,458	8	2,430	441	“Not making any promises.” Flint merrily barked back as his hands were moving well ahead of his mouth; his old leather rucksack already swinging from his back as the sound of footsteps drew ever closer. Wasting no time he went about setting a proper fuse up on the delicate explosive that resembled a large clay ball all the while muttering something about “Damn Tarek.” Just as Flint finished prepping the devastating bomb two more Templars rounded the corner clearly looking for their lost comrade; it was obvious by their exposed faces and the way they held their weapons loosely at their sides that they were not expecting Flint and Erika. Although only face to face with the two (now shocked) Templars it was obvious that more company was soon on its way-the sound of more footsteps and clamoring armor echoing close behind the two new arrivals. “Who are-Tarek!” The larger of the two Templars roared as he noticed his recently dispatched companion still bleeding out on the floor, the site of which had caused his face to flush red with anger. Without another question he swung his blade in Flint's direction, the little dwarf literally throwing himself against the cave wall to dodge the incoming atack. Cradling the unlit explosive in his hand like a newborn baby Flint roared angrily “Watch it, damnit! A little help over here!”	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,506	1,458	9	2,049	6,923	It is difficult to imagine any creature feeling comfortable in the Maker forsaken flood lands of the Storm Coast, but that was exactly what the giant Kossith was as he made his way through the thick brush as easily as one would stroll through the market. Despite the clouds that hung heavy over head, the rain that came down like torrents, or the freezing air that cut to the bone Vat-Katair kept a unnerving grin on his face as he swiftly strode onward with a group of his men in tow. The weather couldn't help but make him reminisce about his days back on Seheron and leading a group of his Tal-Vashoth brothers on an ambush of a Qunari encampment. He was quickly pulled out of this memory when he realized how far ahead of his men he had gotten, they seemed to be having their fair share of trouble navigating the less than forgiving terrain. "At least the Tal-Vashoth weren't such whelps." Vat-Katari thought to himself with a shake of his head, causing a small down pour of water to fall from his thick, white mane, as he waited for his men to regroup with him. Lucky for his men Vat-Katari had already found a spot not too far from the entrance to the mines that they could use to briefly gather their barings before they started the raid. Vat-Katari eyed the cave as he ran down the details he gathered about the operation in his mind. It was some sort of lyrium mine, though there was something apparently special about the lyrium here that Vat-Katari wasn't exactly sure about. He also manage to find out that this was some sort of Tevinter funded dig so it was safe to assume that there were at least a few mages mucking about in the mines. Likewise whenever Tevinter was involved in something slave labor was a guarantee, either they brought their own or they collected some from one of the near by villages regardless that meant the workers weren't going to be big supporters of their bosses. The only real blind spot in Vat-Katari's intel was on the exact security in the mines and with Tevinter mages anything from blood magically enhanced warrior slaves to a horde of demon shades were possible. Vat-Katari's mental check list was interrupted by movement coming from the entrance of the mine. He quickly took shelter behind a tree and signaled the rest of his men to hide as well. It was a young lad that exited the cave with quite the jumpy and skittish look about him. Judging from his robes he was an assistant mage to some other higher ranking Vint mage, Vat-Katari had seen and killed enough of both to be able to spot them on sight. Regardless of the lost and frightened look on the boy's face he was in the way of Vat-Katari and his prize so he had to be dealt with. So with one a quick gesture to Gehel, the elf now sporting a broken nose, Vat-Katari gave the order to cut the young mage's life short. Two precise arrow shots later the apprentice laid on the ground drenched in a mixture of rain, mud, and his own blood, the light draining from his eyes. Vat-Katari wasted no time moving over to examine the body, he had to make sure that he didn't have to finish the job. Lucky for both the young mage and Gehel the elf's arrows did their job and ended the lad quickly. "Now lets see what you've got..." The bandit chief spoke to himself as he began to raid the body's pockets. Not much was on the lad disappointingly besides some tome on Tevinter customs, a few silver pieces, and... "Hmm what's this?" Vat-Katari found what looked like quite the official letter. After tearing it open and scanning over its contents his expression went to slight bewilderment to a deadly serious. "Qalaba vashedan." Vat-Katari cursed in his native tongue before turning and singling for his men to fall in around him. "Looks like I was right boys, we have some Vint mages hold up in there." Vat-Katari said as he looked over his men. "It also seems that they raised up some walking corpses for their security." He added, getting a slight gasp of surprise from a few in the crowd. "Shut your traps!" He snapped, regaining the silence of his men. "It is just like killing anyone else, just that these guys have their throats pre-slit." He said with a dark laugh before turning to the cave and started to head in. "Come on boys, it's time to get our pay day."	"It is who I am" Name Vat-Katari Age 30 Gender Male Race Vashoth Appearance Vat-Katari, like the rest of his people, is a massive individual when compared to the other races. Standing at a staggering 7'4" and having a incredibly robust body build many consider Vat-Katari to have quite the intimidating stature. His hair is a wild white mane that hangs down below his shoulders that is paired with a fair amount of facial hair, though no where near the standard Dwarf amount. His eyes are a bright copper color, being borderline red. Vat-Katari is covered from head to toe in a mind boggling amount of scars, looking like has had been attacked with everything from an arrow to Mage lightning. He dawns a various assortment of piercings all over his body, even on his horns. Nationality Was born on Seheron Group Affiliation Tal-Vashoth Occupation Bandit Chief Specialization Saarebas Equipment/Weapons Vat-Katari's arsenal differs dramatically from what is expected from most Mages who inhabit Thedas. For example he doesn't carry nor use a staff, he finds them ineffective and cumbersome. Instead of robes Vat-Katari wears a small amount of armor paired with a full body painting of Vitaar for protection. He keeps a small pack of essentials on him at all times that consist of food, healing potions, coin, and other such things. He also makes sure to always have some lyrium on him in case he needs a boost. Bio Despite being born on the Qunari controlled island of Seheron Vat-Katari was never under the rule of the Qun do to his parents being a pair of Tal-Vashoth warriors, which in retrospect may have given him a better start in life when in comparison to other Qunari mages, though that may only be true to a small margin. Being raised Tal-Vashoth is the basic equivalent of nonstop combat training, Vat-Katari was practically expected to be able to kill a man before he could speak. Luckily for Vat-Katari he took to fighting like a Darkspawn to the Deep Roads, finding quite the thrill in bloodshed. His training only became more intense once his magical capabilities revealed itself, the Tal-Vashoth wouldn't waste the power of a mage especially one as promising as Vat-Katari. He picked up the magic style of the other Tal-Vashoth mages, some former Saarebas while others being born into the Tal-Vashoth like himself, rather quickly and was eventually put into the Tal-Vashoth's battle against the Qunari. Vat-Katari spent years battling Qunari forces across Seheron, even managing to become one of the Ben-Hassrath's most wanted fugitives. His battling the Qunari may have gone on even longer if Vat-Katari's greed didn't push him to pursue different interests. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of battle Vat-Katari loved wealth even more and he realized that he wouldn't get that by being just some Tal-Vashoth warrior. So he began to raid villages, stealing anything and everything of value. Eventually Vat-Katari wanted more than what the small villages of Seheron could offer so he set off for the mainland. It took a few years and more than a few broken bones, luckily most of which weren't Vat-Katari's, but Vat-Katari was able to build himself a pretty impressive bandit clan. They namely focused on knocking over large trade caravans with the occasional village raid thrown in. They are currently set up in an abandoned fortress located on the Storm Coast, it is easy to defend and great for hording their loot.
53,507	1,458	10	884	393	Alarand The Reaver Alarand wordlessly nodded at her comment, grimacing as he carefully pulled the edges of his dripping pantlegs from his boots. It was strange, how waterlogged clothing and boots were harder to get off than dry. He carefully stepped towards the entrance before dumping the water out of them, enough to fill a canteen. He moved a larger piece of wood over and sat on it near the fire after hanging his boots. There was a hypnotic feel to staring into fire, it was strangely comforting- it wasn't that it disapeared as much as it was sated by the cavorting flames. His lips parted when she dropped the blanket over his shoulders, but he decided against offering comment. Alarand idly picked off pieces of bark from the wood he was sitting on, toss it into the coals and watching them consume it. There was more than a little disapointment went she slid a flat piece of stone over the fire, hiding the ripple of heat around the coals, and disguising their golden glow. The crackling sound of cooking meat bringing him out of his reverie. Alarand continued to watch it for a moment after she asked though, trying to organize his thoughts. Careful. It wasn't long before he stood and slowly spread the blanket near the other drying articles, as it was a bit damp from contact with his clothing. "Before I tell you," Alarand paused, rethinking what he was going to say. "You have to know that it will be dangerous to take me there..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "...and I can't let you leave until we finish what we came here to do." Alarand quickly raised his hands defensively before she could react. "It isn't that I don't find you trustworthy, but I can't tell you details otherwise." Asha’ren The Guide looked at him closely. "That's quite the demand." She considered his words for a few minutes as she turned the meat, making sure it didn't burn. "To be fair, you don't know that I am trustworthy." Asha's eyes glittered with a bit of mirth as she fetched two smaller pieces of slate, washed clean by the rain from just inside the cave's entrance. Though her motions were calm, her mind was racing. She'd been looking for a way to get out of this constant cycle of life she'd found herself stuck in. She never made enough coin to leave the Coast, only enough to keep her in drink and food and when she was lucky, in dry clothes. Asha'ren passed Alarand a makeshift plate with half the rabbit on it. "You said I'd be compensated by your 'friends'. Compensated how?" He watched quietly as she stood and retrieved some flat stone from the entrance for use as plates. It was clear she had been living here for some time, though he was certainly no expert in tracking or investigation. Alarand already knew that he wasn’t going to give her any true detail unless she agreed to follow through to the end. “I suppose that depends on what you want. If it’s money, I can promise ten crowns- though you will have to accompany me to the nearest settlement before I can pay.” Alarand appraised her thoughtfully for a moment before resuming, “Or, if you would like, you can accompany me on my return journey to S- the Dales.” He grimaced at the slip of tongue. Mentioning Skyhold would be a dead give away. “I am not sure if my companions will join me, but unless an emergency shows up, I intend on heading that direction. We would be safe enough, and you would be free to leave at any point on the way.” Alarand studied her face, pondering a third option. The Inquisition was still growing, but he was certainly no recruiter. On the other hand of course, if they had been willing to work with a mess such as himself, surely an elf-blooded would be welcome. He would have to see what the others thought of the idea before speaking on it though. Asha'ren looked at him intently. "I'll take you where you need to go on two conditions. One, that you explain why all this needed to be shrouded in secrecy with a veneer of abduction, and two, that you help me get set up in the Dales. I don't expect you to build me a house with your bare hands, but maybe introduce me to a few people? If I spend one more season out here on this godsforsaken Coast with nobody for company I'll go mad. Is that a deal you can make?" Asha asked, the intimacy that their current situation provided caused her to be brutally honest without fear of judgment. After all, how much judgment could a soaked elf really give? Mad? He raised his eyebrows slightly. I wonder how many people truly know the feeling. “Oh, I can introduce you to people.” A slow smile tugged at his lips at the private jest. “If we make it out of this in one piece, you’ll have plenty of time on the road to extort me.” People are social creatures, I am not. To him, the idea of being alone for weeks at a time might be refreshing... though the images of being gagged, bound, and blindfolded suddenly flashing through his skull were a fairly good argument to the contrary. “I suppose now that you are leaving, the forest is open for invasion again?” He glanced around in mock approval. “It’s a shame really, considering how much effort you put into decorating.” Alarand reached into his pocket and pulled out a wet piece of parchment, unfolding it. “Well, glad to know that they saved on the ink.” He grimaced and tossed the mess of dripping ink at the edge of the fire, where it hissed and shrank, bubbling. “In short, I need you to take me to a clearing somewhere in this valley, there should be a fairly large entrance to the largest part of the cave system near there- an obvious one. He raked his brain for the other directions, trying to remember what had been written. “A double set of twin peaks can be seen west of it, and most of the trees around it should be oak.” In all honesty, it wasn’t an excellent description, but it had seemed enough, when he had been hiking towards the visible peaks from Amaranthine, along the designated trail. The elf sighed, shaking his head. “The cave is an entrance to a Red Lyrium mine, and we have been sent to investigate.” He separated a piece of rabbit meat and bit into it, chewing. “And, now that I told you, I can’t let you just walk away, in case we find a surprise party waiting for us when we head in.” He began separating other edible pieces away from the rest, making a pile. “We don’t plan on announcing ourselves, exactly.” Alarand gave a meaningful glance in her direction before starting in on his meal.	Name: Alarand Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: Elf Nationality: Orlesian Group Affiliation: Inquisition Occupation: Mercenary Specialization: Reaver Appearance: Equipment/Weapons: Silk Robes (as pictured) Scaled Articulated Gauntlets Steel Capped Leather Boots A kreigmesser is a single edged sword that may be wielded with two hands or one as the user prefers, possessing both crossguard and nail. Alarand also tends to keep one or two daggers on his person, in the case that he loses his blade in the midst of combat. Blanket, Flint & Steel, Small bundle of cord, small pot filled with regular travel rations Bio: Alarand was born as the lowest of low in the Alienage of Val Royeaux in 9:14 Dragon, late winter. From there, his life began- as hellish as it might be. If the citizens of Orlesias had few rights under nobility, elves had none. Much of his life was spent just attempting to live. His mother never spoke of his father, Alarand never asked. He wasn’t the only child running around the city that didn’t know their parentage, and the topic only seemed to bring about bad memories for his mother when it did come about. His life had been a relatively simple one up until then. The routine every day was dull; move around the city at first light, and try to secure a bit of food from the scarce number of bakers and butchers that had pity enough for the elves to throw out their week-old bread and scraps. Dodge city guards, nobles, and avoid any citizenry in a particularly nasty mood. He spent his childhood in that manner, turning to minor thievery in his teen years- nothing big, just the stray bit of food or coin. Anything more would have been obvious anyway. As he grew older, his interests turned towards manual labor, which was always in short supply. He worked for years, until in 9:37 Dragon Alarand disappeared from the streets. It was little remarked upon, as such things happened to elves often enough. The young elf was turned to a tool for The Grand Game, captured for a group of radical supporters of Gaspard de Chalons. The undercurrents of the game had long been building towards war, and they wanted to be sure that their interests were secured. In this case, that the elves remained lower class, to protect the underground trades. It was a gap of just a few months before he was forced through the Reaver ritual, with the intention of turning the elf into a weapon of terror for the war. The memories of it were traumatic to the extreme, and Alarand could never recall the full process- other than the feeling of drowning as blood was poured down his unwilling throat, the young elf strapped to a table and unable to do more than stare in terror as he was forced to swallow it. Within him, something awoke and grew, at first uncontrollable with rage and bloodlust. The lucid memories of the time were always in a dark room, a heavy door sealing one side, and a pile of straw in the corner, always with the stench of blood and decay overlaying the memory, the scant others of being strapped down, eyes covered and ears muffled- only the sound of wagon wheels audible. Though he wasn’t aware, Alarand became a valued tool and one of the symbols for anti-elf propaganda. When Alarand next was aware, he lay among piles of corpses in what he now knows as Halamshiral. Disoriented, lost, and still highly volatile, he was lucky to be picked up on the Imperial Highway by members of the forming Inquisition. Recognizing his symptoms, Alarand was able to receive help regaining himself, in exchange for joining the inquisition. Ever since, he has loyally worked for the Inquisition of his own free will, loyal- and still on a personal search to regain who he once was… or better.
53,508	1,458	11	2,430	441	The sight of the two rampaging Templars threw Erika into high gear. The rest of the world fell silent except for the almost calming thunk of the raindrops that were hitting her now exposed head as she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back, drawing her bowstring in one swift and mechanical motion. One, two... swoosh. The first arrow whirred from Erika's cheek and found the large brute's hand as it swung it's blade, pinning it deep against the cold wall of the cave. The scream that followed was silenced not half a second later when the second arrow found the exposed neck of the man, rendering him mute as he gargled on his own blood. This, of course, sent the other man into a fury as now two of his companions lie in piles of their own blood at his feet. "Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, you bastard." Erika notched her bow one last time and sent the arrow flying just as the Templar was raising his hammer to strike at Flint. The arrow lodged in the man's shoulder, between the thick plates of Templar armor that he wore. It wasn't a deadly blow, but a crippling one. Long enough for Flint to hopefully get the Gaatlok ready to blow before the rest of the brigade came in and tore them to shreds. "Any day now, Sparky!" Erika called out, but instead of some snide comment she was met with Flint running towards her arms waving, so she took the hint to hit the deck. The resulting explosion left a ringing in her ears, and a slight pounding in her head. Well, the whole of Thedas probably knew they were here now. Bits of gravel joined in the rain and showered down around them, but when Erika turned around to look, she witnessed that whatever Templars that would have been in pursuit were now trapped in that cave, as the whole entrance was collapsed in a pile of rubble. "Well done, Flint." Erika said with a sigh. She stood, brushing herself off. It took a moment for her to see straight, the ringing in her ears messing with her balance. Once she regained her composure, she saw just how much damage the explosion really had done. True, it had served its purpose in trapping the Templars in that cave for the time being. However, it had also managed to blow a big enough hole to open up a completely different entrance to what appeared to be a separate tunnel system. "Would you look at that, it appears we've done some re-routing of the Storm Coast. I'm sure Leliana will be pleased to hear that in the report." Erika said sarcastically. Her gaze traveled upwards to the sky. While it was hard to tell with all of the cloud cover from the constant storm, they had already fallen behind schedule. There was supposed to be at least one other inquisition member joining them closer to the mining operation, but Erika did not know exactly when they would be arriving. "Well, seems like this is as good a shot as any since we blew up our last backdoor entrance. Shall we?"	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,509	1,458	12	2,430	441	Moments prior to the bomb erupting in its devastating display of power Flint had been thinking of just how careful he had to be with the deadly object. The fuse was set to a safe length, there were no cracks in the bombs casing, and he had a set target in mind for when he lit the fuse: the weakened and partially cracking cave ceiling that he could make out just past the two giants trying to kill him. All he had to do now was enact his well laid plan. Being a dwarf of keen mind and clever nature his plan was to roll the deadly explosive down past the two templars infront of him in the hopes of killing as many of the approaching men that now sounded extremely close. Hopefully the ensuing blast would also take out the ceiling above in what would be a manmade cavein (or in this case, dwarf made). Flint was triumphantly going through this plan in his head when he heard the familiar "sssssss" that signified one of his worst nightmares-somehow the deadly clay ball of Gattlok had managed to have its fuse lit from a stray spark off his attackers weapon. Unfortunately by the time Flint had noticed the one and a million chain of events the wick had already burned halfway down; quickly he assumed this had happened with the Makers help in yet another attempt to make him feel like the unluckiest dwarf in Thedas. As Flint often did in the thick of battle though he just went with the turn of events; chucking the heavy clay ball with all his might into the air over the heads of his atackers. As the hissing explosive soared through the air Flint couldn't help but admire Erikas recent handiwork; the site of three trained Templars sprawled on the ground was something to behold after all, especially considering the young woman hadn't even broken a sweat. That's when Flint remembered he should probably warn his comrade in arms about the impending explosion: quickly he decided that the most attention grabbing thing he could come up with was a flailing armed metal encased dwarf. Luckily his warning worked. KATHOOOOM The force of the explosion literally lifted Flint off his feat sending him flying past Erika into the cave wall with a particularly painful sounding metallic thud. Despite this the dwarf rolled to his feat shaking the bits of dirt, dust, and rubble from his thick brown beard like some sort of mad dog. Quickly gathering up his rucksack, which had somehow survived the blast, Flint made his way over to admire the damage he'd done-they definitely didn't have to worry about any Templars now. Infact, Flint thought, no one need ever worry about those particular Templars again. "Well, seems like this is as good a shot as any since we blew up our last backdoor entrance. Shall we?" His companion asked in her particularly cheery way. Flint responded with in his own witty but gruff tone. "Ladies first." He followed the comment with a mock bow and mace twirl, as if he held an elegant cane and was bowing before a lord or lady. --- Calren had been in the middle of scolding two of his apprentices on the basics of blood magic when an ear splitting explosion sounded from somewhere down the back entrance tunnel-the effect of the blast was such that the makeshift camp the handful of mages resided in visibly shook for a brief moment. What is it now he lamented to himself as his eyes practically bulged out of his head in annoyance. Hurriedly the old Magistrate ran towards the back entrance. Could those blasted lyrium addled psycho paths have caused the explosion? Not likely, he quickly decided; after all the most advanced weapon that lot of crazies had were shovels and pick ax's. Unless the lyrium had somehow had an adverse reaction within their bodies causing an explosion of sorts? The very idea made Claren fantasize about the vast magical studies he could perform. This definitely needed looking into. "Rodaband." The old mage barked at his equal as he still did his best to pear down the tunnel. All he could make out was darkness. "I suppose you'd like me to investigate that little noise, eh old man?" The much younger looking yet equally powerful Rodaband asked while rubbing the stubble on his chin, a playful smile hanging from his mouth as it often did when he talked to Claren. "Yes, yes. Take two of the fools with you as well, and here is the key to the barricade we set up." Clarens bony old hand held out a large brass key which Rodaband quickly snatched up. "I am especially interested in knowing if this had anything to do with our ex workers-if not, kill whoever is responsible. Better yet bring them back to me, I will be in my lab within the mine." "You do love your little experiments, don't you?" Rodaband quipped before going off to round up his two lackeys. "Not to worry Claren, I'll return with something for you." Claren watched as Rodaband and the two other men (he honestly couldn't recall their names, expendable trash most likely) made their way into the darkness of the tunnel-a medium sized ball of light Rodaband had summoned now lighting their way as the small group disappeared from sight. "You two imbeciles!" Claren barked like a mad dog at the two remaining men in the room who had been tending a large pot of what was most likely tonights dinner. The two well dressed mages visibly flinched at Clarens outburst before their tormentor continued. "Its best we cover all our assets. Go to the front of the mines entrance and guard the barricade there-do not open the doors, whatever you do. If anyone is foolish enough to come that way I will have a little surprise ready for them. Regardless though, you will remain posted there untill Rodaband comes to relieve you. Understood?" The older looking of the two mages nodded while muttering a quick "Yes sir, master Claren." And with that Claren was off; not bothering to explain anything further to the fools that called him Master. Quickly he made his way into the actual mine shaft that descended downwards off of the main tunnel at a fairly decent slope-there was no red lyrium until you followed this incline for a good ten minutes, at which point the ground leveled out before opening into a vast cavern that they had been doing the bulk of the mining-and it was easy to see why, Claren thought, as his beady black eyes were met with the familiar beautiful glow of the amber red rocks that seemed to grow out of the cavern walls itself. But he had no time to admire the macabre beauty of the silent mine (although it never seemed entirely quite-an eerie hum could seemingly always be heard just out of ear shot.) No, he had something extremely important to take care of. He had to make sure his pet was ok. --- As Vat-Katari and his men made their way deeper into the ever darkening cave tunnel they would encounter no resistance; after a good ten minutes of clamoring through the narrowing tunnels they could even make out what looked like an actual gated door that had been built into some makeshift barricade that reached all the way to the cave ceiling. This odd structure was a good twenty five yards away when the world seemed to turn upside down; skeletal and rotting figures alike breaking forth from the very earth Vat-Katari and his men had been walking on moments before. Slightly slow to pull themselves from their earthen tombs this undead army once free was a sea of shifting rusted metal and horrid battle wounds-many still clutching and swing old and broken weapons they had used in their past lives. Quickly surrounding Vat-Katari and his men it was clear from their cold dead eyes that the one desire they still had, if any, was to turn these living intruders into yet another member among their unyielding ranks.	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,510	1,458	13	1,887	1,130	Nolan hated the Storm Coast. There was absolutely nothing in the area of importance or worth in the eyes of the Warden. The near-endless rain which poured down on his hooded head did little to dispel his contempt for the area, it had begun to soak through the blue hood of his warden clothing, and essentially served now as little more than a wet cloth, slowly seeping more and more water onto the top of his head. Why the renegade Templars Nolan and his partner had been tasked with executing had fled here of all places - he did not know. Though, perhaps they had chosen the Storm Coast for the very fact that it was so horrid to trek through - one would have to be awfully devoted to want to trudge all this way just to face a reasonable number of Templars. Using his staff as a walking stick of sorts, Nolan brought his free hand up to cover his mouth - the cold and rain had been getting to him, and it was more than clear in the thick, chesty cough which he let out. When they were done here - Nolan planned to find the warmest, coziest tavern he could - preferably one with a welcoming name like 'The Fat Nug', not one of those seedy pubs usually given a more violent moniker, such as; 'The Fighting Nug'. When it came to comfort - one word could make a world of difference. He pictured his recuperation as he trudged along - sitting by a fireplace, moving in and out of friendly conversations with the other bargoers, a warm cup of tea in his hand, and a number of sweet cakes and pastries before him, freshly baked by the Tavern owners wife. It was all so peaceful, the quiet conversation, the crackling fire and the warm atmosphere.. Th- KATHOOOOM The thunderous explosion only a few meters ahead of he and his partner was certainly more than enough to drag the Warden out of his train of thought, and back into the horrid reality which was the Storm Coast. Shifting his gaze over his shoulder, Nolan set eyes on his partner. He certainly didn't envy Clara - while he was certainly not warm in his own attire, and the limited armour he wore on his chest, arms and legs added to the freezing nature of their trek - he was not the one in a full suit of armour. In fact, Nolan rather admired the fact that the woman had not simply frozen to death and been unknowingly left behind by the Mage kilometers back. "Think that might've been the Templars saving us all the trouble?" Perhaps it was not the time for a humerous quip - but Nolan didn't care, he felt the need to lighten the mood somewhat, even if it was in relation to something which could have been incredibly problematic for the two of them. Picking up the pace, it did not take much longer for Nolan and Clara to reach the entrance of the cave system - ignoring any particular cause for concern, and seemingly forgetting entirely about the explosion which had occurred a few moments before, he held out his free hand, a spark flashing before a small ball of fire - akin in size and brightness to that of a simple torch, appeared. Holding it relatively close to himself in an attempt to warm and dry himself, he pressed on into the cave - paying little attention to his surrounding as he almost tripped over the first of the dead Templars. Looking down to the man, he could gather fairly easily from the bleeding hole in his throat - that he had not blown himself up. "It would appear someone's taking our job - Clara." It was only a few moments more, passing the other two Templars who had been murdered fairly recently - that the Warden and Templar reached the cave-in, and the two who had been its cause. Nolan made no real move to action - at least not yet, after all, he was aware these weren't normal Templars, but he was curious as to why these two - who he assumed caused the explosion - were here. "Well hello there."	Name: Nolan Halwic Age: 27 Gender: Male Race: Human Nationality: Free Marcher Group Affiliation: Grey Wardens Occupation: Mage/Peacekeeper Appearance: Nolan appears a reasonably built individual, standing at a height of roughly 6'1", he is reasonably muscular, but overall he is far more dextrous in his appearance - not relying on his physical prowess for a great deal. His black hair is usually slicked back over his head, and at the sides it is shaved, making the three scars which trail from the right side of his head down to the back of his head visible. His eyes are a deep blue, and his face is clean shaven, revealing the pale shade to his skin. Apart from the scar on his head, the only clear and defining marking which Nolan has on his body is along the length of his right arm, black and purple markings running along the veins of his arm. Equipment/Weapons: Generally, Nolan wears a black coat over his Warden armour, but ensures that at least the breastplate is visible, so as to avoid any confusion with a general apostate. Around his wrists he wears a pair of armoured bracers and boots, each adorned with the Warden symbol. He usually wears a bag over his shoulder which contains tomes, papers, vials, bottles and other alchemical ingredients - and his staff is wooden, the majority of its length adorned with metallic plating, with the the tip fashioned into a forked shape, jagged teeth running down the inside. Bio: Born to a prostitute in Kirkwall, Nolan always knew very little of his father - and never particularly cared to. From his mother he gathered enough, the man had been a circle mage, and himself had no interest in raising a child. Nolan's young life was fairly common for a boy of his status in Kirkwall, and during his youth he became fairly involved with all manner of criminals in lowtown. While Nolan was aware of the growing tension between Templars and mages in Kirkwall, he had no desire to join the circle - and was protected as an apostate by the gangs he associated with and helped by taking odd-jobs, never really aligning himself with one in particular. His safety did not last forever, and as Templars became more and more active within Kirkwall, Nolan was forced to leave the city as a young man, only having just turned 19. Nolan made his way to Markham, believing that perhaps the attention from the Chantry would be far less prominent, but he only stayed a few months in the city before wanted posters were placed up for him - on the charges of apostasy. Having little contacts or places to hide within Markham itself, Nolan took to the deep roads below the city, believing they would be safe from the prying eyes of Templars. While he was somewhat correct, he began to become exposed to the more dangerous inhabitants of the Deep Roads - Darkspawn. Spending little more than a few weeks in the caves, Nolan eventually succumbed to a grave wound in his right arm, and began to feel the growing effects of Darkspawn corruption. Knowing what his injury would likely bring, Nolan attempted to leave the Deep Roads, but in his confused and panicked state, only got more lost - barely surviving the following days with the growing corruption in his veins, his arm forever becoming scarred by the darkspawn blood poisoning his own. How Nolan did survive was by pure chance - he was found by a trio of Grey Wardens, hunting down Darkspawn packs. In an attempt to save Nolan, the Wardens brought Nolan out of the Deep Roads - to their fortress on the outskirts of Markham, and administered the Joining to the man. Nolan - despite his weakened state, managed to survive the Joining, and became a Grey Warden as a result. Originally displeased with this turn of events, Nolan quickly warmed up to the role - considering he had not died horribly, and would now not have to worry about Templars. He spent some time with the Wardens in Markham, hunting down Darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and when they were brave enough to come to the surface, and continued to develop as a mage. In some encounters with Templars - he often got along well with them - Nolan in fact had no issue with the Circle and how it functioned, nor did he disagree with the strict restrictions that the Templars had in place - the mage himself despising blood magic and its users, and particularly the results it could have. Considering these views, Nolan was sent to Ferelden when the war first broke out - to serve as a peacekeeper in conflict zones along with other Grey Wardens.
53,511	1,458	14	2,616	349	No matter how many times Clara wiped the water from her the visor of her helmet, the rainwater simply continued to flow and either way she wasn't winning: if it stayed outside the helmet it kept the steel chilled and helped her freeze within the full set of it, and if it went inside it flowed down towards her collar and crept inside her armor, making her colder again and directly uncomfortable. It wasn't the discomfort that bothered her - for as inconvenient as it was, discomfort was easily solved through discipline and will, both of which an ideal Templar had in abundance - but the effects of the cold: a cold body moved slower, ached through its movements, had restricted ranges of motion and even sensory feedback, which could all spell disaster in one way or another. After uttering thanks for her Frostback heritage, probably the only reason she hadn't become a statue a few kilometers back, she looked at her companion, Nolan, longingly for a moment as she came to desire attire a bit more like his; she shook her head until she returned to her senses and trudged on, focusing on the journey. Clara visibly flinched at the sudden explosion. By near-instinct, she raised her left arm to bring her shield to bear as she grasped her sword's hilt and hastily drew it from the scabbard with a telltale rasp, bringing it to the ready. After looking about to evaluate their immediate safety, Clara turned to face Nolan as she eased her stance somewhat. "Think that might've been the Templars saving us all the trouble?" punted Nolan, in a rather optimistic quip about the situation. Clara let out something of a scoff. "I wouldn't trust renegades to be so thoughtful." she quipped back, content with the small bit of humor. After the long and cold walk here, a bit of morale-boosting wasn't unappreciated; she knew full well that morale won and lost battles of all sorts, and the jests weren't detrimental by any stretch. As Clara walked through the cave system, she deliberately walked close to Nolan's fireball as she could in a bid to defrost her plate armor, which proved a bit difficult considering how close he held it to himself. Detecting the renegades long before Nolan, she let him trip over the first corpse as she broke away as far as the light allowed to go about examining the corpses - and discreetly stripping them of their lyrium. "It would appear someone's taking our job - Clara." Nolan commented as Clara concluded her investigations on another one of the corpses and came to stand and face him. "That makes it much more complex than I'd like it to be." she replied with a sigh, "I don't recall anybody else being sent to dispatch the renegades from our conversation with the Knight-Captain..." With her sword and shield still in hands, she continued alongside Nolan and his fire. As Nolan and Clara came upon the two responsible for the cave-in, Clara took a few steps in front of Nolan and brought her shield to bear, with her sword lingering at her side in no particular state of readiness but very much still at hand - preparing to front any immediate damage if it would come to blows, for Nolan to prepare counterattacks. As Nolan spoke, she simply stood to, staring down the two figures through the visor of her helmet.	Clara AlmeidaKnight-Lieutenant, Templar Order Age: 25. Gender: Female. Race: Human. Nationality: Ferelden, from the Frostback Mountains. Occupation: Templar ambassador to the Grey Wardens. Equipment: - - - Biography: Clara Almeida was born in the mid-upper regions of the Frostback Mountains located to the east side of Ferelden, where her family had been a part of a semi-isolationist village which traded extensively with Redcliffe Village, providing unique meats and spices from the mountain in exchange for commodities such as warm clothes and crops produce that couldn't be grown in the three-season snow. At the time of Clara's birth the village was at the tail end of poverty and hardship as significant illness had struck its residents, in turn preventing them from hunting and hence trading for essential supplies; the chain of events continued until the village was left entirely with the sick and lame. After a failed attempt at helping the village by a group of volunteers from Redcliffe Village, the volunteers pleaded their case to the local Chantry, who investigated the matter and concluded that little could be done in such a late stage. The Chantry sect decided to save who they could, and took all those who could survive the trek down the mountain or could be carried, such as infants; luckily enough, Clara was once such infant. Clara, orphaned after the passing of her village when she was no older than 7 months old, recalls her first memories within the walls of the Redcliffe Chantry. She never knew her family and frankly wasn't really bothered by it, partly because she never knew any better and partly because she was treated well by the religious brothers and sisters. Although she was considered to be put up for adoption, her hardy constitution and natural physical prowess deriving from generations of her family being from the mountains made her an ideal candidate for the Templar Order, and as such the chantry retained her as a Sister until she could be assessed at a more appropriate age. At 16 years of age, Clara was formally underwent an aptitude assessment for the Templar Order, and having had her life to prepare for it plus her natural perks, she passed with flying colors. She was inducted to the order and began training for her to commence her service at her coming of age. Over the next 9 years of her service, Clara grew to become an excellent warrior and promising leader, which lead to her promotion to Knight-Corporal on grounds of merit and later Knight-Lieutenant on grounds of merit and the outbreak of the war, where she was given command of a platoon to contribute to the war effort. Throughout her career Clara showed unflinching loyalty to the Order: this contributed significantly to her merit, for a Templar's obedience was more important than anything else; although all of her achievements concealed something sinister, a near-crippling addiction to lyrium which took her as far as regularly snorting lyrium sand on top of standard ingestion in order to avoid withdrawals. Clara experiences significant withdrawals when denied lyrium and if denied it entirely for long enough, there's quite a daunting chance of it leading to her death. As of current she acknowledges her addiction and expresses a desire to prevent it getting worse, but she has no intent to begin taking less lyrium. Recently, after a successful streak of leading her platoon in the war, Clara was reassigned as an ambassador for the Templar Order to the Grey Wardens. Command for the Templar Order recently and reluctantly concluded that such a means was necessary in order to preserve good relations with the wardens contribute to the good of the realm, on the grounds the ambassador would not flinch in their duties to rid the realm of the likes of apostates and abominations. Clara was nominated for the job by her Knight-Captain and later accepted, on the grounds of her outstanding service record, her unflinching loyalty to the Order, her suitable personality, and her severe lyrium addiction which would be used to manipulate her need be. When the news was broke to her platoon, the platoon contributed minor portions of their pay individually to collectively buy a dwarven-crafted officers longsword for their leaving platoon commander as a parting gift, which now acts as her sword of choice. Clara now journeys with the Grey Warden Nolan Halwic, who was the next best thing to a perfect partner: a Mage who respected the need to rid the world of abominations conducting peacekeeping operations in sensitive areas. The two get along well, going about peacekeeping - in war-affected areas in particular - with Clara acting as the primary liaison to the Templars and Nolan as the primary liaison to the Mages.
53,512	1,458	15	2,616	349	"Well hello there." Flint practically jumped out of his skin-or armor-at the sound of the unknown voice coming from behind them. Quickly he reassured himself that the only reason he had been snuck up on was due to his still ringing ears; that had to be the only explanation, right? "Sodding hell man!" Flint grunted while literally taking a hop back, his heavy armor figure landing in a surprisingly graceful display for the short armored down dwarf. He was quick to note the angry looking templar behind the man (but then again all templars looked angry.) The way she skillfully held her blade and shield made Flint think she looked quite dangerous. His eyes also immediately took in the staff of the human who'd spoke; between that and his attire Flint thought it safe to assume this one a mage-which meant the pair could have easily fried and flaid him alive from behind when he had been unaware. This meant that even if they weren't friends they apparently likewise held no love for the dead templars in the tunnel behind them. Deciding to break the growing silence Flint comically waved his mace back and forth in Nolans direction while saying "Watch where you point that walking staff now, eh?!" He quit waiving the weapon before someone actually felt threatened "So what do you think Erika? Don't look like they were friends with our buddies back there. You know, aside from the exact same uniform and everything. That ones even got a warden crest!" He pointed the mace accusingly at Nolan despite his cheery voice.	Clara AlmeidaKnight-Lieutenant, Templar Order Age: 25. Gender: Female. Race: Human. Nationality: Ferelden, from the Frostback Mountains. Occupation: Templar ambassador to the Grey Wardens. Equipment: - - - Biography: Clara Almeida was born in the mid-upper regions of the Frostback Mountains located to the east side of Ferelden, where her family had been a part of a semi-isolationist village which traded extensively with Redcliffe Village, providing unique meats and spices from the mountain in exchange for commodities such as warm clothes and crops produce that couldn't be grown in the three-season snow. At the time of Clara's birth the village was at the tail end of poverty and hardship as significant illness had struck its residents, in turn preventing them from hunting and hence trading for essential supplies; the chain of events continued until the village was left entirely with the sick and lame. After a failed attempt at helping the village by a group of volunteers from Redcliffe Village, the volunteers pleaded their case to the local Chantry, who investigated the matter and concluded that little could be done in such a late stage. The Chantry sect decided to save who they could, and took all those who could survive the trek down the mountain or could be carried, such as infants; luckily enough, Clara was once such infant. Clara, orphaned after the passing of her village when she was no older than 7 months old, recalls her first memories within the walls of the Redcliffe Chantry. She never knew her family and frankly wasn't really bothered by it, partly because she never knew any better and partly because she was treated well by the religious brothers and sisters. Although she was considered to be put up for adoption, her hardy constitution and natural physical prowess deriving from generations of her family being from the mountains made her an ideal candidate for the Templar Order, and as such the chantry retained her as a Sister until she could be assessed at a more appropriate age. At 16 years of age, Clara was formally underwent an aptitude assessment for the Templar Order, and having had her life to prepare for it plus her natural perks, she passed with flying colors. She was inducted to the order and began training for her to commence her service at her coming of age. Over the next 9 years of her service, Clara grew to become an excellent warrior and promising leader, which lead to her promotion to Knight-Corporal on grounds of merit and later Knight-Lieutenant on grounds of merit and the outbreak of the war, where she was given command of a platoon to contribute to the war effort. Throughout her career Clara showed unflinching loyalty to the Order: this contributed significantly to her merit, for a Templar's obedience was more important than anything else; although all of her achievements concealed something sinister, a near-crippling addiction to lyrium which took her as far as regularly snorting lyrium sand on top of standard ingestion in order to avoid withdrawals. Clara experiences significant withdrawals when denied lyrium and if denied it entirely for long enough, there's quite a daunting chance of it leading to her death. As of current she acknowledges her addiction and expresses a desire to prevent it getting worse, but she has no intent to begin taking less lyrium. Recently, after a successful streak of leading her platoon in the war, Clara was reassigned as an ambassador for the Templar Order to the Grey Wardens. Command for the Templar Order recently and reluctantly concluded that such a means was necessary in order to preserve good relations with the wardens contribute to the good of the realm, on the grounds the ambassador would not flinch in their duties to rid the realm of the likes of apostates and abominations. Clara was nominated for the job by her Knight-Captain and later accepted, on the grounds of her outstanding service record, her unflinching loyalty to the Order, her suitable personality, and her severe lyrium addiction which would be used to manipulate her need be. When the news was broke to her platoon, the platoon contributed minor portions of their pay individually to collectively buy a dwarven-crafted officers longsword for their leaving platoon commander as a parting gift, which now acts as her sword of choice. Clara now journeys with the Grey Warden Nolan Halwic, who was the next best thing to a perfect partner: a Mage who respected the need to rid the world of abominations conducting peacekeeping operations in sensitive areas. The two get along well, going about peacekeeping - in war-affected areas in particular - with Clara acting as the primary liaison to the Templars and Nolan as the primary liaison to the Mages.
53,513	1,458	16	2,049	6,923	One of the down sides of being built like a druffalo is trying to navigate tight spaces and Vat-Katari was feeling that very draw back as he lead his men through the cramped tunnels of the mine. "Damned dwarves should of built this place so a real man could walk through here..." The walking mountain of muscle grumbled to himself as he pushed himself onward. He had to crouch slightly to keep his horns from scrapping against the low hanging cave ceiling. "This pay off better be worth it." He said, the annoyance practically dripping from his words. After what felt like ages of crawling through endless tunnels Vat-Katari and his men emerged into a opening in the caves. He was glad to be finally able to stretch out to his full height, a series of gut wrenching cracks left his body as he did so, but he was met with a new problem in the shape of what looked like some makeshift barricade blocking the way forward. "Of course." Vat-Katari said agitatedly as he examined the blockade. It looked sturdily built and reached all the way from floor to ceiling, but Vat-Katari was confident enough that he and his men could break their way through it. He was about to give the order for his men to go plant some explosives on the gate when a thought occurred to him. "Wait... where are the corpses?" As if some sort of higher power was answering him a literal legion of the dead rose form the ground around him and his men. The shock set in on Vat-Katari's men almost instantaneously as the looked on in horror at the decomposing corpses that began to shamble to unlife. Their fear only seemed to solidify as the horde began to surround them, quite a few of the men's weapons began to quiver from their fear as it seemed this was the first time they had ever seen the likes of the undead before. One such fearful soul was Carvel, the brutish man's eyes were filled with the same uncertainty and terror of a child left alone in the dark. "SHITE SHITE SHITE SHITE SHITE!!" He stammered as his grip tightened on his axe, his meaty knuckles turning white from the pressure. Needless to say Vat-Katari was less than impressed with the reactions of his so called men. "SHUT YOUR WHINNING TRAPS UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO SHUT THEM FOR YOU!!" He snapped at them, breaking their attention away from the slowly approaching corpses and placing it on him. "These damned things are no better than rabid dogs!" Vat-Katari continued, as he spoke crackling balls of fire began to appear in each of his hands. "And we know what we do with rabid dogs?!" He said before he quickly lobbed one of the fireballs into the horde. The fireball burst into a explosion that consumed three of the corpses, their dried and decomposing skin working as the perfect kindling as they crumbled into piles onto the floor. "WE PUT THEM DOWN!!" He exclaimed after the explosion. "Now lets go earn our pay boys!" Vat-Katari exclaimed as he let loose another fireball that took out another four of the shambling corpses. He let out a battle cry as he lead his men in the charge against the undead horde, hurling balls of fiery death as he did so.	"It is who I am" Name Vat-Katari Age 30 Gender Male Race Vashoth Appearance Vat-Katari, like the rest of his people, is a massive individual when compared to the other races. Standing at a staggering 7'4" and having a incredibly robust body build many consider Vat-Katari to have quite the intimidating stature. His hair is a wild white mane that hangs down below his shoulders that is paired with a fair amount of facial hair, though no where near the standard Dwarf amount. His eyes are a bright copper color, being borderline red. Vat-Katari is covered from head to toe in a mind boggling amount of scars, looking like has had been attacked with everything from an arrow to Mage lightning. He dawns a various assortment of piercings all over his body, even on his horns. Nationality Was born on Seheron Group Affiliation Tal-Vashoth Occupation Bandit Chief Specialization Saarebas Equipment/Weapons Vat-Katari's arsenal differs dramatically from what is expected from most Mages who inhabit Thedas. For example he doesn't carry nor use a staff, he finds them ineffective and cumbersome. Instead of robes Vat-Katari wears a small amount of armor paired with a full body painting of Vitaar for protection. He keeps a small pack of essentials on him at all times that consist of food, healing potions, coin, and other such things. He also makes sure to always have some lyrium on him in case he needs a boost. Bio Despite being born on the Qunari controlled island of Seheron Vat-Katari was never under the rule of the Qun do to his parents being a pair of Tal-Vashoth warriors, which in retrospect may have given him a better start in life when in comparison to other Qunari mages, though that may only be true to a small margin. Being raised Tal-Vashoth is the basic equivalent of nonstop combat training, Vat-Katari was practically expected to be able to kill a man before he could speak. Luckily for Vat-Katari he took to fighting like a Darkspawn to the Deep Roads, finding quite the thrill in bloodshed. His training only became more intense once his magical capabilities revealed itself, the Tal-Vashoth wouldn't waste the power of a mage especially one as promising as Vat-Katari. He picked up the magic style of the other Tal-Vashoth mages, some former Saarebas while others being born into the Tal-Vashoth like himself, rather quickly and was eventually put into the Tal-Vashoth's battle against the Qunari. Vat-Katari spent years battling Qunari forces across Seheron, even managing to become one of the Ben-Hassrath's most wanted fugitives. His battling the Qunari may have gone on even longer if Vat-Katari's greed didn't push him to pursue different interests. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of battle Vat-Katari loved wealth even more and he realized that he wouldn't get that by being just some Tal-Vashoth warrior. So he began to raid villages, stealing anything and everything of value. Eventually Vat-Katari wanted more than what the small villages of Seheron could offer so he set off for the mainland. It took a few years and more than a few broken bones, luckily most of which weren't Vat-Katari's, but Vat-Katari was able to build himself a pretty impressive bandit clan. They namely focused on knocking over large trade caravans with the occasional village raid thrown in. They are currently set up in an abandoned fortress located on the Storm Coast, it is easy to defend and great for hording their loot.
