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55,002	1,501	66	1,991	4,769	Situation Updates : “I see, thank you.” Zara replied to Guthrie with a smile, noting once more the big dog's alert condition. She loved dogs! Always wished for one when she was younger, but never had the chance. Finding one canine in the present day was extremely difficult and well she was never allowed to have a pet anyways. Any distractions from her training back then were not welcome. “I haven't hurt her in any way!” Zara replied with slightly angry voice. She didn't like being 'blamed' for hurting children!” She was having a panic attack of sorts when I met her so I tried to calm her down... I've always had a relaxing effect on people.” She explained with a smile, knowing she was twisting words quite a bit here. Wasn't lying, but wasn't telling everything either.” Might have overdone it with her though, not to worry. She will be fine in half an hour or so.” The platinum haired woman explained as another man left the barracks. It seemed they knew the vampire child on her back also. “Ohh, you all have met before?” Zara asked, with a smirk, noting that the Vamon also seemed to have picked up on the fact Spencer wasn't quite her usual panicky self either.” She's going to be fine in half an hour or so, don't worry.” She stated to the man as she started heading for the entrance of the barracks when the door flung open once more and 3 women walked out of there. Sala, Vala and the guard captain. Each were carrying quite a lot of luggage, especially the twins. Sala & Vala Location: Barracks Interacting With: Spencer, Guthrie, Vamon, Nevan and Zara. The captain didn't really like waiting, considering the amount of work she had to do, so once Sala and Vala were done changing clothing, putting their parts of the luggage into their packs, the captain grabbed the box and they walked out of the study, before she grabbed another box and headed outside. “Sadly I haven't the time to spend.” Nevan stated when they were outside, just moments after Vamon noticed Spencer.” Swordsman here's the general provisions for your group.” She stated and put the boxes on the ground next to Guthrie.” Also something from my personal collection. If you plan to hunt that thing, you will need this.” She stated and threw a long warped in cloth object. It had some weight to it and experienced person such as Guthrie would recognize it is a sword right away.” This one's edges are made from metals with purifying qualities... It will hurt that creature a lot. Use it sparingly besides that thing... The metals are easy to damage. It can take a few hits, but don't expect it to stand a swordfight without damages.” She stated. “Then it's.. silver?” The witches asked in unison and the captain nodded to their statement.” Cursed beings, undead and creatures of incorporeal nature would be fought a whole lot easier than with just regular steel!” They stated and looked at Guthrie.” Better keep it wrapped in that bundle though, never know if it may attract things.” “Excuse me, Captain Nevan.” Zara pulled the attention to herself when she called Nevan.” I carry a message for you.” She stated and reached to one of her pockets with great skill, without Spencer even sensing the movement of one of the hands that held her. When the object was thrown and the captain caught it, it would appear to be a small crystal that seemed to radiate darkness... or was it consuming light around itself like a reversed sunshard