53,514	1,458	17	2,430	441	Erika had returned Flint's clever bow with a curtsy of her own before stepping forwards towards the new, not-so-natural hole in the side of the tunnel. There was slight room for humor in such situations, but the pair seemed to fit it in wherever possible. Made the missions go on a little easier than such serious talk all the time, however, now it was on to business. "Well hello there." The Orlesian woman stepped towards the newly formed cavern entrance, desperately looking forward to getting on with the mission and getting away from the miserable elements of the Coast, but instead she froze mid-step as the words reached her ears. The chinking of her partner's armor at his sudden startling caused her to alter her movement in a quick turn about, stumbling around and grabbing for her dagger, ready to throw at whomever had managed to sneak up on the pair. It was probably quite comical to see the two so frazzled, which probably almost certainly gave the two people who now stood before them a confidence boost. Ah, yes. The Inquisition, comprised of the best of the best from all around Thedas... yeah, right. Noticing the humorous tone that Flint took on as he finally addressed the two soggy blokes, Erika lowered her dagger. It remained casually in her hand, as the sword did in the Templar's. Better safe than sorry, after all. "I don't know, I try to reserve judgement on the Templars since my brother joined the order. But since those lunatics back there tried to slit our throats..." She smirked at the pair, realizing they did seem a bit of an odd mixture. What were a Warden and a Templar doing wandering the Storm Coast? "A Warden, eh? Looks like some greater power is amassing all of the orders on the Coast for some miserable reason." It was apparent that the two pairs had no bones to pick with each other, unless the Templar woman was upset by their mass burial of the like. Still, if that were the case then they would have both likely met their fate by now. "Look, we're with the Inquisition. I'd love to tell you more, but I won't bore you with the details. We've no quarrel with either of you, but we do have a job to do." She said rather matter-of-factly. The ball of fire that the Warden mage held close to him made her envious for a moment, not only for its warmth but for the light it provided in the dark tunnels. Oh, how she longed to be cozied up to a warm fire with a pint of cider in her mitts. The comfort of their camp at Haven was too far away to think of now, though. They had garnered too many complications on this simple mission already. "So, we are of no trouble to you if you are the same to us. Right Flint?" Erika said, looking to her smaller- but equally dangerous- partner. "However, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly brings a lone Warden and Knight-Lieutenant pair to this part of this lovely countryside? Honeymooning, perhaps?" She questioned jokingly, a smile now on the assassin's face. "I'm Erika, by the way."	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,515	1,458	18	1,887	1,130	Watching the two members of the Inquisition jump as if they'd just entered the fade without realizing, Nolan suppressed his amusement - figuring this was not the best time to laugh at two mysterious individuals he'd just met. Shifting his gaze over to Clara as his companions scrutinized her, Nolan took a few moments to process the dwarf's comment in regards to his staff, looking to the implement which he still held in his right hand - now that they were off the trail, it seemed far less practical to be holding it as he hung his staff over his back instead, keeping his left hand held open, further away from himself now and more toward his companion as he'd warmed himself at least well enough. As the two commented on his crest, Nolan looked down toward it in a manner akin to if he'd just been informed he'd forgotten his trousers. Studying it for half a moment, he looked back up to the others in time for the woman's comment, shrugging. "Will of the Maker, perhaps?" Considering the fact that neither Clara, the woman or the dwarf had made any effort to murder one another yet, Nolan figured that perhaps the situation was safe and took a step or two forward to stand alongside her, as opposed to the defensive position he'd held behind her. As the woman began to explain herself and the dwarf, he'd raise an eyebrow. "Inquisition, hm?" He went for a moment to make some snide comment about how it was odd that the Inquisitor's will was to kill Templars, but then he remembered the actual purpose he and his companion were there, and he shut himself up. Deciding to take it upon himself to provide the explanation for their being there, he glance over to Clara, figuring she'd fill in any gaps he left out. He was about to begin when the suggestion was given by the Orlesian, Nolan giving another sidelong glance toward Clara, not even bothering to suppress his amusement at the notion as he let out a hearty laugh. "Mage and Templar? That sounds like something out of Hard in Hightown." Continuing to utter a few brief chuckles at the notion, Nolan would eventually gather himself, and continue with their explanation. "Well, myself - Nolan, by the way - and my companion here, Knight-Lieutenant Clara, are, or rather - were - here for some..." He paused, thinking of the best way to describe it. "Aggressive negotiations." Glancing toward the cave-in once more, Nolan cleared his throat. "However - it would appear as though you have done our job for us and uh... 'Convinced' the Templars here to stop living, so uh... Well done on that, we'll still take the reward for it if you don't mind." While he hadn't exactly explained the specifics of their overall goal, he felt he'd explained enough for the time being, after all, he hadn't exactly lied at all...	Name: Nolan Halwic Age: 27 Gender: Male Race: Human Nationality: Free Marcher Group Affiliation: Grey Wardens Occupation: Mage/Peacekeeper Appearance: Nolan appears a reasonably built individual, standing at a height of roughly 6'1", he is reasonably muscular, but overall he is far more dextrous in his appearance - not relying on his physical prowess for a great deal. His black hair is usually slicked back over his head, and at the sides it is shaved, making the three scars which trail from the right side of his head down to the back of his head visible. His eyes are a deep blue, and his face is clean shaven, revealing the pale shade to his skin. Apart from the scar on his head, the only clear and defining marking which Nolan has on his body is along the length of his right arm, black and purple markings running along the veins of his arm. Equipment/Weapons: Generally, Nolan wears a black coat over his Warden armour, but ensures that at least the breastplate is visible, so as to avoid any confusion with a general apostate. Around his wrists he wears a pair of armoured bracers and boots, each adorned with the Warden symbol. He usually wears a bag over his shoulder which contains tomes, papers, vials, bottles and other alchemical ingredients - and his staff is wooden, the majority of its length adorned with metallic plating, with the the tip fashioned into a forked shape, jagged teeth running down the inside. Bio: Born to a prostitute in Kirkwall, Nolan always knew very little of his father - and never particularly cared to. From his mother he gathered enough, the man had been a circle mage, and himself had no interest in raising a child. Nolan's young life was fairly common for a boy of his status in Kirkwall, and during his youth he became fairly involved with all manner of criminals in lowtown. While Nolan was aware of the growing tension between Templars and mages in Kirkwall, he had no desire to join the circle - and was protected as an apostate by the gangs he associated with and helped by taking odd-jobs, never really aligning himself with one in particular. His safety did not last forever, and as Templars became more and more active within Kirkwall, Nolan was forced to leave the city as a young man, only having just turned 19. Nolan made his way to Markham, believing that perhaps the attention from the Chantry would be far less prominent, but he only stayed a few months in the city before wanted posters were placed up for him - on the charges of apostasy. Having little contacts or places to hide within Markham itself, Nolan took to the deep roads below the city, believing they would be safe from the prying eyes of Templars. While he was somewhat correct, he began to become exposed to the more dangerous inhabitants of the Deep Roads - Darkspawn. Spending little more than a few weeks in the caves, Nolan eventually succumbed to a grave wound in his right arm, and began to feel the growing effects of Darkspawn corruption. Knowing what his injury would likely bring, Nolan attempted to leave the Deep Roads, but in his confused and panicked state, only got more lost - barely surviving the following days with the growing corruption in his veins, his arm forever becoming scarred by the darkspawn blood poisoning his own. How Nolan did survive was by pure chance - he was found by a trio of Grey Wardens, hunting down Darkspawn packs. In an attempt to save Nolan, the Wardens brought Nolan out of the Deep Roads - to their fortress on the outskirts of Markham, and administered the Joining to the man. Nolan - despite his weakened state, managed to survive the Joining, and became a Grey Warden as a result. Originally displeased with this turn of events, Nolan quickly warmed up to the role - considering he had not died horribly, and would now not have to worry about Templars. He spent some time with the Wardens in Markham, hunting down Darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and when they were brave enough to come to the surface, and continued to develop as a mage. In some encounters with Templars - he often got along well with them - Nolan in fact had no issue with the Circle and how it functioned, nor did he disagree with the strict restrictions that the Templars had in place - the mage himself despising blood magic and its users, and particularly the results it could have. Considering these views, Nolan was sent to Ferelden when the war first broke out - to serve as a peacekeeper in conflict zones along with other Grey Wardens.
53,516	1,458	19	1,887	1,130	"However - it would appear as though you have done our job for us and uh... 'Convinced' the Templars here to stop living, so uh... Well done on that, we'll still take the reward for it if you don't mind." Flint let out a deep bellowing laugh, the body shaking display of humor literally causing various beads interwoven into his beard to jangle noisily against his metal breastplate. He immediately liked the mage, or at the very least was doing a somewhat convincing display of acting like he did. "I like the way this one talks." Flint spat in a hushed tone while giving a sideways glance and toothy grin towards Erika. The brief look only lasted a second but in that amount of time Flint was able to get across to Erika that he indeed saw no threat from this random pair-likewise he quickly studied her expression well aware that she had reached a somewhat similar conclusion. It was the unspoken bond rarely seen in partners that had worked far to many high risk jobs together in the past. After laughing over the implausibility of the two newcomers being a pair the man who Flint would come to know as Nolan went on to more properly introduce himself. "Well, myself - Nolan, by the way - and my companion here, Knight-Lieutenant Clara, are, or rather - were - here for some..." He paused, thinking of the best way to describe it. "Aggressive negotiations." Glancing toward the cave-in once more, Nolan cleared his throat. "However - it would appear as though you have done our job for us and uh... 'Convinced' the Templars here to stop living, so uh... Well done on that, we'll still take the reward for it if you don't mind." After listening to Nolan Flint let out another toothy fit of laughter as he was prone to do when his mind began to formulate mischievous ideas. Reward. Reward. Reward. The words echoed within his head as he quickly spoke up in response. "Reward, eh? Everyone knows a dwarf can appreciate a man wanting his well deserved reward. Am I right, Erika?" he asked rhetorically while getting a nod in confirmation from his companion. "What if I could offer you both an even bigger reward though?" He slung his shield over the makeshift prongs on the back of his armor, the small protuding pieces of metal allowing him to neatly keep his shield clung to his back. Likewise he dropped his mace between a similar looking contraption on his belt, the inverted slots of metal allowing his mace to fall into a wedge of sorts that kept the deadly weapon secured tightly against his hip. Making his way over to Nolan far faster then his little legs should have been able to carry his metal encased body Flint slung his arm over the man as if the two were old friends, the odd sight looking even more comical due to Flints small stature. "So Nolan, names Flint by the way-big fan of the wardens-Who isn't though, amiright? Anyways, what if I could offer you all an even bigger reward? Me and my friend here well, we are both quite the, uhm, how did you put it?" He paused momentarily locking eyes with Nolan while sporting his infectious toothy grin. "Aggressive negotiators. And it just so happens we have quite a bit of...uhm, negotiating to do with some undesireable types that have recently opened up a mine here." Using his large stocky frame Flint spun Nolan slightly so the odd pair was now facing Clara, Flints beady hazel eyes locking place with Clara's metallic visor in a way that garnered her full attention. "A lyrium mine. And we could always use another hand or two when it comes to negotiations-after all as I'm sure you know meetings of that sort usually get pretty heated. Perhaps we could arrange something that benefits all four of us? After all we do work for the Divine herself." Again Flints eyes particularly lit up when mentioning the Divine to Clara, as if trying to make her feel like it was her duty to help out. In all honesty Flint just wanted to lessen the chances he would be the one to take a fireball to the face today.	Name: Nolan Halwic Age: 27 Gender: Male Race: Human Nationality: Free Marcher Group Affiliation: Grey Wardens Occupation: Mage/Peacekeeper Appearance: Nolan appears a reasonably built individual, standing at a height of roughly 6'1", he is reasonably muscular, but overall he is far more dextrous in his appearance - not relying on his physical prowess for a great deal. His black hair is usually slicked back over his head, and at the sides it is shaved, making the three scars which trail from the right side of his head down to the back of his head visible. His eyes are a deep blue, and his face is clean shaven, revealing the pale shade to his skin. Apart from the scar on his head, the only clear and defining marking which Nolan has on his body is along the length of his right arm, black and purple markings running along the veins of his arm. Equipment/Weapons: Generally, Nolan wears a black coat over his Warden armour, but ensures that at least the breastplate is visible, so as to avoid any confusion with a general apostate. Around his wrists he wears a pair of armoured bracers and boots, each adorned with the Warden symbol. He usually wears a bag over his shoulder which contains tomes, papers, vials, bottles and other alchemical ingredients - and his staff is wooden, the majority of its length adorned with metallic plating, with the the tip fashioned into a forked shape, jagged teeth running down the inside. Bio: Born to a prostitute in Kirkwall, Nolan always knew very little of his father - and never particularly cared to. From his mother he gathered enough, the man had been a circle mage, and himself had no interest in raising a child. Nolan's young life was fairly common for a boy of his status in Kirkwall, and during his youth he became fairly involved with all manner of criminals in lowtown. While Nolan was aware of the growing tension between Templars and mages in Kirkwall, he had no desire to join the circle - and was protected as an apostate by the gangs he associated with and helped by taking odd-jobs, never really aligning himself with one in particular. His safety did not last forever, and as Templars became more and more active within Kirkwall, Nolan was forced to leave the city as a young man, only having just turned 19. Nolan made his way to Markham, believing that perhaps the attention from the Chantry would be far less prominent, but he only stayed a few months in the city before wanted posters were placed up for him - on the charges of apostasy. Having little contacts or places to hide within Markham itself, Nolan took to the deep roads below the city, believing they would be safe from the prying eyes of Templars. While he was somewhat correct, he began to become exposed to the more dangerous inhabitants of the Deep Roads - Darkspawn. Spending little more than a few weeks in the caves, Nolan eventually succumbed to a grave wound in his right arm, and began to feel the growing effects of Darkspawn corruption. Knowing what his injury would likely bring, Nolan attempted to leave the Deep Roads, but in his confused and panicked state, only got more lost - barely surviving the following days with the growing corruption in his veins, his arm forever becoming scarred by the darkspawn blood poisoning his own. How Nolan did survive was by pure chance - he was found by a trio of Grey Wardens, hunting down Darkspawn packs. In an attempt to save Nolan, the Wardens brought Nolan out of the Deep Roads - to their fortress on the outskirts of Markham, and administered the Joining to the man. Nolan - despite his weakened state, managed to survive the Joining, and became a Grey Warden as a result. Originally displeased with this turn of events, Nolan quickly warmed up to the role - considering he had not died horribly, and would now not have to worry about Templars. He spent some time with the Wardens in Markham, hunting down Darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and when they were brave enough to come to the surface, and continued to develop as a mage. In some encounters with Templars - he often got along well with them - Nolan in fact had no issue with the Circle and how it functioned, nor did he disagree with the strict restrictions that the Templars had in place - the mage himself despising blood magic and its users, and particularly the results it could have. Considering these views, Nolan was sent to Ferelden when the war first broke out - to serve as a peacekeeper in conflict zones along with other Grey Wardens.
53,517	1,458	20	2,616	349	As the exchange led by the much more diplomatic Warden Nolan and the two odd companions went on in the tunnels, Clara grew visibly more easy: her stance grew straighter rather than braced and her shield arm would come to dip, both fatigued by holding up for so long and interpreting a reduced risk of attack. As far as she interpreted Nolan was handling the exchange well, so she kept quiet and played her part as the Templar of the party; she wasn't so zealous to be blind to the fact that her faith could bring a worse outcome. It was at approximately this point that Clara tightened her grip on the hilt of her longsword: "Reward, eh? Everyone knows a dwarf can appreciate a man wanting his well deserved reward. Am I right, Erika? What if I could offer you both an even bigger reward though?" began the dwarf, bringing Clara's mind straight to concluding the dwarf was suggesting paying off her and her companion. Who do they take us for? Paying off a Grey Warden and a Templar!? her thoughts rung within her head - although thankfully not for long enough before the dwarf kept talking. "...it just so happens we have quite a bit of...uhm, negotiating to do with some undesireable types that have recently opened up a mine here." Clara eased somewhat at this, starting to put together what the dwarf is truly suggesting - or at least by her interpretation. As the dwarf looked to her, she looked down upon him - indeed, her full attention gathered. "A lyrium mine." She didn't catch the rest of the dwarf's sentence - at the mention of lyrium, having gone some time without a dose, her senses distorted and the skin under her eyelid began to twitch. She craved a dose of lyrium, her nose began to twitch in anticipation; her lyrium sand was in her kit, after all, which w- Clara suddenly brought her shield down, bringing it harshly into her left thigh. The sudden pain brought her back to her senses, in time to catch the rest of the sentence. "...benefits all four of us? After all we do work for the Divine herself." the dwarf suggests, to which Clara nods in response as she lifts her longsword to slide it back into her scabbard now she's content the situation is safe. "I imagine we could, Dwarf Flint - what exactly is your title within the Inquisition, by the way?" She pauses before speaking further, "The Templar Order can use any source of lyrium for its knights in the war - although, when you say 'undesirable types', exactly who do you reference? Between the four of us I imagine what we are able to fight is quite broad, although I don't intend to fight Chevaliers or Dead Legionaries."	Clara AlmeidaKnight-Lieutenant, Templar Order Age: 25. Gender: Female. Race: Human. Nationality: Ferelden, from the Frostback Mountains. Occupation: Templar ambassador to the Grey Wardens. Equipment: - - - Biography: Clara Almeida was born in the mid-upper regions of the Frostback Mountains located to the east side of Ferelden, where her family had been a part of a semi-isolationist village which traded extensively with Redcliffe Village, providing unique meats and spices from the mountain in exchange for commodities such as warm clothes and crops produce that couldn't be grown in the three-season snow. At the time of Clara's birth the village was at the tail end of poverty and hardship as significant illness had struck its residents, in turn preventing them from hunting and hence trading for essential supplies; the chain of events continued until the village was left entirely with the sick and lame. After a failed attempt at helping the village by a group of volunteers from Redcliffe Village, the volunteers pleaded their case to the local Chantry, who investigated the matter and concluded that little could be done in such a late stage. The Chantry sect decided to save who they could, and took all those who could survive the trek down the mountain or could be carried, such as infants; luckily enough, Clara was once such infant. Clara, orphaned after the passing of her village when she was no older than 7 months old, recalls her first memories within the walls of the Redcliffe Chantry. She never knew her family and frankly wasn't really bothered by it, partly because she never knew any better and partly because she was treated well by the religious brothers and sisters. Although she was considered to be put up for adoption, her hardy constitution and natural physical prowess deriving from generations of her family being from the mountains made her an ideal candidate for the Templar Order, and as such the chantry retained her as a Sister until she could be assessed at a more appropriate age. At 16 years of age, Clara was formally underwent an aptitude assessment for the Templar Order, and having had her life to prepare for it plus her natural perks, she passed with flying colors. She was inducted to the order and began training for her to commence her service at her coming of age. Over the next 9 years of her service, Clara grew to become an excellent warrior and promising leader, which lead to her promotion to Knight-Corporal on grounds of merit and later Knight-Lieutenant on grounds of merit and the outbreak of the war, where she was given command of a platoon to contribute to the war effort. Throughout her career Clara showed unflinching loyalty to the Order: this contributed significantly to her merit, for a Templar's obedience was more important than anything else; although all of her achievements concealed something sinister, a near-crippling addiction to lyrium which took her as far as regularly snorting lyrium sand on top of standard ingestion in order to avoid withdrawals. Clara experiences significant withdrawals when denied lyrium and if denied it entirely for long enough, there's quite a daunting chance of it leading to her death. As of current she acknowledges her addiction and expresses a desire to prevent it getting worse, but she has no intent to begin taking less lyrium. Recently, after a successful streak of leading her platoon in the war, Clara was reassigned as an ambassador for the Templar Order to the Grey Wardens. Command for the Templar Order recently and reluctantly concluded that such a means was necessary in order to preserve good relations with the wardens contribute to the good of the realm, on the grounds the ambassador would not flinch in their duties to rid the realm of the likes of apostates and abominations. Clara was nominated for the job by her Knight-Captain and later accepted, on the grounds of her outstanding service record, her unflinching loyalty to the Order, her suitable personality, and her severe lyrium addiction which would be used to manipulate her need be. When the news was broke to her platoon, the platoon contributed minor portions of their pay individually to collectively buy a dwarven-crafted officers longsword for their leaving platoon commander as a parting gift, which now acts as her sword of choice. Clara now journeys with the Grey Warden Nolan Halwic, who was the next best thing to a perfect partner: a Mage who respected the need to rid the world of abominations conducting peacekeeping operations in sensitive areas. The two get along well, going about peacekeeping - in war-affected areas in particular - with Clara acting as the primary liaison to the Templars and Nolan as the primary liaison to the Mages.
53,518	1,458	21	2,430	441	The shift in tone that the conversation had taken- from nervously sarcastic to genuinely friendly- made Erika settle in her soggy boots even further. It appeared all was well between the four, even so far that Erika and Flint even took care of the two newcomer's job for them. At the mention of a reward Erika could practically hear the gears begin to turn in Flint's head as he began to talk. Erika had given a glance down at Flint, but found that he had already closed the distance between himself and Nolan, throwing his arm around the much taller Warden. She nodded rather convincingly when asked about their own negotiating power with rewards and such, but left the rest of the talking to Flint, who was already on a roll with trying to convince these two here to help them out in taking down the mine. Well, its the least they could do after all the help Erika and Flint were with the Templars, right? Erika admired her partner's quick thinking, provided it would work. The Inquisition often contracted out mercenaries anyways, and they had yet to meet up with their other partner. They would probably need the extra hands after all the attention they had brought to themselves thus far. It might make for a nice story later after a few pints, but Erika had definitely seen cleaner missions. When the Knight-Lieutenant finally spoke up, Erika found a spot to cut in at. "We are both Agents to Spy Master Leliana, and Ambassadors to the Inquisition." That sounded good, right? It wasn't a lie, either. Just... not exactly an awarded title. The Inquisition being a fledgling operation, such titles were reserved for only those of importance, such as Leliana. Both Erika and Flint were more than capable of representing the order, and felt comfortable doing so. "As far as our enemy goes, I'm afraid it is the Venatori whom we must face. They've been mining red lyrium here on the Coast and the Divine wants it shut down before they have a chance to do anything with it. Not only that, but the locals have been reporting some strange happenings in the area as well. The plan was to get in and out quickly and discreetly, but thanks to our rogue Templar pals back there, I doubt that plan will serve us much purpose anymore. If we have to, we'll use the rest of Flint's handy dandy Gaatlok and blow the place in on itself and bury the bastards with it." She gave a shrug. "That should be our last resort, however. Don't worry, though. If you choose to help us, you'll be adequately compensated, as my friend here has promised."	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,519	1,458	22	2,430	441	Flint laughed inwardly at hearing his newly bestowed title; leave it to Erika to come up with something as flowery and official sounding on the spot. He let his companion carry on, well aware of how efficient her silver tongue could be. Quickly he mimed a look of hurt at Erika's words about blowing the place up being a last resort, his armored hand clamoring to his chest as his face took on a shocked expression. Nonetheless he let her continue on, concluding in the promise that Flint's words had been true. He was about to open his mouth to agree when he just happened to make out the sight of a faint glowing red light approaching the newly met group from down the darkened tunnel. Breaking off from the group Flint took a few steps towards the odd sight, his eyes trying to make out the culprit behind the now brightening reddish hue filling the tunnels. He tried to make out footsteps but all his ears could picks up was a mass shuffling of movement echoing off the walls, as if the maker of the noise moved in a mindless pattern. No doubt that his companions had made note of this odd approaching spectacle Flint rhetorically barked out "I don't suppose these are any friends of yours?" while readying his mace and shield he planted himself firmly a few good feat in front of Erika. Wasting no time he turned his body sideways while keeping his shield held at the ready-effectively hiding as much of his frame behind the shield as he could. He held his mace loosely in his right hand, letting the heavy steel dangle in a way that allowed him to swing it overhead to crush whatever imaginary enemy that would wind up crashing against his shield. It was a stance that often favored multiple shields-no doubt he was hoping for Clara to take up a similar position beside him. Quickly Flints assumption to take a defensive position proved rather wise; the morbid sight of men and women dressed in mere scraps shambling their way towards the group appearing from the darkness moments later. Even more horrifying then the half dead, starved, and clearly crazed approaching mob that clutched shovels and pick axs was the fact that their very veins seemed to glow a translucent red from under their skin-a few of the lot even sporting large and bulky growths of what looked like amber red stone. Whatever these people had been before they were no longer sound of mind-a fact rather obvious the closer they came. Although clearly thoughtless they did appear to have one thing on their mind; and that was killing everyone in the tunnel. "Nows a good time to use that walking staff!"	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,520	1,458	23	2,049	6,923	Despite overwhelming numbers Vat-Kataris band of men followed their horned leaders show of bravery; quickly cutting their way through the sea of undead they reached the large manmade gate effectively cutting off any possibility of being flanked. Upon reaching the thick barricade doors they were met with the sight of two well dressed mages-the two of which looked shortly out of breathe as if they had just ran here. It was clear by the looks on their faces that they were far more surprised to see Vat-Katari and his men then vice versa. The slightly older of the two didn't hesitate, raising his staff upwards into the air he summoned forth a wall of ice; the huge glacial display violently bursting out of the ground caught a fair number of Vat-Kataris men off guard-instantly trapping all those that had been hugging extremely close to the barricade wall in a permanent state of icy death. "Collin, retreat and warn master Claren that there are indeed intruders at the front." The older mage who'd just summoned the ice wall barked at his younger counterpart-his eyes solely focused on the gate doors. "But the master said not to-" Collin began speaking hesitantly, only to be cut off by the older man. "Damnit Collin," He summoned a ball of fire in his free hand. "If you don't leave now ill kill you myself. I can handle things here-I have been looking for an oppurtunity to prove myself."	"It is who I am" Name Vat-Katari Age 30 Gender Male Race Vashoth Appearance Vat-Katari, like the rest of his people, is a massive individual when compared to the other races. Standing at a staggering 7'4" and having a incredibly robust body build many consider Vat-Katari to have quite the intimidating stature. His hair is a wild white mane that hangs down below his shoulders that is paired with a fair amount of facial hair, though no where near the standard Dwarf amount. His eyes are a bright copper color, being borderline red. Vat-Katari is covered from head to toe in a mind boggling amount of scars, looking like has had been attacked with everything from an arrow to Mage lightning. He dawns a various assortment of piercings all over his body, even on his horns. Nationality Was born on Seheron Group Affiliation Tal-Vashoth Occupation Bandit Chief Specialization Saarebas Equipment/Weapons Vat-Katari's arsenal differs dramatically from what is expected from most Mages who inhabit Thedas. For example he doesn't carry nor use a staff, he finds them ineffective and cumbersome. Instead of robes Vat-Katari wears a small amount of armor paired with a full body painting of Vitaar for protection. He keeps a small pack of essentials on him at all times that consist of food, healing potions, coin, and other such things. He also makes sure to always have some lyrium on him in case he needs a boost. Bio Despite being born on the Qunari controlled island of Seheron Vat-Katari was never under the rule of the Qun do to his parents being a pair of Tal-Vashoth warriors, which in retrospect may have given him a better start in life when in comparison to other Qunari mages, though that may only be true to a small margin. Being raised Tal-Vashoth is the basic equivalent of nonstop combat training, Vat-Katari was practically expected to be able to kill a man before he could speak. Luckily for Vat-Katari he took to fighting like a Darkspawn to the Deep Roads, finding quite the thrill in bloodshed. His training only became more intense once his magical capabilities revealed itself, the Tal-Vashoth wouldn't waste the power of a mage especially one as promising as Vat-Katari. He picked up the magic style of the other Tal-Vashoth mages, some former Saarebas while others being born into the Tal-Vashoth like himself, rather quickly and was eventually put into the Tal-Vashoth's battle against the Qunari. Vat-Katari spent years battling Qunari forces across Seheron, even managing to become one of the Ben-Hassrath's most wanted fugitives. His battling the Qunari may have gone on even longer if Vat-Katari's greed didn't push him to pursue different interests. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of battle Vat-Katari loved wealth even more and he realized that he wouldn't get that by being just some Tal-Vashoth warrior. So he began to raid villages, stealing anything and everything of value. Eventually Vat-Katari wanted more than what the small villages of Seheron could offer so he set off for the mainland. It took a few years and more than a few broken bones, luckily most of which weren't Vat-Katari's, but Vat-Katari was able to build himself a pretty impressive bandit clan. They namely focused on knocking over large trade caravans with the occasional village raid thrown in. They are currently set up in an abandoned fortress located on the Storm Coast, it is easy to defend and great for hording their loot.
53,521	1,458	24	2,049	6,923	The sound of metal crushing hollow bones echoed through out the cave as Vat-Katari and his men raged against the undead mass that encircled them. They may have been stricken with fear a mere few moments ago but the bandits fought with the ferocity of starved mabari, cutting their way through the shambling corpses as they made their way to the barricade. Vat-Katari himself seemed to be having a grand old time as he lobed volley after volley of explosive balls of fire into the horde, igniting whole scores of undead like fire wood. He let out quite the blood thirsty laugh as he grabbed one of the undead, it attempted to stabbed him with its rusted and broken sword, by the throat and hoisted it into the air. The corpse was that of what use to be some young fair haired farm wife, seeing as she was currently festering with maggots and had a quiver's worth of arrows lodged into her chest she had most likely seen better days. A wicked grin grew on the Kossith's face as he eyed the decomposing foe he held. His hand then erupted in flame, the undead young woman along with it. It wasn't a moment later that Vat-Katari hurled the now vaguely human shaped inferno back into the horde, engulfing a whole line of the undead in flames. "HA HA HA! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!" He exclaimed victoriously before he began yet again to throw balls of fire into the crowd. He and his men had made a good dent in the horde and managed to force their way all the way to the barricade with out experiencing any losses, Vat-Katari was beginning to think that this was going to turn out to be quite the easy raid. As tradition his hopes for simplicity were dashed just as they had formed, this time in the form of a few of his men finding themselves quite dead do to being frozen solid. As Vat-Katari turned to inspect what just happened he was able to catch the brief argument between what could only be two Tevinter mages, one of which was already fleeing back down the cave while the other one looked quite ready for battle. "Oh you have just made a huge mistake..." Vat-Katari said before he stomped his massive metal boot covered foot, after which the ground in front of him began to violently shake and crack to the point that the ice wall along with his frozen former comrades shattered. He gave a crooked smile to the now exposed mage before he spoke. "It has been quite some time since I got to kill a Vint. Guess I am going to have to change that aren't I?" With that said Vat-Katari then launched himself forward with enough speed and force that if he hit the mage would be little more than a pile of broken bones and ripped flesh.	"It is who I am" Name Vat-Katari Age 30 Gender Male Race Vashoth Appearance Vat-Katari, like the rest of his people, is a massive individual when compared to the other races. Standing at a staggering 7'4" and having a incredibly robust body build many consider Vat-Katari to have quite the intimidating stature. His hair is a wild white mane that hangs down below his shoulders that is paired with a fair amount of facial hair, though no where near the standard Dwarf amount. His eyes are a bright copper color, being borderline red. Vat-Katari is covered from head to toe in a mind boggling amount of scars, looking like has had been attacked with everything from an arrow to Mage lightning. He dawns a various assortment of piercings all over his body, even on his horns. Nationality Was born on Seheron Group Affiliation Tal-Vashoth Occupation Bandit Chief Specialization Saarebas Equipment/Weapons Vat-Katari's arsenal differs dramatically from what is expected from most Mages who inhabit Thedas. For example he doesn't carry nor use a staff, he finds them ineffective and cumbersome. Instead of robes Vat-Katari wears a small amount of armor paired with a full body painting of Vitaar for protection. He keeps a small pack of essentials on him at all times that consist of food, healing potions, coin, and other such things. He also makes sure to always have some lyrium on him in case he needs a boost. Bio Despite being born on the Qunari controlled island of Seheron Vat-Katari was never under the rule of the Qun do to his parents being a pair of Tal-Vashoth warriors, which in retrospect may have given him a better start in life when in comparison to other Qunari mages, though that may only be true to a small margin. Being raised Tal-Vashoth is the basic equivalent of nonstop combat training, Vat-Katari was practically expected to be able to kill a man before he could speak. Luckily for Vat-Katari he took to fighting like a Darkspawn to the Deep Roads, finding quite the thrill in bloodshed. His training only became more intense once his magical capabilities revealed itself, the Tal-Vashoth wouldn't waste the power of a mage especially one as promising as Vat-Katari. He picked up the magic style of the other Tal-Vashoth mages, some former Saarebas while others being born into the Tal-Vashoth like himself, rather quickly and was eventually put into the Tal-Vashoth's battle against the Qunari. Vat-Katari spent years battling Qunari forces across Seheron, even managing to become one of the Ben-Hassrath's most wanted fugitives. His battling the Qunari may have gone on even longer if Vat-Katari's greed didn't push him to pursue different interests. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of battle Vat-Katari loved wealth even more and he realized that he wouldn't get that by being just some Tal-Vashoth warrior. So he began to raid villages, stealing anything and everything of value. Eventually Vat-Katari wanted more than what the small villages of Seheron could offer so he set off for the mainland. It took a few years and more than a few broken bones, luckily most of which weren't Vat-Katari's, but Vat-Katari was able to build himself a pretty impressive bandit clan. They namely focused on knocking over large trade caravans with the occasional village raid thrown in. They are currently set up in an abandoned fortress located on the Storm Coast, it is easy to defend and great for hording their loot.
53,522	1,458	25	2,616	349	Agents, then - very well. Clara acknowledges with a nod of understanding. She fell silent to continue listening to the rogue - learning of matters such as the red lyrium mines and the Venatori. "Venatori, as in the Tevinter Cultists? They act against Ferelden?" Clara went on to query before taking a moment to pause then speaking further, "The presence of red lyrium is also a concern - it may be best to destroy the tunnel network. Red lyrium is the likes of evil and abomination and would be best purged from the Maker's worl-." She would go on, with the imagination suggesting that she might even lead into the Chant of Light, before faint red light came from the tunnel ahead. Clara's eyes, through the visor of her helm, snapped over towards the source of the red light before shifting over towards the moving dwarf. She cautiously moved up to his side - specifically, his left side - to create something of the front line of a formation for the rogue and mage behind to safely do what they do best. As the dwarf beside her brought his shield to bear, she brought her own up to her front in such a way to compliment a wall, much like the dwarf; albiet, to not quite the best effected due to the natural height difference, but still to some effect never-the-less. Clara's eyes briefly widen then squint in concentration as the figures step into the light: shambling, red-veined creatures, something that vaguely compliments what once was of the maker's creation - or rather, abominations. If she wasn't bound by duty from the mention of red lyrium, she certainly was now: she drew her longsword from her scabbard with a telltale rasp before bringing it to her side, the flat of the blade parallel to the ground and held high alongside the shield - in such a way to allow both defensive thrusts and offensive strikes from the shoulder with the benefit of sound defense. As the dwarf called out to the Warden Mage, Clara spoke to herself, her voice subtly echoing throughout the tunnel in a way to make it more than likely audible to the party. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." With her quiet prayer concluded in the face of abominations, she braced for the oncoming combat.	Clara AlmeidaKnight-Lieutenant, Templar Order Age: 25. Gender: Female. Race: Human. Nationality: Ferelden, from the Frostback Mountains. Occupation: Templar ambassador to the Grey Wardens. Equipment: - - - Biography: Clara Almeida was born in the mid-upper regions of the Frostback Mountains located to the east side of Ferelden, where her family had been a part of a semi-isolationist village which traded extensively with Redcliffe Village, providing unique meats and spices from the mountain in exchange for commodities such as warm clothes and crops produce that couldn't be grown in the three-season snow. At the time of Clara's birth the village was at the tail end of poverty and hardship as significant illness had struck its residents, in turn preventing them from hunting and hence trading for essential supplies; the chain of events continued until the village was left entirely with the sick and lame. After a failed attempt at helping the village by a group of volunteers from Redcliffe Village, the volunteers pleaded their case to the local Chantry, who investigated the matter and concluded that little could be done in such a late stage. The Chantry sect decided to save who they could, and took all those who could survive the trek down the mountain or could be carried, such as infants; luckily enough, Clara was once such infant. Clara, orphaned after the passing of her village when she was no older than 7 months old, recalls her first memories within the walls of the Redcliffe Chantry. She never knew her family and frankly wasn't really bothered by it, partly because she never knew any better and partly because she was treated well by the religious brothers and sisters. Although she was considered to be put up for adoption, her hardy constitution and natural physical prowess deriving from generations of her family being from the mountains made her an ideal candidate for the Templar Order, and as such the chantry retained her as a Sister until she could be assessed at a more appropriate age. At 16 years of age, Clara was formally underwent an aptitude assessment for the Templar Order, and having had her life to prepare for it plus her natural perks, she passed with flying colors. She was inducted to the order and began training for her to commence her service at her coming of age. Over the next 9 years of her service, Clara grew to become an excellent warrior and promising leader, which lead to her promotion to Knight-Corporal on grounds of merit and later Knight-Lieutenant on grounds of merit and the outbreak of the war, where she was given command of a platoon to contribute to the war effort. Throughout her career Clara showed unflinching loyalty to the Order: this contributed significantly to her merit, for a Templar's obedience was more important than anything else; although all of her achievements concealed something sinister, a near-crippling addiction to lyrium which took her as far as regularly snorting lyrium sand on top of standard ingestion in order to avoid withdrawals. Clara experiences significant withdrawals when denied lyrium and if denied it entirely for long enough, there's quite a daunting chance of it leading to her death. As of current she acknowledges her addiction and expresses a desire to prevent it getting worse, but she has no intent to begin taking less lyrium. Recently, after a successful streak of leading her platoon in the war, Clara was reassigned as an ambassador for the Templar Order to the Grey Wardens. Command for the Templar Order recently and reluctantly concluded that such a means was necessary in order to preserve good relations with the wardens contribute to the good of the realm, on the grounds the ambassador would not flinch in their duties to rid the realm of the likes of apostates and abominations. Clara was nominated for the job by her Knight-Captain and later accepted, on the grounds of her outstanding service record, her unflinching loyalty to the Order, her suitable personality, and her severe lyrium addiction which would be used to manipulate her need be. When the news was broke to her platoon, the platoon contributed minor portions of their pay individually to collectively buy a dwarven-crafted officers longsword for their leaving platoon commander as a parting gift, which now acts as her sword of choice. Clara now journeys with the Grey Warden Nolan Halwic, who was the next best thing to a perfect partner: a Mage who respected the need to rid the world of abominations conducting peacekeeping operations in sensitive areas. The two get along well, going about peacekeeping - in war-affected areas in particular - with Clara acting as the primary liaison to the Templars and Nolan as the primary liaison to the Mages.
53,523	1,458	26	1,887	1,130	Listening idly to the conversation, Nolan was rather amused by the persuasive tone which the dwarf took on, taking note of the explanation they were given. It seemed fairly simple, a Lyrium mine which needed clearing, then of course there was the mention of the Venatori. Nolan already disliked people from the Imperium, so the cultists who had started acting up in the area were not a group held any sympathy for - but he was smart enough to know they weren't a group to be trifled with. Similarly, Nolan was more than aware that Red Lyrium was not something to be trifled with, having been from Kirkwall, he was aware of the corruption it could spread, and he'd encountered it more than a few times since he'd begun his peacekeeping. Listening to the group discussion, Nolan's eyes drifted down the cave as the sound of shuffling grew along with the red light, more than aware of what was coming. Before Flint even called out toward him, Nolan shifted his free hand up to the fire in his hand, swirling his hand about it as the ball grew in ferocity and size, waiting for the two warriors among them to ready themselves for the oncoming battle as the mob would reveal themselves. Not bothering to wait for Clara to finish her prayer, Nolan thrust his hand outward, the fireball flying over the dwarf as it would slam into one of the corrupted miners from the front, exploding in a large ball of flame, engulfing another one of the mob in flame as they fell to the ground, providing the cave with some light as the shamblers slowly died, their screams filling the cavern as Nolan took hold of his staff with a flourish. "Apologies in advance for the smell." Nolan quipped in a matter-of-fact manner, shifting his staff in his hands as he made another flourish, swinging it so the tip pointed outward, a much smaller ball of flame flying outward as it collided with another member of the mob, not quite having the same effect as the larger fireball, but setting the man's clothes alight as he continued his crazed, shambling march toward the group. Twirling his staff in his hands, he let it shift to his side once more as he lowered his free hand to his side, beginning to prepare another, larger spell - allowing his companions to join the fight themselves for the time being. Nolan had been hoping for a far more simple job, especially seeing the Templars he and Clara had been sent to deal with were already dead, but this day was shaping up to only become more and more complicated - all Nolan could do at this point was hope that it did not get any worse. But then again, the chances of that now were slim to none.	Name: Nolan Halwic Age: 27 Gender: Male Race: Human Nationality: Free Marcher Group Affiliation: Grey Wardens Occupation: Mage/Peacekeeper Appearance: Nolan appears a reasonably built individual, standing at a height of roughly 6'1", he is reasonably muscular, but overall he is far more dextrous in his appearance - not relying on his physical prowess for a great deal. His black hair is usually slicked back over his head, and at the sides it is shaved, making the three scars which trail from the right side of his head down to the back of his head visible. His eyes are a deep blue, and his face is clean shaven, revealing the pale shade to his skin. Apart from the scar on his head, the only clear and defining marking which Nolan has on his body is along the length of his right arm, black and purple markings running along the veins of his arm. Equipment/Weapons: Generally, Nolan wears a black coat over his Warden armour, but ensures that at least the breastplate is visible, so as to avoid any confusion with a general apostate. Around his wrists he wears a pair of armoured bracers and boots, each adorned with the Warden symbol. He usually wears a bag over his shoulder which contains tomes, papers, vials, bottles and other alchemical ingredients - and his staff is wooden, the majority of its length adorned with metallic plating, with the the tip fashioned into a forked shape, jagged teeth running down the inside. Bio: Born to a prostitute in Kirkwall, Nolan always knew very little of his father - and never particularly cared to. From his mother he gathered enough, the man had been a circle mage, and himself had no interest in raising a child. Nolan's young life was fairly common for a boy of his status in Kirkwall, and during his youth he became fairly involved with all manner of criminals in lowtown. While Nolan was aware of the growing tension between Templars and mages in Kirkwall, he had no desire to join the circle - and was protected as an apostate by the gangs he associated with and helped by taking odd-jobs, never really aligning himself with one in particular. His safety did not last forever, and as Templars became more and more active within Kirkwall, Nolan was forced to leave the city as a young man, only having just turned 19. Nolan made his way to Markham, believing that perhaps the attention from the Chantry would be far less prominent, but he only stayed a few months in the city before wanted posters were placed up for him - on the charges of apostasy. Having little contacts or places to hide within Markham itself, Nolan took to the deep roads below the city, believing they would be safe from the prying eyes of Templars. While he was somewhat correct, he began to become exposed to the more dangerous inhabitants of the Deep Roads - Darkspawn. Spending little more than a few weeks in the caves, Nolan eventually succumbed to a grave wound in his right arm, and began to feel the growing effects of Darkspawn corruption. Knowing what his injury would likely bring, Nolan attempted to leave the Deep Roads, but in his confused and panicked state, only got more lost - barely surviving the following days with the growing corruption in his veins, his arm forever becoming scarred by the darkspawn blood poisoning his own. How Nolan did survive was by pure chance - he was found by a trio of Grey Wardens, hunting down Darkspawn packs. In an attempt to save Nolan, the Wardens brought Nolan out of the Deep Roads - to their fortress on the outskirts of Markham, and administered the Joining to the man. Nolan - despite his weakened state, managed to survive the Joining, and became a Grey Warden as a result. Originally displeased with this turn of events, Nolan quickly warmed up to the role - considering he had not died horribly, and would now not have to worry about Templars. He spent some time with the Wardens in Markham, hunting down Darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and when they were brave enough to come to the surface, and continued to develop as a mage. In some encounters with Templars - he often got along well with them - Nolan in fact had no issue with the Circle and how it functioned, nor did he disagree with the strict restrictions that the Templars had in place - the mage himself despising blood magic and its users, and particularly the results it could have. Considering these views, Nolan was sent to Ferelden when the war first broke out - to serve as a peacekeeper in conflict zones along with other Grey Wardens.
53,524	1,458	27	2,430	441	Just as quickly as the conversation had come about, it switched pace just as swiftly as an eerie red glow cast a soft light down the cave from one end. It was impressive, really, how naturally the four were able to fall into a battle formation. The two mercenaries at the front provided a shield barricade for Erika and her mage counterpart to launch attacks from the safety of behind. For the Warden, she was suddenly thankful. For, without his brightly casted spells, she would not have the light she needed to shoot down the walking corpses with the pinpoint accuracy of the bow she drew from her back. "What in the name of Andraste?" Erika said at the observation of the lyrium that seemed to be binded so much to the things that their skin crawled. She knew the stuff was a nasty and unstable substance, but this was unlike what she had come across before. Still, she continued to draw arrows from her quiver and unleash a massive assault on their assailants while her trusted partner and the Templar bashed them with shield and mace on the frontline. With their combined forces and the powerful fire attack from the Warden, the quartet seemed to make quick work of their opposition. However, wherever they came from, there would be many more. Erika stepped forward and pulled an arrow from the neck of one of the corpses, placing it back in her quiver. "We don't seem to be making many friends in these parts, save you two. I think it's time we finally get a jump on someone instead of letting everyone else sneak up on us. Shall we then?"	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,525	1,458	28	2,430	441	"Agreed. If you'd all just follow my sodding-" He wrenched his mace out of what was left of some poor bastards skull, a grunt of effort escaping his lips as the mace successfully freed itself with a plolp. "-Lead no one would even know we are here. Noisy humans, must be the long legs." The fact that these miners (If that is what they were, Flint wasn't positive.) literally had rocks of lyrium growing from their malnourished and overworked bodies was rather troubling. Flint prodded the body of one such corpse, his mace echoing the dull crunch of stone as he put some weight on the red afflicted area. As if proving this was in fact the red tainted bastard cousin of lyrium so many dwarfs made a living mining and refining. He shot a worried glance to his partner Erika-the Inquisition would undoubtedly want to hear about this. Leading the group Flint marched on in a way that could best be described in a vast number of words; none of which were silent. "-And so then he says to her he says; I thought you wanted Mushed Shrooms, not Mushrooms." He let out a bellowing fit of laughter. "Get it? You get it, right? Oh-Whats this." No sooner had he finished yet another joke that clearly no one understood but him had the handful of party members rounded a corner in the cavern system, immediately arriving in front of a large bulky looking barricade like structure-the solid looking wooden gate being the only way through. "Oh if only we could use magic..." Flint barked in a rather convincing defeated tone of voice.	Name: Flint Cadash Age: 30 Gender: Male Appearance: Like most Dwarfs Flint's battle scarred features are kept hidden behind a thick brownish beard that is almost always kept tied in overly elaborate brades, his grumpy pudgy pit bullish face a seemingly constant mask of weariness-the look of a man that has seen far to much of the dark side of life in Thedas. Of all his features the one that stands out most of all is the large black S shaped tattoo on his right cheek, although his crooked nose (clearly having been broken a few times) comes in at a close second. At his full height he stands at a whopping 4'11”, although his stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in his thick iron plate mail. Nationality: N/A (Orzamar outcast) Race: Dwarf Organization/Occupation: Inquisition/Mercenary Equipment: Aside from an enchanted wooden Buckler and his average looking mace Flint carries the bare essentials along with a few personal knicknacks, all of which he usually keeps bound to his back in an old leather rucksack. Specialization: Carta “Training” History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Flint was quick to learn just how important standing up for himself was, a fact that lead him down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In his world though the fact of the matter was his family could either starve or eat off the coin he earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon. Sod the paragons. The stone had found it fit to give Flint a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of his various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Flint begrudgingly locked his conscience away. After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Flint had made his way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Flint, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought him more wealth then he had ever seen up to that point in his life-he had so much money he was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for his younger sister. All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Flint truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Flint could remember. One thing led to another and before Flint knew it he was taking his first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned him and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground. Amazingly Flint was shocked to find that he took to surface life far better then he would have ever imagined, his mace and shield quickly finding him work as he was drug off on various adventures throughout his years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to his permanently tattooed face-to them he was 'just another dwarf.'
53,526	1,458	29	2,616	349	As the battle came to a close and the numbers of the abominations thinned, Clara stepped forward from her steadfast position and began to advance. Admittedly, shambling miners didn't scratch up to desperate apostates and disciplined maleficar, but she made sure to be cautious none-the-less - it'd be far too embarrassing to have to ask for healing for her pickaxe wound. The advance itself was fairly simple but no-nonsense - shield high and angled to redirect oncoming attacks rather than brunt them with quick, efficient strikes with sword, having no need to employ advanced techniques when they can barely shamble a parry - with mining equipment, no less. At the conclusion of the battle, Clara made a note of pacing around the dead to ensure each one was dead through one means or another. She was unfamiliar with this breed of abomination and elected to take no risks, lest they rise to take the party on from the rear. Once she was content, ignoring the conversation going on meanwhile, she knelt down beside one of the corpses and after resting her sword beside her, examined the corpse with the aid of her now free hand. It wasn't difficult to figure out the gist of what was happening: an earthy red with something of the like of rocks mixed with the complexion, on miners, plus the presence of red lyrium. "The lyrium did this." she concluded, albeit quietly and to herself on the grounds that the rest of the party had probably figured that out as well. Whilst she hadn't determined the nature of the beast she at least had somewhere to start and for her that was good enough. She took her sword back in hand and stood, where she then moved to follow behind the armored dwarf who led the party further into the tunnels. Throughout the journey inwards and the dwarves loud storytelling, Clara remained silent. It was less a matter of she was thinking or mulling something over but more that she couldn't think of anything to input - besides, Flint seemed to happy talking.. largely to himself? "Oh if only we could use magic..." came Flint, to which Clara snapped her gaze at the sturdy wooden door. She got the impression there was a magic barrier and that she had best purge the spell but when she caught on, she returned to her passiveness.	Clara AlmeidaKnight-Lieutenant, Templar Order Age: 25. Gender: Female. Race: Human. Nationality: Ferelden, from the Frostback Mountains. Occupation: Templar ambassador to the Grey Wardens. Equipment: - - - Biography: Clara Almeida was born in the mid-upper regions of the Frostback Mountains located to the east side of Ferelden, where her family had been a part of a semi-isolationist village which traded extensively with Redcliffe Village, providing unique meats and spices from the mountain in exchange for commodities such as warm clothes and crops produce that couldn't be grown in the three-season snow. At the time of Clara's birth the village was at the tail end of poverty and hardship as significant illness had struck its residents, in turn preventing them from hunting and hence trading for essential supplies; the chain of events continued until the village was left entirely with the sick and lame. After a failed attempt at helping the village by a group of volunteers from Redcliffe Village, the volunteers pleaded their case to the local Chantry, who investigated the matter and concluded that little could be done in such a late stage. The Chantry sect decided to save who they could, and took all those who could survive the trek down the mountain or could be carried, such as infants; luckily enough, Clara was once such infant. Clara, orphaned after the passing of her village when she was no older than 7 months old, recalls her first memories within the walls of the Redcliffe Chantry. She never knew her family and frankly wasn't really bothered by it, partly because she never knew any better and partly because she was treated well by the religious brothers and sisters. Although she was considered to be put up for adoption, her hardy constitution and natural physical prowess deriving from generations of her family being from the mountains made her an ideal candidate for the Templar Order, and as such the chantry retained her as a Sister until she could be assessed at a more appropriate age. At 16 years of age, Clara was formally underwent an aptitude assessment for the Templar Order, and having had her life to prepare for it plus her natural perks, she passed with flying colors. She was inducted to the order and began training for her to commence her service at her coming of age. Over the next 9 years of her service, Clara grew to become an excellent warrior and promising leader, which lead to her promotion to Knight-Corporal on grounds of merit and later Knight-Lieutenant on grounds of merit and the outbreak of the war, where she was given command of a platoon to contribute to the war effort. Throughout her career Clara showed unflinching loyalty to the Order: this contributed significantly to her merit, for a Templar's obedience was more important than anything else; although all of her achievements concealed something sinister, a near-crippling addiction to lyrium which took her as far as regularly snorting lyrium sand on top of standard ingestion in order to avoid withdrawals. Clara experiences significant withdrawals when denied lyrium and if denied it entirely for long enough, there's quite a daunting chance of it leading to her death. As of current she acknowledges her addiction and expresses a desire to prevent it getting worse, but she has no intent to begin taking less lyrium. Recently, after a successful streak of leading her platoon in the war, Clara was reassigned as an ambassador for the Templar Order to the Grey Wardens. Command for the Templar Order recently and reluctantly concluded that such a means was necessary in order to preserve good relations with the wardens contribute to the good of the realm, on the grounds the ambassador would not flinch in their duties to rid the realm of the likes of apostates and abominations. Clara was nominated for the job by her Knight-Captain and later accepted, on the grounds of her outstanding service record, her unflinching loyalty to the Order, her suitable personality, and her severe lyrium addiction which would be used to manipulate her need be. When the news was broke to her platoon, the platoon contributed minor portions of their pay individually to collectively buy a dwarven-crafted officers longsword for their leaving platoon commander as a parting gift, which now acts as her sword of choice. Clara now journeys with the Grey Warden Nolan Halwic, who was the next best thing to a perfect partner: a Mage who respected the need to rid the world of abominations conducting peacekeeping operations in sensitive areas. The two get along well, going about peacekeeping - in war-affected areas in particular - with Clara acting as the primary liaison to the Templars and Nolan as the primary liaison to the Mages.
53,527	1,459	0	2,487	9,778	In Hunting Beasts and Monsters "Good evening fair Hunter. I trust you've had a pleasant rest? I'm glad you made the journey in one piece because I'm afraid you'll have to sleep a little longer. Please don't fret...I promise the monsters under your bed won't bite." There are many interpretations of Hell, some of which become incomprehensible to mere mortal minds. Personal Hell. Eternal Hell. Physical Hell. This was Hell. In every sense of the phrase and forevermore. Or rather that’s what it seemed to be. It certainly was Hell for those lost in the endless nightmare, forced to walk alone in this realm of twisted notions. The Temple seemed to breathe on its own. Dusty, dank, and molted breath, almost like a noxious vapor used to kill pestering insects and other infestations. As decrepit as it may be, it was the closest thing Iredele had to a church. Thinking about it a little more broadly, it was perhaps the last standing place of worship in this nightmarish realm. The World of Wasted Dreams. A plane wrapped in eternal night. The room must have been in one of the lower branches of the Temple, the lowest in fact. The gathering point where all fresh meat was gathered to display for the haunted souls of this damned place. The room had dirt flooring and no windows, the area being enclosed by sandy brown bricks. A single wooden door separated the room’s occupants from the interior hallways, and the beginning of their escape. The ceiling lay low overhead with several carcasses of dead bugs plastered on its surface like old pieces of candy, and a salty dank smell reeked throughout the place. There were several occupants locked away in this makeshift prison. A predator and his daily meal. Things were supposed to run smoothly. Get the new ones initiated, make a little threat here and there, maybe promise them some false hope that would never come. The others, those who had been brought to this place on this very night, were trapped in the room in more ways than one. As each of them would wake up one by one, they would find themselves in low darkness. That, and they were all tied up rather nicely. Ropes binded their legs, wrists, and ankles together, while a simple dirty cloth wedged between each of their pretty little lips silenced them. From the corner, a veteran of this world just by his smell and appearance alone, began to scratch away at the ground with loosely shattered teeth. His skin was both ashen and blackened at once due to some unknown cause, and his torso found itself locked in a rather torn and aging leather jacket. His hair lay matted and sagging over his shoulder to one side and he gave a soft sighing sound with each creak of his heavy step. Each of his eyes had been gouged out with dried blood crusting down his cheeks, and he crawled around on the floor in vain, gradually getting closer to the bound children. His voice was one of quiet endurance, the barest of whispers. “Meat. I smell….food. Yes…fresh flesh with warm blood running in your bodies to sate my thirst and make me full and make me happy again. He comes. He comes for you and me and everyone….heheh, he comes, he comes!" The man paused suddenly, as if he saw or heard something the newfound occupants of this world could not, and then continued with his madness mantra. "I can smell his handiwork…you all….tied up nice and…tight. Makes the sweat and the blood collect all over your squirming masses. He cares after all…" The man's voice began to pick up into a keening wail, almost a scream of intense recognition. "A gift for me! He knows how I like them to struggle! Thank you…oh blessed your black soul! He comes, he comes to sing us a nice tale and song!” The man was foaming slightly at the mouth now, his presence gradually closing the distance between him and those trapped. Outside, the sound of metal clanging on metal resonated and reached into the ears of those trapped. The sound of things in the night, escaping their Hell, now let loose to wander these halls freely.	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,528	1,459	1	2,786	800	The boy's glasses were slightly fogged, because the gag was making his breathing awkward and some of the air was directed upwards as he panted with panicked, near-hysterical breaths. He'd woken up about five seconds ago, and it had taken three of them to realize he was somewhere wrong and the other two to realize he couldn't get away. Think, think, work this out fool...No windows, dirt floor, low ceiling, must be underground. Gods above, what is this place? His heart was pounding so loudly it was a wonder it hadn't woken up some of the others. The old man, if he even was a man--how could a human being live in such a hellish state?--was creeping about, scouring the room. Did he not know they were tied here? Some kind of dungeon? Other people, tied up like me. Ankles...wrists...legs...We're on the ground, not tied to anything, just tied. His joints ached and chafed as he wiggled to see how tight the ropes were. The old man spoke of meat and blood, of being full. His bestial crouch, his obvious insanity, they were more terrifying than his blindness was pitiable. The boy was growing desperate. Kenji Nakamura liked logic, liked things to make sense even if they weren't simple. But simple wasn't always bad; indeed, within limitations humans were found to often be more creative than if they had complete freedom. Writing a story about "something" was always easier than creating a story from "nothing." This situation he found himself in could not be more simple, because despite all the variables, there were only two possible outcomes no matter what path he took. There were multiple people tied up in this freak's dungeon, and said freak was apparently having a conniption over getting to cannibalize them. Kenji did not know the other people, or where they were within this building, or how he had gotten here. He did know that he did not want to die and did not feel enough pity for an old blind man to hold him back. What if he just overpowers me because I'm tied? What if he has a weapon? I'm going to murder someone, what the hell is wrong with me? He's blind, and he's old. I can do it. It's this or die. Kenji rocked himself back and forth on his side until he could sit up. He rocked forward and pushed up with his legs until he could stand, though awkwardly, his knees still slightly bent. No doubt he'd make noise; no doubt the old man would notice. No doubt if this didn't work he'd be killed. Better to go quick than watch it happen to someone else, or wait helplessly for it. Better to succeed and not go at all. With strength born of desperation, mind-numbing fear, and an intense feeling that somehow he'd seen someone just as psychotic as this old man before and had failed to stop them that last time, Kenji bent his legs and then pushed off, leaping like a frog. He came down both feet first with all his weight, hoping to land on the old man's head and break his neck. His eyes were blurring with tears even as adrenaline started to surge through his veins.	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,529	1,459	2	1,445	9,375	It was ironic to say the least. The first thing Donny remembered was a bright flash. The first thing he saw is utter darkness. First he felt panic, then he felt something tight keep his arms and legs together. Then he heard the voice of the old man, and the slamming of metal, then the slamming of bodies. Whatever was going on Donny didn't want to be around to find out. In his panic he began to struggle against the ropes, either trying to force himself out or perhaps shrink his body small enough to free himself. However neither plan were going to work; the ropes were too tough and too tight. But he had some options. Firstly, his hands were free. The rope were tied around his wrists, leaving his fingers available to work the ropes around his legs. His mouth was also open, so he could try to chew through the ropes, or at least use his teeth to loose them up. First he started with the ropes around his wrist. It took some feeling around with his mouth and tough, but eventually he felt where the knot was. With a surprising amount of skill even for Donny, he was able to undo the ropes around his wrists. His wrist felt raw and sore, but being released from their bindings brought a small amount of relief. Now that his hands are free, he was able to undo the ropes around his legs and ankles with ease. His body felt a bit weak all over, as if he had been in this state for at least an hour or so. But frankly, Donny has no idea how long he's been out. Or where he was at. Or why he was here. Even the old man's rantings didn't really give Donny a clear idea aside that this place was dangerous. It was also dark. Donny couldn't see a thing, and didn't know his way around the place. He suspected there were more than one person here, not just him and the old man. But if the old man was any indication, the others might be insane and dangerous. Insanely dangerous. Dangerously insane? Either or. Taking some of the rope, Donny reached out and felt the wall. He would slowly walked with his hand on the wall, and hopefully he find a door or something similar he could use to escape. How he would get through the door if he finds it, Donny wasn't certain. Hopefully he had enough strength to force it open or break it down, if need be.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,530	1,459	3	1,449	5,931	Many a time had Otsune dreamed, of heroism and action and fantasy, but never before had she dreamed like this. Very slowly, despite her best efforts to blink it away, the darkness of unnatural slumber subsided from her eyes, to be replaced by a darkness far more permanent. Her hazel eyes flickered back and forth, naively attempting to make sense of the bizarre things that the pathetic light presented before her. Other sensations surged forth where her sight failed her: the raw, fibrous, and utterly unfamiliar sensation of ropes, the unwelcome tickle of cold air against her face and through her hair, the nigh-revolting, sickly-sweet musk of feculent decay, and most haunting of all the implacable and noisome rantings of a desirous madman. Instinct flooded Otsune's veins, tugging on her nerves, and she began to feebly rock back and forth. In the oppressive and threatening dark, she couldn't even figure out what she wore, much less how to free herself. Though in truth the steady and inexorable pain that had pricked her bones bothered her no more, the incredible stress now buffeting her brain kept her from realizing it, and that troublesome organ conjured up phantom pain in a misguided attempt to soothe its owner with the familiar. All that her senses frantically relayed to her fell into chaos as the deafening reverberation of metal resounded between the walls of the ruined temple. Beneath that cacophony, Otsune's writhing subsided into a frozen, curled-up ball, no different from a child succumbing to the kicks of a crowd of bullies, and every bit as desperately craved it all to stop. When the other captives began to take action, they could not count Otsune among their number. In the face of this sudden and unexpected nightmare, when seemingly only moments before she'd been slipping into the quiet embrace of eternal sleep in a hospital bed, confounded her completely and utterly. Only one thought could be pulled from the frightened mass that best characterized her mind: Please, God, save me!	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,531	1,459	4	2,285	5,789	Sinthe slept like a log, he laid flat on the floor without moving, his dreams were nothing, just pitch darkness really. When his eyes opened he didn't say anything, he leaned up with his body feeling tired and fatigued, he tried to move his wrist and ankles only to notice that they were restrained. The white haired man noticed his hands were free and reached for the ropes on his ankles, he began undoing the ropes on his ankles to free up his legs, when his legs were free Sinthe got up with his still binded hands and noticed some kid drop onto someone. The white haired man ignored the kid dropping onto someone and nearly killing them, and looked around to his surroundings, it looked like he and the others were taken to a crypt somewhere, probably under a church, Sinthe had an odd feeling like he's been through this once before, been in a place like this, with similar people, but he feels as if he wasn't tied up like he was before hand. Sinthe noticed a woman with a scarf nearby along with another person that just chose to leave after getting himself free, the guy looked like he had a problem with seeing where he was going and decided to use the wall to guide him out, Sinthe struggled with his binds around his wrist and attempted to pull the ropes apart and after a couple seconds he broke the ropes and a small bead of sweat nearly escaped his forehead. The dark skinned man walked over to the woman that seemed to curl up onto the floor, he lightly kicked her in the stomach not trying to hurt her in anyway really." Do you need help ?" He asked, he had a serious look about him, he stared at her with his nearly glowing green eyes awaiting an answer, he was curious to if she did.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,532	1,459	5	1,278	8,083	Maria "Well, if it isn't a novelty? I barely came back and already have more work to do?" Maria thought as she traversed the dark and muddy main street of Iredele on her way to the temple. Sure, with the last one of the previous group having met this demise a couple weeks ago, it was more than in time for... erm, fresh-blood to be brought in the World of Wasted Dreams. “Ut absolutam gratiam tuam.” Maria said as she entered the not-so-sacred hall, making sure to throw a few rusty coins on the offering box as she crossed the threshold and walked between the rows of derelict benches towards the stairway leading to the basement. Once she arrived at the place from where the new presences were coming from, Maria pushed the heavy door open with almost preternatural ease, probably leading anyone by it to stumble on the grimmy stone floor and assessed the situation before taking any action. "Would you all care to stop, please?" Maria drew Dark Titania and shot a warning shot close to old man's feet "What someone like you is even doing here? If you don't want to die for real get the hell away from here." Maria gave an icy glare towards the old man, making sure for him that she wasn't bluffing. With that resolved (or so she though), Maria turned to the newbie hunters, reload her gun before holstering it again and waited to for their reaction with arms crossed under her bust and her back reclined against wall, blocking their only way out of the basement.	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,533	1,459	6	1,445	9,375	Regaining consciousness, body aching all over, mind still dazzled by the last memory before he awake in this place. Bishop looked around, ground below his feet but no sky above him, an underground location was his second thought, first one being where the fuck was he? Seeing his wrists and ankles tied up, hands still free allowing him to remove the cloth stuffed in his mouth then, proceeding to untie the ropes binding his feet. Making out a door in the dim darkness, he frantically ran for it ignoring the other tied up people or what they were doing, and avoiding the mistake of nature crawling on the ground sprouting nonsense. Him? Eating them? Hahaha, by the looks of him he couldn't even swallow yogurt. Just as Bishop was next to the door reaching to the handle with both hands, the door abruptly opened with enough force to slam Bishop back in the ground. He started saying-"Fucking bi.."-but then noticed the gun that the girl possessed-"bi..beautiful gorgeous being"-the girl then saying-"Would you all care to stop, please?"-addressing to everyone in the room, further adding-"What someone like you is even doing here? If you don't want to die for real get the hell away from here."-while shooting a bullet at the ground near the old man's feet.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,534	1,459	7	1,449	5,931	The approach of the white-haired brawler, his eerie eyes piercing the gloom with freakish emerald light, went unacknowledged and unnoticed by Otsune. Lying on the floor, curled up and shut down, fitful shivers her only movements and rough lengths of twine her only companion, she in fact needed help so incredibly obviously and badly that she could not physically ask for it. As such, when the brute jammed his booted foot into her guts, and in a bass monotone inquired as to whether or not she possibly required into assistance, he received no reply from the terrified woman. Neither did the movements of Bishop or Donny perturb her, not even when the latter collided with her in the dark and tumbled onto the rough, unkind tomb floor. Only the explosion of costly, mercury-filled steel against the ground penetrated the veil of senselessness into which Otsune had receded. She flinched visibly when Maria wasted her bullet in an act of intimidation, which no doubt frightened the captives every bit as much as, if not more than, the mad cannibal. If Otsune still possessed eyes to hear or ears to see, she would not have regarded the deathly-pale huntress as a hero of any sort, instead another nightmarish threat, and one far more deadly than the age-stricken loon. Putting up only a slight, semiconscious resistance, she allowed herself to be rolled over and her bonds worked at. Despite the miraculous speed and deftness with which Donny undid her restraints, she remained silent and limp, each little freedom only giving her added ability to confine herself. Once fully unbound, she lay as still as a corpse. For the first time since her rude awakening, silence settled over the room, and in this lull of tranquility the pounding of Otsune's brain began to wane. Inch by inch it gave up its stranglehold over her body, though not until her senses told her no nightmarish danger remained would they relinquish her to awaken anew and regain her lucidity. She longed for some kind of help, some sort of sign that she wasn't alone, forsaken, and lost, to use as a foundation for pulling herself together.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,535	1,459	8	324	1,204	Lillian Lillian’s bright eyes flickered opened to darkness, her breath escaping her as she took in the surroundings. A small, danky room with not a hint of light anywhere and the repugnant scent of death filled her nose. Where was she? A large pain ached in her head as she tried to recall where where she had come from. All that came were flashes of a bright white within a hospital room. A tight, high pitched scream echoed throughout the room as Lillian realized she couldn’t move. Something bounded both her hands and legs, making her stiff with panic and fear.This place wasn't right. Something was terribly wrong, and Lillian wanted to leave. Tears dripped down her pale face. Of course, none of this was real though. She would either wake up very soon or she would find a way out of it herself. She was sure of it. Lillian bit her lip down to stop herself from crying and willed a smile from her dry lips. Tugging at the bounds, Lillian groaned in annoyance. Why wasn’t it working?! She rolled around the ground, hoping she might come across something to help her. All that she managed to do was make a large sum of noise and look like a dog yearning to itch its back. Light voices soon caught Lillian’s attention. A rather beautiful girl stood before the rest of the sleeping bodies she hadn’t noticed until then. A thrilled grin covered her face. Lillian was captivated by the girl, as she lied stuck on the ground, and couldn’t keep her eyes off her. She was completely sure they would make great friends and was looking forward to meeting her.	Name: Lillian (Lily) Gender: Female Age: 16 Weapons: Personality: Lillian’s the last person you’d ever expect to be a hunter. It’s a miracle Lillian can even walk, considering she falls over air every ten minutes. While she tries, Lillian tends to ruin everything her small fingers come across. That art project you spent weeks perfecting? She probably broke it five minutes ago. Disasters seem to haunt her every moment, whether it be bad luck or the fact that she’s just a complete klutz. It doesn’t stop her from trying incredibly hard for everything to be perfect though. In fact, she spends every waking moment of her life focusing on making things go by smoothly. Lillian's determination and will to keep going are two of her strongest assets. A complete goof ball, Lillian has no trouble getting people to smile, the only talent she seems to have. Beaming with positive energy, Lillian alway tries her best to turn any depressing moment into a cheerful one. People often find themselves annoyed with her because she constantly tries to make everyone happy, especially when they want to be alone. She genuinely cares about other people though and wishes the best for them. To Lillian, even if it’s pretending, it’s better to be smiling than frowning. While she may see all rainbows and cupcakes, Lillian too has a bad side lurking deep underneath thousands of mountains of sugar and dreams. She can often be overprotective of the ones she cares about, which frequently leads into trouble. Lillian doesn’t know when to stop talking either, an issue she never seems to be able to fix. However, her bad side rarely comes out, and she will try her best to compromise on everything so both parties are satisfied. Lillian isn't afraid to learn new things and will gladly work hard to accomplish something as well. No matter how poor the situation looks, Lillian will keep working until the breath is sucked out of her or the job is completed. She strongly believes that if you start something, you should see it to the end, no matter what. She's a loyal Hufflepuff, who will follow you to the end. Bio: Lillian started off born from two loving parents, surrounded by caring friends, just a perfect, average life. There was nothing holding her back from being her cheery self. All memories of her life were completely stripped as she slowly fell to the Wasted Dream. She knows she lived a happy and passionate life but that’s as far as her memory can recall. Flashes of a white hospital room constantly haunt her mind, although she can’t remember why. Other: -Lillian is very uncomfortable around blood, often passing out at the sight of it. -She also has a huge obsession with cake. -Painting has become a passion of hers and she loves artwork as well
53,536	1,459	9	2,285	5,789	When Sinthe didn't get a reply he choose to just give up on the tied up person, choosing not to help her at all, But before the white haired glowing eyed man could even leave the unresponsive woman to her fate, the man from earlier choose to intervene, he had untied the girl on his own and fashioned some type of longer rope, Sinthe felt like he and the man met before in a different type of time, but felt their meeting was kinda short in a way, like He and the guy met but were distant with one another Sinthe held his head and looked at the guy while he asked the new blonde lady questions. Sinthe wasn't gonna join the pointless badgering that the man was doing he could easily tell that he wasn't where he was originally, he wasn't going to panic or get crazy, he was a bit curious about the woman that remained on the floor and about the others around the room around them, when Sinthe laid his eyes on the woman he didn't recognize her or get a feeling that he knew her in any way shape or form he stared at the pale woman before she fired a shot at the old man without hesitation, then threatened him." Well I can see that the people are friendly here towards one another, give a good look on how we'll be treated." Sinthe spoke aloud.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,537	1,459	10	465	6,811	Hayden stirred awake, her head pounding as pain shot through her skull and the rest of her body. Getting herself off the floor, her sore shoulder ached and burned as she got herself up. Looking around, darkness was the only thing that greeted her; torches and candles from distant places broke the shadows and gave enough light to see to some degree. Slowly the ringing in her head subsided, only to be replaced by the cult-like mantras of an old man. It was a very pleasent thing to wake up on a stone floor to the voice of a senile old fool going on about someone's "handiwork" and "blessed black soul". Creepy was an understatement. The first thing she should do was to get up and- Shit. Hayden took a good look down and discovered her bondage of rope and fiber. Is this what that man referred to as "handiwork"? Does he have some strange kinky fetish? Twisting and fidgeting her wrists, Hayden felt the rough rope burn and scratch into her wrists already turning red. However, the ropes had gotten looser by exactly .071%; it felt like Hayden's hands would sooner just fall off than freeing her shackles. Sighing, she resolved to just look around and recall what happened. She remembered a... police car? And a truck, something about a murder and a hospital. Panning her eyes around, it was clear that this was no hospital she knew of. The cold stone felt slick to the touch, Hayden spotted some kind of vegetation around the edges of the cell and the iron bars that caged her in like some disobedient pet. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard someone else walk in, a girl. She looked like doll, her skin white enough to shine even in these dim lights with long hair that reached her waist. She looked like someone's childhood doll come to life; only with a gun. The shot she fired rung in Hayden's skull, causing her to wince once more. "Who the hell is this girl and who gave her gun?", Hayden thought as she shook her head to clear her vision of her hair, her eyes getting used to her new setting.	.
53,538	1,459	11	2,786	800	The man reacted alright, throwing off Kenji's aim, but the boy still managed to catch him with his awkward, hysterical blow. Somehow he'd torn the leathery, mottled, sickly skin, and the old man's blood began to bubble out with the weak, unsteady beat of his heart. The old creature let out a screech and scrabbled backwards, falling over himself. Kenji did much the same with less noise, the bindings making it awkward to distance himself. At first he was terrified, thinking that the cannibal would recover and come after him--but a shot rang out, and the creature scurried to the corner where he collapsed, twitching and sobbing, no doubt in incredible pain and trying in vain to hold back the blood with his gnarled fingers. Soon his clothes and the dirt around him were even filthier as the thin, watery fluid refused to be staunched. Kenji managed to roll over and turn his face enough to see what was going on. A door had been thrown open, allowing more light into the room, though the darkness still ruled this grim place. The others had begun to stir; Kenji watched several of them use their hands to frantically work at the other knots binding them. Holy shit why didn't I think of that. I pride myself on doing smart things, holy shit I just completely missed that. You were panicked and thought you were under attack. Also are you seriously just going to ignore that you just killed that guy? Someone else in here has a gun. I have to ignore it, if I acknowledge it now everything goes to hell, I have to stay calm...have to survive...safety first, think primitive, think simple, find safety... A white haired man, muscular, had managed to break his binds with a grunt of effort, the rotted ropes fraying and crackling as they came apart. He had moved to help a woman who was rocking back and forth, whimpering. The pale woman who was the one responsible for the gunshot, judging by the weapon at her hip, was near the door, apparently blocking the exit even though she'd been the one to open it from the other side. Near her was a man with his hand on the wall, likely feeling his way before the portal to the outside had been opened. This fellow had completely undone his bindings with what seemed like practice skill, as opposed to hastily tearing at the knots or just breaking them with sheer strength. Some guy with the whole "hooded mysterious figure" shtick was in front of the woman with the gun, having been knocked on his rear when the door had opened. The guy who'd been feeling his way through the dark, now able to see, moved to help the other man and undo the bindings on the still-catatonic woman. He used the ropes to jury-rig himself a weapon. The now-freed woman still lay there, completely still...was she hurt? Dead? Another girl, a blonde, screamed as she woke up, and like Kenji had she began struggling to get herself into a position where she could see something. When she finally laid eyes on the woman with the gun, she froze. The white haired man, who Kenji now realized seemed to be wearing some sort of martial arts uniform, spoke up in a louder tone than most of the others thus far. He made a snarky remark about the woman with the gun and her treatment of the old man. Must not have noticed I literally kicked that man's jugular out just a few minutes ago. Maybe he won't notice. If he does I hope that doesn't put me on his bad side. There was another girl in the room, this one with brown hair, and she merely seemed to be taking everything in silently. There were still others, but they seemed to either still be sleeping, or at least not moving around much. No one yet had apparently taken notice of Kenji even though he'd been the first one to try and do something about the crazy old man aside from this woman with the gun. Maybe that's a good thing. Let's focus on freeing myself and getting some room to think, here. Everyone else is already asking the questions--let's just wait until the woman with the gun actually answers. He scooted backwards until his back was against the wall, and he could look out over the room and see everyone, make observations. He managed to loosen the gag around his mouth enough to let it hang down around his throat. Then he untied his ankles, then his legs. Using his teeth he undid the knot around his wrist--finally, he was free. Like the other man, he decided that the rope would probably make a good weapon, but he wasn't very good at tying knots. He just did a basic over-and-under, like he was tying a trashbag shut, then did another one on top of that and another on top of that, eventually binding all the robes together in an awkward flail-shape, the knotty bits forming a heavy weight at one end. The whole time he was doing this, his eyes roamed the surroundings, explored faces, took in expressions. His ears were pricked for voices, trying to pick out anything that would help him figure out just what the hell was going on.	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,539	1,459	12	980	4,120	Paul Delacroix - In a bit of a bind BANG! Like the booming crack of a clap of thunder, the loud raucous gunshot so rudely grabbed the slumbering gentleman and swiftly ripped him into the waking world. His eyes snapping open, he felt as though he were a drowning victim saved from a potential early and watery grave. Sharply gasping for a breath of air as he abruptly woke and immediately wished he hadn't. His head swam and his ears rang painfully as he briefly thought for a moment that he was blind. Coughing violently, the young man blinked a few times as he fought back the urge to vomit from the horrid fetid and rotten smell that had wafted up his nostrils. Shaking his head, he let his vision adjust for a moment and determined that he was thankfully not blind. More alarmingly, it was just an intense darkness. Frowning, he then thought that perhaps he had died and that this was the afterlife. Breathing heavily, he tried to move and found it difficult to do so as he was tightly detained by knotted ropes. Dread filling his heart and causing him to panic, he realized that he was indeed very much so alive. At least, for the moment. "I'm not dead. I'm captured. More than likely about to be executed if that sound was anything to go by." he thought to himself. Instead of struggling against his bindings and thrashing about screaming for help, he forced himself to gather his mental faculties and to remain calm. His head still ached with a dull pain, the smell of wherever he was located was just horrible, and his ears were just now recovering from the sound that was responsible for his conscious state. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling too good about himself at all. Shutting his eyes tightly, he thought hard to himself. "Okay, think. First of all...who am I again?...My name...My name is Paul. Paul Delacroix. That's right. Alright, so how-...how did I get here? What..." Having rediscovered his name, Paul was quickly regaining his bearings. Only problem was, he strained to remember much else other than a few bits of knowledge about himself. Thinking any harder caused his mind more pain. "Ugh...my head. Okay, that's not as important right now. Right now it's very obvious I've been captured and detained. For what reason, I don't know. All I need do right now is to stay calm and think of a way to get out of-.." The sound of other voices and movement caused his eyes to reopen and he came to the sudden revelation that he was not alone in this blacked-out place. Far from it. It was hard to make out details and shapes, but he was certain there were others just like him moving about and even speaking. Damn it all if his senses weren't taking their sweet time to fully recover. Still feeling hazy and sick, he decided to give himself more time to assess the situation. Straightening himself as best he could, he wriggled his way backwards. Why that particular direction even he wasn't sure of, but when his upper back met with a wall he let out a quiet sigh of relief as he sat up against it. For now, he would take no action. Deliberate information gathering was the name of the game. Eyes flitting to and fro, he used his peripherals to try and make out exactly how many others were there with him. His ears focused in on any spoken conversation, though that was a bit of a challenge as his blood loudly rushed through his veins and washed everything out. Adrenaline and a fast-beating heart the main culprit there. Willing himself to calm down, he futilely looked at his bindings to see if he could somehow work his way out of them. He figured as tight as they were, he didn't have the dexterity and finger strength to free himself through that method. Instead, he maybe thought to use their tightness against themselves. If he could find something sharp or serrated enough, he could carefully rub his wrists against it until freed. "One thing at a time. For now, stay quiet and observant." Paul told himself. A nervous bead of sweat slowly rolled down the side of his face, his breathing still labored and ragged from fear. "Damn it all if I can't at least get this disgusting taste out of my mouth!" Leaning forward and reaching up with his bound hands, he successfully removed his gag and spat a few times to rid himself of the aftertaste of wherever that filthy rag had been. At least now he could breathe a little easier. For the moment at the least.	Name: Caval Avaine Gender: Male Age: 29 Appearance: Caval is by no means an opposing figure he often curls into himself and when talking to people he tries to avoid eye contact. Caval stands at 5ft 9" and has blue eyes that are more often then not bloodshot he has messy blond hair. His face is rugged with a five o'clock shadow. He wears rough leather armour with a long black hooded clock his boot are about 2 sizes to big and Caval often looks like a lost puppy. Magic: Shadow Weapon: longsword: Caval carries a sword made of steel, the hilt is adorned with shiny rocks. While the sword is cracked it is still sharp enough to draw blood. One-handed crossbow: For places the sword cannot reach Caval uses a basic wooden crossbow, Caval doesn't use the crossbow often as it is clunky and time consuming to shoot. Personality: Caval is not quite there, despite using his magic a handful of times his mind has been polluted by shadow, while still being able to make decision and hold conversations he still drifts off sometimes. He suffers from nightmares as a result of his magic and often only get 4-5 hours of sleep, if he sleeps at all. Despite being a sandwhich short of a picnic Caval is very intelligent and intuitive when he is functioning correctly he can hold a conversation and can figure out riddles and puzzles. Caval is very childlike and has the same innocence as a child would have, being very naive in the process this however makes him a friend to everyone, this however is not always a good thing and people do take advantage of him due to his deteriorated mental state. Bio: Caval doesn't remember anything other than him being is an pristine hospital room but he does remember feeling frightened, other than that his mind is blank. Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover.)
53,540	1,459	13	953	1,513	Caval began pulling against the ropes anything he could do to get them off hed did: biting them, pulling them. Anything he could do to escape, he started to become erratic. He started feverishly struggling against the bindings, the ropes began burning his wrist, rubbing them raw. He cried out in pain, his breathing became irregular. Then he saw a girl and he stopped struggling, he was entranced by her presence then his eyes fixed on the gun by hip. He snapped out of his trance and moved back against the wall like a caged animal. He resumed biting the ropes, ignoring everyone else but he did see others removing their bindings. He was free, he began freeing his feet. He began clapping his hand childishly, then the reality of where he was hit by the reality of the situation and he began to sob in fear. "How did i get here." He thought bitterly, he began to erratically grab his hair and biting his nuckles and rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm himself down. He thought back to the room, the smell of the hospital, the woman, the blinding light. He curled himself into a ball and waited to see what the girl would do.	.
53,541	1,459	14	1,445	9,375	After a length of time, Donny noticed the stirring of others. He still couldn't see more than vague outlines of these people, and most of his attention was focused on the mysterious woman, but Donny now had an internal conflict. On one hand he was scared and wanted answers. But knowing there are other victims like himself here, he felt... Compelled to help them. Rationalizing that perhaps if he helps them, they could help him. Help him escape, or fight against this woman, or whatever they need to figure out and survive this place. Plus while Donny didn't trust the mysterious woman at all, she wasn't aiming her gun at them: as far as he can tell she's leaning up against the wall just watching everyone. Assuming she wasn't suppose to be here to keep everyone trapped, Donny figured he might have some time to help the others. So carefully Donny began moving around the darkness, looking for people who were bound up. There was a high pitch scream not too long ago which Donny felt was quite close, so he went towards it. Eventually he was able to identify a vaguely female shadow () at his feet, so he knelt down and spoke softly. "Hey. My name is Donny. I'm going to help you, so just... Stay still please." Carefully Donny reached for the girl's wrists, and assuming she wasn't resisting, he undid the rope around her arms. He would have stayed to undo the rest, but if this woman was alive than she might be able to free herself now that her hands are not bound. And if she was hostile, keeping her legs bound would give Donny time to run. Donny worked his way towards the next person. He wasn't anywhere near a wall so he walked carefully, but he stepped into something wet and slippery, causing him to trip and fall forward. His head must have hit the wall or into someone's skull, because even though he stuck his arms out to catch his fall his head slammed right into something. After the flashes of pain was over he noticed another silhouette () in the darkness. "Whoa. Uh, sorry about that. I guess I've fallen for you, eh? Ha ha ha hah." Bad joke aside Donny got to work. Like before he felt around for the rope around the wrists, undoing them with deft speed and precision. By now Donny was able to take these ropes off almost instantly, as so far they all seemed to be tied the same way. He was able to pinpoint almost exactly where the knot was going to be as soon as he figured out where the wrists were. Soon Donny did find himself back at a wall, and he could see that a few figures have also pressed themselves against the wall. Walking even more carefully this time to prevent slipping or tripping Donny made his way towards the others. He wasn't very quite as his foot-steps echoed through the fairly empty room, but hopefully this would allow the others to not be surprised when she shows up. And assuming they haven't already freed themselves and were planning on fighting their way out, hopefully they won't hurt him when he tries to help. He found his first victim () against the wall, who Donny saw moving something from his mouth. Perhaps it was a gag? Whatever it was, he was awake, so Donny knelt down to his level. "Hi. I'm Donny, let me undo those ropes for you." Reaching down towards the stranger's wrists, Donny was able to take the rope apart with just one hand, though it took him a bit longer than usual, he still removed it. "I'm going to try to get to the others, undo the ropes around your legs and try to help." Donny continued to move around the room trying to free as many people as he could. By this point the woman with the gun was just a distant memory; he had other, more immediate concerns, like freeing as many prisoners as he could. Donny could only hope he wasn't making a big mistake...	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,542	1,459	15	1,278	8,083	Maria "Well, there goes one more for Rotting Bone to take care of. You all should be thankful, that you didn't ended like him." Maria said as she looked at the writing old man, not even the least trace of sympathy was visible in her wine-colored eyes. "You all should be thankful, that you didn't ended like him. At least for the time being." "I have to say, compare to the last group, you guys at least look like you have what it takes to be a hunter." Maria waited until most of the newbies were freed by the one who looked like he had a lot of skill with ropes as she wondered if said skill couldn't be put to more... entertaining purposes "Such a shame it had to be a man.", she sighed. While she observed Dony work the others bindings, Maria took the time to assess everyone who seemed to have come back to their senses, not really caring for the ones who still lay "asleep". But eventually, the huntress decided that it would be the best to brief them on their predicament in a place that smelled and felt a bit less filthy. "If you are all feeling better now, I'd like explain your current... 'situation'. However, a feces (and some less pleasant things) caked cellar makes for a pretty poor meeting room. Why don't you all follow me upstairs and have your first meeting with the Absolute?" With that said, Maria turned her back on the newbies and gestured for them to follow her upstairs, but not before throwing a long stare towards a certain blond girl worming herself up on the corner of the cellar. "Perhaps this time things can be a bit more fun..." she thought, finally leaving them to their own devices and finding a less precarious bench to rest Pandora against and wait for them.	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,543	1,459	16	2,786	800	Others were waking up, each having the typical reactions. Wiggling about, trying to look around, some crying or whimpering. The one who had felt his way about the darkened room now made his way to some of those who were having trouble with their bindings. Kenji could hear well enough to pick up his name. Donny. Doesn't sound like he's from around here... No, wait. Where is "here?" Where was I...before? My name is Kenji. Nakamura Kenji. I'm Japanese. Donny's not a Japanese name. Before I was here, I was... ... What the hell? The boy felt gingerly around his head with his fingertips. No bumps, no blood, no cuts, no suspicious microchips sticking out of his skull. He was fine, from head to toe, aside from the chafe marks of the ropes and a general sense of unwellness, likely from the atmosphere and environment he'd found himself in. No head trauma. So why was he missing such a huge gap in his memory? Two plus two is four. Yeah, that's definitely right. Sine, cosine, and tangent are functions derived from quadratic equations that produce predictably shaped graphs. I have a high school education. I WENT to high school at... At... Dammit, okay. Japan, the United States, Russia, the United Kingdom, China, South Korea...I'm pretty sure I remember a lot of the names of countries from wherever I was. I'm Japanese, I have a Japanese name. I must have lived in Japan. Therefore, I LIVED AT... ...Dammit! The woman with the gun was speaking. Kenji's eyes cut to her sharply, not wanting to miss anything she might do with that firearm. She said something about "hunters," putting enough emphasis on the word that Kenji didn't think she meant regular game hunting. She told them that she would answer their questions, if they followed her to meet someone--or something--called the Absolute. ...I think they're speaking English, not Japanese. I know, despite these gaps in my memory, that I cannot speak fluent English. But I understand these people perfectly. That woman says she'll explain everything, but let's see what I can figure out on my own. Slowly, he stood up against the wall. He looked around at the others, who for the most part seemed just as lost as he was. Maybe more so. Now that I think back, I do remember hearing...sounds, before that old man's cackling. Metal, clanging on metal. Things...things that I want to say perhaps sounded bestial. The old guy talked about blood and eating people. This woman talks about Hunters. The old guy was scared of her, and... Huh. If that old guy's not dead yet... Kenji looked into the corner where that freakish cannibal had retreated. With another look back towards the group, Kenji approached the old man freely, no longer bound by the ropes. Instead his bindings had been fashioned into that makeshift flail, which he spun fast enough to make it whistle lightly. Standing in front of the twisted, blind creature, he hardened his eyes and his heart. "Alright, freak." he said, the first words he'd spoken aloud in this place. "That lady says she's gonna do the explaining, but I figure you're already here. So why don't you give me some answers first?" He popped the short length of rope like a whip near the old man's face. "What building, in what town, within what country, on what planet, are we currently, in that exact order?" he asked, his voice like flint. "And what is a Hunter?" The only answer was a pained gurgle. The man's throat wound was apparently bad enough to damage either his airway or his vocal chords. Either way, he couldn't give Kenji the answers he wanted. The threats wouldn't change that, so the boy sighed and simply left the creature there. He thought about maybe trying to kill the old man again--to at least make his passing quick--but when he thought about how utterly fucked everything around here seemed to be, he decided that he didn't have enough pity to do that. "I don't suppose anyone else would be willing to pool our resources and information, before we go out there blindly believing everything we're told by a woman with a gun, huh?" he asked, though his voice had lost its edge and become rather half hearted. He kind of doubted some of the other people would even bother responding to him, as little communication as there had been so far.	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,544	1,459	17	1,445	9,375	After freeing the previous person, Donny decided to undo his rope gauntlet for the moment. It was restricting his dexterity, and if the woman was going to try to stop him she should have already. Working his way around the room Donny helped as many people out of their restraints as they could, though he did miss a few either because he didn't notice them, or because didn't want him close to him (Or he didn't want to be close to them). As he finished up the woman with the gun spoke. She said that they should be thankful not to end up like the insane old man, whom Donny had purposely avoided the best he could, and that they might make for decent hunters. That confused him. "Hunters? What do you mean hunters?" Donny knew what a hunter was, technically speaking. They were people who killed stuff, like animals and occasionally people. But why would they be hunters? Donny certainly did not sign up for this. Then the woman pointed out how disgusting the room they were in was and that they should meet the Absolute. While he agreed with the former, he was uncertain with the latter. The last thing Donny wanted to do was get himself involved in any more of this nonsense. But at this point, in the back of Donny's mind, he knew he had no choice. Taking the moment to at least limber his body up, he heard someone ask about pooling resources for information, not trusting the strange woman. Donny responded to his question as he walked towards the door. "I'd like to know what's going on too, stranger. But assuming you know as much as I do, which is next to none, she's the only one with answers. Stay in this shithole if you'd like. I'm heading up." But Donny wasn't the only one in a hurry. Quickened footsteps were heard as someone seemed to have rushed towards the exit. Donny followed with a brisk pace before he heard a door slam up ahead. "I have a bad feeling about this..." Donny hurried towards the door and noticed one of the prisoners, judging by his bound limbs, had tried to attack the woman. Donny would have tried to think about what was going on, weigh his options, and make the best judgement. But in this dim light Donny noticed what the woman looked like, and... Well, Donny is a foolish human. A foolish human holding onto some semblance of morals and a code of honor: he must assist a lady in distress. All Donny had was the rope in his hand, but hopefully it'd be enough. As he rushed forward Donny fashioned his rope into a sort of noose, and once he was behind the obviously insane person (), Donny slung the noose around the madman's neck and tried to pry him off. Donny wasn't at his full strength, but this man was still bound and hopefully didn't expect Donny to interrupt his attack. At this time, the rope user didn't really think about "I should kill this man" or "Try to reason with him". He hardly thought beyond the moment, focused only on achieving his purpose, which was to stop this psycho however he can.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,545	1,459	18	2,285	5,789	Maria "Well, there goes one more for Rotting Bone to take care of. You all should be thankful, that you didn't ended like him." Maria said as she looked at the writing old man, not even the least trace of sympathy was visible in her wine-colored eyes. "You all should be thankful, that you didn't ended like him. At least for the time being." "I have to say, compare to the last group, you guys at least look like you have what it takes to be a hunter." Maria waited until most of the newbies were freed by the one who looked like he had a lot of skill with ropes as she wondered if said skill couldn't be put to more... entertaining purposes "Such a shame it had to be a man.", she sighed. While she observed Dony work the others bindings, Maria took the time to assess everyone who seemed to have come back to their senses, not really caring for the ones who still lay "asleep". But eventually, the huntress decided that it would be the best to brief them on their predicament in a place that smelled and felt a bit less filthy. "If you are all feeling better now, I'd like explain your current... 'situation'. However, a feces (and some less pleasant things) caked cellar makes for a pretty poor meeting room. Why don't you all follow me upstairs and have your first meeting with the Absolute?" With that said, Maria turned her back on the newbies and gestured for them to follow her upstairs, but not before throwing a long stare towards a certain blond girl worming herself up on the corner of the cellar. "Perhaps this time things can be a bit more fun..." she thought, finally leaving them to their own devices and finding a less precarious bench to rest Pandora against and wait for them. Sinthe stared at the woman that spoke to them, he listened to every single one of her words as he leaned on the wall and watched Donny untie everyone that was tied, Sinthe was silent and didn't speak to anyone, he looked at the others with almost a glare on his face, he didn't reveal his name to anyone. The white haired man kept his arms crossed across his chest, when the pale woman turned around and began walking out of the cellar, Sinthe watched her closely and silently, he looked to the others in the room for a moment before he checked the bandages wrapped around his forearms and hands, then checked his boots. Sinthe didn't wait for the others as he walked out of the room following the pale lady out, he didn't feel like sticking around the cellar with everyone else, and knew that he would get a headache from the way how everything was going on down there, he could feel like everyone was gonna be complaining and whining about where they were. When Sinthe thought about the name Absolute his head began to feel as if it was gonna split in half, his then he noticed someone rush by him while he was dazed Sinthe watched as the man rushed up the steps and when he caught up to the guy he noticed that he attacked the woman from earlier. Acting on instinct Sinthe attacked the man by punching him in the back of the head, then got in between the two of them, he pushed the guy away. " What the hell are you doing ?" He questioned the man, but before Sinthe could let him answer the rope user arrived and Sinthe punched the man while Donny put a noose around his neck." We should kill him." He told Donny.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,546	1,459	19	1,449	5,931	Though every aspect of Otsune's current situation would have appealed in a sane world to the protective, considerate, or sympathetic instincts of any normal human, no help came. After freeing her from her physical restraints, Donny left to help the others. The brawny fellow, receiving no response from the near-catatonic woman, mistook inability to ask for aid for a lack of need for aid and coldly left her. Though the others could now move, wonder, and speak, none stepped forward to empathize with her and help her come back to her senses; nevertheless, her senses began to return to her. Otsune's eyes blinked open. Though the cold, the damp, and the smell did not please her, at the very least no riotous sound rattled her skull. Her shivering stopped, and her limbs began to unfurl. The same thoughts ran through her head as had those of the others, but as always she kept her thoughts inside. What a strange manner of place. Are those people, all around me? Have I been lying on this smelly, rough ground? Blood on the stone...? Why can't I remember? Oh, I know. A dream, obviously. I recall going to sleep, being sick too, I think, but not much else. But one never remembers how a dream begins exactly, do they? Slowly, Otsune propped herself up, making each movement with careful deliberation. No matter what, dreams tended to be highly selective in the ways they made sense; she would be certain not to act before she understood how this one worked. Her eyes swept over her nebulous, fetid surroundings. No faces stimulated her recognition, but the architecture of the building itself fascinated her. Almost medieval, this place. I can tell already this is going to be an interesting dream! It's so clear, and real. Her mind drifted to the world she left behind, that hazy but all-important void. Something seemed off about this dream...some sort of expectation. I don't know why, but I feel like I should make this dream count. She sat against the wall, believing the other people to be nothing more than figments of imagination, for they had not demonstrated any humanity to her. For the next few seconds, she examined what she wore. Upon her person there appeared to be a longcoat, striped leggings, thick-soled shoes, a scarf, an ascot, and fingerless gloves. At this, Otsune smiled. Fancy, but functional. This stuff is cool. Like some classy heroine would wear on a nighttime expedition to fight crime. I remember having dreams like this before, indeed! How wonderfully perfect. Could this have been meant for me? Since this dream feels important, and real, it's like some kind of blessing. Then came the words of Maria, cutting through the somber, musty dark. Otsune listened with rapt attention, silently and imperceptibly eager to figure out the nature of the dream world. Of all of life's possibilities, exploring one's own imagination struck her as one of the most intriguing. As Maria spoke, Otsune examined her. Bone-white skin and hair, and such elegant clothing! She's like a puppet, or a vampire. I should be careful. After all: red eyes, take warning. Well, they do seem a rather purplish shade of red, but same principle I imagine. Being evasive is good, though. If I die in this dream, or maybe even get hurt, I'll wake up early. What a waste that would be! Of course, the contents of Maria's little discourse made the library of gears within Otsune's mind turn as well. Logically, she assumed that, like a person playing a videogame, she would be the 'hero' of this grim adventure. Otsune, of course, imagined that Maria addressed her directly; what was the point of interaction with dream characters, after all? She almost laughed aloud to hear about a meeting with 'The Absolute'. It is a quest after all! This is going to be a memorable dream, for certain. I'm looking cool, this place is horrid but still neat, and I'm about to meet the exposition character! Thanks be to God for such an amazing gift. Suddenly flexible and spry, Otsune leaped to her feet, ready to embark. She dashed for the stairs, thinking, hey, in here I'm practically a different person. This looks like a violent and kinda disturbing world, judging by that dead guy in the corner. She did not ponder overmuch the fatally-wounded madman. I'll have to be more assertive to make the most of this kind of world. Let's see, name, name, name. Absolute is a kind of alcohol, right? I'll just call myself my favorite drink: Highball. She quickly made her way up the stairs, just behind a man in black doing the same, only to find the doorway slammed in her face by her predecessor. This unanticipated choice of action drew an appropriately surprised response from Highball. “Ah?” she intoned, not quite a word but still the first noise she'd made. The sound of human speech from behind her caused her to spin on her heels and throw a questioning glance at Kenji and Donny, not recalling the service of the latter. When Donny charged toward the door, followed by the inhospitable brute, Highball courteously slid to the side to let them pass, and seated herself on the bannister. She watched, impassive but interested and with a derisive expression on her face, as Donny and Sinthe powered through the closed door to attack Bishop and get him away from Maria, who he'd been attempting to do...something too. Highball couldn't tell exactly, given the light and field of few limitations, and felt no small amount of surprise that both of the men could so easily witness it. In very short order, the hooded assailant found himself overpowered by the combined yet inexplicable gallantry of Donny and Sinthe. When the former suggested killing him, Highball gave a snort of laughter, and relaxed upon her bannister. Wow. It's like a movie!	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,547	1,459	20	980	4,120	Paul Delacroix - From the frying pan and into the fire Squinting, Paul tried his best to get a good look at his would-be rescuer. Committing the name and face to memory as best he could, Paul only responded with a curt nod as he rubbed at his sore wrists. Partially freed, Paul decided to follow "Donny's" recommendation and worked away at the bindings on his lower extremities. It took some trying, but after a short period of time Paul completely freed himself. Bracing a hand against the wall to his back, he slowly stood. Expecting to collapse immediately, he blinked and was surprised that he hadn't. He was sure that for however long he was out his muscles and joints wouldn't be working properly, not even beginning to mention his back injury. After his initial recovery period, he felt fine. "Huh. What a pleasant surprise. Today must be a good back day for me." Remaining silent, he carefully looked around in the darkness in an attempt to spot anyone that may have needed further assistance. Periodically, he looked to the porcelain-doll of a woman that he determined to be his makeshift 'alarm clock', listening absently as she spoke of 'Absolutes' and something along the lines of 'Hunters.' Which, confused him even further as he was sure that he held a different profession. What was it, salaryman? Something having to do with businesses for sure. Either way, Paul took his time to ignore the other goings-on and chose to focus on helping anyone else that needed it. Afterward, he fully intended to obey the Doll Woman's word and followed after her. What could be worse than rotting away in a dark hole? Well, a lot to be honest. But, they were all more preferable ways to die in comparison. He wasn't sure the pale lady was to be totally trusted, but he figured he should at least humor his potential savior a little.	Name: Caval Avaine Gender: Male Age: 29 Appearance: Caval is by no means an opposing figure he often curls into himself and when talking to people he tries to avoid eye contact. Caval stands at 5ft 9" and has blue eyes that are more often then not bloodshot he has messy blond hair. His face is rugged with a five o'clock shadow. He wears rough leather armour with a long black hooded clock his boot are about 2 sizes to big and Caval often looks like a lost puppy. Magic: Shadow Weapon: longsword: Caval carries a sword made of steel, the hilt is adorned with shiny rocks. While the sword is cracked it is still sharp enough to draw blood. One-handed crossbow: For places the sword cannot reach Caval uses a basic wooden crossbow, Caval doesn't use the crossbow often as it is clunky and time consuming to shoot. Personality: Caval is not quite there, despite using his magic a handful of times his mind has been polluted by shadow, while still being able to make decision and hold conversations he still drifts off sometimes. He suffers from nightmares as a result of his magic and often only get 4-5 hours of sleep, if he sleeps at all. Despite being a sandwhich short of a picnic Caval is very intelligent and intuitive when he is functioning correctly he can hold a conversation and can figure out riddles and puzzles. Caval is very childlike and has the same innocence as a child would have, being very naive in the process this however makes him a friend to everyone, this however is not always a good thing and people do take advantage of him due to his deteriorated mental state. Bio: Caval doesn't remember anything other than him being is an pristine hospital room but he does remember feeling frightened, other than that his mind is blank. Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover.)
53,548	1,459	21	2,091	3,329	-______ : ???- The sable realm he was constituted in was not a kind one; ______ found himself traversing the shapeless landscape as it transfigured into masses of hills, shades of mountains, etc. As the world shifted constantly, it abruptly began to end as the crackle of shadows behind ______ began shattering like mirrors. Where they went was unknown, but there was a nasty squelch and splash afterwords. ______ struggled to run away, but alas, when he reached the edge of the volatile, dying landscapes, he only discovered a pool of liquid. It was arduous to discern the myriads of colors before realizing that they were organs of some sort... and most importantly, the fluids below appeared to be blood from his perspective. ______ wretched at the sight before backing up... and plunging into the ichor below. The air was stolen from his lungs as he pounded into the mixture. Struggle as he might, it was futile to attempt escape; it was as if his whole body was paralyzed by a mysterious poison. Slowly as he sunk, blood gushed between his eyes, slowly filling up his lungs and gastric acids within. Then ______ field of vision went red. Sweat poured down ______ face as he banged and crashed around the area, each droplet softly whispering into the black room as the tormented man rolled around. In a few seconds, he stopped, as if he was cleansed and absolved of any remaining sins. The stillness was terminated as the resounding wail of a mysterious creature seeped into ______ who was wrought with nightmares. As the grit a dust washed away from ______ eyes, the man found himself staring head first at a void. Panting, the man found himself chewing on a rag which tasted of rot and cobwebs. Grunting in surprise, his voice was muffled as he set himself on the task of discarding such a fetid taste from his tongue by consistently moistening the item which made the endeavor simpler when he began gnawing at the wrap. Before ______ realized it, his mouth was free and the rancid cloth made its descent to the floor. Gasping, the man wretched and coughed as he spat out the torn remains of the nauseating cloth, each bit falling to the floor as he gagged. Panting for a fleeting moment, the man ceased his cacophonous hacking so he might listening to the void, and its subdued scraping. Frantically whipping his head around, ______ began his attempt identify where the location of the grisly grating. In such endeavors, ______ could barely make out the silhouettes of others squirming within the confines of this enigmatic room. With all this darkness, it didn't do him any justice at all; even squinting was futile. ______ could only ponder on their location, if these specified people were ensnared in some cellar or safe with a maniac... so it was obvious this wasn't some special holding room for an insane asylum. ______ made forlorn tries of shifting his hands in the opposite direction, however the tight binds he felt kept him from progressing. The man grunted as he tried to spread his legs wide as he arduously undertook the task of forcefully pulling his hands outwards. The method worked to a minuscule length as he squirmed in an attempt to escape... and possibly assist in freeing the others imprisoned... maybe. As he continued in such attempts, ______ attempted to recall what brought such random ruin, before stopping completely, a scowl finding its way onto his being. The man blinked, before temporarily staying still, as if the life he had depended on such notions. Why was ______ here? Why couldn't he remember how he ended up here, his past, and most importantly his name? ... "... the hell? Do I have a severe case of amnesia? Seriously?! Who am I?" As he pondered on such a peculiar question, he noticed a figure arise from the shadows, wobbling a smidgen as if they were a newborn foal. Other shapes took his vision; one in the shape of a lumpy sphere, another was a humanoid figure, standing tall, limbs and all. ______ fearfully reflected on if the sounds came from the body... before it began moving to what ______ presumed was a wall. Seeing as others were freeing themselves, along with another figure offering to assist the large nugget, which he believed was a person, the man picked the pace up to rip his hands through the fabric at a swifter pace. ______ managed to succeed, albeit, his hands were scraped; there was the possibility that there was light bleeding on his left hand, but he could cover up the mundane wound once he left. "That's going to leave a minor mark," ______ mumbled to himself as he tossed the rope to the side, hearing it softly tap off the wall before falling to the ground with a pap. Flapping his hands away from each other one or two times, ______ began touching the areas around his legs, before gripping familiar material. As he began at his endeavors to become completely unbound, he swore that there was a dog in the cell. Did that man who wailed in agony take a bite out of such a creature and let it ble- no... probably not since the whimpering was near to ______, while the scratching was a bit farther. Huh. Whatever it was, they were probably incapacitated and captured like most others in this repugnant area. Of course, before he might assist those ensnared, he would need to rescue himself. You can't (maybe) save those trapped if you yourself were caught, of course. As he undid the final knots, there was a moderate screech which caused the man to flinch as he undid the bonds. Stopping momentarily, the mans head jutted to where the cry emanated from before continuing with his endeavors. Once finished, he threw the remains away as blood flowed once more below his torso; his legs did ache a bit from the course tying. Pushing himself off the floor, ______ legs clamored for a bit before returning to what he discerned as normal. "Alright, n-" ______ train of thought was interrupted by a mysterious female who beckoned some light into the musty cellar within. ______ shielded his eyes with the newcomers metaphorical shot from the dark... before taking an actual on at the... What. The. Fuck. His eyes widened in ascending trepidation as the... thing the woman shot at was a... human? Or what was left of it with crusty blood holding onto the areas where their eyes formerly were. Next was the jet black teeth - he wanted to make a joke about dental hygiene, but this was all too surreal! How in the blazes did the man end up in such a despondent state. Even though he wished not to move, despite her command or threat, he slightly shook as his left foot slid back. He remained calm as he glared at the women, before noting the most of the people encompassing the general vicinity; they were all in unique clothing... was he wearing this vest and these twenty bangles before? ______ couldn't perceive if he did previously due to a complete blank over his identity. Either way, the room was illuminated, thankfully, and positioned his view away from the fallen man. The evisceration of the poor soul was something he did not want to keep analyzing as others shot questions at the supposed captor, or hero of this band of random people. ______, of course, opted to stay quiet, deciding to let others get shot if the pale, red eyed woman did not take the reception of such query kindly. Another sarcastic remark was brought by the white haired fellow who was not helping the situation, at all... moreover, he was possibly screwing them over in the long run... As another cursed a question about the woman and how she acquired a gun. That was something... to actually save for another time as there were other matters to acknowledge currently. ______ felt his wrists, a warm crimson flowing over his finger. Sighing, the man recalled his arms to both sides as he looked at the another man who seemed to be freeing others from their bindings. ______ could only ponder on how they all congregated in this area... Before she invited them all to leave the grimy room infested with a less than desirable being. Of course, she mention something peculiar, something about everyone in this area becoming a... hunter. His right eyebrow shot up in bewilderment as he mouthed out hunter before taking a few steps forward. He was curious on a couple of matters, more importantly the fact that he had amnesia. Maybe he could quiz some of the other people in a hopeful attempt at grasping at how they were retrieved and brought here? As he opened his mouth, the boy in glasses went out, lashing at the old man for question, as if he was some sort of detective interrogating a hapless suspect. Of course, it was difficult to ponder on if the boy was completely heartless as the next words he boomed were weaker, and of course to the group. While he did make a logical point, there was the facet that she didn't just murder the freed hostages in cold blood... plus, the aura she heralded meant she possibly knew what she was doing, despite appearing less than... desirable in a friendly spectrum. Of course, one of the captives took it upon themselves to fleetingly leave the room, surged by lightning of sorts. ______ shrugged, as he looked at the kid and his facade, feeling that it could shatter into myriads of pieces any second. One of the men addressed his fiery attitude with logic which was hardly inane in his eyes. Another seemed to take their words into consideration, and quickly escaped this wretched basement. Of course, the man with snow white hair followed after the woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, along with another who pursued the way out. In a few moments afterwords, a shrill shriek was heard from the area above which echoed between his ears. This situation was terrifyingly asphyxiating, and yet he was coerced into understanding that there was no other way, but to tread after the woman in black and the five who traversed to... wherever. "... Well then, that's... something," ______ spoke up in a completely stale way, even with the insanity above. The man glimpsed at the way out, and then back to the young man, his broad face appearing rather disgruntled with an impeccable sense of bravery. "As much as I distaste believing the woman, we don't have any choice but to trudge out of this area... with the others who I presume are... squabbling... And besides, interrogating a half-dead man with gouged out eyes definitely makes for a better informer than someone in one piece..." Shaking his head, groaning irritatingly at the uneventful... eve or day, the man stared at one of the prisoners who had her legs still bound. Blinking for a bit, he closed his eyes before kneeling down and untying the rope around the teenagers legs. "Why he would leave you in this state after going through the process of freeing you is beyond me," the man murmured as he slowly untied the knot from the girls legs, completely freeing her and allowing the young woman to get up on her own. Afterwords, he slowly began moving up to his towering level once again, looking on at the kid in glasses. There was a visible frown on his face as he judged him and every fiber of his bone on one, metaphysical distinction known as sanity. "At any rate," ______ turned his attention to the girl he freed, no longer limited by the snags of ropes wrapped around her legs. He could only pray that she was... somewhat sane, as everyone else in the vicinity was interesting in their own exceptional way. Bending over, ______ extended his hand towards the younger, shorter blonde girl, delaying the inevitability of scaling the stairwell. He beamed at the girl as he began his part of the offer. "Hey kid," ______ said, cool and politely, "need some help getting up? Those bindings were unpleasant and restricted some blood flow, so I'm not sure how you might fair when standing." Right now, maybe it was for the best to make a couple of allies, instead of antagonizing a person he just met... even though he was kind of demanding the person for answers. Strife and friction would probably harm them, even with the woman's earlier comment of them all being hunter material. It was ominous, but they all have two choices - rotting here with a maniac, or leaving the feces infested basement... Hopefully it was apparent to the remaining humans what the unerring decision was with such foul factors in play.	Name: Omen Gender: Male Age: 21 Appearance: ((I'll go into more detail on the morrow.)) A side note - Ignore the Katana. That's where his leather bound book is. Magic: "A hue of sable red which tastes of copper... blood... the moment we lose such an invaluable solution, our souls depart, leaving us but an empty husk of internal organs and wasting meat that festers over each agonizing passing." Blood is what Omen specializes in... While he is a neophyte in terms of power, he can get quite creative with his blood, mainly in terms of damaging opponents through wiles. He can set up blood traps which is currently limited to a simple bear trap which snags the assailants leg... or an unlucky ally. Next isn't as costly, but if used too much can lead to a deadly price. Omen can turn his blood into bullets for Bloody Mary since it is much more inexpensive than using regular bullets... slightly. Of course, what other things he can do with his crimson bullets is yet to be seen. The future is ripe with the sickening tang of copper. Weapon: "To me, it feels rather peculiar to be wielding one of these... whether it is the atmosphere or my own psyche, I better not let it get the best of me..." Oblivion: The sword he wields is nothing special... maybe; save for the blessed craftsmanship of the blade and hilt. Etched on the protruding hilts are the words "Oblivion;" seems a bit stronger than other swords, but it really isn't; it is really the ornateness that makes it appear to be extraordinary. Bloody Mary: A gun with nonexistent bullets is more than useless in this realm. However, this break action dueling pistol specialty is dealt with warm crimson hues; it can use other bullets, but to get the most out of it, he has to load it with his crimson fluids. It holds only a single shot at a time, and is accurate; it does take some time to reload though. If Omen wants more strength from the gun, he should not only use blood for the gun, but the blood itself must be sweeter and much more developed than the other predecessors. The Crimson Sabbath: A simple leather bound book absent of any words or colors, save for a reddish splatter on the first few pages. Other that the rust-like pages, the others are unabridged and not stained by any hue, making them completely blank. What it does is completely unknown, even to the wielder, Omen, himself... hell, it might not even do anything useful in skirmishes, save for recording useful information. Why it is called The Crimson Sabbath is because of the first page which crudely spells out the title of this enigmatic book. Personality: Zany isn't something to describe Omen as, but still heralds a bit of humor in these passing days. Even with the awakening, Omen tries to keep an undiluted, calm attitude in such cataclysmic hours. Persistent can be used as another way to talk about him, as Omen will work at discovering things unknown and unseen to him, as his amnesia and how he was born into this realm. Also, he does herald some thought for each action, displaying a sense of morale in a realm depraved of one with misery and creeping shades. Never displaying despair outwith his own mind, he will attempt to greet each passing abomination with a stalwart gaze in hopes of piercing the dark. In other words, he is brave, but only to influence others in confidently taking heed against their assailants. At most, you can imagine him to be the kind of guy who doesn't leave an ally behind. However, even with virtues, there will be vices within. Perception is deadly though as if one discerns him even closer, they might discover that he is actually very terrified of the transpiring events. As if it wasn't enough, he can be a bit snarky at times, despite the little facade he displays. Underneath it all, he desperately does yearn for the old past, despite the facet that he can rebuild a new one. Likewise, his persistence can be a burden at times, for a few reasons. Dragging on a possible mission for too long if there is some fortune in the form of knowledge pertaining to the story behind this realm, and his past. Recovering those shattered memories heralds such significance to him, that he feels incomplete. In retrospect, it might be for the best that he perishes the thought to others, but he could care less if it was volatile and cataclysmic... Cutting through this realm and seeking the truth is all he cares for, whilst safeguarding his companions to calm his own inward turmoil. Bio: "The only thing I can recall is waking up with the clothes and skin on my back... Shouldn't I be remembering more than that?" Once he was ______ ______. That slate known as his past dissipated into thin air in a car accident that left him in a coma... his girlfriend and other companions were put into the hospital, but were not thrust upon the fate ______ would endure as they could of caught a cold case of death... maybe. Who knew as his memories were wiped, save for his wits and common sense to an extent. Now he has transpired into a broken realm with a new name bestowed to him by a hunter. ______ was asleep amidst the plague of nightmares, but Omen was born from the gleaming crimson of slumber with a few items at his side... ... "... I hear... sirens... my vision is blurry... almost as if this world is fogging up..." ... A college student, that's what he once was. Making it through each passing year, all while savoring each moment he had with his companions. They went through rough times, but with support from each other and their merit scholarships. Most of them dropped out within the first two years due to funds or lost initiative, but ______ stayed close with those who weathered the storm; they all became a tight knit community, one of which that could be mistaken for a family of sorts. ______ was able to work his way into the nursing program, along with ______, and ______ too. The trio were rivals too, competing for a chance at furthering their careers in a nursing school. Of course, to remedy such a possibly volatile friendship and rivalry, ______, ______ lover would often take strides to keep them all in line, all while ______, and the others giggled at the whole spiel. Unlike ______, ______ was majoring in another course, which ______ still struggles to recall at times since he found the whole process to be painstakingly numb. The rest is a blank dream. "... ugh, this is frustrating. I can only withdraw those remnants, save for a deafening screech... Oy, can you explain what's going on?" Other: Hey I did say he couldn't recall his own name, so wynaut remove all names from his backstory? Also, his real name is hidden somewhere in the personality I created for him; it was annoying to discern how to go about it, but hell, I did it.
53,549	1,459	22	2,786	800	After he'd spoken, there was silence for a moment, before the guy Kenji had labeled as "mysterious hooded stranger" suddenly began cackling like a madman and ran out after the gun toting woman, slamming the door in the face of several others. Obviously a few moved to follow the guy, rather out of curiosity or just a desire not to be locked in the room again, and the door was flung open once more. "I'd like to know what's going on too, stranger. But assuming you know as much as I do, which is next to none, she's the only one with answers. Stay in this shithole if you'd like. I'm heading up." Donny had answered, just before following the crazed man. The guy in the martial arts uniform went after him as well, and Kenji stepped closer to peer around the door frame and see what was going on. Aside from stone stairs and a cold looking corridor, the young man saw the psycho in the cloak attack--and lick?--the woman with the gun. Chalk him up as dead. But Donny and the other guy intervened, Donny quite literally lassoing the fool and the other man delivering a hefty punch to the face. Why not just let her shoot him? In terms of the group as a whole, Kenji didn't have a lot of info to judge people with. But at the same time no one up until now had done something completely out of the blue--except maybe himself, kicking the old man to death and all--so there was a kind of standard in his head right now that everyone stood on. The psycho dropped way below that standard, for obvious reasons. But Donny and this other guy dropped a bit in his opinion as well--why risk themselves for someone they didn't know, much less someone who, in the process of shooting their attacker, might accidentally shoot her rescuers as well? If the bullet had enough penetration power, it might even ricochet around the hall and hit someone in the room. With that thought Kenji moved a little further back. "We should kill him." the martial artist told Donny. Kenji dropped the man a few more points. For one thing you don't know anything about what's actually going on yet. Weird as he is, there's still the possibility this guy figured something out and his killing of this gunslinger could be a good thing. For another, nice to know you have the impulse to go for the most escalated form of violence as a first response. Not like you have room to talk, literally the first thing you did after waking up was kill an old blind man. Shut up, I still can't acknowledge that right now...and besides, that guy was going to eat -me-, specifically. This psycho wasn't hurting the big guy, just the woman, who already had a perfectly good method of defending herself... "As much as I distaste believing the woman, we don't have any choice but to trudge out of this area... with the others who I presume are... squabbling... And besides, interrogating a half-dead man with gouged out eyes definitely makes for a better informer than someone in one piece..." Kenji looked over at the fellow who'd spoken next, a somewhat normal looking guy who was just going about and helping some of the others get out of their binds. Donny had said much the same, and Kenji had to admit they were right. The woman with the gun was at least offering them information for free--whether she tried to mislead them could be determined at a later date with further knowledge. But as he looked around the room once more, trying to get a gauge on some of those who were finally coming to, he noticed that the woman who had been near catatonic had now managed to get up. She even seemed amused by what was going on in the hallway. But what Kenji labeled as most important about her appearance were her hair, eyes, and facial features. She's Japanese, like me? I wonder if she shares the same gaps in her memory... As a matter of fact, when I spoke earlier, everyone understood me. I don't remember being good at English, if that's indeed what we're speaking here. But can I intentionally speak my native language anymore? A few whispered phrases under his breath, out of hearing of anyone else, and he nodded to himself. Any attempt to recall something of my personal life or the history of the place I lived in, just blank. But my education level and the skills I've learned over life seem to be retained. "Osoreirimasuga," he began, speaking directly to the woman. "Nihonjin ka?" <<Excuse me, are you Japanese?>> His speech was a bit on the curt side, but at a moment like this he didn't care about being formal. If she was the same as himself, there might be a possibility to coordinate their knowledge and get a fuller picture of this situation. Maybe they were kidnapped from the same place, along with some foreigners, or maybe they had been foreigners. Kenji had figured out before that he had a high-school level education, and though he wasn't sure of this woman's age, there was the possibility that he had been on some kind of foreign exchange trip or something. Whatever the case, if there was someone here he identified with the most at the moment, it was her.	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,550	1,459	23	324	1,204	Lillian Lillian continued to struggle against the neverending ropes in annoyance and determination, so much so she barely paid any attention to the drama unfolding within the dark room. She would get these ropes undone if it was the last thing she did! As the war between the ropes went on, a man, whispering about helping her, approached. Without hesitation, she stuck out her stiff arms and sat patiently as he undid them. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She croaked, her voice slightly cracked, but before she could show any more gratitude, the man named Donny walked on. The numbness and soft color of her hands slowly began to return to Lillian and she smiled in appreciation once more. Unfortunately, the man had forgotten to untie Lillian’s feet. She tried untieing them herself, but the more she tried, the more it seemed to get tighter. Lillian huffed in irritation. It seemed several people were looking out for her tonight, for another man materialized near her and freed Lillian from the ropes. At last, she was free! Lillian’s light brown eyes took in the man fully and a soft smile spread across her lips. “Thank you so much! I know I can stand up on my own though! I can do it!” She called out in assurance and wobbled into a standing position. “My name’s Lili..” Before the rest of her name could escape her mouth, Lillian fell face first right back into the disgusting ground. “An” She finished as she looked up at the man and couldn’t help but giggle at her awkwardness. Whoever this man was, Lillian felt she quite liked him. She didn’t know where she was or how she had gotten there, but Lillian knew it wouldn’t be as bad as everyone thought. As long as everyone never gave up, things would be okay. She just knew it.	Name: Lillian (Lily) Gender: Female Age: 16 Weapons: Personality: Lillian’s the last person you’d ever expect to be a hunter. It’s a miracle Lillian can even walk, considering she falls over air every ten minutes. While she tries, Lillian tends to ruin everything her small fingers come across. That art project you spent weeks perfecting? She probably broke it five minutes ago. Disasters seem to haunt her every moment, whether it be bad luck or the fact that she’s just a complete klutz. It doesn’t stop her from trying incredibly hard for everything to be perfect though. In fact, she spends every waking moment of her life focusing on making things go by smoothly. Lillian's determination and will to keep going are two of her strongest assets. A complete goof ball, Lillian has no trouble getting people to smile, the only talent she seems to have. Beaming with positive energy, Lillian alway tries her best to turn any depressing moment into a cheerful one. People often find themselves annoyed with her because she constantly tries to make everyone happy, especially when they want to be alone. She genuinely cares about other people though and wishes the best for them. To Lillian, even if it’s pretending, it’s better to be smiling than frowning. While she may see all rainbows and cupcakes, Lillian too has a bad side lurking deep underneath thousands of mountains of sugar and dreams. She can often be overprotective of the ones she cares about, which frequently leads into trouble. Lillian doesn’t know when to stop talking either, an issue she never seems to be able to fix. However, her bad side rarely comes out, and she will try her best to compromise on everything so both parties are satisfied. Lillian isn't afraid to learn new things and will gladly work hard to accomplish something as well. No matter how poor the situation looks, Lillian will keep working until the breath is sucked out of her or the job is completed. She strongly believes that if you start something, you should see it to the end, no matter what. She's a loyal Hufflepuff, who will follow you to the end. Bio: Lillian started off born from two loving parents, surrounded by caring friends, just a perfect, average life. There was nothing holding her back from being her cheery self. All memories of her life were completely stripped as she slowly fell to the Wasted Dream. She knows she lived a happy and passionate life but that’s as far as her memory can recall. Flashes of a white hospital room constantly haunt her mind, although she can’t remember why. Other: -Lillian is very uncomfortable around blood, often passing out at the sight of it. -She also has a huge obsession with cake. -Painting has become a passion of hers and she loves artwork as well
53,551	1,459	24	1,278	8,083	~Maria~ "..." Maria was silent, as cold and silent as a tombstone, all the while the insane hunter not only tried to choke her (When was the last time I drew breath? Too long ago... can't remember.), but also licked her face (A man's tongue... disgusting and useless.). The huntress' pupils narrowed almost to the point of being imperceptible and a scowl bared her ivory-like teeth, including two pairs of sharp fangs. If it were not for Sinthe and Donny pulling the demented hunter away from her, Maria would have been tempted to show him what true madness is like, but it was too late now. However, after they had subdued the man, the two hunters would notice a gush of crimson flowing from his mouth and the throes characteristics of one fighting for breath. On Maria's bloodied hand was the tongue which licked her but a moment ago, still spewing squirts of blood as Maria discarded it on the floor unceremoniously. "I hope you have enjoyed the taste. Now, drown in your delusions and die." How she did that? Only God, or perhaps the Devil, will know. A couple of minutes later, as the insane hunter's torch was finally blown away, after an agonizing departure... "Let's get the cat out of the bag first," Maria said, taking a look at the hunters that had already assembled at the chapel while cleaning her hand with a handkerchief that appeared to belong to one of high-birth, considering the intricate embroidery and silky look. "You are all dead, and this is what you got for afterlife. Neither Heaven, nor Hell, just this pitch-lack, grimmy place and I —Maria E. B'thory—, as your humble hostess." "Also, you'll all notice that you've lost some (all) of your memories. This is the catch of this game, if you manage to recover them, you might be able to meet you fate. In the mean time," Maria made a pause, to let the info sink on their minds, before resuming her explanation, "You're to live as hunters —Jaegers, if you fancy the term— and dispose of the beasts that plague this land of nightmares. Or so, is the will of the one running the show..." Maria concluded her 'briefing' tipping her prized hat to the newly christened hunters and pointing to the altar of the Absolute, above which the alien god's holy symbol hung. "Ut absolutam gratiam tuam... you'll find all that you need behind the altar. As son as that old fool thinks it's time to make an appearance."	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,552	1,459	25	2,487	9,778	The sounds that had plagued the outside world behind the door that sealed the new captives in were not present for one reason or another. As Maria led the fresh group up towards the surface of this world, the presences that was felt all around seemed to draw back. Perhaps it was fear invoked by the monsters, fear of a seasoned Hunter who sought to destroy them. Regardless of what it was, the group of people were undisturbed for the rest of their journey to the top. The mad, raving would-be Hunter was already lost to the darkness below and if one turned back, they would see the twitching form of Bishop be dragged away by…something. But that wasn’t their problem anymore. At last Maria brought them to what appeared to resemble a small church clearing, seats and pews scattered and pointed towards a single alter at the front. A single man stood at its apex for the Temple had but one priest of sorts. The man this place called Rotting Bone. A clunky mess wrapped in a tattered cloak and other meshes of clothing, yet they always seemed to blend in perfect ripples with each motion of his ancient body. A cane was held in his wrinkling hand while a hood covered most of his visage from the world. “Welcome younglings to Iredele,” he greeted, glancing at Maria. “So she’s brought in some new blood….ah, forgive an old man and his ramblings. Kneel and give praise to the Church of Absolute for He gives us prayers in the night. You’ve wandered into the World of Wasted Dreams and into Iredele. No, no, no, there’s no use in thinking that you’ll escape. Thinking like that gets men killed. No…no…..” The man shuffled off, only to return with an assortment of garbs and weapons. He motioned for the group of unfortunate souls to take them freely and he chuckled at how lost they really were. The world had certainly moved on, now had it? “No use, no use I say! All that’s left is to hunt the monsters that pollute this town as Maria has said. You don’t get a choice I’m afraid. You either become a Hunter for me and search for your own answers, or you blend in and forget whatever you knew about from before. That’s not my problem. All that is my concern is your donations to the Temple. Now go on then. Run along and become good little Hunters for me…the sooner you kill the beasts, the more people will be running back to my business. Go on then. Out with you. Oh, and if you run into my granddaughter, tell her she’s wasting her time as always.” Now it was the time to explore the confines of Iredele and search for answers. For a new generation of Hunters was upon the World of Wasted Dreams. And the monsters were waiting in the shadows. As the Hunters went off doing their own things, Rotting Bone chuckled to himself as he headed towards the basement of the Temple. "Afterlife...does she really expect them to believe that?" , , , , , , , ,	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,553	1,459	26	1,449	5,931	As Bishop fell to his back, blood welling up in his mouth like a clogged drain, the trepidatious light afforded Highball a look past the hood that made the man seem more ravenous ghoul than human. Beneath the black fabric and the shadows of anonymity it cast, there lay a face nonetheless. Truth to be told, this discovery filled Highball more with disappointment than anything else. One's imagination always seemed to provide a more fascinating view of the unknown than it ever turned out to be once explored, and in this case Highball had craned her neck to see if some sort of uncanny wraith lay beneath that ebony cloth, but she came away disappointed. Of course, the grotesquely silent spread of blood over stone, sinking into its pitted surface and sliding through its cracks like miniature canals, did manage to set her on edge. In a dream, however, she needed not be too concerned with the details. Looking away from the pitiable, twitching corpse-in-the-making, Highball found her view returning to the strange woman once more. A closer examination of this figure, now only a couple meters from her, made the hairs on the back of Highball's neck rise. Venomous words flew from the fancy mannequin’s bloodless lips, and with a start Highball realize the scrap of moist rubbish just now tossed with palpable contempt on the floor to be none other than the ripped-out tongue of the newly-drowned. My word. How intense! I did not imagine otherwise, but this realm is not one to be taken any sort of lightly! Now thoroughly unnerved, Highball averted her eyes from Maria, having concluded her to be a loathsome entity with only a cursory facade of humanity. At that moment, one of the others approached Highball. His sudden appearance momentarily filled her with surprise, as if Kenji's visage was a slap in the face. The next instant Highball realized that in the few short minutes she'd been a part of this dream, her only conceived expectation thus far was that she'd be a spectator for the dream's events, coasting along for the ride. Being singled out for interaction did not, in light of the wretched act of violence just now performed, lift Highball's spirit. While her muscles went tense, she kept her face stonily impassive, and listened. At first, she surmised the strange strings of noises uttered by her new companion to be some nonsensical, insane utterance. Only after Kenji's question drown in the thick, ripe silence that followed did it pluck the strings of memory in Highball's mind. His alien language suddenly appeared weirdly familiar, but its grasp eluded her. Tantalizing...it's like remembering a the tune of a song, but not the words. Why does it strike me so...? She continued to answer the inquiry with a blank hazel stare, the upturned corners of her mouth hinting at both bemusement and a somewhat patronizing intrigue. Actually, Highball felt rather infuriated that there might be some greater meaning she was too stupid to get. If I feel so obligated to answer, it must be that he asked me a question. What would someone in a dream ask? Who am I? Am I alright? Do I really need my tongue? The best response she could think of was a shrug, slight smile, and nervous laugh, as if to say, Um, I guess so? “Heh?” The bloodthirsty mannequin saved her from the awkward situation. Wary, Highball turned to listen, and with the others she followed Maria into the chapel. On the way, the tension seemed to diminish, its noose around the hunters' necks inexplicably loosening. Immediately she noticed the altar, and her eyes lit up with curious fire. Dead, am I? Ooh, existential. To make me wonder what's real. Recalling this idea from somewhere, Highball rolled her eyes in a disinterestedly quick and nondramatic manner. Pitch-lack? Hm. Perhaps she meant pitch-black. The comment about memories did not unduly intrigue her. Right, right. Had to be explained somehow. This is the most meta dream I've ever had. Lucid, even. Maria's pause wore on her patience, though the detail that follow brought a smug smile to Highball's face. Hunting beasts! Sounds like a blast. Do I get a shotgun? Or, considering the time period, some kind of pitchfork? When Maria mentioned 'all that you need' behind the altar, Highball practically leaped at the chance, only to freeze stiller than a statue at the sight of Rotting Bone. An insane child's ragdoll come to life, this man stood before Highball like a scarecrow in the field. She could see nothing but a yawning void beneath his hood, and so swept over his garb with her eyes for horrific inspiration. He seemed an amalgamation of different rags, each abandoned by some unaware fool to coalesce into a single, ghostly being. Looking at him, Highball felt indisputably that Rotting Bone was very, very old; it seemed an ominous coincidence that her mind jumped to the phrase too old to be alive. When his withered lips parted to speak, Highball flinched, and her heart pounded with equal parts terror and excitement. He asked that she kneel, and the woman's mind conjured up images of graven idols. Hoping it would suffice, Highball bowed to him, gingerly but deeply, but kept her eyes on him the whole time in the fashion of the martial artists. Not looking back to see if the others followed suit, and not remotely caring, Highball waited while he trundled into the darkness before returning to her full height. When Rotting Bone returned, his arms clutched a bounty of death and dignity. He laid it before his fresh congregation, and invited with gesture for them to choose. Highball's eyes shined as she dashed nimble forward, like a weasel darting out from its safe burrow to snag a morsel. Her fingers closed around a night-black handle, and from the pile she withdrew a vicious rake. When she yanked it free, one of its tines snared a red-banded top hat, and taking this as an omen of good fortune, Highball slipped it on her head before stepping away to examine her weapon. Though emaciated and tough as metal, it looked like the torn-off limb of some gargantuan bird. Some huge raven's claw....what's this lever? Out of the three settings, the lever lay in the middle. Highball tentatively pulled it down, and the rake's tines swung together, turning the weapon into a large, intimidating cane. Feeling very dapper, she leaned upon the cane and snickered, watching to see what the others picked. The words of Rotting Bone she thought she understood well enough. Go out, slay monsters, bring back any trophies to this place, snark to some woman, have the time of my life. Easy as pie.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,554	1,459	27	1,445	9,375	Slowly, Donny stepped away from the body, dropping the rope and looking at the corpse in shock. Somehow... Somehow this didn't bother him too much. Not the fact that the person was killed in such a gruesome matter, but at the woman who did it. How was she able to do that? Just how strong was she? How fast? And now that he wasn't in the darkness of the basement, Donny could see that the man from before was huge. Or at least bigger than Donny, and Donny always thought he was a big man. Or at least he somewhat remembers being the bigger man, his memories weren't really helping him. Either way, between the woman and the man-shaped wall of flesh near him, Donny was fearful. He had no idea what was going on, who these people were, and what was going to happen. The woman made things very clear shortly after. It was simple, but Donny was looking for a different answer. Perhaps he was making things overtly complicated, but part of him would rather be involved in a complex conspiracy than the simple realization that he's dead. The woman, Maria, made it clear to them that this is their purgatory, and if they want to get out of it they needed to become Hunters. It was so simple, but Donny wanted to ask questions. He wanted to find other options, a loophole, to not play this game. But as he stood there numb, he took a deep breath and sighed. "Well... I guess... I guess that's it then, huh? I mean..." Donny looked towards the other survivors, looking for validation. "She's.... If she's right, then that's what we'll have to do, right? We become hunters and fight monsters. Fuck. This all feels like a dream... Like some sort of game. It has to be, right? I mean... Heh. Heh ha ha ha ha!" Donny began to laugh hysterically. He was deeply conflicted right now. It wasn't just because he was going to deny that he was dead. But part of him actually wanted to try this crazy hunter gig out. He was on the edge of having nothing to lose and becoming nothing at all. Perhaps, for the sake of his own sanity, he needs to accept both things: That he doesn't want to die (Or think he's dead) and become a hunter. It can't be all that bad, right? So the young man turned towards everyone. He didn't realize it, but he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which he got during one of his falls back at the basement. The blood dripping down his chin made him look even more delusional than he realized, but he was going to try to act like the beacon of stability. The alternative was something he did not wante to embrace, as the corpse (That was there before being dragged off) at his feet demonstrated. "Okay! No sense in trying to parse out facts from fiction. Miss Maria, right? My name is Donny. I think, Donny Yang? That sounds about right. I'm guessing form your attire that you're also a hunter. Fascinating! Hey, where are you going?" Donny followed Maria to the alter, where they were greeted by yet another strange, rambling old man. At least this once doesn't seem like he was going to eat them. Immediately. He essentially made it clear to Donny and everyone else listening that becoming hunters and fighting monsters was the only thing they could do. In truth this made Donny a little happy; at least now there won't be any uncertainty about what he should do here. There was some doubt, sure, but ultimately becoming a hunter was greater than trying to escape this place. "The World of Waking Dreams... Sounds nice. So this building, or town or country or whatever, is Iradele?" Donnt wasn't able to see much outside yet, but hopefully for the World of Waking Dreams, it'll at least be scenic. If it really was nothing but darkness, well that would quickly stop being so scary and just downright tedious. There was also other things the old man said. Donations, other people, and his daughter. Donny wasn't certain what sort of donations this old guy would want. He assumed that since they were hunters, they needed to bring back proof of killing their prey. Things that Donny guess would be like claws, horns, or even heads of monsters. Hearing about other people made Donny wonder if others like himself have already been here and made a community. At least there's some comfort knowing that he won't essentially be bumming it in the wilds. And lastly was mention of the old man's daughter. Taking an educated guess, Maria was not the old man's daughter. Who that was, Donnny didn't know. And it'll be hard for him to pass along a message to someone he doesn't know. But questions could come later. Right now he needed to gear up. The old man had dropped of a a pile of weapons and other junk in fairly good condition. Donny saw guns, swords, clubs, tools, the works. But for weapons like the guns, he knew almost instinctively that they were very old-fashion. Perhaps it was lingering memories of his past life, but he was certain that he has seen (perhaps even used) guns before that were much more... Advanced than these flintlocks and muskets. He picked up a few, taking note that some had cool features such as multiple rotating barrels or are break-action, but with no bullets in sight these were nothing more than fancy clubs to Donny. Putting the firearms away for the others to pick out Donny looked for other things he could use. He didn't fancy swords too much and was considering grabbing a knife, but he saw a hand-axe underneath the pile. Digging towards it Donny lifted it up in the light to give it a good look. It was a simple axe, no engravings or fancy embellishments on it. It was neither dull nor rusty, and the wood felt solid and strong. There was some scratches on the surface but no chips or cracks. While the axe head felt weighted, the overall axe was very light. Donny guessed it was barely two pounds, if even that. He was almost tempted to hurl it at the wall to see if it could serve as a throwing axe, but refrained from doing so. He'll get a chance to practice later. As Donny shifted through the pile for something he could use to hold his axe he also found a length of rope. It was in a tightly wrapped bundle, but once it was in his hands Donny just knew how to undo the knots, allowing all of it to fall to his feet. "Alright, I definitely got some strange relationship with rope..." Feeling the rope around his hand and fingers, Donny knew that this rope was much stronger than the rope that was used to tie him up. After spent a few moments examining the quality of the rope Donny tied the rope back into a bundle. Holding onto both the axe and rope, Donny realized that he had no way to hold these objects. His pants had some pockets he could stuff them into, but they won't hold the items firmly. Looking through the pile of clothing Donny found a harness/bandoleer that would be perfect for holding onto his weapons, as well as other miscellaneous things he could attach to the loops and straps. He also found a nice, thick trench coat with more straps and pockets he could use. He decided to take both, though was he sadden that he couldn't find a matching hat. Donning his hunting gear and holstering his tools Donny figured he might try and grab a gun when he spotted something even better. For the purpose of hunting monsters no one would consider taking this, and it was precisely why Donny was going to take it. This world, their memories, their very purpose was empty and meaningless. Donny wasn't going to deny it. But he wasn't going to believe that there's nothing they can do about it. A blank world makes for the perfect canvas. In this place where there is nothing but trouble, it is the ripe grounds to make a solution. The screams, the cries, and roars, Donny was going to get rid of them. He was going to drown them with the sound of music. The pale young man walked towards the acoustic guitar, gently holding it in his hands and strumming the strings. It was heavier and harder than it's appeared, but Donny didn't care too much about that. He strummed a few notes together, the soft whistles familiar to his ears. It was comforting. And with any luck, perhaps Donny could use this tool to defeat monsters. "Silly I know... But this is a crazy world. And I'm a crazy man." Smiling to himself, Donny made a sling for his instrument and slung it onto his back. Feeling sufficiently equipped Donny went back to the Maria, as the old man was gone, feeling a bit more confident in himself. "Say beautiful, you got time to answer some questions? Cause I'm going to ask them anyways. For starters, rags mentioned something about donations. I'm guessing that he wants us to bring back parts of the monsters we kill for some reason or another. But what's in it for us? Surely there's a reward for bringing back the bits of beasts we'll be fighting, if the reward of slaying them isn't enough. Also he mentioned other people. How many people are in Iradele? Any merchants, cooks, doctors, craftsmen? Also who is his daughter? If he want us to pass his message to her, I'll have to know who she is and what she looks like first."	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,555	1,459	28	2,786	800	The sounds and sights that broke Kenji's conversation with the other woman made him take yet another step away from the door. Partly, he hadn't really been looking, so maybe that was why he couldn't see it. Or could the pale woman truly be that fast? And those fangs aren't normal either. None of this is normal. It's not a dream; the pain in my joints from those ropes, and the feeling of kicking that creature, and this fetid smell...It's all real. But it isn't...it isn't supposed to be like this. Things like that aren't supposed to be possible. That pale woman was a monster. Whether because she was distracted by the bloody events of before or because she didn't know what he was saying, the other girl didn't respond to Kenji's question at all. There was no other reason, in Kenji's mind, to speak to the others right now. They were all in the same place he was--confused and more than a little scared. All that was left for them was to follow this pale, fanged, blood stained woman. Kenji did so at a distance, keeping close to the walls for a reason he wasn't quite sure of. Maybe just a psychological placebo, a foundation of sorts that could support his shaking legs. And finally he got some information about this place. If Maria or the old man were paying any attention to their "new recruits," they might notice that Kenji stood back from the others, at a place where he could see all of them. His eyes and ears were attentive, but his gaze kept flickering here and there, especially when either of them moved or pointed at something during their lecture. When the old man brought out weapons and it was Kenji's turn to take his pick, he looked over several of them, testing their edges with his thumb, or checking their balance and weight by picking them up and turning them over in his hands. Hunters hunt "beasts," eh? Obviously not the normal kind. Rather than boars or wolves, something...monstrous. Some of these weapons seem to be made from the remains of such creatures. These guns are far from modern. These types take too long to reload, are too finicky with their accuracy, and probably jam easily. Overall less reliable than a blade, their only saving grace being ease of use and explosive power in a small package. Hm. A knife is always good as a backup, I'll go ahead and have that. Why does it make my stomach hurt...? And this... Kenji hefted the spear, noting its cross blades, and stepped back from the group. He had found the weapons he was comfortable with for now. He gave the spear a practice spin, and found that while he had enough dexterity and strength to manipulate the weapon fairly easily, he didn't have any muscle memory or reflexes related to the use of it. I must not have been a martial artist or any kind of fighter when I was...alive. If that spiel about the afterlife was true. But the Chinese had a saying, I believe, that went something along the lines of "the spear is the king of all weapons." Historically I'm almost certain it was the most used weapon of infantry precisely because it was simple to learn, yet efficient and deadly. These two side blades will stop a creature from simply pushing its way up the shaft of the spear to get at me, once I've impaled it. Hopefully. With any luck, I'll be able to stab and kill something from outside its arm's reach...then again, if these monsters are giant-sized, no humanly-usable spear might be long enough. Kenji grimaced. Here he was talking about killing monsters as if he were playing a game of some sort, rather than living a wretched nightmare. Was this place affecting his sanity, as well as his memory? Maybe that was easier for him to believe than the truth. Maybe it was easier to just make excuses, rather than acknowledge the fact... Rather than acknowledge the fact... I killed that man. I killed that old blind man. I was ready to beat him, while he lay dying, if it would have gotten me more information. I'm honestly considering going out and killing some kind of creature, becoming some kind of monster hunter, because I've been told it might get me my memories back. Kenji barely had time to run behind one of the pillars lining the grand chambers of the church, before the sound of heaving and retching could be heard. What the hell have I done? Where the fuck am I!? I want to go home, but I don't even know where it is! I don't like this! I HATE this! He kept throwing up until there was nothing in his stomach, and even then he heaved and coughed. His throat felt like it was on fire, and hot, salty tears ran down his face. He let it all out, all his self disgust, all his fear, all his despair...He poured it all out until he was completely empty inside, and with that emptiness, there came a kind of clarity. "Think, Kenji. You don't know shit about what happened...before. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, in your heart, that you're a thinker." He thought aloud. "So put your brain to work, and let's make sense of this bullshit." I, Nakamura Kenji, have entered the World of Wasted Dreams, and a town called Iredele, according to an old man and a pale woman. According to the woman, this is some form of afterlife--there may be a way, if I follow their orders, to recover my memories, maybe even my life. Both of them seem to follow this church of a being called the Absolute, and are recruiting Hunters to fight monsters and beasts. Somehow, fighting these creatures plays into making donations to the church. I'm not sure if that means bringing back proof of a kill, or some kind of currency. I've been supplied weapons, and there are other new Hunters I can work with. I do not know if I can trust anyone, thus far, whether it be the people who arrived here with me or the two natives of this world. I still need more info. I have weapons to defend myself with, and though the pale woman has displayed supernatural strength and speed, she doesn't seem hostile to us as long as we keep to ourselves. Right now it looks like the old man has actually left, heading...downstairs? To what, a basement or cellar? The pale woman is still near the altar. Donny's talking to her. Other than him, one other guy, and a woman who didn't respond when I spoke to her, no one has taken any notice of me. I can probably leave without any problems. If this Iredele is a real town, there have to be other people living here. I can cross reference what I have so far with whatever they can provide in terms of information. So, that will be my first course of action: Exit the church, and speak to the townspeople. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his uniform--his own clothes would probably work for now, he didn't really think he needed to take any from the pile--Kenji stepped away from the pillar and headed towards the entrance of the church, walking much more steadily. The butt of his spear tapped the cobblestones like a walking stick, and the knife in his pocket was a reassuring weight. He took his first steps into the World of Wasted Dreams proper, and went out into the town of Iredele...	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,556	1,459	29	980	4,120	Paul Delacroix - Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. As the group moved on, something within Mister Delacroix demanded that he linger behind. Staring down at the gurgling and dying corpse-to-be of one of the hooded strangers, it took him a moment to properly process what he was seeing. With rapt curiosity, the young man tilted his head slightly as he stood and watched the cloaked man choke on his own fluids and die his slow horrible death. The rational part of his mind told him that what he was seeing was wrong. It should've shocked him. It should've disgusted him. He should be trying to save the man, right? A small part of him told himself that he should be reacting in a completely different way than how he was currently handling the situation. But, for some reason Paul was indifferent to the plight of the suffocating fool. "I've seen this before. In my past, I feel that I've witnessed death before. In a different time and a different place. Hmm. How interesting." he thought to himself. Squatting down, Paul leaned in closer to examine the man but did not overstep his boundaries and inwardly refused to touch the asphyxiating future cadaver. Looking up at the beautiful pale woman, he filed away the bit of information that she was not one to be trifled with. What woman -or creature- had such strength and speed to rip the tongue from a person's mouth without anyone's notice? He would have to be sure not to anger her and get on her bad side. As he stood and casually followed after the departing group, Mister Delacroix looked over his shoulder as the body of the tongueless stranger violently shook out his final death throes. He would have to remember to say a little prayer later. At the Chapel Paul blinked when the fair lady mentioned to them all that they had all passed on. Allegedly, they had all died. Looking at his hands, he flexed his fingers. Rigor mortis hadn't set in, his digits moved fluidly and freely. Placing his index and middle finger against where his carotid artery would be on his neck, he felt what he thought to be his pulse. He didn't exactly feel cold either. So he wasn't a zombie, he felt very much normal and alive. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured that if he were truly dead he probably wouldn't be able to really tell anyways. Paul was in an odd state of just simple acceptance. Everything that was transpiring he was absorbing and taking in to be factual and true, taking them for their face value and choosing not to delve too deeply into questioning everything. This was the way things are going to be now. This is the natural order. It was a dangerous state of mind to be in, for sure. But, at the moment he didn't quite care. Instead, he was more interested in how the Lady Maria used a word of germanic origin and then uttered a phrase in Latin. "Hmm, does she have an understanding of multiple languages or is it some arcane gift of tongues. What did she say?...It would roughly translate into a 'gift for...Absolute'? She mentioned a being called The Absolute earlier, it must be this world's deity of some sort." Paul silently pondered to himself. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he eyed the symbol of the so-called 'Absolute.' No, he didn't wonder how he had died. Nor did he wonder why he ended up here and with such an interesting start. Then again, how does one imagine the start of one's eternity in either Hell or Heaven? He still couldn't say, even as he stood. He was simply curious as to Lady Maria's knowledge of languages. His eyes lowered from the symbol when a being Paul could only describe as a moving mass of rags and cloth, a tangible and corporeal phantom or specter. The entity screamed 'ancient, eldritch knowledge' to him. But even still, Paul couldn't be moved to pay close attention. Only really focusing on what he deemed to be the important parts. He was absolutely not going to kneel and pray to this 'Church of Absolute', and he wasn't quite pleased about somehow being forced into this dark, abysmal world. Just to be told that he was now a supposed 'Hunter' and that he was to be shoehorned into slaying these beastly creatures he has yet to lay eyes on. Half of him accepted the flow of events, the other half refused and silently retaliated against his current situation in small ways. He would play along for the most part, but not completely. Not yet. Though, the prospect of regaining the memories of his previous life and who he was indeed tempted him. When the mobile bundle of dirty laundry left and returned bearing gifts, Paul cocked an eyebrow and came up to the laid out assortment when his turn had come. Hands still in his pocket, his eyes almost lazily scanned over the pile of random equipment and nothing really caught his attention. He was just about to turn and walk away, almost quietly declining any gift that a talking amalgamation of discarded articles of clothing could offer him when he stopped. At just the last second in the corners of his vision he saw something that alluringly beckoned to him. Softly and gently calling out to him in the sweetest of voice. Turning back round, he walked to one side of the pile and saw a cane with a rosary and necklace draped over it. Laying next to it was an ornate and beautiful handgun. Kneeling on one knee, Paul removed a hand from its pocket and reached out to grasp at the draped rosary and necklace. Something tugged at a memory within the inner depths of his mind. "These...These belong to me. These are mine." Squinting, Paul gingerly slipped the necklace over his head and around his neck. Tucking the necklace into his shirt, he then wrapped the rosary around his left wrist. Taking the cane in his left hand and firearm in his right, he looked at them both as he stood. In an almost loving fashion, he warmly rubbed on the handle of the cane. It felt comfortable in his hands. It felt familiar. Leaning slightly against it, he couldn't help but smile a little. Something in the cane clicked and Paul nearly stumbled when the handle turned in place. Regaining his posture, he noticed that the handle seemed to come loose from the body of the cane. Frowning, he pulled at the cane and his eyes gleamed in awe as he stared at the long, thin blade that was revealed. "Huh. Well, this is new. But somehow....it still feels right." Admiring the blade for a moment, Paul's smile grew a little bigger as he sheathed it and discovered that he could lock the cane sword back in place. Slightly leaning on his returned cane, Paul looked over the firearm he had in hand and scoffed. It wasn't hard to tell why he had made such a mocking noise at the pistol. Clearly written over his face, it was easy to tell that Mister Delacroix recognized the archaic origin of the gun. In that same expression, something was said that Mister Delacroix could possibly improve upon its design himself. "No ammunition, it seems. I'll probably have to acquire a kit of some sort for it. I wonder what this world's form of currency is. Iredele, right?" Pointing the barrel of the gun downward, Paul resigned it to temporarily rest in between the waist of his trousers and his belt. He'd get a proper holster for it at a later time. For now, he had an intense desire to learn a little more of this world and explore it. Once he had a sufficient and basic working knowledge of this Iredele, he intended to get settled as soon as possible. Discover how to acquire money. Use said monies to secure lodging, food, and clothing. Once the basic needs are fulfilled and satisfied, he'd like to see more of these 'beasts' that he was supposed to be hunting. Paul would become a working cog of this machine for the time being, he would accept the way things are. It made things easier to cope with, after all. Turning to face the Lady Maria, he walked with his cane toward her intent on asking her a few simple questions. But, another gentleman had beaten him to the punch. He recognized the man to be 'Donny', the man who helped release him. Politely waiting his turn to speak, Paul peered over his shoulder to see a young man with a spear exit the chapel. Someone was a bit hasty, but had a similar idea to his. He wondered if the two of them would bump into each other later.	Name: Caval Avaine Gender: Male Age: 29 Appearance: Caval is by no means an opposing figure he often curls into himself and when talking to people he tries to avoid eye contact. Caval stands at 5ft 9" and has blue eyes that are more often then not bloodshot he has messy blond hair. His face is rugged with a five o'clock shadow. He wears rough leather armour with a long black hooded clock his boot are about 2 sizes to big and Caval often looks like a lost puppy. Magic: Shadow Weapon: longsword: Caval carries a sword made of steel, the hilt is adorned with shiny rocks. While the sword is cracked it is still sharp enough to draw blood. One-handed crossbow: For places the sword cannot reach Caval uses a basic wooden crossbow, Caval doesn't use the crossbow often as it is clunky and time consuming to shoot. Personality: Caval is not quite there, despite using his magic a handful of times his mind has been polluted by shadow, while still being able to make decision and hold conversations he still drifts off sometimes. He suffers from nightmares as a result of his magic and often only get 4-5 hours of sleep, if he sleeps at all. Despite being a sandwhich short of a picnic Caval is very intelligent and intuitive when he is functioning correctly he can hold a conversation and can figure out riddles and puzzles. Caval is very childlike and has the same innocence as a child would have, being very naive in the process this however makes him a friend to everyone, this however is not always a good thing and people do take advantage of him due to his deteriorated mental state. Bio: Caval doesn't remember anything other than him being is an pristine hospital room but he does remember feeling frightened, other than that his mind is blank. Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover.)
53,557	1,459	30	2,285	5,789	Before anyone could act upon Sinthe telling the others that they should Kill the guy, that just suddenly went berserk and tried to attack the one person that knew about the place they were. But before they could actually kill the guy, the pale woman did it herself, she managed to rip his tongue out, Sinthe watched as Donny just let the body fall, the white hared man kept himself from being squirted on by blood and covered his face with his hand to avoid being hit by the red liquid." Well, I guess we didn't need to do anything after all, I respect a woman who can handle herself." Sinthe told the pale woman in a stoic tone with a straight face. Sinthe crossed his arms and leaned his back on a wall, while the woman told them that they were dead, Sinthe handled the situation lightly, he didn't see it as a thing that seemed to serious, he didn't say anything and kept himself calm in the moment and watched the others react to the news. Sinthe's eyes locked onto the old man Rotten bone he clearly remember someone like him before doing something similar to what he's doing now, giving the others weapons and handing them off to the others, Sinthe felt like a couple things were missing from this, Sinthe remember the woman telling them that they might not have their memories, or completely lost them, he could only remember blank faces really and couldn't put everything together really. When Donny went on about using a weird weapon Sinthe sighed and rubbed the side of his head." Only if this one could've just been an empty memory, I can tell he's gonna be annoying after a while." Sinthe told himself, after listening to Donny and watching him talk to Maria, suddenly he moved from holding up the wall by leaning on it to going to Maria's side." I'll ask an easy question for you, can we go now ?" Sinthe asked the woman, he felt his answer would be answered last but hell he wanted to ask it anyways, he didn't like standing around like this, he soon began grabbing the badge shaped like a fist hanging from gi belt and let it drop and hang from the belt.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,558	1,459	31	1,449	5,931	Highball stood apart, leaning on her rake-turned-cane, exuding an attitude remarkably light in the midst of a singularly repulsive world so indomitably dark. Compared to the others, she gave off the unmistakable air of not taking the overarching situation as seriously as it seemed to demand. In this manner, she spectated the choices the others made, less out of consideration for the individuals and more so that she might catch a glimpse of more fascinating weapons. The first man to step up and accept Rotting Bone's invitation, Donny, disappointed her with his choice of an unremarkable hatchet after some some promising rummaging. She looked on as he produced from the great pile even more rope, which he began securing to his person. At the same time, a figure from the back of the group came forward to secure his own armaments. Highball quickly recognized this man to be the same who'd attempted conversation with her. He withdrew from the pile a long spear with a crossguard, and Highball nodded approvingly. The sight of the long weapon led her to believe, perhaps recalling from her previous life, that people didn't give spears the credit they deserved. Spears were practical, easy to work with, and most importantly, safe. A spear's range meant that it could damage creatures beyond the range of their own claws and fangs, keeping the wielder same from harm. Smart fellow. The bloke who chose a tiny axe will have to be inside some monster's mouth before he can hit with it, but spectacles here will strike from afar. He doesn't seem very loony, either. Maybe I'll tail him. Two hunters would be better than one. She moved on when Kenji ran off, though she cringed to hear the moist, thick sounds of vomiting from where he disappeared. Yuck. If this were real, I'd say the reality just dawned on him. Meanwhile, others had moved forward. Highball spared an incredulous glance at Donny, who appeared to have selected a guitar for a secondary weapon, before her eyes landed on Paul. Skinny and plain of color, he seemed oddly aristocratic in his slow, measured movements, and his selection of a cane sword and a pistol only fomented that observation. When she witnessed his snakelike smile, however, she looked elsewhere. Very conspicuously, a huge man with whom Highball did not imagine herself resonating at all ignored the weapons, selecting only a badge to stick to his belt. Her top hat bobbed as she suppressed a condescending laugh; did this dolt really think himself man enough to kill beasts and beings beyond reckoning with his hammy mitts alone? This brute won't last an hour if this World of Waking Dreams is anything more deadly than a petting zoo...unless it operates on some sort of ludicrous cartoon magic, as some dreams do? Rolling her eyes, Highball shifted gears. Paul, Donny, and Sinthe crowded around the porcelain killer to bombard her with questions. Kenji, meanwhile, fled the building. Deciding to go after him, Highball took two steps before looking back at the rest of the group. She observed a woman a few years older than she in a blue tunic, a blonde teenager who'd look more at home in a middle school than a nightmare, a swarthy man in brown with a feather in his hair, and a cloaked fellow with unkempt hair who seemed as much of a child as the blonde girl. None had made so much as a twitch or uttered so much as a peep since coming upstairs; they struck Highball as a rather dull lot, not as fit for survival as those who'd already chosen weapons. Well, we have our supporting characters to die within the first half hour. Pitiful, really. That feather-haired chap isn't half bad looking, and he's dressed almost as stylishly as me. Hopefully he'll live a while. With that, Highball dashed away, energetic and eager in her naivety to begin the hunt. She followed in the footsteps of Kenji and exited the ruined chapel, trotting up beside him to give him a companionable nudge with her elbow. Surprisingly in sync with his walking pattern despite her shorter stride, the behatted woman joined the bespectacled spearman for his first steps into Iredele's gloom.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,559	1,459	32	1,278	8,083	~In Hunting Beasts and Monsters~ Kenji and High would find, as they left the dusty chapel behind, that the reality before their eyes was more than most minds would be able to process. Lead colored clouds covered the sky, except for the few cracks through which filtered the ethereal azure of the twin moons which oversee the World of Wasted Dreams. The wind howled and things, unspeakable things, could be heard on the distant cliffs, the nearby fields and even... right besides them. Iredele BGM Swish! A rat ran away, cowered by the hunters' appearance. That was the reality of the World of Wasted Dreams, of the town of Iredele and of their lives from now on. A reality were even the scuttling of a rat could mean a life threat, dare you not check it and behave with caution. The town was silent, dead silent one might even say, perhaps a wake was being held somewhere and all sounds and activities had been drowned for fear of them disturbing the deceased's departure thereby, bringing yet another horror into this world. Most likely, however, was that this very town was a huge wake, which was much closer to the truth. In the murky darkness, a few outlines denounced the presence of other points of interest. From the temple it was possible to make the shapes of: The Town Square whose only distinguishing feature aside from the mud was an old half-beaten well that certainly had seem better days in the past. The Town Hall with it's opulent decadence, crested by a bell tower probably meant to serve as a public broadcast for general uses. The former Constable Station which lays vacant and decrepit, the scrape of chains and creacking of the rusty bars still being heard up to this day. The Inn of Four Winds which has long ago been turned into Maria's private manor, as is noted by an engraved brass plaque (if they care to go and check). And lastly, the Winter Wolf Tavern the only solace in this depressive world, being it's many drinks and meager food for those who have the means to pay for it. To find what lay beyond this initial panorama they would have to go out and explore the shadows that shrouded Iredele. • • • "Nooo! Nooo, let me go! Please, don't take me!" Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the monotonous silence of the night, coming from somewhere down the main street. Sure, the people inside the temple would hear such a commotion as well, but Kenji had the advantage of already being outside the building, so he would arrive there faster, in case he decided to check. ~Maria~ "Oh my, isn't your lot an eager one?" "Very well then, I'm yours for the time being, ask me whatever you want." Maria jested, crossing her legs casually and sighed, letting her bare fangs visible as she listened to the hunters who showered her with questions. First it was Donny, who seemed to be the most eager of them all. Maria spared him a glance at the compliment, wondering again why such a person had to be wasted being born as man, before she finally answered him, in order. "Actually, you go all the contrary, you bring back the trophies of the slain quarry and sell them to old Rotting Bone, and then, you use the money for donations. It's a rip off, but if you want to live here, you'd better get used to it, otherwise you'll not even have what to eat, I fear. Don't worry for things such as the population around here, it fluctuates far too much to be a matter for us, though it generally stays on the low end of bare minimum. Do you want to change that, by any means? Go forth, most women there won't complain about being taken (even by force) as long as you're not a monster, because they know what could happen if you are." To this last statement Maria flashed her teeth to Donny, in a sort of provocative grin. Nevertheless, she continued soon enough "As for their skills, I guess that you could count old Rotting Bone as the closest thing to a doctor this place will ever have. I tend to do most of the craft work for things that hunters normally need, simply because I enjoy the past-time, I'm also the owner of the only place you can stay, unless you want to salvage an abandoned house, or... force yourself on an occupied one." Again, Maria displayed her challenging grin, her teeth shone wickedly against the pale light that saturated the temple's innards. It was a habit of her, to provoke the hunters and test their morals, she didn't cared to the outcome too much, but Maria always enjoyed watch how the World of Wasted Dreams changed a person, for better or worse. Anyway, for the final stretch of Donny's questions, Maria replied "Oh, my lovely Annabel, so sweet a flower, she really doesn't deserve such a wretched fool as a relative." Maria skirted around the matter as she talked about Annabel, in a wistful (Or was it lustful?) voice. "Anyway, you won't have trouble spotting her, my sweet Fleur-de-Lis doesn't look nothing like your typical townsfolk. You won't be finding her, she finds you. Your best bet is carry on with your 'lives' as normal and wait until Annabel wants to make herself known, I say that from personal experience." • • • As Maria finished with Donny's questions, came both Paul and Sinthe, one of them displaying at least some respect and the other as gruff as his looks made him appear to be "You are free to do whatever you wish, as long as you mind the consequences. The Wasted Dream isn't a very forgiving mother to careless children. As for you, gentleman, and... the rest of you who are still a bit shocked, I presume." Maria ran a gaze over the other hunters, not caring to account for Highball and Kenji's disappearance. If they wished to speed up their demise doing something stupid, so be it. Who knows, if they the could even manage to surprise Maria with their tricks? "You can leave your questions for later now," Maria grinned as the cry for help echoed within the temple, raising up from the old pew and moving to dramatically push the heavy iron-framed doors of the temple in a dramatic (and easy) way. "Is the time for you to take your first glance at what you'll be dealing with for the rest of your days..." Without gazing backwards, Maria shifted Pandora's weight to a better position and walked distressed call, wondering what sort of ill luck had befallen the poor soul who owned such a desperate voice.	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,560	1,459	33	1,445	9,375	Yeah, that does sound like a rip. Death and taxes, am I right? Donny joked as Maria explained the situation to him. Basically, they go to Rotting Bones (Donny guessed that was the name of the old man in rags who just left) for currency, which they should donate to the church. Donny didn't intend to do so until absolutely necessary, but he kept that thought to himself. As for the other villagers, only Rotting Bones passed as a doctor, and Donny didn't trust a doctor named Rotting Bones. Maria was the village craftsman, making Donny quite excited. "Well, I'm pretty handy myself. Maybe once we get situated, you and I could head to your workshop, show off each other's techniques." Of course Donny was speaking out of his ass, since he has no idea what his craft skills are like. Hopefully he could improvise well enough to impress. As for Annabel, Maria was vague. The best she described her as "not like the townsfolk" and considering that Donny doesn't know what they look like, it wasn't helpful at all. At least he was told that she'd be at the local tavern, so that narrows down to a location. "I'm sure that if she's anything like you, she'd be more radiant than the stars at night." All the while Donny didn't really comment on Maria's implication of what he could do to women. He would not lie to himself: Donny was kinda horny. But he had his morals, and dream or not, he wasn't just going to force his way onto others because he can. Flirt and shower with gifts and compliments? He'd do that unabashedly. Express his desires? He wasn't one to hold his feelings back. But force someone to love him? That wasn't his way. Regardless of who he was before he died, Donny was determined to think that he is a noble person right now. Speaking of death, a scream broke out into the night. The sound of a someone, possibly a woman, begging for help. Donny noticed a few from before were gone, and he feared the worse. That they too feel for the sick affliction like that one taken by the shadows. "Someone needs our help." Donny said to himself. Grabbing his axe out from it's sheath, Donny ran out of the church after Maria opened it's doors. Immediately he saw the depressing scenery around him. The World of Waking Dreams may not be made of complete darkness, but it was bleak and certainly the realm of nightmares. It was a lifeless place were death hung in the air, the air taste rotten as if time itself was eroding away at it's very being. The scent of corpses were light on the wind, while the stench of blood and feces still fresh from the church. The very essence of this place felt... Crushing. As if Donny was already in the bowels of a beast who has eaten him whole. And the sound... He could still hear the screaming. So Donny rushed forward. Instead of taking the roads, he used his axe to assist him as he begun to climb the rooftops. His first instincts were to take the high ground. Donny ran across the town square with great speed. He found the climb onto the first roof (Unknowingly to Donny, this was the Inn of the Four Winds) to be quite easy, his axe burying into the side of the wall with ease. When he reached to the top of the roof he continued to run, making effortless leaps across the gaps. While he likely won't be the first to arrive to the scene due to the road he traveled, he hoped that by taking this route he'd be in a good position to save whoever called out for help.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,561	1,459	34	2,786	800	Kenji nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman he'd attempted to speak to before nudged him, her steps falling in line with his own. After turning a particularly sharp glare on her, he relaxed...at least until the rat scurried out from practically under his foot. As he bristled he gave a half hearted kick at the creature, then watched it scramble into the darkness. He flexed his fingers on the haft of his spear before he looked back at the woman. "I'll try English--or whatever this language is we all seem capable of using--this time." he began, before turning his attention back to the town. As his eyes roamed the silhouettes of each building, he kept his mouth moving to distract his mind (was that a freaking corpse hanging crucified from that sign pole!?). "My name's Nakamura Kenji, surname-first. May I ask your own?" As the woman answered, Kenji would nod absentmindedly--he was listening, and made sure to note what she said, but was also concerned with the look of the town. Ghost town, maybe literally. That building with the most light and sound seems to be a bar of some kind--a good place to find crowds of people who might have loose tongues. Also a good place to get dragged into a drunk brawl, so I'd best be sure this girl's not fast to fight like Muscles McSteroids back there. I wonder-- A scream rent the chill air, and Kenji's first response was to raise his spear and take a half step back, lining himself up sideways to present as small a target as possible. Straight ahead, main street. Take them? Would beasts and monsters "take," in the fashion of kidnapping? A figure charged past him and the woman, and Kenji recognized Donny as he began to haul himself up the side of a wall. Good thinking, but too obvious. Leaping from the rooftops will make his shadowed form stand out against the background of the moonlight. He looked at Highball, and jerked his head towards a side route between the buildings. "I'll take left, you take right, if you plan on helping. Instead of running straight down the thoroughfare, let's take the side alleys and try to get an eye on this thing before we actually charge into it. If you have to, let Mr. Chivalry up there be our bait." So saying he took the roundabout roads through the shadows, keeping close to the walls and jogging along in a half crouch, spear held ready. He wanted to help whoever it was doing the screaming--he wasn't heartless--but he wasn't going to make any stupid, heroic, self sacrificial moves if he didn't have to. Honestly, what made this most worthwhile was the fact that, if he played his cards right, he could watch just what kind of battle might play out between this beast and whoever came to slay it, and gather some valuable data. He grimaced with self-disgust.	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,562	1,459	35	1,449	5,931	Walking out into the murky atmosphere of Iredele, even from the comparatively safe and quiet confines of the defunct chapel, hit Highball like a cold front. Before her stretched a derelict street, as much grass and mud as chipped, nonsensically-laid cobblestone. On either side loomed buildings like funeral attendees, grim and tall. Were an artist to toil at a painting of this scene for months, he would need only trace quantities of brown to liven up a palate irrefutably gray and lifeless. No squalid shopfront or dingy doorway belied the slightest warmth or invitation. Despite the disturbing emptiness that plagued these streets, the air exhibited an uncanny thickness, a wafting soup able to fill the mouth if only it weren't so vile. Truly, Highball had trouble picturing a state in which this sorrow town would ever have played host to civilization. Meters above the street dangled the putrid carcass of a human, bathing the road with its abominable odor. From beneath Kenji's heel a rat bolted for safety, the pitter of its tiny claws across muck and rock the only stirrings in the street's dead air. For all of a moment Highball flinched, before tilting her head and smirking at her companion's unease and the subsequent lackluster foot he threw the pathetic creature's way. After a moment, though, he turned his eyes on her. When he gathered himself to speak again, he issued forth words that Highball understood. “Ah,” she replied to his resolution to use English, in the manner of one enjoying a pleasant surprise. Ultimately, it made little difference to her. Guess I made the right choice. Kenji's next vocalization, unfortunately, necessitated a response. “Highball.” The response came curtly and brusquely, indicative of no further interest in small talk. By the looks of it, however, Kenji shared her disinterest; the slight bobbing of his head seemed semi-conscious at best. Highball hopped backward the instant the ghastly scream passed her ears, with her own safety her immediate concern. Her companion did the same, more or less, and the two wasted no time in scanning their surroundings for any clues as to the dreadful noise's source. Before they came to a proper conclusion about what course of action to take, a man ran past. Highball eyed the charging fellow dubiously, determining it to be Donny, who by now had solidified himself in her mind at least as the action-oriented, IQ-questionable type sure to get himself killed in the first half hour to make sure she knew how deadly some monster was. No doubt envisioning himself the action hero, Donny made a beeline for a building and started clambering his way up it, using his axe as the piton in the damp, deteriorated wood. It's a marvel some walls or a roof don't collapse under the weight of his idiocy. Even if I am excited about this place, not even I ran in alone. The Ravenclaw served as a grim reminder that gargantuan birds resided in this nightmare, and Highball guessed a rooftop target would be a sitting duck. She glanced back at Kenji, noting his gesticulation. While gallantry in a dream would get her nowhere, she imagined playing the hero might be fun, and decided to at least take a look at the problem. Kenji's plan, however, left her less than impressed. Alleys...where it's harder to see things coming, where attack can come from any angle, and where there's less room to dodge and swing weapons. Perhaps not the brightest plan of attack. She did like his plan to use Donny as bait, though that idea needed amending as well. Great! Donny is first bait, and you're second. No way am I waking up from this before I've had a good time. Tapping the side of her head twice with her cane, she shook her head, refusing to split off from him. When he took off down the left path, Highball followed close, vigilantly watching their backs for any sign of surprise attack. Her imagination raced to anticipate what fantastical beastie might lay ahead.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,563	1,459	36	2,285	5,789	Sinthe was outside when he knew he could leave but right at the threshold of the large temple, he stopped, not out of fear, not from nervousness, or feeling under equipped, or even cold from the wind that blew past him. What stopped him was the familiar feeling that he gotten looking at the small village, seeing it and it's vacant streets he felt a certain way, he couldn't describe it, but part of him wanted to burn the village to the ground, the utter feeling of hopelessness was so thick in the air that if Sinthe actually carried a weapon on him he could probably cut the hopelessness with a knife or smash it with a club, Sinthe looked at the streets with judging eye, everything looked more than derelict, it looked like everything looked like it was abandoned. Sinthe wouldn't be surprised if the village was named " Abandon all hope " The white haired man wandered around the small village and just thought about walking around killing everyone, or just the villagers, just so they don't have to be hopeless, but he figured that if he did it would take too much time and would be a waste of energy, and if he did they wouldn't have anything of worth for him to take." This place it's like a sick dream you get when you come down with a bad illness." he said to him self, he watched the others start going around the small village and stuck on his own, but something brought him back to the temple where he awoke, he stood outside leaning on the walls of the temple by himself. When he heard the screams, flash backs filled his mind of him fighting along side someone with a sword, a young man, they were surrounded and were trying to save someone, Sinthe didn't bother to help this time around he simply began walking towards the scream, while he was walking to the commotion the pale doll like woman from before joined him and gave her a quick glance with his glowing green eyes." So going to try and save who ever it is that's in trouble ? Or are you just gonna watch to see what happens and see how everyone new reacts ?" Sinthe asked the woman with a stoic expression on his face, the white haired man soon turned back forwards to face ahead of them.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,564	1,459	37	2,091	3,329	-______ and Lillian : ???- ______ was bewildered by the strength of the young lady as she denied his offer to assist in getting her off the murky, repulsive ground which was stained with a few dead insects and filth. Even so, ______ pondered on if aiding her was the most intelligent choice as she seemed relatively unfazed by the transpiring events. It launched off a series of mental questions as he slowly began his ascent to straighten his spine once more. The mans arm was reclaimed as it began to lazily recline back to its former position by the torso, swinging in the absent wind upon arrival. This young lady is... completely unperturbed by the events that recently occurred... I can't tell if she is just brave or oblivious, but it is kinda scaring me how mentally unstable some of these people are," he thought to himself, closing his eyes as if to ward off some menace causing physical turmoil to others around him. A sigh escaped the mans lungs as his posture began to lag downwards with his eyes coming into contact with the grimy floor. This was certainly a pickle he was in; a pale, physically attractive but horrifying woman who harbored little to no emotion, a kid with glasses pretending to be rough and tumble as a possible way of dealing with this whole predicament, some random stooge who looked like a predator grasping for meat (he was plenty certain that this guy screeched), the woman who looked like a half-hobo, half-noble, and a few other characters. Turning his head, he noticed another man departing from the vicinity, and to be honest, he didn't blame the guy. Who would want to stay in a dank, noxious area with a cannibal who he was pretty sure succumbed to his wounds at this point and dipped his rancid body into the pool of insanity since he failed to distinguish fantasy from reality over praising some false god for delivering him a meal. At most, it was surprising to see so many dealing with this horrifying situation as if they were unaffected... ______ shivered as if a cold wind wafted and seeped into the underground, teasing his skin to get some reaction. And all he could do was put up a failing false bravado... ______ wondered if he was truly ever sane with the madness around, seemingly consuming everything in it's glutinous wake. A perturbed frown took shape on his face, becoming ensnared by a mental trance, before undergoing an awakening by a familiar, cheerful females voice. His head shot up like a bullet as he rotated it to look at the shorter young lady who began to introduce herself. To him, this was kind of a life saver to his mental health, despite her possibly either being completely unaware or just mad - she had a welcoming attitude, like a kitten mewling at a dog caring over it. It left his with some reassurance... And then he was completely positive that she was unaware. As he began to form a smile in response to the optimistic response, the girl immediately fell quicker than a large tree cut by a lumberjack. Eh?! Hey you o..." ______ was completely taken back by how she remained unaffected by the uneventful trip she took to the ground. A small giggle escaped as her face slowly moved up to look up at ______ with wide, upbeat eyes, as if they were to reassure him for her flop after she completely introduced herself. "Guess you weren't ok as you said; don't overextend yourself kid as that can lead to ruin at unprecedented times," ______ said, extending both of his hands out, as if to embrace her, despite the tactfulness of it in such a room. The man stared, his eyes dull and unpolished from worry. The way he thrust both of his arms out was rather forcibly, as if he or her were devoid of any choice on the subject. "Here, I'll help you up this time, as I'm... unsure how well you might fare after that little descent and I prefer not to dare take any chances, especially with what is currently transpiring..." A series of coughs erupted from Lillian as she lied on the floor but she merely wiped her mouth off and smiled. It seemed not even in a dream could she lose her clumsiness. That’s what Lillian chose to believe anyway, all of this, everything that had happened, was a dream she’d eventually wake up from. There was no point to sit around and cry about it, she would try her best to get through it, even if it meant pretending it was okay. The man reached out his hand to Lillian, who gladly took it and once again attempted the impossible feat of standing. She wobbled a bit at first and latched on to the man, whom had yet to introduce himself, for support. Eventually, after jiggling her asleep legs for a while, she could stand on her own. Up ahead near the woman who had appeared from nowhere, she could hear the disturbing occurrence and smell the scent of death but she continued to stare at the man standing beside her as if it was the only thing keeping her from adjusting to this cold reality. It was just a dream. Everything was just a dream. Lillian held out her small hand. "It's nice to meet you. Thanks for helping me again! I'm kind of a klutz if you couldn't tell..." She said while ruffling her blonde hair. With his extended reach towards the lass, ______ easily made swift work hauling the girl up to her previous position. As she ascended once more, ______ felt her grip tighten on his bulging arm. From what he discerned, the shorter girl still displayed signs of struggling to stand upwards without her legs jiggling as if they were jello for more than two seconds. With Lillian latching on to him, he began to squeeze her arm to assist in the girls endeavors. ______ was plenty sure that the lady should of recovered by now... maybe there was some unnoticeable thing going on within her lower limbs that he neglected to identify. "I really do wonder what's up with her physique; I can't say it's hemophilia yet, but I know I can identify her as not crippled," ______ assessed as he began tipping his head to the side, as if he was nudging another being. With this dimly lighten room, it was baffling to examine the young girls legs to identify any signs that she might be a moderate or severe hemophiliac. The only thing he found were markings akin to tire tracks embedded in the mud. So why did she reply that in a way that fabricated her as primed and ready for action? It was a simple puzzle to retort to, as in possibly stemmed from the will of the indomitable human nature... even though such spirit could lead such adamant people spiraling towards their downfall. Nevertheless, ______ stopped glancing at the girls legs thoroughly to avert the off chance of an accusation of a creep scouring for the flesh of others. Eventually, the rock and rambling over the young woman's legs ceased, and her clutch loosened completely from the mans arms. ______ sought to perform the same action as he freed his own grip, and allowed his arms to droop once more by his torso. Once balanced, ______ noticed her extending a petite, delicate hand towards him. The girl then began explaining to her justification for such a struggle to stand for more than a couple of seconds. It was rather surprising to identify her as clumsy, but she did timber over like a tree on her initial stride. ______ eyes widened slightly, his right eyebrow nicking upwards to exasperate his befuddlement. "Lillian is a klutz... well, I don't think that's a favorable trait in myriads of concurring moments... especially with the stairs, and the added benefit of being secured with loonies. At most, I anticipate Lillian having the impression of a regular young lady, but only time will tell..." At any rate, he extended his right hand towards Lillian, and firmly grasped her hand, shaking it as a customary way of being polite. Forcing his eyes to ignite in a flame of affability, he began his assurance to quell the girl of her worries. "Hey, we all have our shortcomings Lillian, so try not to fret that much over it; I'm certain you can overcome it." As he finished his handshake and reassuring reply, he turned his eyes towards the exit of this disgusting room. "I'm sorry, but is it ok if we continue introductions later when we escape this prison-like area? I do not believe this is a very sanitary place to continue conversing, plus that pale, almost lifeless lady is probably one who doesn't like waiting, considering a few facets," ______ said as he ceased holding the girls soft hand. He anxiously fidgeted as he approached the steps, beckoning the young woman to follow after him through waggling his left hand and fingers back and forth. He was of course also embarrassed to admit that he failed to recollect that name, but alas, all ______ was doing was delaying the inevitable. Something about the man made Lillian feel peaceful and calm. He reminded her of someone..but the more she tried to remember, the more the aching pain in her head flared. Why couldn’t she remember anything? Did she hit her head or something? Lillian wanted to know almost as much as she wanted to wake up from this awful dream. Things could be much worse though and she had to be at least grateful that it wasn’t. Lillian energetically saluted the man at his request to hold introductions later. "Roger that!" She called out and hurried after him to venture out of the dump they had been placed in. The graceful woman led the group where, at the sound of a soft grumble from Lillian’s stomach, she could only hope had food. The woman had introduced herself as Maria and spoke of the group as... hunters? She must have overloaded on candy or chocolate cake because this was one strange dream. When Maria finally stopped, an elder appeared before the group. An endless wave of wrinkles covered his face and Lillian couldn't help but giggle. She knew it was cruel and that she should treat the elderly with respect but with , Lillian needed a laugh more than anything. Call her physiologically insane or just plain naive but Lillian truly believed a laugh or a smile could cure anything, even the most darkest of thoughts. Soon after appearing, the old man gave an entire speech about their job of hunting monsters for him and an array of weapons were placed near them. Lillian raised her eyebrow and glanced back at the man standing beside her for reassurance. Weapons were foreign to Lillian. She would probably shoot herself should she even come in contact with a gun. No one as clumsy as her could possibly wield a weapon. Deep within the killing creations, a shade of deep brown caught her hazel eyes. Upon closely looking at it, she realized it was a bow. She hesitated again before taking a step toward it, waiting for the man’s approval. As he gazed back at the young woman, ______ found the lady raising her arm up towards her temple, as if she was a new recruit within an army of sorts. Along with that, she spoke as if ______ had the qualifications of being a perfect guide, to say the least. At most, he felt a bit pressured by this thought since there was the forlorn fact of accidentally leading Lillian astray... maybe. ______ turned his head away, looking upwards at the steps above. He recalled the few minutes ago, and how Lillian claimed she was a klutz. As she hurried after the man, he moved as swiftly with the wind beneath his feet, climbing until they met up with the rest of the group. Eventually, he emerged from the murky depths with the young woman in tow, finding that the group was down one figure. He pondered on the possibility as the ivory skinned woman began a fleeting, yet convoluted explanation which left the man lagging behind mentally as he became slack jawed from her tainted words. They were dead. Dead? No, impossible, that couldn't be it, it had to be a lie. ______ metronomic head began ticking back and forth, denying each of the woman's passing words. It had to be a mere trick of the mind; lucid dreaming perhaps? It was a slight possibility as the flesh he felt was too inexplicably real, plus he just acknowledged himself as dreaming. The two qualifications justified his belief as ______ further inquired quietly to himself. To further test this conjecture, he began gazing over the forlorn area for an object he could mentally manipulate... ... Was that a... tongue on the floor with some crimson covering it? Ok, this was getting pretty frightening as his face scrunched up in a mixture of alarm and repugnance. He could seldom glimpse at the transpiring events, before snapping himself back to the real trial at hand. ______ eyes squinted, focused completely on that mans tongue... even though it was a simple item, it didn't transform into a tiny puppy who would bounce around gleefully before licking his face. Eventually, the experiment fell short, which left the man even more frightened of the certain implications before him. As the woman continued on, he found each word tearing at the enigma before him, before creating another mystery in its wake. They were all to be acknowledged as hunter - people who slaughtered 'beasts'; whatever they might be in this... place. Or Jaegers - the german word for hunters... now that he thought about it, the corpses explanation was a bit misleading. "No recollection of our previous life means we cannot even recall the words we speak, and rather, we would be reduced to mere children, newborn, etc. So this woman - Maria - she might be toying with us... however, we honestly have no choice but to obey since this area seems forlorn to the eye." The mans eyes shut for a second as he came up with a theory he possibly did not wish to accept - they were possibly dead... or maybe they (or ______, himself) was in a coma and within purgatory. He gleaned at the lesser hypothesis as it basked in the shadow of dread, yet it could be also gleaned as a glimmering hope within the sky. ______ did not really believe in any sort of religion, yet he felt the need to pick a god and pray - pray that it was the latter, pray that he wasn't dead, as if he was dead, he was fairly certain everyone else was. Standing stalwart, physically unmoving as a rock, his eyes shot open as he heard the ruffling steps of the group being led away. Breaking from his position, ______ trudged onward with everyone else. With each grim step, ______ felt like he was walking through quick sand, and sinking at every turn. Whether it came from weariness or the revelation, it did not matter as they all found themselves before a chapel. All that was truly sinking now was irony as the group marched into the church, ______ going on from feeling the earthy below to feeling the floor in this window stained area. Next came some growling from the man with the hidden visage, denying ______ the ability to properly identify if he was cut close to the apparition of death. Of course, all he found was his hands were mere sticks, and he was a withering flora with naught a single leaf or bud. The man continued to ramble on, speaking of a faith he was unfamiliar with - The Church of the Absolute; the absolute what? The absolute terror and lunacy of this place? The absolute nightmarish landscape and Victorian setting? ... At any rate, the tree of a man delivered more information than the preserved cadaver, location wise, and gave a few hints to the coming storm. There was a possibility of escape, and from what ______ inferred - this realm known as The World of Wasted Dreams. How he perceived it as was waking up and returning to what former life he garnered before diving into such an ominous place. ______ was not to be deceived and torn away from what was truly real - he would escape this coma, all while keeping his morality and sanity. Of course, the next catch was understandable, and yet insanely demented to the point where this could be noted as the ultimate form of hazing. Well, after the dying oak managed to bring back myriads of sharp instruments and strange baubles from wherever they were stored. The man began to complete his speech by commending them with an objective of accumulating a large body count of dead beasts and whimsical creatures. That sounded like something he did not want to involve himself in, yet ______ found himself powerless to deny this mission. If ______ did not accomplish seeking the way out, he might be permanently locked in this sleep and eventually be euthanized. The pressure came as his foot slid back bit, a frown of disproportionate irritation seethed as he bit his lip to avoid breaking into questions of vindictive terror... before seeing the shorter woman looking up to the man, as if she wanted parental guidance, or someone just to look up to. His teeth no longer latched onto his lips, and his scrunched face began to form back to its regular shape. ______ remembered he was to save his sanity and his own morality as he resolved to do so that he could be freed from any absolution. So he forced an awkward smile at the young woman to reassure her, even if there was a chance of Lillian being fabricated. Yellow roses all about, yet what rose would he be? This limit was to be tested within each passing moment as the man completely ended his little chat, before making the final request of seeking his granddaughter. Then he was gone. "... my my, such a peculiar man... and even more peculiar backdrop for this uneventful eve," ______ muttered to the girl in a calm, serene voice which clashed with the despair in the air. Of course, he noticed everyone was diving into a weapon, as if they were eager to satiate their hunger and devour each challenge, Lillian included. Of course, she appeared to be less sure as she wobbled like a top towards the dangerous items that could easily rend flesh, crush bones, or poke eyes out. Feeling no choice in the matter, ______ joined with the others around the weapons as he searched for the perfect match for him... despite the lack of a firearm that could hold more than one bullet. Struggling to identify what he might wield, ______ gave up and procured what he believed was a crimson dueling pistol and blade that appeared rather ravishing. Engraved on the handle were the words 'Oblivion' and the gun... he had no clue what the name was... should he even give a damn? At most, he brandished the shining blade and felt the weight of the blade as it attempted to take his arm downwards by force. ______ denied gravity its chance to fall the man as his arm wiggled while keeping it up... This was a solid blade, ornate, but could easily hack and slash through any fiend from what ______ discerned. It would take a while getting used to slicing with it before he was no longer encumbered... but he had enough time, right? Next was the gun he grabbed; ______ attempted to twirl the beautifully crafted gun around before clumsily dropping it back into the pile. Putting the hardy and handsome blade down, he immediately retrieved the red firearm before practicing aiming as if he was a sheriff of the law. Securing his hands onto the grip, ______ aimed it away from another person, lest he might pull the trigger with something loaded within. Setting the aged firearm beside the blade, ______ found a... book. Why it was here, who knew, but he could use it to record previous events and other peculiar instances. The leather was rough and fear was ever more imminent when he glanced at the title when opening the 'Crimson Sabbath.' Some of the pages appeared almost rust-like, which made ______ wonder if someone was beaten to death with such a mystifying and blood soaked book... that or it was dipped into some tangy tasting wine. After making his selection, he noticed the same wide eyes begging for assistance, the same eyes you would identify with an adorable animal clenching at hope for a treat. Lillian was looking for some approval of a weapon. As ______ looked down, he assumed that she was talking about the bow near her well-being. Of course, as dangerous the weapon was, he honestly was torn between the truth and making the lady feel more confident about her choice in munitions. Glancing to the side, deep in thought, ______ returned his gaze to her with a positive nod, in hopes that might raise her moral. Because god knows they all needed some hope right now instead of helplessness...	Name: Omen Gender: Male Age: 21 Appearance: ((I'll go into more detail on the morrow.)) A side note - Ignore the Katana. That's where his leather bound book is. Magic: "A hue of sable red which tastes of copper... blood... the moment we lose such an invaluable solution, our souls depart, leaving us but an empty husk of internal organs and wasting meat that festers over each agonizing passing." Blood is what Omen specializes in... While he is a neophyte in terms of power, he can get quite creative with his blood, mainly in terms of damaging opponents through wiles. He can set up blood traps which is currently limited to a simple bear trap which snags the assailants leg... or an unlucky ally. Next isn't as costly, but if used too much can lead to a deadly price. Omen can turn his blood into bullets for Bloody Mary since it is much more inexpensive than using regular bullets... slightly. Of course, what other things he can do with his crimson bullets is yet to be seen. The future is ripe with the sickening tang of copper. Weapon: "To me, it feels rather peculiar to be wielding one of these... whether it is the atmosphere or my own psyche, I better not let it get the best of me..." Oblivion: The sword he wields is nothing special... maybe; save for the blessed craftsmanship of the blade and hilt. Etched on the protruding hilts are the words "Oblivion;" seems a bit stronger than other swords, but it really isn't; it is really the ornateness that makes it appear to be extraordinary. Bloody Mary: A gun with nonexistent bullets is more than useless in this realm. However, this break action dueling pistol specialty is dealt with warm crimson hues; it can use other bullets, but to get the most out of it, he has to load it with his crimson fluids. It holds only a single shot at a time, and is accurate; it does take some time to reload though. If Omen wants more strength from the gun, he should not only use blood for the gun, but the blood itself must be sweeter and much more developed than the other predecessors. The Crimson Sabbath: A simple leather bound book absent of any words or colors, save for a reddish splatter on the first few pages. Other that the rust-like pages, the others are unabridged and not stained by any hue, making them completely blank. What it does is completely unknown, even to the wielder, Omen, himself... hell, it might not even do anything useful in skirmishes, save for recording useful information. Why it is called The Crimson Sabbath is because of the first page which crudely spells out the title of this enigmatic book. Personality: Zany isn't something to describe Omen as, but still heralds a bit of humor in these passing days. Even with the awakening, Omen tries to keep an undiluted, calm attitude in such cataclysmic hours. Persistent can be used as another way to talk about him, as Omen will work at discovering things unknown and unseen to him, as his amnesia and how he was born into this realm. Also, he does herald some thought for each action, displaying a sense of morale in a realm depraved of one with misery and creeping shades. Never displaying despair outwith his own mind, he will attempt to greet each passing abomination with a stalwart gaze in hopes of piercing the dark. In other words, he is brave, but only to influence others in confidently taking heed against their assailants. At most, you can imagine him to be the kind of guy who doesn't leave an ally behind. However, even with virtues, there will be vices within. Perception is deadly though as if one discerns him even closer, they might discover that he is actually very terrified of the transpiring events. As if it wasn't enough, he can be a bit snarky at times, despite the little facade he displays. Underneath it all, he desperately does yearn for the old past, despite the facet that he can rebuild a new one. Likewise, his persistence can be a burden at times, for a few reasons. Dragging on a possible mission for too long if there is some fortune in the form of knowledge pertaining to the story behind this realm, and his past. Recovering those shattered memories heralds such significance to him, that he feels incomplete. In retrospect, it might be for the best that he perishes the thought to others, but he could care less if it was volatile and cataclysmic... Cutting through this realm and seeking the truth is all he cares for, whilst safeguarding his companions to calm his own inward turmoil. Bio: "The only thing I can recall is waking up with the clothes and skin on my back... Shouldn't I be remembering more than that?" Once he was ______ ______. That slate known as his past dissipated into thin air in a car accident that left him in a coma... his girlfriend and other companions were put into the hospital, but were not thrust upon the fate ______ would endure as they could of caught a cold case of death... maybe. Who knew as his memories were wiped, save for his wits and common sense to an extent. Now he has transpired into a broken realm with a new name bestowed to him by a hunter. ______ was asleep amidst the plague of nightmares, but Omen was born from the gleaming crimson of slumber with a few items at his side... ... "... I hear... sirens... my vision is blurry... almost as if this world is fogging up..." ... A college student, that's what he once was. Making it through each passing year, all while savoring each moment he had with his companions. They went through rough times, but with support from each other and their merit scholarships. Most of them dropped out within the first two years due to funds or lost initiative, but ______ stayed close with those who weathered the storm; they all became a tight knit community, one of which that could be mistaken for a family of sorts. ______ was able to work his way into the nursing program, along with ______, and ______ too. The trio were rivals too, competing for a chance at furthering their careers in a nursing school. Of course, to remedy such a possibly volatile friendship and rivalry, ______, ______ lover would often take strides to keep them all in line, all while ______, and the others giggled at the whole spiel. Unlike ______, ______ was majoring in another course, which ______ still struggles to recall at times since he found the whole process to be painstakingly numb. The rest is a blank dream. "... ugh, this is frustrating. I can only withdraw those remnants, save for a deafening screech... Oy, can you explain what's going on?" Other: Hey I did say he couldn't recall his own name, so wynaut remove all names from his backstory? Also, his real name is hidden somewhere in the personality I created for him; it was annoying to discern how to go about it, but hell, I did it.
53,565	1,459	38	2,487	9,778	“Help! Somebody, help me!” The natural melancholy that seemed to envelop all of Iredele was only slightly disturbed by the bloodcurdling screeches now ringing about. Some of the townsfolk turned to see what the commotion was that had spoiled their bleak existences, only to turn away when they saw the event for what it truly was. Nothing different, just the same thing. A poor woman was being dragged by her arms and hands, her feet kicking into the dirt as she struggled in vain. The ones who held her were a group of five, each individual cloaked in darkened hoods and robes. Their motions did not waver or falter as the woman cried out for release, begged to be forgiven by these silent abductors. Close inspection from a citizen of the town would notice that they were carrying the woman away from Iredele, heading out to the main road to where the wooden walls kept the mist away from the town. No one bothered to help the poor lass and no one seemed to care as well. It was merely the life lived in Iredele. An occurrence only to befall the wicked as it were. To interfere now would be to embrace the life of a Hunter and to forever irate the forces that lie in the dark. Whether or not anyone would do anything about it was yet to be seen. But it would not be easy. “Help! I don’t want to die! Help me please!”	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,566	1,459	39	1,445	9,375	Donny ran as fast as he could. There were a total of about four buildings he had to cross, and it felt like each building was further away each time. but he didn't stop, and he couldn't stop. Someone out there needed his help. He wasn't going to be a passive waste and do nothing about it. A thought flashed in his mind. "Are you going to wait?" Donny didn't understand this thought. Of course he wasn't. But the thought continued. "Would you get what you want if you just waited for everyone else?" Two more buildings to go. This one was way further than Donny could jump, but he noticed a chimney made of solid brick. Taking out his rope and fashioning it into a lasso, Donny tossed it around the chimney tip, using it to help him swing onto the roof top. A solid jerk, and the knot undid itself and Donny continued forward. "What are you doing?" One more building. The last one, and Donny jumped down to look at the scene. Five robed men (Or women, or even monsters in the shape of men) dragging away a screaming woman. What did they intend to do with her? The exact thing that Maria implied Donny could have done? Or something far worse? "You can't do it. You have no skills, no power, and you're alone. You'll die, just like her." Donny took a deep breath and murmured. "Shaddup. I'm already dead. And to answer your question, stupid voice in my head," Donny noticed a three below him. The sharp branches stained black, perhaps from others who sought to use the dead wood as a means to an end. But for Donny, it was the first step to new beginnings. A lasso flew out towards one of the robed figures. When the noose was around his neck, it tighten, and Donny pulled it towards him. To generate more force, he jumped down towards the tree as he shorten the length of the rope, intercepting one of the branches with his rope. To the robed man the rope would have jerked upwards as Donny slowly descended onto the ground. While he didn't quite hang the man, Donny at least pulled him away from the others and the woman, and perhaps maybe even broken his neck, if Donny was that lucky. By the time he landed Donny had tied a part of the rope to the tree, so that the only way the man could escape is if someone cut the rope that was digging into his neck. Once landed Donny took out his weapon, his guitar, and played a song from memory. As he played he moved towards the center of the road where he'd have more room to move in the event things turned violent, to dodge and run if need be, and fight back when the opportunity presented itself. Once he was certain he had everyone's agro, he spoke loudly, even over his own song. "I'm Donny Lee Yang. Hero of justice! Let that woman go, and crawl back to the darkness where you came from!" This was stupid of him, but the smart thing to do would be like the others and just watch what happened. But that's not what Donny does. He was scared, knowing that his death (Again) was very much possible. But it was a lesser of two evils between the fear of death, and the fear of failure. "This is my dream. I'll be whatever I want to be."	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,567	1,459	40	2,786	800	As Kenji watched the scene unfold from a shadowed corner, Highball coming up behind him, he frowned and ducked back behind the building. From the smell of meat--all kinds, fresh, grilled, smoked, rotten--he thought it might have been a butcher shop, but that was beside the point. "This is heartless," he began, glancing at Highball, "but I don't want to jump in without more info. None of the townspeople have reacted to this. As depressing as this place is, it leads me to a possibility that maybe that woman is some kind of criminal, or other undesirable, and they could be throwing her out of town for a good reason. If the cloaked figures aren't human, Donny's attack--which was too pre-emptive in my opinion and lowers my opinion of his intelligence further--will probably cause them to reveal it. If it doesn't become immediately clear in the next few seconds what side we should be on..." He peeked around, seeing that Donny had not only strung one of the cloaked figures up--Great, he goes for a kill right off the bat too. Don't they realize that a crippled enemy that can still talk may be more useful than a dead one?--but was now...playing a guitar... First off, how is he making those sounds from one guitar. That's a fucking orchestral piece. Wh...where's the choir coming from? No, more importantly, why did he pick a guitar out of all the other things in that pile back there?! He shook his head and looked at Highball again. "If it's not clear in a few seconds what we should be doing, let's try and cut the woman off when she goes for an escape and drag her somewhere out of sight where we can question her."	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,568	1,459	41	324	1,204	Lillian Lillian’s eyes stayed on the man as he fingered through the array of weapons, selecting three. To her disbelief, a corroded book was one of them. What was a book going to do against a pack of massive sized, rabies infested, man-eating squirrels? At least that was what Lillian pictured they would be facing. Perhaps if he smacked it hard enough it could do some damage? Of course the possibilities were endless and it might prove to be more useful than she thought. Anything could happen in a dream. After he finished picking his weapons, the man gave Lillian a reassuring look and glanced down at the bow and arrows. All the others seemed to know which weapon(s) they wanted without much hesitation at all. A tiny voice in her head spoke ‘the weapon chooses the hunter’ but she mainly just ignored it. Stepping up to the weapons, Lillian took one last time to look at all of the options. It was now or never. She snatched the bow and arrow quickly and threw it over her back, courtesy of a leather handle. Was that all she needed? Images of someone attacking her close up sent her digging through the pile yet again. Lillian’s fingers brushed over a razor sharp knife, causing a droplet of blood to escape her ring finger. “Ouch!” She cried out, her face rising with heat at the sight of the blood. Lillian tried not to look or even think about it. She could feel bile rising up her throat, feel the pounding headache. It’s only a little, she could handle it. Now wasn’t the time for little girl tantrums anyway. She had to at least try to be a brave, courageous girl and fight whatever came at her. In order to do that, she needed a sword. Sucking on her finger and trying not to gag, she came across a small, silver sword. Lillian held it with her left hand. It was rather light and even, perfect for her clumsy hands to hold. The end was still pretty sharp though and she would have to remember to keep an eye on it. Lillian’s head popped up at the sound of a high pitched scream. It hadn’t even been an hour and someone was already in trouble? This was one heck of a dream she couldn’t wait to tell...Who exactly? Lillian’s brain was still fuzzy and couldn’t remember anything at all. Of course Maria had said they needed to fight in order to find their lost memories. Before she could think of a plan, Lillian raced toward the scream, not looking to see if the man followed. Part of her assumed he would, at least she hoped he would. Hut, two, three, four! Hut, two, three four! She repeated over and over again in her mind as she ran toward the scene. Five men dressed in shadows were dragging a screaming woman toward a place Lillian was sure the woman didn’t want to be. It wasn’t the giant squirrels she’d expected but like she said, anything could happen in a dream. The man Donny who had untied her hands from earlier was already there, singing an adventurous song on his guitar and attacking the strangers with his rope. Lillian had never seen anyone fight like that before and she gasped in awe. Glancing down at her sword and bow, it finally dawned on Lillian that she had no idea how to even use a weapon. Standing right in the middle of the road, it was only a matter of time before they’d catch sight of her. Well, she might as well attempt to fight now. It might even be fun. “My name is Lillian, champion of justice, and in the name of this strange place, I will punish you!” She called out, trying her best not to giggle. The saying felt so familiar and something she’d heard a million of times, but once again her memory was blocked. Lillian held out her sword and walked up to Donny, taking a fighting stance. All she had to do was whack it right? It couldn’t be that hard. She could be a warrior if she wanted to, it was her dream after all. She eyed the hooded creeps with a fierce stare, although it might seem goofy to others. She'd wait for them to say something before she attacked though. It was only fair to hear what was going on.	Name: Lillian (Lily) Gender: Female Age: 16 Weapons: Personality: Lillian’s the last person you’d ever expect to be a hunter. It’s a miracle Lillian can even walk, considering she falls over air every ten minutes. While she tries, Lillian tends to ruin everything her small fingers come across. That art project you spent weeks perfecting? She probably broke it five minutes ago. Disasters seem to haunt her every moment, whether it be bad luck or the fact that she’s just a complete klutz. It doesn’t stop her from trying incredibly hard for everything to be perfect though. In fact, she spends every waking moment of her life focusing on making things go by smoothly. Lillian's determination and will to keep going are two of her strongest assets. A complete goof ball, Lillian has no trouble getting people to smile, the only talent she seems to have. Beaming with positive energy, Lillian alway tries her best to turn any depressing moment into a cheerful one. People often find themselves annoyed with her because she constantly tries to make everyone happy, especially when they want to be alone. She genuinely cares about other people though and wishes the best for them. To Lillian, even if it’s pretending, it’s better to be smiling than frowning. While she may see all rainbows and cupcakes, Lillian too has a bad side lurking deep underneath thousands of mountains of sugar and dreams. She can often be overprotective of the ones she cares about, which frequently leads into trouble. Lillian doesn’t know when to stop talking either, an issue she never seems to be able to fix. However, her bad side rarely comes out, and she will try her best to compromise on everything so both parties are satisfied. Lillian isn't afraid to learn new things and will gladly work hard to accomplish something as well. No matter how poor the situation looks, Lillian will keep working until the breath is sucked out of her or the job is completed. She strongly believes that if you start something, you should see it to the end, no matter what. She's a loyal Hufflepuff, who will follow you to the end. Bio: Lillian started off born from two loving parents, surrounded by caring friends, just a perfect, average life. There was nothing holding her back from being her cheery self. All memories of her life were completely stripped as she slowly fell to the Wasted Dream. She knows she lived a happy and passionate life but that’s as far as her memory can recall. Flashes of a white hospital room constantly haunt her mind, although she can’t remember why. Other: -Lillian is very uncomfortable around blood, often passing out at the sight of it. -She also has a huge obsession with cake. -Painting has become a passion of hers and she loves artwork as well
53,569	1,459	42	1,278	8,083	~Maria~ "An ill omen, that's what you look like to me." Maria spoke to the male part of the last couple of hunters to leave the catacombs, as she waited them by the temple's door. That sentence was true for two reasons, first that tome smelled of blood in a way that Maria was all too familiar with, thus nothing good would come of it. And second (and more importantly), is that he seemed to have reached a certain level of mutual trust with the blonde that has the target of Maria's gaze for the greater part of the past few minutes, worrying Maria that he could defile her with his mere presence. Nevertheless, Maria was sure that she wouldn't lose to such wretched beings as long as she wished for something she would get it. She hasn't sold her soul for any other reason, in the end. As soon as she wanted to, Maria was sure that she could the klutzy blonde writhing under her bed's canopy. Anyway, pushing away the feelings of lust that bubbled inside of her (specially after smelling the sweet fragrance of her blood), Maria regarded Lilian with a more analytical eye. In the end, the young blonde didn't looked that improperly fit for being a hunter, though she had the desperate need of experience. She seemed quite eager to acquire it, though as it was evident by her jumping straight in the action without even sparing a glance to Maria's side. • • • "Consider this your first hunt," Maria said as she finally joined the fray, or better as she arrived at the place of the fight and observed the whole engagement without interfering. "These creatures are known as God's Hand and they came here to take her away to be 'cleansed' of her sins. Feel free to murder them at your own leisure, I'll guarantee her safety..." Maria drew her whip and cracked it against the muddy road, threatening the God Hand "Also, you have a pretty good taste, boy. It's really a waste you've been born as you are. You are commendable as well my pretty tournesol. Though I gotta say, you're not wielding a club, hold your blade parallel to the ground and when they come, slash diagonally upwards. That should be more than enough to take down those lowly mutts." Maria finally blurted out her opinion of Donny and how much of a waste is having being born a man while not losing the chance to compliment Lilian, for actually having the courage do something. "Be my guest!" Maria drew a wine colored rose from... somewhere and threw it to Dony. Indeed, this group looked like it would be fun, while it lasted.	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,570	1,459	43	1,449	5,931	Through the side path Kenji and Highball crept, moving hastily but not impetuously. With anticipatory blood rushing through their veins they approached the source of the womanly shriek, but that noise's source failed to singly dominate Highball's attention. Through gaps in woodwork, cracked shutters, and warped doorframes she could peer into the innards of the buildings she passed, and no small amount of cold prickles ran down her neck and back to see movement within their shabby confines. Her initial sighting led her to believe it to be merely a trick of her paranoia, a demon entirely her own, but repeated scurries, flutters, and waggles glimpsed discreetly disillusioned her of that notion. Iredele was not as abandoned and devoid as she guessed: a ghost town only in the sense that sepulchral phantoms could very well lurk behind each window and board. Even more disturbing to Highball were the rank smells of gore, which offended her stomach as much as her nostrils and mind. Nevertheless, she proceeded, and she emerged along with Kenji to witness with wide eyes the five shadowy beings and the brazen lunatic who assailed them. She chuckled darkly to see Donny use his rope to hang one of the robed specters; perhaps he'd been inspired by the dangling individual from early to contribute some decadent art of his own to the town. Her suspension of disbelief nearly shattered, however, when he whipped out his guitar and began to play. The 'music' the wannabe hero selected for the occasion must have been meant for more than a single player—or else, it simply sounded grossly incomplete. Donny's goofballish declaration caused Highball to double over, heaving, for want of breath, with silent laughter. Kenji's commentary shut her up, though. Scratch what I said earlier about him seeming clever. Does this guy seriously think that people who look evil in a dream are actually law-abiding townsfolk? What does law even matter in a place like this? Then again, I'm treating this guy like he's a real person. She exhaled heavily before shrugging. “Ugh.” Clearly, she did not relish spending any time 'questioning'. When in any fiction remotely like this did anyone give straight answers, if at all? Then Lillian showed up, and blew Highball out of the water. A stony, disdainful look overtook her as Lillian sang out her battle cry, brandishing a blade with such incredible ineptitude that even Highball, who knew very little of swordfighting, cringed. Bemused but nevertheless tickled by the sight of her and Donny posing together, Highball took a few steps over and scrambled onto the sturdy sloped top of a well to sit and watch. I'm calling it now. I thought this dream would be a grim, survival horror when I first woke up, but these two seem straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. She cupped her head in the palm of a hand and lay her hazel eyes on Maria, who just appeared on the scene. Like any good mooks, the 'God Hands' waited patiently for Maria to describe them, insult them, and then give moral support to the village idiots, all without performing the slightest bit of attacking. Looks like they won't need my help, if these things are pathetic enough for a chap with rope and a schoolgirl with a sword to handle. Might as well see what dollface brings to the table, aside from roses. Like fog, waves of disdainful condescension rolled from the well, though visible only in Highball's bearing and expression and audible only in the rhythmic tapping of cane on wood. If this world is anything to be really feared, something that brings these cloud-cuckoos back down to earth would be just the ticket. Still interested despite her derision to see the fight play out, Highball did not notice the unstable creaking of the well-posts that supported the cover on which she sat.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,571	1,459	44	2,487	9,778	The hooded figures would not stagger in their goal of dragging the woman away to some unspoken and grisly fate. The five of them were as silent as carriers of Death, their grip only tightening as the woman continued to scream out and barter for her life. However, fate would have different plans for them as Donny strung up one of the hooded five. The remaining four turned to watch their brethren up high before turning back to their goal. They would not be stopped in their mission of justice and even if one fell, more were to follow in their wake. There was no use in silencing the woman either. Who would care enough to defend her? Who would waste their time on her well being when they had their own lives to deal with? Some of the townsfolk were even cheering the cloaked figures, shouting cries to kill the heretic and burn her blood for the crimes she supposedly committed. The four remaining figures were near a large well in the middle of the town when the shoutings of the new hunters made them turn slightly. They would protest all they wanted but the figures would not answer nor would they concern themselves in dropping their quarry. Instead, one of their own moved away from the pack and shuffled to meet Donny and Lillian head on. The others turned away and continued in their dark task while the one left behind reared back and pounced on Donny first, pinning him to the ground. The hood was wrangled free and what was thought to be a man was not. Or rather, the creature had the body and stature of human but the entirety of its head was that of a foaming, rapid dog. Its black snout dribbled with snot while drool pooled around its hungry jaws. Its eyes were mad and parched, showing the slit pupils of a feral animal. The creature barked viciously as it wrestled Donny’s arms to the side, howling and snarling right in his face. Above, the first cloaked figure finally tore at the rope around its neck. With its hood parched it revealed a second dog-man, snarling viciously and eager to consume the flesh of these heretics. At once it pounced on Lillian, barking and biting out savagely in the attempt to punish her as well The townsfolk watched on with placid silence.	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,572	1,459	45	2,786	800	Werewolves? Uh, what are those things in some games called...gnolls? In any case, they're human sized, but if that one can tear apart a rope with its bare hands, it either has superhuman strength or very sharp claws. Donny likely won't be able to overpower it. The pale woman and the man in rags had acted as if Hunters were doing this world a favor, yet there were bystanders who cheered for the beasts. So were the newly awakened "hunters" simply being lied to, being used in some grander scheme? Was Kenji right in assuming that there was a possibility that the woman, the one being dragged off, was the one in the wrong and this "God's Hand" were instead the ones that were simply doing their jobs? There were so many pieces to this puzzle that were missing. Kenji hated trying to make a decision when he didn't have enough information to know whether or not he was giving the right answer, but...but... I've already tried to kill an old man. I've already decided to sit back and let others play the hero, sacrificing themselves. His grip grew tighter on his spear, the smooth steel of the slender staff cold against his sweaty palms. I've already allowed that woman to be dragged, kicking and screaming, towards what has to be certain death. I've already started judging the people around me, rating them on how useful I think they'll be to me. He grit his teeth, felt every muscle in his body tensing, felt his breath growing sharper through his nostrils. I've already decided that my primary objective in this world is to simply survive it, to make whatever decisions have the most logical and likely possibilities of keeping myself safe and figuring out the truth. He started to run. "So when am I going to start being a worthwhile human being!?" he yelled, his thoughts bursting forth, meaning nothing to anyone. The beast atop Donny might have heard him, if its ears were as sharp as those of the animal it imitated. He didn't really know how fast it was. But with his sudden rush from the shadows, and the added length of his weapon, maybe he'd have the speed, the reach... He aimed to plant his spear right into the valley of the creature's shoulder blades, gripping the cross spear with all his might and driving it forward with his weight...	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,573	1,459	46	980	4,120	Paul Delacroix - Fashionably late to the party In no particular rush or hurry, Paul followed after the Lady Maria as she made her way towards the screams of a townswoman in need. Keeping a respectable distance behind the pale woman, Paul's senses took in his surroundings as he casually walked. His cane making a soft wooden clunk noise in between each of his deliberate steps. The smell of Iredele was terrible and made his nostrils itch. The very picture of the small town was bleak, drab, and dreary. Save for the prior screams and the howling winds, the town was graveyard quiet. It all had a deathly and eerie ambiance to the town. But, other than that Paul thought little of the place as vile and dark as it may be. In very short time, Paul found himself left behind and alone to himself as the Lady Maria had gone on ahead at a relatively faster pace. No matter. He had a general idea and direction of where he needed to go. He held very little curiosity for the cries of the allegedly innocent woman whose screams pleaded for immediate release. Arriving shortly after most of the 'festivities' Paul observed the queer cheers of the townsfolk for the hooded creatures that were dragging a poor maiden to her doom. From what he could gather, the female had committed some crime that deserved her current fate. When the others took action, they suddenly fell silent. Were they not supportive and inviting of Paul and his supposed comrades? Hm. Dull eyes scanning the current situation, he saw Donny being pinned by one of the hooded creatures who he heard being referred to by the idly watching Lady Maria as a 'God's Hand'. As the hood of the creature fell back and snapped its frothing snout at Donny, Paul hesitated in his stride momentarily. Blinking, he couldn't help but wonder what a strange canine humanoid beast it was. Why was it called a 'God's Hand'? What God would think to create such a monster as their acting hands? Looking to a God's Hand that freed itself from a hangman's noose that Donny apparently fashioned for it, he watched as it pounced at the cheerful and bubbly girl from earlier. The bespectacled spearman spouting some nonsense as he rushed to Donny and the girl's aid. Smirking, Paul felt a little inspired to take action himself. He had some questions for the lady being dragged off to be punished. Surprisingly, Paul found himself barely fazed by the whole hellish predicament. This was to be their first hunt? Very well. Paul thought to fire off a shot with his pistol but remembered he had no ammunition to load it with. Instead, Paul decided to steel himself by having a semi-private conversation to no one in particular. "A hunter, unnerved by a few beasts? Heh. No matter. Enough trembling in your boots, a hunter must hunt." The Lady Maria assured the safety of the poor woman in the clutches of the God's Hands, but Paul felt she had no need to intervene. They would take care of matters, and they would all learn on their own. Paul felt she had no need to hold their hands. Formulating a plan of action he figured while the other three were busy with the two God Hands, Paul would care to the other three still surrounding the poor woman. Confidently striding straight towards them, he lifted his walking cane and twisted the handle. Swiftly unsheathing the long hidden blade within and holding in his right hand, he kept the other blunt shaft in his left as a striking implement. His eyes focused on the lady in the God Hands' grasp. Slash at their arms to free the woman. Stun them with swift blows to the sides of their heads. Finish them off with the blade's edge at their necks. The idea of three on one seemed exciting. A refreshing challenge. This world appeared to imbue Paul with...something, and he desired nothing more than to be put to the test as he became part of its machinations. Picking up the pace as he walked more akin to a 'power-walk' he went through with his plan as he closed the distance to the other three God Hands. A sly smile on his face, a gleam in his otherwise dull eyes. In range, he lifted the pointed end of his cane-sword and moved in for the kill.	Name: Caval Avaine Gender: Male Age: 29 Appearance: Caval is by no means an opposing figure he often curls into himself and when talking to people he tries to avoid eye contact. Caval stands at 5ft 9" and has blue eyes that are more often then not bloodshot he has messy blond hair. His face is rugged with a five o'clock shadow. He wears rough leather armour with a long black hooded clock his boot are about 2 sizes to big and Caval often looks like a lost puppy. Magic: Shadow Weapon: longsword: Caval carries a sword made of steel, the hilt is adorned with shiny rocks. While the sword is cracked it is still sharp enough to draw blood. One-handed crossbow: For places the sword cannot reach Caval uses a basic wooden crossbow, Caval doesn't use the crossbow often as it is clunky and time consuming to shoot. Personality: Caval is not quite there, despite using his magic a handful of times his mind has been polluted by shadow, while still being able to make decision and hold conversations he still drifts off sometimes. He suffers from nightmares as a result of his magic and often only get 4-5 hours of sleep, if he sleeps at all. Despite being a sandwhich short of a picnic Caval is very intelligent and intuitive when he is functioning correctly he can hold a conversation and can figure out riddles and puzzles. Caval is very childlike and has the same innocence as a child would have, being very naive in the process this however makes him a friend to everyone, this however is not always a good thing and people do take advantage of him due to his deteriorated mental state. Bio: Caval doesn't remember anything other than him being is an pristine hospital room but he does remember feeling frightened, other than that his mind is blank. Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover.)
53,574	1,459	47	1,445	9,375	Okay. So this plain was quickly derailed... Donny's idea was to get the attention of all the hooded figures and book it. He figured maybe he could distract them long enough for the woman to escape, and with any luck Donny could lose the hooded figures, maybe even defeat them. If he was really lucky, maybe one of the others from the church might help him. But Donny wasn't so hopeful; he knew what he was doing was stupid, and he knew those people weren't so charitable that they'd help him. Because the truth of the matter was, Donny didn't trust them. The moment he awoke in the basement, he knew he'd only expect the worse from people. This may not quite be a nightmare, but there was no reason to think anyone here was a good person. He was certain that everyone in that basement was as cynical and depressive as he was. Donny played up the part of the fool not just to tricks others, but himself too. He wanted to think that maybe, just maybe, there was some goodness in this world. It was just a matter of giving it a chance to show itself. Like right now, where Donny would try to be the honorable knight and save the damsel in distress. But things never went so smoothly. For one, someone else showed up. A girl that Donny remembered freeing. She made a hammy announcement of justice, like he did, and drew her sword. Donny was no swordsman, but she looked quite the novice. While he certainly didn't mind the sentiment, he didn't know if he could protect this girl while also saving himself, and the woman in current distress. But things didn't get any better when one of the hooded figures revealed themselves to not be men, but some sort of dog/human hybrid. Donny nearly puked in his mouth at the sight of these horrific abominations. Maria explained that these things were the "God's Hand", though Donny wasn't certain if she means they were part of the God's Hands or if that's what the creatures were called. Either way they fancied themselves as s=the judge and execution of all that is evil. It would have been funny, if they hadn't started attacking. Donny wasn't able to pick up on Maria's compliments when one of the beasts lunged at him, knocking Donny to the ground. he fortunately was able to keep his guitar between himself and the beast, preventing the monster from chewing on his face. But the monster's strength was greater than Donny's own, and he thought this was going to be the end. "Well! I guess this is the fate of a hunter!" Donny struggled against the beast regardless, trying to push and maneuver himself free. When all seemed lost, Donny heard the ramblings of another. He looked up and saw a fellow hunter armed with a spear, questioning his own humanity. Donny gave an answer when the spear plunged into the dog man's shoulder. "This is a good start!" Thanks to the hunter's attack, it gave Donny just enough room to move one of his legs between the beast and himself. With a mighty kick, Donny threw the beast off of himself and quickly got back onto his feet. He surveyed the scene and thought of a plan of action quickly. The hunter with the spear could no doubt handle the dog man on his own. The girl he was more concerned about; she didn't seem the type to be able to fend for herself. But there were still three more hooded figures, no doubt also powerful dog men monsters, dragging away the woman. Another hunter armed with a sword cane walked towards them, but Donny doubted that he alone could handle all three. Now was no time for silliness. Donny needed to act fast, and make every action count. For starters, he needed to get this guitar out of the way. While it was helpful in getting everyone's attention, he needed a weapon now. But instead of simply putting it aside Donny chose to throw the guitar at the other dog man coming at the girl. Donny's throw was aimed towards the creature's legs, with such force and accuracy that it would cause him the beast to falter to the ground. Hopefully this will give the girl, or anyone else really, a chance to put it down for the count. Next, Donny needed to get his rope. Dashing back towards the tree, Donny also picked up a fist-sized brick. Once he had his rope in hand it was no hard task to fashion the rope and brick into a flail. Now with a somewhat suitable weapon, Donny now needed to fight. Despite his actions, all five of the potential opponents were still standing. Donny assumed the man with the sword cane must be quite skilled if he was willing to approach the other three on his lonesome, so Donny left him to do his work. He needed to return to the other two, who were no doubt as frightful of the entire ordeal as he was, and help them with their opponents. Swinging his stone flail to build momentum, Donny brought the brick down unto the skull of the currently impaled dog man, and will continue to do so until his head was naught but a bloody pulp.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,575	1,459	48	2,285	5,789	Sinthe watched from the sidelines as everyone tried to save the woman and the townsfolk began cheering for the cloaked people. Sinthe sighed feeling ignored after trying to speak to the pale woman, he just kept silent and choose not to speak again, he felt like he knew how the whole situation would play out, he didn't need to show off that he could punch enemies with really heavy strength behind his punches. The white haired man just looked at the cloaked figures and the other hunters fight against the cloaked enemies, seeing Donny hang up one of the enemies and seeing their face, Sinthe felt like he knew how this was gonna go he didn't bother stepping into the fight to save the woman, he knew the outcome of saving her and knew the people were horrible as well. Sinthe crossed his arms and stood still as he watched the others, he felt that this place really was abysmal if the settlers were cheering for their own to be either executed or sacrificed or what ever the dogs were gonna do before everyone else jumped in to attack them, but Sinthe really hated the people in this situation, he didn't like how they acted, how they were or how they were just turning a blind eye to what these dog creatures were doing, Sinthe just sighed as the others kept fighting really. He was waiting for them to be finished so they could see their actions really. The fight was taking a little longer than usual and Sinthe then put his hands into his pockets and just watched the fight, he felt like some things were missing or people, or things were missing as he looked around the town but kept his defense up just in case one of those dog things got too close to him and tried to attack him, he couldn't figure out why he had these visions, but he wasn't gonna share that he was having odd visions with the others, he didn't want to come off as crazy.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,576	1,459	49	1,278	8,083	~Maria~ After her initial intrusion, Maria decided to merely observe how the hunters would fare in their initial foray against the Denizens of the Wasted Dream. The huntress crossing her arms bellow her chest and leaned against the old water well, taking in how Donny, Paul, Kenji and Lillian conducted the battle. “Not bad for a bunch of rookies, keep it like that and you may survive your first moon.” Maria tried to encourage them with some words, before turning to Highball and Sinthe, who seemed to be content with waiting on the side lines. Their reasons, however, seemed to be quite different, judging by the contents of their faces. “Don’t you think that you should be joining them? How do you two plan to live on this world without money? Even if you beg, the dry husks that live here have nothing to give.” Maria shifted Pandora’s weight idly as she noticed that one of the God’s Hand had turned its obnoxious snot towards her. “If you’re not taking it, I guess that I’ll help myself. Come now, stinky mutt, let’s dance!” Maria beckoned the stupid monster in, as if she were calling back a stray dog. BGM “Rrr!” The God Hand pounced at Maria, revealing a crude meat cleaver from under his cloak, and trying to chop at her with an overhead attack. Maria sidestepped it, spinning on her heels, before using the momentum she built to smash the monster’s shoulder blade with Pandora. “Take care where you swing that thing, or you might hit someone… just not me.” “UGHH!” The God Hand howled as the sickening sound of flesh and bone being smeared and the fresh spurt of crimson on its shoulder finally registered on his mind, as well as that damn woman’s mockery. It swung its blade moving to hack her neck clean off her body, yelling unspeakable curses on those who dared defy the Absolute’s will. “Tsc!” Maria scoffed, irritated, “Come now, that’s not even trying.” One more swing of Pandora, and she had all but severed the monster’s left leg of its body with the sheer force of the blunt impact. Blood splashed everywhere as the femoral artery burst and fragments of bone could be seen protruding off of the scraps of leather and tendon that still remained in place. “GAHHH!” The beast cried, but there was nothing it could do now to avoid its fate as the specter of death loomed over it in the form of Maria’s purplish-crimson irises. “The next time you try to kill someone, be sure to do it right!” As Maria said so, a distorted grin appeared at her face and she offed the monster sadistically, breaking its neck with her heel, after stomping it a couple times. If one didn’t knew better, they could think that the huntress was delivering some form of pleasure from the grisly display of violence. Once Maria was done with the God Hand, its neck was but a smear on the muddy streets of Iredele and Maria casually ripped the beast’s head from the rest of its remains with one last yank of her hand. “Come to think of it, I’ll give you this. Pay me back later, will you?” Maria said as she threw the severed head towards Highball, in an easy way to catch, before leaning against the well again, waiting for the other hunters to finish their, well… hunt.	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,577	1,459	50	2,786	800	Kenji put his foot on the small of the dog-creature's back and yanked his spear out roughly, tearing a chunk of flesh from the creature as he moved away. He had only done so because Donny had come in swinging an improvised flail, and he didn't wanna be anywhere near such an unpredictable weapon. But with the enemy already down Donny just had to keep it that way--Kenji grimaced as he turned away, hearing the first crunch, then the second, as the other man swung away repeatedly. The pale woman had engaged another of the beasts, and it looked like one of the others was going after the three that were still dragging the woman. Kenji figured he must be cocky or just stupid, attacking when he was outnumbered with what looked like just a cane--then again, perhaps it was a sword-cane or made of something more sturdy than a typical walking stick. Still, the guy was going to get himself killed...but, yet again, these things didn't seem so tough, actually... There was a strange rush coursing through Kenji now, and he was unsure whether it was fear, adrenaline, or...something he didn't want to think about. Nevertheless, he made another decision--not one he felt was a good one, but he didn't have many other options at this point. He took off at a sprint, holding his spear out away from his body in one hand and pumping the other back and forth as hard as he could while he ran. While this guy with the cane was on one side of the three dog-men, he intended to come in from the other side for a pincer attack. As he closed the distance he took the spear in both hands and tightened his grip, before stepping down hard and thrusting forward. He slid across the damp stones, thanks to his momentum, but kept his balance and managed what he thought was a damn good piercing attack, despite not knowing any martial arts. One of the dog-men turned to face him, obviously hearing his footsteps, but by the time it brought the rusty looking cleaver out from under its filthy robes the cross spear took it in the shoulder, the center prong going all the way through while one of the side blades dug into the area between its collar and chest. Kenji knocked it off balance as it snapped at him, spittle flying through the air between them. Its free claw lashed out, but couldn't get to him thanks to the spear's length. Use leverage and see if we can... Kenji had his hands on the lower third of the spear's shaft, and held it close to his body while he grunted and tried to simply swing the weapon up and in an arc, using his weight as a fulcrum. It tore free of the God Hand's shoulder in a spray of blood, leaving gristly white bone and stands of torn muscle in plain sight, and the creature screeched in rage as it stumbled. The spear rose straight up above Kenji's head, some of the blood dripping down onto his shoulder and staining his uniform before he brought it straight back down in a chopping motion. The cross blade sticking out of the bottom side punctured the top of the monster's head with a thick "plup" sound causing it to freeze in mid swing, its cleaver falling from limp hands. Blood squirted out from beneath one of its eyes as its scream rose to a high, keening pitch. Kenji stepped back, yanking the monster forward until it fell, facefirst onto the cobblestones. Levering the spear again he pulled it out...but the creature was still struggling to get up, though its motions were uncoordinated and it spasmed at random intervals. Even with brain damage these things don't give up, what the hell kind of world is this... He turned the spear until he was holding its blade pointed down, the shaft extending up in the air and his hands closer to the middle. He drove it down like an ice pick into the back of the monster's skull, and the blade exited through the bottom of its chin, digging into the ground and pinning it down. Kenji put his foot on the back of the cross blades like one would the edge of a shovel, and pushed it in further. The creature's legs kicked wildly for a few seconds...then it went still, blood pooling beneath the corpse and Kenji's shoes. He gagged as the scent hit him, and jerked the spear out as he looked around to get another gauge on the situation...	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,578	1,459	51	980	4,120	Paul Delacroix - First blood Smiling still as the spear-wielding gentleman from before decided to assist him, the man provided the perfect distraction. While only one of the God Hands turned away to face him, the brief glance to the side from the other two was all that Paul needed. Breaking forward into a sprint, Paul slashed at the hands that held onto the poor woman. Cutting them deep enough to gain their attention, the two turned to focus their gaze on Paul just in time to be greeted by the shaft of his blunt cane. Soundly thwacking them across the eyes with the blunt cane in his left hand, Paul wasted no time. Sheathing his cane and twisting it locked, Paul ducked forward and wrapped his arms around the waist of the woman who was still in the middle of danger. "Pardon me, my lady. Excuse me for my trespasses." Ignoring the twinge of pain in his back as he lifted her up with leg strength, Paul back-stepped a few times until he was pleased with the safe distance. Nothing against the woman and her body weight, Paul just had his medical issues. Setting down the woman as gently as he could, he held eye contact with her as he spoke. "Stay your distance but please, do not run off. We cannot guarantee your safety if you leave our presence. I have some questions I'd like to ask you once we're done with the task at hand." Straightening up, Paul faced the two angered God Hands who had brandished some gruesome looking cleavers from their cloaks. Dusting the front of his vest off, Paul smirked. "Hmph." Leaving his cane-sword sheathed, the two God Hands charged at him. Walking towards them, Paul's eyes followed the cleaver of the first God Hand closest to him. The motion was easily telegraphed and Paul ducked under the cleaver, dodging it. As he side-stepped the first God Hand, he stuck his leg out ever so slightly and tripped the first God Hand causing the creature to fall face-forward onto the ground. These creatures seemed neither intelligent, nor graceful it seemed. Watching the telegraphed cleaver-swing of the second God Hand, this time Paul raised his cane and knocked the attack away by striking at the wrist that held the cleaver, parrying it. As the second God Hand glared at him, snarling, Paul rammed the end of his cane into the creature's chest in a stunning blow. The second God hand coughed and doubled over for a moment as it struggled to regain its breath. Paul looked over his shoulder just in time to see that the first God Hand had gotten up and was preparing a large overhead slash to end his life. Dashing to the side at the last second, Paul watched as the first God Hand ended the life of its partner. Its cleaver burying itself deeply into the skull. The second God Hand dropped to its knees, sputtering and gurgling as it died. Pivoting and pressing his back against the back of the first God Hand, Paul looped the shaft of his cane across the neck of the last remaining God Hand and pulled against it tightly to suffocate and trap the beast. Using his own body as a fulcrum, Paul then rolled the monster over his back and slammed him to the ground. Turning to the kneeling and dead God Hand that had his friend's cleaver resting in his brain box, Paul grabbed the handle with his free hand and kicked at the dead creature's chest to rip it loose. In one final, fluid motion Paul brought the cleaver's edge down on the grounded God Hand's neck and severed it. A gout of blood spurting out from its decapitated neck and speckling Paul's face. With a few tugs and yanks, Paul removed the cleaver and casually tossed it aside to discard it. He hadn't realized it, but he had been breathing heavily and took a few moments to calm himself and steady his breath. Dabbing at the blood that managed to get on him, Paul squatted down the rip off a piece of cloth from the dispatched God Hands and used it to wipe off what blood he could remove. Standing up, he then walked over to the woman from before and knelt down in front of her. A warm smile on his face. "My lady. Are you quite alright?"	Name: Caval Avaine Gender: Male Age: 29 Appearance: Caval is by no means an opposing figure he often curls into himself and when talking to people he tries to avoid eye contact. Caval stands at 5ft 9" and has blue eyes that are more often then not bloodshot he has messy blond hair. His face is rugged with a five o'clock shadow. He wears rough leather armour with a long black hooded clock his boot are about 2 sizes to big and Caval often looks like a lost puppy. Magic: Shadow Weapon: longsword: Caval carries a sword made of steel, the hilt is adorned with shiny rocks. While the sword is cracked it is still sharp enough to draw blood. One-handed crossbow: For places the sword cannot reach Caval uses a basic wooden crossbow, Caval doesn't use the crossbow often as it is clunky and time consuming to shoot. Personality: Caval is not quite there, despite using his magic a handful of times his mind has been polluted by shadow, while still being able to make decision and hold conversations he still drifts off sometimes. He suffers from nightmares as a result of his magic and often only get 4-5 hours of sleep, if he sleeps at all. Despite being a sandwhich short of a picnic Caval is very intelligent and intuitive when he is functioning correctly he can hold a conversation and can figure out riddles and puzzles. Caval is very childlike and has the same innocence as a child would have, being very naive in the process this however makes him a friend to everyone, this however is not always a good thing and people do take advantage of him due to his deteriorated mental state. Bio: Caval doesn't remember anything other than him being is an pristine hospital room but he does remember feeling frightened, other than that his mind is blank. Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover.)
53,579	1,459	52	1,449	5,931	The creatures did not disappoint. Before Highball's eyes, Paul and Kenji joined the battle to assist Donny, and a few of the monsters met the challenge. When it became apparent that the 'God Hands' were not human but in fact men with dog heads, in the manner of some twisted Egyptian divinity, Highball remained remarkably unfazed. All along, she had expected that a dream world's inhabitants would not make sense, and in truth the fact that the vast majority of the people she'd met so far were normal surprised her more. Sitting upon her well, Highball pondered the significance of the beasts' name. If the calls from the neighboring houses a few moments ago constituted anything if significance, these 'God Hands', despite their monstrous appearance, seemed to be performing a service for the people. Of course, Highball could neither envision nor want to find out more about whatever ritualistic savagery awaited this woman, but the event created a unique idea of perspective. Either this woman did indeed have crimes of a spiritual nature to answer for, or she was the lone spot of light in a town lost to darkness and corruption. Given what Highball new of the World of Wasted Dreams so far, she admittedly anticipated the latter. Plus, it stimulated her imagination to think of what kind of lumbering, vile god these freakish monsters could serve as peons for. Unfortunately, the semi-canines also came through for Highball's other guess: they offered no challenge to the newly-minted hunters. For a moment it appeared as though Donny might be in some sort of peril, pinned beneath the noteworthy might of the God Hand that assailed him, but Kenji's spear negated the threat. After getting to his feet, Donny sprinted away while Highball watched, wondering if a single foul-breathed beast was enough to break his will. Only a moment later, the man's acquisition of his rope answered her question. Kenji's struggle with the impaled monster came to an abrupt end thanks to the end of Donny's brick flail, and Highball raised her hands to salute the frothing fiend's passing with a soft, though somewhat sarcastic, clap. Highball's mock celebration was interrupted by Maria, however, who presumed to needle her with patronizing suggestions. A look of incredulous indignation flew the mannequin’s way, saying without words What? Waste my energy on these worthless things? They're pathetic. How much value is there in those flea-bitten hides? Especially to go at them like piranhas in a shoal. They're not even attacking. Barely stronger than an adult male, not large or intimidating, and not keen to attack as a pack even while their numbers dwindled. Did Maria also think it would be worth it if five poachers worked together to shoot a single passive deer? Highball would fight when she saw a worthwhile take, or a chance to have some real fun. Still, she deigned to watch as Maria assaulted one of the God Hands herself. Highball observed through half-closed hazel eyes as the thing failed to land a single hit on Maria, who taunted all the while. The mannequin's quips brought a smile to Highball's face. Wow, really sticking it to that brainless dog, tough girl. She looked away when Maria began to use the dying thing for pleasure. No kill like overkill, I suppose—especially for psychos. The next thing she knew, a rotten head sailed her way like some grotesque sports ball. Not pleased with the prospect of touching it, Highball quickly maneuvered her cane into the object's path, switching it to rake form as she did. Upon the nasty tines the severed head snagged and hung, odious and odorous both. The only thing that displeased Highball more than the object was the pity that had sent it soaring. With the slightest of efforts, she tipped the rake and let the viscera plop messily to the cobblestones. Not just pity, but a pity loan. I'm not lazy or gutless, lady. I'm discerning. After rejecting Maria's offering, she leaned on the upright rake and looked back at the other group. Kenji and Paul had already dispatched more foes. Highball decided that in short order she'd strike out on her own to find her own prey.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,580	1,459	53	324	1,204	Lillian A woman’s voice broke Lillian concentration on the beasts as she glanced back to find Maria. Although she was stunning to look at, Lillian’s gaze drifted beyond her, in search of the man who had helped her. He was okay, right? Lillian nodded to reassure herself he was fine and could probably take better care of himself than she could. Directing her attention back to the task at hand, she took a few practice swings of the sword in her hands. Swing diagonally? Lillian’s eyes scrunched up in determination to wield the sword correctly. Following Maria’s directions, she held it parallel to the ground and swung the small sword. Although she improved slightly, Lillian still managed to look like a blind man attempting to paint. With practice though, she was sure she could master it! One of the hooded things stepped forward, leaving the other three to continue dragging the poor thrashing women away. Before Lillian could blink, the hooded creature suddenly had the head of a ferocious, infested dog and attacked Donny. Why couldn’t there just be a giant squirrel? A hint of fear tingled within her, telling her to run far away from this but nothing could persuade her determination to leave. She clenched the hilt of the sword and marched toward the beast on top of Donny, ready to slash at it. Breath escaped Lillian’s entire body as the hooded creature trapped within Donny’s ropes, broke free and revealed the face of another horrible dog. It made eye contact with Lillian, whose hands were slightly shaking. I can do this. Swing diagonally. In mere seconds, the beast blasted at Lillian, who was so focused on Maria’s instructions she barely had enough time to scream in fear. As instructed, Lillian slashed out diagonally at the creature with all of her strength, weak though it was. The sword, to her disbelief, made impact with the dog creature, but all she managed to do was make the creature even angrier. That was more than enough to send Lillian sprinting to find a better position. Hundreds of ideas flashed through her head, most of them including some sort of jump in the air. Instead of doing anything at all, Lillian tripped over a rock she hadn’t noticed before and fell for the second time that day, flat on her face. Lillian’s entire body cringed, waiting for the snarling beast to eat her entire body. Maybe now it was time to wake up and return to wherever she had come from. Instead sharp teeth biting into her, a guitar ripped through the air and crashed right into the creature’s legs as it readied to attack her. Lillian gasped in shock. She had been saved by Donny! A wave of relief passed over her and she quickly stood up from her fall. A disgusting muck of dirt covered part of her face but she payed no attention to it. Gripping the sword in her hand, Lillian took a deep breath and swung at the dog’s head. A spray of blood splattered across her face as the head of the dog was ripped off. Lillian froze, the sword in her hand clattering to the floor. Blood. No matter how hard she tried to not see it, the smell of it still filled her nose, suffocating her. Lillian’s stomach screamed with sickness. So much blood. She looked down at the dog, a pool of blood where its head had once been. Behind her, blood covered the ground at which Maria stood. There was no escaping it. Lillian’s entire face turned pure white and the last thing she saw were the other hunters finishing off the beasts before she collapsed into even more darkness.	Name: Lillian (Lily) Gender: Female Age: 16 Weapons: Personality: Lillian’s the last person you’d ever expect to be a hunter. It’s a miracle Lillian can even walk, considering she falls over air every ten minutes. While she tries, Lillian tends to ruin everything her small fingers come across. That art project you spent weeks perfecting? She probably broke it five minutes ago. Disasters seem to haunt her every moment, whether it be bad luck or the fact that she’s just a complete klutz. It doesn’t stop her from trying incredibly hard for everything to be perfect though. In fact, she spends every waking moment of her life focusing on making things go by smoothly. Lillian's determination and will to keep going are two of her strongest assets. A complete goof ball, Lillian has no trouble getting people to smile, the only talent she seems to have. Beaming with positive energy, Lillian alway tries her best to turn any depressing moment into a cheerful one. People often find themselves annoyed with her because she constantly tries to make everyone happy, especially when they want to be alone. She genuinely cares about other people though and wishes the best for them. To Lillian, even if it’s pretending, it’s better to be smiling than frowning. While she may see all rainbows and cupcakes, Lillian too has a bad side lurking deep underneath thousands of mountains of sugar and dreams. She can often be overprotective of the ones she cares about, which frequently leads into trouble. Lillian doesn’t know when to stop talking either, an issue she never seems to be able to fix. However, her bad side rarely comes out, and she will try her best to compromise on everything so both parties are satisfied. Lillian isn't afraid to learn new things and will gladly work hard to accomplish something as well. No matter how poor the situation looks, Lillian will keep working until the breath is sucked out of her or the job is completed. She strongly believes that if you start something, you should see it to the end, no matter what. She's a loyal Hufflepuff, who will follow you to the end. Bio: Lillian started off born from two loving parents, surrounded by caring friends, just a perfect, average life. There was nothing holding her back from being her cheery self. All memories of her life were completely stripped as she slowly fell to the Wasted Dream. She knows she lived a happy and passionate life but that’s as far as her memory can recall. Flashes of a white hospital room constantly haunt her mind, although she can’t remember why. Other: -Lillian is very uncomfortable around blood, often passing out at the sight of it. -She also has a huge obsession with cake. -Painting has become a passion of hers and she loves artwork as well
53,581	1,459	54	2,487	9,778	One by one, the monsters were being finished off by the newfound Hunters. They battled with unrivaled skill, almost as if the touch of a blade in their hands was something felt before, perhaps in some earlier time. The beastmen perished at the hands of these unmatched warriors, retreat no longer an option as they were cut into bloodied corpses. The woman from before, who had inadvertently started this whole mess, finally creeped out of her hiding spot. With a neutral expression, she looked up to Paul, the one who approached her. It was to be assumed that she would thank the young man for his hard work. Thus, it must have come as a deep surprise when the woman brutally slapped Paul. “Fool,” she hissed with angry tears in her eyes. “You’ve ruined the ritual! Are you mad? H-How could you….why would you interfere!” The woman’s voice became louder and louder in pitch as she backed away like a panicked animal. Dry sobs heaved her body as she pointed an accusing finger at Paul and then the rest of the Hunters as well. “Heretic! Heretic! I drowned my own daughter, consumed the flesh of my only son, and this is how I am repaid for my sins?” She was making no sense and was only becoming more paranoid until she finally brushed up against the town well. Turning to look down at the dark hole, she turned to Paul specifically and flashed him a smile of triumph. Hope was not lost yet. “Ut absolutam gratiam tuam,” she spat to him before jumping over and plummeting to her watery grave. The splash was only countered by the loud crack of bones being split and flesh being splintered. The woman had killed herself. However, there would be no time to grieve because a stranger was quickly approaching the group of Hunters with faltering steps. He wore a standard suit with a tie, black fedora placed atop a crown of equally black hair. His right eye remained firm and closed while his left revealed a sickly hue of green panic that darted from one Hunter to the next in a mile a minute. “Hello one and all you idiots! What did I say about getting yourself involved with rituals? You know the God Hand only come back, and in greater numbers! This is only going to put us back a stage and…wait, you’re not villagers, are you? No, no, you look too scared to be villagers…you must be fresh Hunters then who don’t know what they’re doing in my town.” The tall man in black looked Maria over once before a tired sigh escaped his breath. Honestly, couldn’t she train her new lot faster? Didn’t Iredele deserve enough ill omens? The man didn’t even seem to care that a woman had just committed suicide in his public well. “Ah, forgive me for my rudeness young Hunters! You see, I am the mayor of Iredele. Parker. Mister Spencer Parker. I trust you’re here to hunt….monsters?” , , , , , , ,	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,582	1,459	55	1,445	9,375	Soon, the God Hand were defeated. Donny felt rather excited to be honest; it was an exhilarating fight. Scary as hell, but exciting. Donny was about to suggest a little victory part when he saw the girl, Lillian if he remembered correctly, fall to the ground. Worried that the God Hand managed to land a blow on her Donny went over to the girl and made sure she was alright. Though there was blood on her, most of it seemed to belong to the God Hand. A quick search for injuries on Lillian's body proved that aside from a few scraps from falling on the ground, she was not grievously injured. That made Donny very glad. What happened next, not so much. Donny was so focused on Lillian he didn't realize that the woman they've fought to save actually did not want their help. She started screaming about the evil things she's done and how they were all heretics, making him very confused. "What the hell are you talking about? We just saved you! You were screaming for help!" But Donny's words made no difference as the woman approached the well. his eyes widen in horror. Despite his skills, he could not throw his rope fast enough. By the time he threw a lasso in the direction of the woman, she had already fallen into the well. Donny could hardly believe hit. His efforts, his worry, wasted on a woman who spat it right back into his face. So much for being a hero. Shortly after the woman's fall, a man in finery approached. He lambasted the hunters for their interference before backtracking and apologizing for his rudeness. Though that didn't exactly make Donny like this guy any better. Picking up Lillian's sword and putting it into her sheath, Donny helped the girl up while she was still fainted and walked towards the Mayor. "Hold on there, Top Hat. What do you mean rituals? What do you know about these God Hands? Are you saying you let the woman get dragged away for some conspiracy?" Donny would have been more... Respectful towards a man in authority, but in recent light Donny has taken into consideration that not everything is as it seems. And this Spencer Parker may be more than just a mayor of this small, sleepy nightmare of a town.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,583	1,459	56	2,786	800	Kenji, like Donny, tried to make a move to stop the woman as she headed towards the well, but he hesitated over whether or not this situation was really as it appeared. Maybe the woman was going to make some kind of wish on the well, or drag something up from its depths, call some horrible monster out to eat her instead--no. The simplest conclusion turned out to be the correct one, and Kenji watched like the others, wide eyed, as the woman threw herself to her death. A shout drew his attention to another figure, this one a hobbling man who blamed the group for...something. As Kenji looked around at the slain dog-men, Donny was the first to call the stranger out on how fucked up all of this was. But all of this talk was bringing out some much more workable information about this new world that Kenji could start putting together for himself. I was actually right, in a sense. That woman was, if she's to be believed, a criminal who was being taken away for some kind of cleansing ritual. Why she bothered struggling I don't know...maybe it was just some kind of show? Kenji knelt next to the God Hand he had slain, and following Paul's earlier example, used its own cleaver to behead it. Though he was much more careful about it, and thus only got blood stains on one of his pants legs. He almost threw up again, but held it down as he used the creature's own ratty cloak as a bag to hold the dripping trophy. The woman uttered the same phrase that the pale lady did before, in that Church of the Absolute. These creatures were called God Hands...implying they're servants of this same Church? He looked at Maria. The likelihood that she and the strange, patchwork-quilted man from before were being intentionally misleading seemed much higher to him now. The Mayor didn't recognize us as Hunters at first...implying that the reason the other townsfolk don't get involved is because they've all intentionally agreed not to do so for some reason. If this failure means that the God Hand will come back in greater numbers... He turned in place, looking out across the town in different directions. Here and there through the fog he caught sight of a wooden, barely standing wall. And of course the settlement as a whole still seemed to be a complete shithole. A necessary sacrifice? They allow the God Hand to take one of their own, in order to ensure survival and avoid conflict? And now we've ruined their ritual, so the God Hand will come in force to punish them. The Church of the Absolute requires Hunters to make donations, and they earn the money by slaying monsters...The monsters themselves serve the Absolute too. And they serve by murdering sinful humans...apparently killing people in large enough numbers that a town like this is turned into a ghost town and forced to willingly give themselves up to avoid being wiped out completely... A flash of insight came to Kenji, and he involuntarily sucked in a breath. Absolute. Sinful nature. According to some theories of both religion and philosophy, human beings are inherently born with sinful natures. We design laws to prevent the sins of others, like murder and theft...but human laws are CONDITIONAL. Someone who steals a candy bar will get a lesser punishment than someone who steals a thousand dollars from a bank. Someone who unintentionally kills someone during a fight won't be sentenced as harshly as someone who plans out the murder in detail. But would an ABSOLUTE being allow such gradation on the scale of "sin?" Maybe this Absolute god or whatever it is actually exists in this world, and sees humans as inherently corrupt. Thus they are deserving of punishment even if they haven't "done anything," because the very act of existing is sinful. So it uses the monsters to destroy them...yet maybe it considers the acts of violence the monsters commit to be sinful as well, and thus Hunters exist to punish the monsters? It seems like it would create an endless cycle...but it also provides money for the Church... Kenji growled to himself and shook his head. He was jumping to too many conclusions. Still, his hunch about the woman had been right. They should have just let her be dragged away, as heartless as it was to say. He felt like he was on the right track, but that he was definitely missing some vital pieces. He would let Donny question the Mayor, and no doubt some of the others would do the same. Instead, he turned back to the pale woman. Walking up to Maria, spear cradled in one arm and leaning against his shoulder while his other hand held the bag with the God Hand's head, he looked at her suspiciously behind the thick frames of his glasses. "You want us to make donations to the same God that uses these creatures as his Hands? Or am I misunderstanding that?" he asked. "What exactly are the teachings of the Church of the Absolute?"	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,584	1,459	57	2,285	5,789	Sinthe sighed when the woman yelled at the others for saving her, Sinthe didn't really care about her when she yelled at them for wanting to die, something that did make him think was, how did she kill one child then eat the other without the other child running off, he didn't think more about the situation as the woman took her own life by falling into a well."Forget about it. She wanted to take the easy way out so let her." Sinthe told Donny who tried to throw a lasso down the well, Sinthe figured Donny would probably kill her with the lasso if he got it around her during mid fall, but he just told the guy to forget about it. Sinthe crossed his arms and rejoined the others when the mayor arrived, he began to berate them but soon changed over to notice that they were hunters, after the mayor was finished speaking, Sinthe wanted to punch the mayor with all of his strength to outright break the weak man's neck like a twig, but he held back and didn't attack him, at least not yet." Your the mayor of this small village, yet you let the people be grabbed out of their homes and be dragged off by creatures of the night, if I was a different man I would punch you with all my might, and it would've snapped your neck like a small brance. A leader is suppose to look out for his people, not let them be ripped from their homes and eat their own young, you should go to a worse hell than the one your in now." Sinthe told the mayor. Sinthe didn't care if the others would say that what he did was out of line or too much, but he wouldn't care, it was how he felt at the moment and he wanted to give his opinion on the situation he faced before hand, he could see that he wasn't the only one who was angered by how the mayor was running things in the town.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,585	1,459	58	2,091	3,329	-Omen : Irdele- Even with that shining beam towards Lillian, ______ felt a scorching concern foreboding over the melancholic steeple. The man glanced back to the arms acquired and scooped the Sabbath and revolver up with a simple swoop of his arm. The blade still required a sheathe, so he picked it up with his other free hand. Keeping the sharp tool close to the ground, ______ trudged over to the worn regalia the man donated. Of course, the whole display of things to pad the people with looked a tad ridiculous... "... then again, I already had a couple of these strange garments on when I arose from my slumber... I'm not completely positive that I had some of these on originally, but then again I do have amnesia... I can't even revel in even being aware of my own identity... now that I think about it, that ivory woman Maria said something to me as I passed in... what was it again?" Distracted by his thoughts, ______fumbled through the clothes, finding a few items to be unfitting due to the sheer magnitude of how minuscule or gargantuan they were. Furrowing his brows, ______ glared with daggers in his eyes, as if these inanimate pieces of clothing somehow wronged him. "... I look like an ill omen? What does she mean by that?" ______ grumbled to himself as he donned dual sabatons and poleyns on his being, struggling to properly equip both pieces of footwear. He could of completed the set, but the other parts were just awkward or assumed missing by him. Befuddled by the myriads of minor inconveniences, ______ became slightly vexed at this all; even the tale woven by the black widow seemed to leave the perplexed man annoyed the more he dragged on his thoughts. Regarding his equipment, as soon as ______ finished donning what little plate he had began to check for any bullets loaded in the arms. Of course, the gun was fairly benign for now, lacking any sort of compact sphere in the barrel. It was also duly noted he would require a holster for such a dangerous tool and possibly a bag for the rust-stained book. While relieved that there was nothing within the confines, he set his sights on the pile of clothing before tearing through it once more, finding a worn, musty satchel that looked as if it might fall apart like a shambling building, and a holster a size a little too big for the pistol. Equipping the two items, ______ shoved his gun into the leather pouch and his bloody book into the tattered bag in one fell swoop. Eventually came the task of retrieving musket balls for the lonely pistol... which lead him to going back to the weapons pile. "Seriously, what I'm doing is rather moronic; I could of snatched some bullets, go over to the pile, grabbed the bag, and finish this simplistic chore of dressing up for hunting beasts of whimsy and dreary fantasies... On second thought, what I'm doing is slightly delaying the inevitable, so it's ok to an extent I guess..." ______ wasn't too eager to battle the nightmares that lay waste to the realm around, but eventually he would have to come to spar with such dangerous beings that threatened not only his life, but the others. He was plenty sure that most of the others had formulated some thought... maybe. Who was to say that they were yellow roses crowding around the white rose? Fabrications of deceit to lure him in further into a dreaming coma where he might not wake up? As ______ completed the lesser tasks of procuring a few bullets, he worriedly stole himself a seat on one of the steeples pews after unequipping his sheathe housing his sword. As he sat, he found himself thinking about this realm, thinking about the inhabitants. Maria was seemingly aware of everything, yet the others lacked a memory - a recollection of any previous life. Ruffling his hair, staring desperately at the floor as if they harbored clues to a milk puzzle. This was a rather maddening predicament, and he still felt the need to test this world and if he was truly in a coma. ______ had his doubts over his own sanity as he stayed baffled about every little thing. And of course, staying alone in a frightening steeple after everyone left was a great idea in contemplating over his sanity and other myriads of things. "... first off, I need a name to call myself. I can't exactly question Maria as she might not know or just fiddle around and screw with me mentally. Of course, I don't know if I can ask the others without procuring a quizzical or snarky response... hum... wait; Maria said I was a bad omen... What if I used that; the word 'Omen' as my temporary name? It has an ominous tone to it, but it could work." Entranced by his own thoughts, Omen failed to notice any screech as he dwell deeper and deeper into his mind, going over specific questions that needed to be answer. There was a faint smile for a fleeting moment before he stared at one of his hands. Moving his left hand towards his mouth, he sought to test one theory - how real was this world? If there was throbbing from the bitten finger, it would denote the facet and bring some light to Marias story... maybe. Bringing his teeth down, he began squeezing his finger with the hardy bones, feeling the pressure as his nerves told him to let go. Eventually, the sting came in as he freed his slightly bleeding finger from the grasp of his now crimson tooth. Grunting in discomfort, he was more perturbed now that he confirmed that a place like this was too vivid, too real to be a dream. In a dream, he would of felt the pain of having his arm sliced off in one of his nightmares, the torture of having his intestines ripped from his torso. In those dreams, he felt no pain, except fear; in this reality he was feeling both after that. Which lead him to his next question due to Maria's dialogue - Were these all real people, including her? Suffice to say, it would be little to extremely impossible to diffuse that theory as he his head onto his resting arm, sighing as he attempted to ferment a way to test this, despite how mad it sounded. ... After a few minutes of sitting in the deafening silence, he came to a new conclusion. Standing up with his chest beaming high, confidence was surging through the smirking man - he had discovered the possible solution. Of course, that would introduce a new batch of nightmare fuel, but he could hide his frightfulness for now. Omen had to put on a brave front - one that would discourage pursuers and wrack assailants with horror. Reattaching his sheathe, he set out with the others, late to what was to come. The clapping of soles could be heard as he swiftly dashed out the front door. Situated on the outskirts of the church, Omens vision lacked any signs of companions in the forlorn area. Glancing at the sable roads and moon lit sky, he saw the duality of the blue moons as they watched the mortal coil below. Huffing, Omen ran, searching for any familiarity among the folk in the area. Most people didn't bother glancing at the dashing swordsman as he swiftly sped onward, his fortitude unwavering. After running around like a madman seeking respite and penance for the past couple of minutes, he noticed a grisly display transpiring far away from him with a man wielding rope, Maria standing betwixt the chaos like it was no ones damn business (fighting gleefully, nevertheless), and a couple of more people, along with onlookers not undertaking any exceptional action to counter what he concluded were... wolfmen. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes in frustration, he dashed towards the scene, getting a better glimpse at the other characters. "Why aren't they assisting any of them? They could be maimed or murdered from this ordeal!" Shoving his injured hand into the bag, he shuffled around to find a bullet before giving up and putting his hand on the hilt since he was close to combat. From what he noticed, Lillian lie motionless, collapsed like a rag doll on the ground, and everyone else was painting the town red through impalement and evisceration; most of the five beasts resolves were tested from what he was concerned as the group lay waste to... "WHY THE HELL ARE NEITHER OF THEM HELPING?!" Omen was very late to the skirmish, yet others who were in attendance simply watched as the others handled the vile creatures with ragged black fur and rotting yellow teeth. The sheer impudence astonished him as the hobo woman dressed like a tacky nobleman walked away from the fight, haughty to the benign threat, but threat nevertheless. He had a feeling this woman might not be the kind he would want to dabble with, especially if she left her comrades on a limb, even in a conflict like this. Despicable. Of course, the man was no better, but he seemed less vain and was merely watching with a keen eye. Maybe he was waiting for an opportune moment to strike? Nevertheless, Omen was nearing the cavalry, ready to make his assault with the rest of the squad. Before Omen could even brandish an inch of his opulent blade, the fight came to an abrupt end as the remaining intimidated creatures were vanquished before his very eyes. His grasp was no longer on the blade, rather his hip as his gaze lingered over the riposte intestines and severed limbs. Omen felt disappointment in not helping his comrades, yet kept a cool and stalwart demeanor as he stood by the fighters... before noticing he was near the temple. "Just ignore it - play it cool; pretend you were in the church th... I came in the opposite direction of the church, they are bound to notice. At a saving moment I had tunnel vision and somehow managed to not hear the clashing. Five gold stars there Omen..." Before he knew it, there was a woman forcing her palm across his allies face, cursing him while failing to comprehend reality. Of course, in an instant she thrust herself into the well, a sickening crack besmirched his ears as he seldom gleaned at the woman's fate after the nonsensical jabbering, shivering at the malign thought of the mangled body. Not letting that affect him, Omen began his covert "reason" for not arriving right on the nickel to help destroy the hounds from hell. "Apologies for being late; I was..." Before the chance to speak his part over his obliviousness and the facet that he just ran through town, a man sporting a fedora and a jade eye reminiscent of a befouled, tainted corpse happened upon the area, fear glistening as he nervously insulted them before apologizing, not realizing they were... God Hands? Omen could only assume to be an opposing cult of the Absolute as he glanced at the man, not a smile nor outward reaction plastered on his neutral expression. Of course, the next thing that came forth was the questioning over the mayors bizarre reasoning was from rope man with Lillian in his arms. He questioned Spencer over why he allowed such accursed beings to rampage over sacrifices and other inherently peculiar happenings. The accusations came off as somewhat condemning and almost as if the frightened man was hiding some enigma. The man had medium awareness of this realm from what he figured as he was acting saner than the people who were negligent about their own well being. Next came the comment from Glasses, to which he hit Maria with some interesting questions. Why did they exactly have to herald severed appendages and mutilated torsos to this church of the absolute? It may of been a way to make the Hunters some money, but from the way the kid put it made it almost condemning, as if a fish knew what the worm did and swam away from the hook. Of course, the kid might of struck it gold and he felt it was nigh time to turn his attention to the mayor since he needed some serious reality management. "Rope man does make some interesting points; guess it's time for me to add on too," spoke as he turned his visage back to the middle aged man, glaring at him as if it was a sign of his damnation. Omen wasn't too fond of a mayor who couldn't organize a militia to safeguard their town, or displayed any concern (outside of fear) over these beings terrorizing and possibly massacring apathetic citizens. "That woman, in her madness committed suicide. I can guess it's a common occurrence for you and the townsfolk to denote another humans death at the hands of some sacrifice. Since you're the mayor of the town, could you tell me a story - a story of why your people act like this and how long these cultists have been harassing this village." Omen was blatantly sure there was something amiss here, however wanted to hear the words from the horses mouth. Omen felt the need to discern his intentions and if he was truly genuine as he did form some conclusion to why more came after sacrifices. If the mayors answers were merely weak and paltry, he knew not to waste his time, and instead go onward to collecting bounties and discovering myriads of things. There was also the worry of Lillian on his mind, despite her unharmed state. She was unconscious which meant something unpleasant must of transpired to lull her into such condition. Omen wasn't too worried about the others since most of them either came out unscathed, wait for the right (but late) time to strike, or blatantly ignored the battle like a daft clod. Either way, these questions might herald some interesting answers, but nevertheless, they would possibly have to depart in search of such inquisitive tasks that they could not deny doing. You did what you did to survive, regardless of whether it was fighting someone you cared about or feeding rotten bones to a beast that could tear you asunder in hopes of appeasing it. Omen stared up at the twin moons as he awaited the mans response. "Such an abnormal sight..."	Name: Omen Gender: Male Age: 21 Appearance: ((I'll go into more detail on the morrow.)) A side note - Ignore the Katana. That's where his leather bound book is. Magic: "A hue of sable red which tastes of copper... blood... the moment we lose such an invaluable solution, our souls depart, leaving us but an empty husk of internal organs and wasting meat that festers over each agonizing passing." Blood is what Omen specializes in... While he is a neophyte in terms of power, he can get quite creative with his blood, mainly in terms of damaging opponents through wiles. He can set up blood traps which is currently limited to a simple bear trap which snags the assailants leg... or an unlucky ally. Next isn't as costly, but if used too much can lead to a deadly price. Omen can turn his blood into bullets for Bloody Mary since it is much more inexpensive than using regular bullets... slightly. Of course, what other things he can do with his crimson bullets is yet to be seen. The future is ripe with the sickening tang of copper. Weapon: "To me, it feels rather peculiar to be wielding one of these... whether it is the atmosphere or my own psyche, I better not let it get the best of me..." Oblivion: The sword he wields is nothing special... maybe; save for the blessed craftsmanship of the blade and hilt. Etched on the protruding hilts are the words "Oblivion;" seems a bit stronger than other swords, but it really isn't; it is really the ornateness that makes it appear to be extraordinary. Bloody Mary: A gun with nonexistent bullets is more than useless in this realm. However, this break action dueling pistol specialty is dealt with warm crimson hues; it can use other bullets, but to get the most out of it, he has to load it with his crimson fluids. It holds only a single shot at a time, and is accurate; it does take some time to reload though. If Omen wants more strength from the gun, he should not only use blood for the gun, but the blood itself must be sweeter and much more developed than the other predecessors. The Crimson Sabbath: A simple leather bound book absent of any words or colors, save for a reddish splatter on the first few pages. Other that the rust-like pages, the others are unabridged and not stained by any hue, making them completely blank. What it does is completely unknown, even to the wielder, Omen, himself... hell, it might not even do anything useful in skirmishes, save for recording useful information. Why it is called The Crimson Sabbath is because of the first page which crudely spells out the title of this enigmatic book. Personality: Zany isn't something to describe Omen as, but still heralds a bit of humor in these passing days. Even with the awakening, Omen tries to keep an undiluted, calm attitude in such cataclysmic hours. Persistent can be used as another way to talk about him, as Omen will work at discovering things unknown and unseen to him, as his amnesia and how he was born into this realm. Also, he does herald some thought for each action, displaying a sense of morale in a realm depraved of one with misery and creeping shades. Never displaying despair outwith his own mind, he will attempt to greet each passing abomination with a stalwart gaze in hopes of piercing the dark. In other words, he is brave, but only to influence others in confidently taking heed against their assailants. At most, you can imagine him to be the kind of guy who doesn't leave an ally behind. However, even with virtues, there will be vices within. Perception is deadly though as if one discerns him even closer, they might discover that he is actually very terrified of the transpiring events. As if it wasn't enough, he can be a bit snarky at times, despite the little facade he displays. Underneath it all, he desperately does yearn for the old past, despite the facet that he can rebuild a new one. Likewise, his persistence can be a burden at times, for a few reasons. Dragging on a possible mission for too long if there is some fortune in the form of knowledge pertaining to the story behind this realm, and his past. Recovering those shattered memories heralds such significance to him, that he feels incomplete. In retrospect, it might be for the best that he perishes the thought to others, but he could care less if it was volatile and cataclysmic... Cutting through this realm and seeking the truth is all he cares for, whilst safeguarding his companions to calm his own inward turmoil. Bio: "The only thing I can recall is waking up with the clothes and skin on my back... Shouldn't I be remembering more than that?" Once he was ______ ______. That slate known as his past dissipated into thin air in a car accident that left him in a coma... his girlfriend and other companions were put into the hospital, but were not thrust upon the fate ______ would endure as they could of caught a cold case of death... maybe. Who knew as his memories were wiped, save for his wits and common sense to an extent. Now he has transpired into a broken realm with a new name bestowed to him by a hunter. ______ was asleep amidst the plague of nightmares, but Omen was born from the gleaming crimson of slumber with a few items at his side... ... "... I hear... sirens... my vision is blurry... almost as if this world is fogging up..." ... A college student, that's what he once was. Making it through each passing year, all while savoring each moment he had with his companions. They went through rough times, but with support from each other and their merit scholarships. Most of them dropped out within the first two years due to funds or lost initiative, but ______ stayed close with those who weathered the storm; they all became a tight knit community, one of which that could be mistaken for a family of sorts. ______ was able to work his way into the nursing program, along with ______, and ______ too. The trio were rivals too, competing for a chance at furthering their careers in a nursing school. Of course, to remedy such a possibly volatile friendship and rivalry, ______, ______ lover would often take strides to keep them all in line, all while ______, and the others giggled at the whole spiel. Unlike ______, ______ was majoring in another course, which ______ still struggles to recall at times since he found the whole process to be painstakingly numb. The rest is a blank dream. "... ugh, this is frustrating. I can only withdraw those remnants, save for a deafening screech... Oy, can you explain what's going on?" Other: Hey I did say he couldn't recall his own name, so wynaut remove all names from his backstory? Also, his real name is hidden somewhere in the personality I created for him; it was annoying to discern how to go about it, but hell, I did it.
53,586	1,459	59	1,278	8,083	~Maria~ “So bothersome, but I like the ones with an attitude; let’s see for how long you’re gonna last when the ball begins to roll for real.” Maria said to Highball between smirking teeth as she observed the other hunters clumsily deal with the aftermath of the fight. To say the truth, Maria partially expected the outcome to be something like that, since all that’s just part of the ritual. Normally she wouldn’t even get involved with such frivolous tasks (as it’s as useless as trying to stop the Death’s Couch and its headless rider from taking someone whose time has come). The only reason Maria even lifted her hand to fight is because one of the mutts turned its filthy snout at her, however evaluating the fresh meat’s skills at such an early phase would prove useful in their next endeavor. When Spencer came out of the shadows, Maria frowned, if there was one… one single bastard that she couldn’t stand, it would be this guy. With the sour voice characteristic of one whose party had been crashed, Maria said “Heh, what brings you here, snickering bastard? Certainly you wouldn’t have come just because of the God Hand. I’m yet to see the day you’ll truly care for any hide that’s not yours, not that I care for that or anything like this, heh!” Closing an eye in a gesture intended to mimic Spencer’s bastardry, Maria pushed the brim of her beloved hat just so that the azure moonlight would cast a shadow over her face, while her fangs reflected it in a grim smirk. Certainly she knew it wouldn’t intimidate that grinning monster, but at the same time Maria wasn’t pressured by him in the least bit and wasn’t going to back down. The hunters were hers to play with and Spencer knew it; she said “You’re here because of that, right? If so you can go back to the hole you came, ‘cause I was going to have them do it as soon as these mutts had been dealt with.” Indeed, the only thing that Spencer cared for was for Iredele’s status quo to be maintained and the thing at Paraanon Ravine was the most imminent threat to it. Considering that Maria makes a living out of those threats, it’s no surprise that she had to swallow that bastard every once in while… at least the money was good. Either way, once she was done with Spencer, Maria turned to answer Kenji’s questions about the Church of the Absolute. “Well, Glasses Boy,” Maria said, running a couple of finger playfully up the shaft of Kenji’s spear, “unless you wanna make a living digging muddy mounds to try to cultivate the measly things that grow up in this place, that’s really your only option. But hold your horses,” Maria grabbed a hold of Kenji’s weapon and pulled him closer with ease before continuing “I don’t work for that place, if that’s what you’re asking; it’s just a pastime for me. I’m sure you’d go mad, if you knew how much time I spent on this place.” “As for your other question,” Maria shoved Kenji aside, now that she got bored of playing with his weapon, “Do I look like the pious type or you? I can’t care less for what some watered down god says or not, but as long as it doesn’t bother me, I don’t care doing it either. I exist only for myself, no god keeps tab on me. Hehehe… but seriously, if you wanna know that, you should ask the Sack-o’-Bones, he’s the closest thing this place will ever have to a priest.” Maria however, ignored both Sinthe’s and Donny’s outbursts. If they can’t handle this much, they would be much better served by impaling themselves on some random stake and rot along with this place. Iredele had much… much worse things to spill. Lastly, she went up to Donny and pointed to Lillian’s limp form on his arms “Bring her to my place, she just need some rest and maybe a revitalizing drink get back to her feet.” , , , , , , ,	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,587	1,459	60	2,786	800	Kenji kept his eyes on Maria's as she fondled his weapon--he had no interest in her in that manner, not after seeing what she was capable of and knowing that she still had the potential to be a threat to him and the other Hunters, if she was indeed manipulating them. When she pushed him away he stumbled back, given her supernatural strength, but still he calmly took in the information she presented. "Yeah, that's right, isn't it--we're not required to make the donations. The guy you call Sack-o-Bones just implied it would somehow make our lives here easier." he said, but now he was starting to think more to himself rather than speak to her directly. "So it's really just for us to turn in the kills and get money to make a living. But that begs another question--just what would the Absolute's priest want with the dismembered corpses of the Absolute's servants?" He turned and started walking away, as it was obvious Maria didn't have any more interest in conversing with him. He had just been speaking his thoughts aloud. He headed towards Highball now. ...If the Hunters and the Absolute are in opposition...maybe this is how they recoup their losses. This place is straight out of the darkest kinds of fantasy. It would not surprise me at all to think that, through some kind of twisted magic or some such, creatures like the God Hand could be resurrected after death. Especially by a priest-class character. So maybe the reason he offers us money for the monster parts is because he then gets to Frankenstein them back together and send them back out. If that's the case, then in the end the Hunters could never accomplish anything worthwhile for this world. Every enemy they slay will simply return. So now I want to know if there are other ways to make money off these beasts besides turning them in to the Church. As he stopped in front of Highball, he gestured with his spear towards the town around them. "If you're still interested in working together, I'm going to investigate around town before I head back to the Church." he told her. Seeing the head on the cobblestones at her feet, he wondered what was up with that--he hadn't seen her fight, but nor had he seen Maria toss it to her earlier. "If you're not gonna take that, I will."	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,588	1,459	61	2,487	9,778	Spencer visibly recoiled, being assaulted on both fronts by Donny and Sinthe. He raised his arms up in a defensive position or perhaps it was to gesture that he truly wanted no harm or ill omen to come about him. Whatever it was, he gave a heavy sigh of relief when Maria stepped up to explain a few things, though only to one of the group apparently. “Now Maria dear, you know language like that will only sour the mood,” Spencer said with a wag of his finger. “But for the most part, you are right. About my reason being here that is. Anyway, to answer some questions, yes, the God Hand visit here frequently. After all, Iredele is of course the last human establishment not to be overrun with monsters.” Though one had to wonder what truly accounted for a monster in this world. With the apathetic citizens and a seemingly warped church governing the land, it seemed like everything was an enemy to the outsiders. Spencer coughed once, twice, before looking at the group as a whole. “Why was the woman dragged away? That’s an easy one; it’s because that was her role. Just like it’s my role in Iredele to be a simple mayor who runs things. Think of it like a job or maybe even the role you’re given for a play. Sometimes the roles last the entire act…and sometimes they don’t. But all of them are to die for, I assure you of that.” Nervously chuckling at his own joke though it was clear no one else would be laughing with him. As soon as he noticed this, he coughed into his hand, as if suddenly self-conscious about his actions. Be it out of shame or embarrassment, he continued his exposition. “The God Hand usually picks female sacrifices. Don’t know why, and frankly I’m better off not knowing. As for the garbled Latin, it’s more of a final farewell before Death really. Or it can be a curse to spite your murderers. ‘May the Absolute grace you’, or something like that. Look, if you’re just here to ask questions that’s fine. But you’re Hunters, right? Shouldn’t you be out doing some, I dunno, actual hunting? Hmm? Tell you what, I’ll offer you a free job for payment, you and your, er, new hunting friends. The whole lot of you. According to some witnesses, there’s been a large gathering of…something at the Paraanon Ravine just east of here. Settle that problem for me and maybe I’ll overlook you ruining another one of our rituals. Settled?” Without bothering to check if they had agreed or not, Iredele’s mayor tipped his hat and promptly slunk back to the shadow he had crawled out from. The citizens watching the events unfold didn’t so much as bat an eye at the conversation; instead they continued to shuffle along aimlessly in the street. If the Hunters bothered to check, the woman’s corpse in the well would be missing, a most peculiar sight. The mysteries of this world had yet to be revealed, far from it. But at the very most, a short period of peace fell over Iredele. For now. Whatever the Hunters decided to do next was entirely up to them. , , , , , , ,	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,589	1,459	62	1,449	5,931	Maria’s frustration seeped visibly out from behind her mask of condescending nonchalance, and Highball confirmed her choice to be the right one. As far as she cared, the snooty, oh-so-pretty tough lady could stuff it. If ever a character existed that Highball could bet money on becoming an antagonist later, the psycho mannequin here was it. Ignoring her, she turned her attention toward the scuffle’s end. The last of the dog-men fell, fingers clawing at the air while it whined horribly, but the woman whom they captured did not appear to be enthralled that her kidnappers lay dead. Instead, she dealt a vicious slap to the nearest man she could find before breaking down into raving insanity, stumbling this way and that as she enumerated her sins. Highball watched, her eyebrows betraying her macabre wonderment, while the woman edged closer to the well upon which she sat. An awful scheme stole into her mind, and the woman ended her own life by plummeting into the well. Surprised by the act and disturbed by the ensuing sounds, Highball shuddered, and deeming her position of derision to no longer be appropriate, she slid off the well-cover and onto her own feet. Her stomach would not permit her to follow her impulse to peer down the well and see if the poor wretch lived still. Nobody could consider the extravagant suicide for long, however, for from the coddling dark strode a dubious gentleman, his dapper if solemn appearance a far cry from the deplorable destitution and dinginess that seemed so prevalent to Iredele so far. His greeting managed to instantly turn Highball’s opinion against him; she did not appreciate implication in events she purposefully abstained from. Still, a choice few of his words piqued her interest, namely those implications that the town lay embroiled in a dark and sinister plot, and that forces beyond human control or comprehension withheld their ignoble wrath from Iredele only for the sake of these ‘rituals’. While this intrigued her, she couldn’t say that it surprised her without lying; ever since the Church of the Absolute’s first mention, the notion of some insidious nightmare cult lay fresh on Highball’s mind. These ponderings made Highball want to ask this man questions, but she instantly rebuked herself for that consideration. After all, several of the other dream-people had already pegged themselves as prime question-askers. It all slotted in very nicely with Highball’s conception of the World of Wasted Dreams as a game, for what kind of game eschewed exposition? Sure enough, Donny and Kenji spoke up, while the white-haired brute opted to punch the mayor –surprise, surprise!- and bellow out his criticisms. A moment later a new arrival, the strapping young man that she’d seen loitering in the church, vented his questions too. Only too happy to keep herself out of swinging range, Highball paced leisurely around the rough perimeter set up around the mayor by the new hunters, arriving back at the well just as Maria and Spencer began to talk. For once Highball listened intently, guessing that Spencer at least might offer some sort of task. His joke made her smile, but his mention of danger lurking at Paraanon Ravine thrilled her. Now that a task of both worth and peril lay out in the open, the raven-haired woman knew precisely what to do next. Before she finished smiling, however, the spearman from before sidled up to her. Guessing that he might be wanting to cooperate with her, Highball heard him out, but felt distinctly disappointed to hear no mention of the word ‘Paraanon’ in his request. Furthermore, he asked of her the dog head that lay, congealing, near her feet. His tone reminded her distinctly of a child asking for the last piece of food. Highball, sensing a distinct chance to snark, tried to think of some way to communicate his foolishness. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind—meaning she couldn’t keep her silence any longer. “This scrap?” she whispered, poking the offensive object with her cane. “No self-worth, eh?” Crossing her arms, she continued, her lips barely moving. “If you want to waste, by all means, investigate. The game is on. Paraanon is the place to be.” She indicated with her cane the direction that Spencer pointed them, impatiently tapping her foot all the while, signaling that if Kenji wanted to be doing something worthwhile, they should depart before everyone else jumped on the bandwagon.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,590	1,459	63	1,445	9,375	Donny wasn't the only one with defiant questions towards the mayor, as the strange man in the fighter robes attempted to even assault the mayor. This only earned an eye roll. "I don't like the mayor either, but that was a bit excessive. Hopefully you're more willing to punch monsters than these peasants." Soon after Maria and the Mayor explained some of the situation to them, but it hardly gave Donny anything useful. Maria suggested to the man with spear that he should ask Rotten Bone more about the history of the village. The mayor simply told Donny that the woman was suppose to be a sacrifice, and apparently this is a regular occurrence with these God Hand folks. Despite how regular this may be, Donny wasn't exactly going to let this sick ritual continue, if he can help it. And even if he can't. Otherwise the only worthwhile thing Donny was able to get from the Mayor was another job to hunt monsters in the Paraanon Ravine. He made a veil threat along with the job offer, but he left before Donny could give his rebuttal. Huffing, Donny wasn't going to look into that job. First he needed to take Lillian somewhere to rest and recover. Maria was so gracious as to offer her own home, which if Donny remembered was one of the bigger buildings around here. He wouldn't mind finding a place to rest for the night, as well as figure out what to do while he's here. Not only that, but he felt he needed to gather more equipment. While he may not be able to get anymore weapons, he could try to gather some gear such as more rope, torches, medical kits, etc. "Alright, I'll take her to your place. Maria, if you have time, I'd like to talk to you more. I'm sure Lillian may have some questions too. Mind leading the way?"	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,591	1,459	64	2,786	800	Kenji took the head without comment. What did he care if she thought the worse of him because of it--right now, he didn't feel particularly attached to anyone in the group, despite the knowledge that there was safety in numbers. So far, all of them had displayed some rather disturbing tendencies. If they weren't too eager to resort to violence, then they were too...happy. Like that Lillian girl, and to an extent Highball as well. It was like they thought they were playing a video game or something. "Game, huh? Sorry, I'm the type who explores every nook and cranny of the first area before I move on." So saying, he left the girl, and the group, behind. Kenji's first destination was the run down building that looked--and smelled, rather unpleasantly--like a Butcher's shop. He knocked loudly on the door, then took a step back. For all he knew folks around here barricaded themselves in, if they weren't just watching listlessly as people were dragged to their deaths, and might have something nasty in store for any unplanned visitors. "I'm a Hunter, and I'd like to speak with you! Is anyone home?" he called out. First things first--can the meat of these monsters be eaten, or can their hides be tanned? Perhaps their bones used for some form of crafting? If so, I'd do better by this village to collect the monsters for that, rather than donating to the Church. If not it throws a bit of a wrench into my current plans, but I doubt Sack-o-Bones cares how timely I am in returning to the Church after a kill.	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,592	1,459	65	1,278	8,083	Maria "This is becoming way too obnoxious; I'm going home." Maria was... disinterested at how things came around this time, yet upon spotting some of the hunters, including the defiant Highball making motion to leave Iredele, the huntress groaned at how stupid these ones could be. "May I ask you something?" Maria said in a as disarming tone as she could, "Do you even know where you are going to? Knowing that Paraanon Ravine is to the East of here, but not knowing even where the East should be, or the terrain layout from here to there is like knowing that the area of a circle can be calculated by multiplying the square of its radius times pi, but not knowing what pi stands for. Simply put, it's useless knowledge." "Now, do yourself a favor and come to my house as well, I'm going to Paraanon after I do something about Sunflower, but if you are so eager to kill yourself by going alone, I can lend you a map and a compass, that's the best support you'll ever find, since I'm the only one around here that owns such items." With that said, Maria turned to Donny and without saying a word beckoned him t follow her, shouldering Pandora once again and walking away from the all too common scene of the previous massacre. "Ut absolutam gratiam tuam", Maria whispered a silent prayer for the dead, though it was clear that it was a mockery as the acid in her voice showcased. Once on her house, Maria would first ask Donny to take Lillian to one of the guest rooms and lay her at a decadent but luxurious canopy bed, asking him to leave the room later, saying "I don't think she would like a man to observe her body been stripe as I get some more comfortable clothes for her to sleep in. Unless, you're just that pervert, in which case I don't care in the least, about what you do." Maria then stripped Lillian and changed her into a night gown, since the girl didn't looked like she would wake up soon and sleeping in armor, even if it's leather is very bad to one's health. Following that, Maria brought a bottle full of a deep red liquid and assured Donny that it was nothing but a tonic, she concocted on her own, that would make the girl feel completely healed an full of energy when she wakes up, before giving a glassful of the remedy (which tasted like strong whiskey, which was actually the solvent used to dilute the medicinal herbs of which it was made) to Lillian and letting her to rest on the bed. Having done with the nursing chores, Maria left a jar of cold water, along with a silver bowl and a clean towel besides Lillian's bed and went back to the entrance hall, where she turned her attention back to the other hunters. "Here's the map and compass, for anyone who might wants a premature second death", the huntress said leaving the utensils over the counter of the previous inn, before turning to Donny "Ok, now what's it that you want of me? If you want to have some, I'm sad to disappoint you, but I don't swing towards men. In fact, I find the feeling of taking one, impossibly disgusting." Maria then sat cross-legged at a couch, resting her gear beside it and gazing at Donny with a blank expression as she waited for his answer. , , , , , , ,	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,593	1,459	66	1,445	9,375	Oh, right. I'll just... Be in the foyer. Or something. After dropping Lillian off at Maria's place, Donny waited in the lobby of her large house. Though honestly it seemed more like a tavern, albeit without any patrons. If he remembered correctly, Maria said that she would be willing to let the other hunters use her house to lodge in, and that she took care of forging around here. Or was it gunsmithing? Donny doesn't quite remember, but it'll be something he could ask her later. In the meantime Donny took out his guitar and began to strum the strings to songs he was barely remembering. It was all muscle memory so it didn't quite sound right, but surely if he kept playing he'd figure it out soon enough. As he waited Maria soon came out with a map and compass, but seemed to have left to give them to the other hunters who follow her to her mansion. He guessed they were for the hunters interested in the mayor's hunt, but Donny wasn't one of those people. Though he was mildly disappointed that Maria was not, in fact, interested in having sex with him. "Oh well. But that's not what I'm here for, actually. It's actually about hunting. The mayor gave us a job to hunt monsters out in the ravine or whatever, but frankly I don't think I'm quite... Well, armed for that. Everything Bag-o-Rags offered to us has been picked clean, so short of stealing from my fellow hunters I'm a bit light on equipment. I was wondering if perhaps you had anything you could offer us, be it equipment or even information." As strange as a request as it was, Donny would be fine if he could get some more intel on this place. Maria surely knew more about the World of Waking Dreams then he did, so she might have insight on somethings he could work with. "The mayor said that we're the last community in this world, or something to that effect. But surely that would also imply there was once others. I don't expect to trot outside the village and run into another thriving, possible better place then Iredele, but maybe ruins or fort made by other hunters? Maybe they left something behind for us to use. Weapons, books, supplies. If I could convince some other hunters to come with me, we could probably secure the cache and even reclaim the place for ourselves." Wishful thinking, but it was something for Donny to do at least. And it wasn't as if he didn't want to hunt; Donny was bound to fight monsters while he and whoever came with him looked for these locations and such. He'd just collect a bounty from them and come back to Iredele with both proof of his hunt as well as whatever loot he can snatch during these raids. "Raaaaah!? Wot's dis, fresh meat?!" When Kenji knocked on the door, it burst open, revealing a strange woman. She wore a purlap sack over her head and wear nothing but a bra and thong made of a similar material. She had large breasts and an even larger butcher's knife, which at this point was more like a sword. Her other hand held a cutting board which seemed to also double as a shield. The woman was also big, almost unnaturally so. While proportionally human, she stood eight feet tall and had glowing red eyes. Something wasn't normal about this woman. But then again was anything in this crazy town? "Nygh. Too skinny. Ye need more meat on dem rookers o' yours! An 'ere I thought hunters were s'ppose ta be bolshy!!" The large woman walked up to Kenji and slapped his arms lightly, yet with enough force that if he didn't try to balance himself, he'd be knocked over. The woman was unimpressed with him and hefted her large knife onto her shoulder, looking down at Kenji as if she was debating if she should butcher him or not. "Well? Wot izzit?? Unless ye got meat, we don't got business! An' no you git, I don't got a job fer yer neither. Go talk to da fore and aft guv or dat grazzy baboochka." The woman turned to leave, assuming Kenji didn't have anything else to ask her.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,594	1,459	67	2,786	800	Kenji wobbled as the massive woman slapped his shoulder, and had to use his spear as a crutch to keep himself from falling over. What the fuck even is anything in this fucked up place right now? "The meat you talk about--" he managed, before gesturing to the scene in the street behind him, where the corpses of the God Hand still lay. "The monsters of this world, can their meat be consumed safely--without some kind of side effect, like, I dunno, zombie infections--like regular livestock?" He tried to speak quickly before she could slam the door in his face, as she didn't seem to be interested in anything he had to say yet. "And can their hides be used for leather, or can their corpses be put to any kind of practical use? I'll sell you and the people of this town their remains, if you have use for them--Otherwise, the only way for me to get any money is through the Church." He might be taking more of a risk here than he thought; if the other townspeople were as devoted to obeying the Church as the Mayor and that woman had been when they spoke of the God Hands' ritual, the butcher might turn that cleaver on him. But he felt like there had to be some kind of distrust going on there...surely, even if they didn't have the power to stop it, the townsfolk as a whole couldn't just lie down and accept their cruel fates...	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,595	1,459	68	1,449	5,931	In the end, Highball could not make herself despise Kenji for taking the head. A dream did not necessitate scruples from the background characters. Here, beneath the black maelstrom of sky, between the squalid hovels of wood and upon the yellow grass that permeated the roughly-cobbled road, she alone truly mattered. Very little did this sentiment augment her confidence, however. Though any person within eyeshot by now likely thought of her as aloof and condescending, and not unreasonably so, Highball worried inwardly that when the time came, she could not muster the skill to back her façade of cool haughtiness up. Nothing, from the viscera in the well to the appalling smell of the ruined chapel basement, led her to believe she would receive any special favors from this world. One wrong move and some slavering aberration would rend her consciousness from her body and send her spiraling, disappointed, back into the real world. This quasi-existential quandary let Kenji be forgotten as soon as he abandoned her. Highball leaned on her cane, trying to keep her expression neutral as she thought, as if diverting energy from her limbs might empower her brain. In addition to her hesitations concerning her own ability to hunt, particularly with a rake, she knew absolutely nothing about the dreaded Paraanon Ravine itself, save of course its eastward inclination. To her chagrin, even the omnipresence entity of east eluded her without a sun to use as a point of reference. Maria’s appearance, manifesting by her side during her distraction, startled her observably, though Highball managed to contain any exclamations. Without mincing her words the mannequin proceeded to elucidate the precariousness of Highball’s position, which the behatted woman found aggravating less than helpful. Miraculously, however, Maria then proceeded to be of some use, offering directional instruments to Highball if only she come to her home. Though instantly dubious of accompanying such a strange-looking, obviously violent person to her habitat, Highball grudgingly admitted that without any aid whatsoever she would be up a creek without a paddle. It’s not pity-giving if I can’t get it myself. I’ll humor the creep and then leave her in my dust. So thinking, Highball grudgingly followed Maria through the dusky town, sticking instinctively to the shadows when the option existed but not so close to the dingy shacks that some unseen hand could slither from between two boards and inflict unimaginable hurt upon her. In the dwelling of Maria, Highball imitated a spirit, saying and doing nothing of note. Nevertheless, she listened, almost breaking her beloved silence to chuckle when Maria accused Donny of perversion. Not two minutes later, however, Maria –after doling out a map and compass to both the rope-meister and the cane-wielder- indifferently revealed her sexual orientation. What? If you like women, aren’t you just as perverted as a man if you strip a girl naked? Suddenly, the fact of Highball’s location seemed even more unnerving. Surely this can’t be some elaborate trap? And to think I had determined to never make myself vulnerable. With haste, Highball departed the chilling premises, and after a quick look at the instrumentation provided to her charted a course for Paraanon. The inhospitable moon would witness her make something of herself, even if every other so-called hunter reached for the low-hanging fruits. Some hours later, Highball drew close to the location, her pace growing slower and more cautious with every passing moment. Though her memory of the waking world did not serve her willingly just yet, she felt fairly sure that her muscles knew no normal weapons training. Against any sort of foe, she would have to focus all her energy on dodging, and waiting for an obvious opportunity to strike.	Name: Otsune AKA Highball Gender: Female Age: 29 Appearance: Standing at a rather petite 5' exactly, Highball is a slender woman of Japanese ethnicity. Her somewhat scruffy black hair is naturally oily, but maintained with enough care to give it an almost blue sheen. While she wears it no more than chin-length for the most part, she has a ponytail that reaches halfway down her back. Her hazel eyes are bright and reflect light a touch more than normal, and her soft features typically wear a calm expression. Her thin figure has only two outstanding features: a rather long neck and a rather ample chest, both of which are hallmarks of her family's female line. In terms of attire, Highball dresses in a longcoat of gray and pale blue, flexible striped leggings, and thick-soled shoes to keep out unsavory fluids. Fingerless gloves, a white ascot, and a striped scarf complete the look, as well as hiding her neck. Quite often, she wears a black top hat with a red band, more for naively aesthetic purposes than functionality. Overall, Highball's garb is very lightweight, and facilitates her highly agile fighting style. Magic: None Weapon: Ravenclaw – a weapon with three forms. Formerly the leg of some monstrous carrion bird, it was chopped off and lovingly fashioned by its previous owner. Rigor mortis combined with special preserving oils shrunk the claw down to incredibly-tough but still pliable hide on top of bones; the smith then cut into the bones and threaded chains through their hollow interiors. The three forms are.. . Cane, where the claws are all pressed together. The fastest form, best for bludgeoning and carrying. Rake, where the claws are spread out. They slice through flesh, flaying the skin and horrifically wounding the tissues beneath. Devastating against large beasts and living things in general, but slow. Flail, where the chains have been let out and the claws dangle from them. Like a cat-o'-nine-tails, they can cleave meat from bones. Handy against small beasts and humanoid foes, with good range, but slow. Personality: The mindset Highball adopted when first faced with the World of Wasted Dreams gave rise to a character rather different from her original personality. In the previous world, Otsune was compassionate, quiet, poetic, clever, thankful, considerate, gracious, and highly spiritual. Given a new lease on life in this place, however, her natural, real-life traits are commonly masked the the persona of Highball. Highball is energetic, outgoing, willful, ready to hurt and kill if need be, and greatly assertive. She is a huntress who prefers to act rather than think, a thrill-seeker and competitor. When fighting beasts, she shows a merciless and savage side, perhaps imagining them to embody all the immorality that her spirit strove against before. Against humans, nothing pleases her more than to mock, irritate, enrage, and humiliate them. All of this, however, doesn't so much mask her previous self as it does filter to the top of it. Highball still doesn't talk much, preferring to embarrass and annoy via gesture, traps, counters, turning foes' strength against them, and the like. She will never steal and won't often lie, and those that do not deserve to be hurt will not only be spared, but receive her protection. She never takes a blessing for granted, and always appreciates help and camaraderie. If the situation calls for wits, her keen intellect will bubble to the surface. Always, she strives to act with the sort of grace and professionalism she thinks befits someone serving God. Bio: No amount of hard work, love, or previous fortune can prevent an ordinary woman, working alongside her husband in religious ministries, from dire misfortune. At the age of 26, Otsune found herself afflicted with a fast-working cancer. For a while, the spiritual woman wondered why God might allow such a thing to happen despite the blamelessness with which she lived her life, but ultimately, she did not lose her faith. Gradually, she embraced her coming death, and with the time she had left found more meaning and love in her life than ever before. Nevertheless, when her husband found out that a place of healing in a far-off land might be able to save her, the two journeyed across towns, hills, and plains to see if God might provide for her after all. After her arrival at the hospital, Otsune underwent conventional treatment, but nothing availed her. Saddened but unbroken, Otsune bid a tearful but smiling farewell to her grief-stricken husband, and lay down for one last procedure -a blood transfusion- before the world went dark. Otsune awoke in the World of Wasted Dreams. Confused at first, she quickly came to believe that out of His love and mercy, God had given her an incredible dream so that she might have the adventure of her life before passing on. With this in mind, Otsune set out to make her way in this wasted world, becoming the elegant but deadly hero -Highball- she'd always dreamed of as a child, and though she doesn't believe this nightmare to be real, she doesn't wish to leave it just yet, either.
53,596	1,459	69	2,487	9,778	As Highball approached the borders of Iredele, the mist that seemed to guard the town from the outside world parted just enough to make visibility clear for the huntress. The surrounding area was just as bleak as the village itself and it didn’t seem much was to be commented on given the circumstance. The World of Wasted Dreams certainly lived up to its name. The twin blue moons hung high above the blackened sky like two ever present eyes watching the progress of all. The sounds of things crawling around in the dark filled the air on all sides though no sign of anything that could cause trouble was detected. Maria had mentioned monsters and it seemed like the God Hand was just but a glimpse of the horrors contained in this world. The road was raggedy and barely recognizable as a pathway at all. Broken down shards of what looked like possibly train tracks littered wherever the huntress stepped and the ground creaked with each step they took. Soon though, the sound of pattering footsteps was heard through the mist, getting louder and louder with each shuffle until a bent over form appeared before Highball, just near the Ravine’s entrance. A man with tattered clothing reached out blindly in the dark, the wisps of his shirt pulled back by either wind of something else, as if dragging him towards the single woman, approaching closer and closer with each unsteady step. Small mumblings escaped his dry throat before they were easily distinguished as cries of help. Upon closer inspection, one could see that his eyes had been scratched out with what looked like a knife. A poor beggar, left out to wander and rot within this world, no better off than dead. He was a sad example of this world’s apathy and cruelty. He reached towards the huntress with curious arms, hoping these people could help in a time of need. For Highball, she would feel something much more sinister in her step. The effects of her first exposure to the darkness of this world were beginning to creep all around her. Every corner was filled with light paranoia and it seemed as if the shadows themselves were watching her, specifically an overwhelming force that peered from behind the huntress. It was the price for dwelling in this world for too long.	Name: (Self-Explanatory.) Gender: (Same as above.) Age: (There's no limit to this one. Just know that you're probably going to get killed if you're a ten-year old Hunter.) Appearance: (Regardless of who your character used to be, you're a Hunter now. Good gear means less time in scrubbing your remains away.) Magic: (Magic does exist in the World of Wasted Dreams but comes at a price. The only elements that exist include Fire, Blood, and Shadow. Any magic user immediately draws ill omen to their character.) Weapon: (Your Hunter can carry up to three weapons at a time, ideally a blade, a firearm, and something special. Keep in mind that Iredele is a backwards land so only old century weapons are permitted.) Personality: (2-3 paragraphs is ideal, but we're not gonna deny you if you can only get one out.) Bio: (As your Hunter cannot remember their time spent in the real world, their bios can be as vague or detailed as you want. However, all characters must include reference or mention to a hospital in their bio.) Other: (Anything the above didn't already cover) Character List 01 - Maria-KoL 02 - Kenji Nakamura-Zeroth 03 - Highball-Lugubrious 04 - Sinthe-Spriggs27 05 - Donny Lee Yang-Lucius Cypher 06 - Lilian-BlueAjah 07 - Omen-Savo Note: Although Iredele is a town with a Dark Ages setting, your character was plucked away from modern times. Please keep in mind that in the real world, your character is an Average Joe.
53,597	1,459	70	1,445	9,375	Snorting at Kenji, the butcher went inside, only to come out with a bloody head. It looked like the same sort of head of the God Hand's, but without the rest of the torso it was hard to say just where this head came from. "Yer an outsider, so I'ma gunna speak in a way ye can understand. The 'livestock' round these parts ain't safe for a softie like ye. No bird or beast is safe to eat even if you burn it black. Wot ye need ta do is get used to it. When ye take yer first bite, yer gunna puke and get sick. Even if yer don't taste the meat, the taint from da monsters just ain't for an outsider like ye. It's poison, and if ye ain't strong enough ye won't last long." The butcher then tossed the raw, uncooked head at Kenji's feet. The only charity he was going to get from her. "Second, yea. Some of da beasties can be skinned for a nice bit of leather. Can do stuff with da bones too. If ye thinking of giving me dem dog heads, don't bother. Five ain't enough to make anything but dinner. Guess ye could also use their meat for other things, fuck it or something. And if ye want money, give yer meat to da holy man. I ain't got money to give. Now, if you do give it to me, I'm willin' to give you a good cut, tan it, whatever. So long as ye let me take what I want." The butcher turned back into the shop, leaving kenji alone without a good bye. Sever minutes passed and soon the sound of chopping resumed, and presumably the butcher went back to work. But before Kenji could leave, a girl approached him from the side of the butchery. She was missing her left hand, replaced with a wooden stump and a knife for a hand. She was bone thin and covered in cuts, bruises, and scars. Her hair was black and wiry, and some spots seemed to be balding. Her eyes were completely black. but despite her uncanny appearance she wasn't here to hurt Kenji. She had a map in her hand and handed it to Kenji, putting it into his hand. She smiled at him, grasping his hand after she gave him the map. Her touch was deathly cold. Another girl poked her head around the corner, and she looked exactly like this girl, albeit she had her left hand. The other girl seemed to... Bark, before the girl with the severed hand turned and went back into the butchery. The map in Kenji's hand was fairly crude. It had four big shapes connected together, with lines drawn throughout the four shapes. A little leap in logic and Kenji could figure out that the shapes were a rough outline of the World of Wasted Dream, and the lines were either roads or paths. There were other little shapes dotted on the map, circles, squares, triangles, and the such. The map itself was also greasy and stained; if Kenji looked on the back of the map very closely, he'd discover that the map was made from the tanned and stretched skin of someone's face, albeit without a nose and their orifices stitched closed.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.
53,598	1,459	71	2,786	800	So they're not safe to eat...and was that line including birds meant to say that -nothing- in this world is edible? What about plants? Do these people even grow crops? He thought he could remember Maria mentioning something about "if you don't want to be a Hunter, you can try to grow something in this miserable ground" or something to that effect, but he wasn't one hundred percent certain. He sucked in a sharp breath of surprise and jumped a little when the two girls came out of the darkness. He couldn't hide his expression, but at the least they didn't seem intent on harming him... They left him with the map and scampered away. He didn't like the feel of the thing in his hand. He could feel some unusual, yet somehow familiar, bumps on the back. He turned it over...and immediately turned white as a sheet. If he hadn't already thrown up everything in his stomach back in the church, he would have done so here. He couldn't even begin to imagine how a place such as this could have ever come to be. But, nonetheless he had learned something. And he might still be able to use it...Highball had said that they were supposed to head to some ravine, somewhere. He was pretty sure no one had followed him or headed back to the church yet...did that mean they had all gone on that wild goose chase without even turning in their kills? Maybe even if they had taken their spoils, they had only taken the heads as proof. That meant the bodies were still there. Using the makeshift sack he was keeping the other two heads in, he scooped up the third one the butcher had thrown at him. He certainly wasn't going to look a severed gift horse in the mouth. He rolled the map up as best he could without touching it for too long, and slipped it into a pocket. Bag, spear, and map in tow he headed back to where he had last seen the others. At the moment, it seemed there were only two left... "Hey, you two." Kenji called out to Sinthe and Omen. He couldn't see the Mayor, or Donny, or Maria, or really anyone else--either they had headed towards that Ravine, or were just exploring the rest of the town. "If you're as distrustful of that freak in the Church as I am, help me haul those monsters' bodies somewhere. I think I know where we can find a tannery, and according to someone I just talked to, their hides and bones can be used for leather and other stuff. If we turn in all five of them, minus their heads, I'm sure we'll get something out of it."	Name: Kenji Nakamura Gender: Male Age: 18 Magic: Blood Weapon: Cross Spear, and a knife similar to the one seen in the appearance picture above. Personality: Kenji is highly intelligent and analytical, but does nothing without a firm understanding of what the risks are, especially to himself. He's also a staunch believer in honest pay for honest work, though "pay" in many cases may be relative to what he needs at the moment. He's not entirely selfish, and is willing to help people or act altruistically, but he very much values his own life above the lives of others and it shows. He finds himself equally terrified and curious of this new world, and seeks to understand it as much as survive it. Preferably, however, he'd like to do this through study, from behind a very thick set of walls, rather than venture out into the nightmarish landscape. To those first meeting him, Kenji often comes off as cold and aloof, perhaps even arrogant. Any of these things might be an accurate assessment, all told, but in truth Kenji doesn't have much skill in the way of social interaction. He hates small talk, claiming that it's pointless, but in actuality it's probably because he has no idea how to do it. Any time he speaks to someone it's because he has a clear goal; either ask a question and gain information, or present a statement relevant to the situation at hand. He's not opposed in the slightest, however, to working with others--indeed, he'd much rather be in a group, rather than all alone on this dangerous night. Aside from his off putting speech patterns and lack of sociability, perhaps Kenji's biggest flaw comes from his own intelligence. He tries to consider every possible outcome of a situation and minimize risks, often to the point of freezing up and not taking any action at all out of a fear of the unknown. Combined with his quiet nature, it can make him appear slow-witted, and it's a definite danger in this world where the Hunters must put themselves at risk every night... Bio: A late night at the school, attending to student council business...a long walk home, as a street light flickered. Running footsteps, a girl's voice. Then her face, which would have been cute if not for the twisted smile and the insanity in her eyes. A knife digging into his stomach. White walls, the smell of sterile plastic and rubber. A constant beeping sound he wished would stop, many voices over him. A blood red fog, a cloud that thickened and darkened. Another girl, though this one's face was kind. Then blackness. Then two bright blue moons, and a world of nightmares. Other: Surprisingly fit for such a nerdy sort.
53,599	1,459	72	2,285	5,789	When Kenji asked for help to carry bodies away for a tannery, Sinthe sighed." Your planning on making a profit off the dead. Carry those corpses on your own then." Sinthe told him." The blood from these things, fur, and probably even bones are probably corrosive, don't even know why you would want something, made from the creatures in this world, you should rely on your own skills, and tools you have came with, instead of using the weak and probably dangerous tools that are here." Sinthe told him while turning his back on Kenji. Sinthe began to wander around again, but when he gotten far enough away from Kenji, but still within ear shot of the guy Sinthe turned back to him." Do what you want with the bodies if you really want to, it's your choice not mines. I just burn them if I were you." He gave some Advice before wandering the small town, he didn't care about getting anything new from this place, some new was probably something used before he touched it, plus he rather use his own hands instead of a weapon.	Name: Sinthe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Appearance: Sinthe stands at the height of six feet and weighs around 200 pounds, he has long snow white hair on his head and eyebrows that stops just past his shoulders, Sinthe has two bright green eyes that sometimes glow, he has light brown skin, he has a small nose on his face and no facial hair on his chin or jawline, he has a calm but also hardened look about him, as if he's been around and been in a couple fights and knows how to take care of himself. Sinthe has a mesomorph build looking like he's at his physical peak with his muscles showing clearly from his short sleeved gi, along his arms he has sleeve tribal tattoos. Sinthe wears what he considers to be simple clothing, he wears a black sleeveless martial arts gi uniform with bright white bandages wrapped around his forearms, knuckles and fingers, on his feet he wears simple boots to protect his feet from debris that could be sticking out of the ground, hanging from the waist band by a simple band of his gi is a shiny badge with a fist on it. Magic: None Weapon: None Personality: Sinthe can be a quiet guy who only speaks when he feels obligated to, he's the type of person to call another out on their faults and admit to his own without being a hypocrite, unlike many others he feels weapons are useless and his hands and feet are the most suitable weapons he should use in a fight, but along with his melee only fighting style he uses his magic of fire to add more pain to his punches. Sinthe isn't the type of person to talk about himself and if asked about where he comes from or where he got the gi from he will instantly say " Don't get too curious about it." Showing that he's very secretive of his past and isn't willing to speak of it in any form no matter how much someone tries to get him to talk about it. But besides the seriousness Sinthe can be friendly towards others he feels aren't harmful towards him and is willing to help people who can't help themselves if they can convince him to help. Bio:" My past is my own don't worry about it. Unless you wish to be put in a hospital" Other:
53,600	1,459	73	1,278	8,083	In Hunting Beasts and Monsters Iredele "So, you want information and weapons, huh?" Maria said to Donny between a fanged grin, it looked like she was having more than her fair share of fun watching the newbie hunters scamper and stumble like newborn horses who had just left their mothers. "What may I help you with?" After listening to Donny's questions and requests, Maria uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way, resting her hands over her knees. "And, what if I told you that I don't know? Or rather that there's nothing to know about it? That snickering bastard could as well have said that this is the first settlement of this world, the effect is the same, there's only Iredele, in this world with neither past nor future, this is as good an answer as you can expect to get. Furthermore, if you want to know something about a base... yes, I think there was one in the past, like... who knows when? However... no, it's better that you learn from experience; if you want to know more about it, ask rotten bone about his tree fort. I'm sure he'll be mooore than glad to share, you know how old people are." "As for books, weapons, and whatever else, really why do you want to go any further? I own all that there's to it in this world. Call it 'Privilege of the Strong', or just plain old boredom, but my collection is about as good as you can get. That said, it doesn't mean that I'm willing to share my precious useless trinkets with any neophytes that might as well die and lose them forever. However, we can make a compromise; I'm but a guide for you all, like a referee that sometimes enjoy meddling in the game as well." "If you want any of them, I have a proposal. Bring me some enjoyment, this world is utterly boring, the only thing I can derive some fun of is from your lot, so if you play like a good boy, I'll give you your present. How was it that one of the last batch say, again... Oh, yes! Fill my 'love meter' is the term they seem to be using in the Outworld these day. I wonder how far has society degenerated in the time since I arrived here?" As Maria mused about the state of the world and waited for Donny's answers, she continued to flash her fangs, looking way to content with the game she had set for them.	Name: Maria E. B'thory. Gender: Female. Age: Unknown, but she looks to be around her early to mid twenties. Appearance: Maria stands at a mean height of around 1,60 meter and has a moderate build as well, though Maria's curves are remarkably well-shaped, specially her bust. Maria has an extremely pale complexion, almost veering on gray and waist-long bleached-blond hair that matches her skin's lack of coloration. Actually, the only place you'll find any color on Maria (outside of her clothes) is on her burgundy colored eyes wherein lie her slitted pupils. When it comes to garments, Maria prefers to wear a mix-and-match dress of Victorian design, along with a corset to support and oomph her bust and sturdy boots. Maria however, has a passion for belts and wears them in excess as any other fashion item, along with her most prized possession, her huntress hat decorated with a lovely crimson rose and ribbon. Magic: Maria can use magic with some degree of expertise on every field, favoring blood manipulation over the other two paths because it's much more available and less risky to use than either fire or shadow. However she doesn't rely on magic very much, preferring to trust her weapons in pretty much any situation. Weapon: - Vampire Killer: A special whip that was bestowed to Maria a long time ago. It has the power to destroy evil and a simple touch of its business end is enough to send most dark dwellers back to hell. - Dark Titania: Maria's trustworthy gun, it's a break-action single shot pistol, capable of firing high caliber ammo (equivalent to early 9mm ammo). The only type of cartridge that Maria carries around is mercury filled cold-steel ammo that causes critical damage when it hits beings of the darkness. However, this is a relatively slow to reload and costly to maintain weapon, so Maria only uses it when she's sure that it'll not be wasted. - Pandora's Box: Actually not an artifact of mystic powers (perhaps?), but rather a nickname that Maria gave to the mysterious case that she's always lugging around. The contents of Pandora are known to none but Maria. All who had ever witnessed Maria unlock the case have different reports about what is inside of it and Maria makes no effort to confirm or deny any of them. Personality: Maria is, for the lack of a better term, unique. A woman who really loves her way of living and despises those who make the hunters' lives a laughing stock. She has her little quirks, like any woman is allowed to, being a teaser who knows how to weave her words to get the desired reaction out of most persons. At the same time she has her guard low (and can be even naive) when it comes to things that catch her curiosity, like the rare times when a hunter brings trinkets from the outworld to Iredele. Maria also can be quite introspective, enjoying to read every dusty tome that she can put her hands on and owning pretty much the biggest library on the World of Wasted Dreams. Maria likes to think, sometimes digressing into philosophical spiels, even practicing some of the knowledge found in her books. Over the time she became a quite efficient alchemist and these day can even produce many of her own necessities, thus she moonlights as an alchemist when the monster slaying business isn't going well. Lastly, Maria has a soft spot for the younger generations and so will usually take on the task of teaching the idiosyncrasies of the World of Wasted Dreams to neophyte hunters. However, she knows all too well that theirs is a merciless world and won't take any hard blows when one of the fledglings she's overlooking ends up as food for the beasts they were supposed to slay. That is, unless it's one of those very few cases when someone manages to gains more than Maria's sympathy as a fellow huntress. Bio: Maria's history is quite long, so she usually doesn't bothers people with it. All that is needed to know is that she arrived in the World of Wasted Dreams a very long ago, in fact, she was one of the first hunters to ever set feet on this cursed land. She has seen all the ups and downs of this world and over the time has grown quite fond of it. Maria won't get in the way of anyone embarking on the fool's errand that is trying to escape this realm, however, she'll not follow them as well. Some say that Maria had a lover on the Outworld (how she likes to call all that is not the World of Wasted Dreams) and that said lover had been taken by the clutches of death, which is perhaps the reason why the seasoned huntress doesn't want to go back. Other: Theme *Please, use hiders as well. As it makes this section much easier to browse through.
53,601	1,459	74	1,445	9,375	Uuuuh. Donny listened to Maria, though he was dishearten when she told him that there wasn't anything in this world that was left for the taking. Either she had it, or there was nothing left. This meant that now he needed to deal with Maria if he wanted access to her goods, and somehow Donny's chances of getting to those was about as good as his chances of getting Maria in bed. "Enjoyment huh? Well... I'll have to think about that. Surely a lady like yourself has all that this world has to offer. But I'll make sure to show you something you could never have dreamed of." Which was just false bravado on his part, because Donny has next to nothing to work with. His only hope was for Rotten Bones to ramble something worthwhile to him, or either that just chance it at the ravines and hope he runs into something useful. Which was too much of a gamble for Donny, and he was down on his chips. Whatever that meant. "Hmm... Anyways, I just want to say thanks Maria. For helping us. I know everyone else isn't going to say the same, in fact I think many of them hate you. But despite that you've watched out for us, even though you know exactly what's going to happen. I'm going to die here, but I'll make sure not to die before paying you back for everything you've done. Thank you!" Donny bowed his head and ran off. He needed to go find Rotten Bones and see what he could tell Donny. "I need to think about recruiting some of the others to help. There's no way I can go out there alone. Only idiots would try to fight by themselves..." Of course, Donny wasn't the brightest bulb either.	Name: Donny Lee Yang Gender: Male Age: 20 Magic: None so far, though may develop latent Pyromancy Magic. Weapon: A sturdy guitar, hatchet, and 50 feet with of thick rope. Personality: Donny likes to think of himself as a funny guy. Always makes jokes, a big flirt, doesn't take things too seriously. And why should he? Guy is a major slacker too. Too "busy" with his "work", which mostly involves just entertaining himself. While he can have a big drive to do amazing things, he also tends to forget about them in pursuit of something else that catches his eyes. One week he might dedicate himself to be the master, the next he might just want to build something from his imagination. It's hard for him to settle down for one thing. When it comes to people Donny is, once again, a big flirt. He'd like to make love to women and pretty men. He may even be willing to accompany some burlier men if they seem nice. But this playboy nature stems from his self-loathing; while he doesn't fully understand it, he wants to feel wanted. So he plays the part of the dandy, the fool, the camp, whatever it takes to endear himself to others. He's fairly loyal to those he calls friends, but they may find him far too clingy and desperate for their taste. Donny has a tendency to work behind their backs in an attempt to "please" them in whatever way he thinks he can. Even if it actually won't. On the more positive side, Donny is an easy man to please. And while he's capable of complex ideas, he enjoys the simple things in life, and generally is quite an accepting person. Helpful to a fault, as long as he can do something and he isn't already working at the moment, he's more than willing to lend a hand. And while Donny isn't fearless, with words of encouragement and a good idea he can be brave long enough to do what must be done. Bio: Donny struggles to remember most of his past life. He knew he had family: a mother and father and at least three siblings. He remembered disappointment for some reason or another. His family stayed together, but it was suffering. Donny thinks this was because of some sort of emotional reason, as he remembered one of his parents or siblings hurting him, but he never ran away. He remembered happier times with complete strangers, playing with them, eating with them, enjoying their company. He doesn't know these people, but he knows they aren't his family and that Donny genuinely enjoyed being with them. A major event he is certain that happened was that he ran away from his family. Because he has no recent memories of any of them, the shadows he knows as his family. He only saw strangers he spent time with, the things they did and what he learned from them. But that all ended when one day, Donny saw a flash of bright light, and remembered being taken to a hospital... Other: Donny is good at using rope. From tying nearly unbreakable knots to quickly dismantling them, he also is good at throwing things. Combining these two skills together and he could use a lasso with deadly efficiency. He also has a rudimentary knowledge of mechanical engineering, but even he doesn't really know what that means. As far as he can tell though, it helps him remember how locks are made and how to put together things like guns and crossbows. Doesn't remember ever getting into fights before, but he still has the raw strength to swing his weapon really, really hard. Also can play the guitar, though he has difficulty making his own songs. However he's going at replying songs he's heard before.

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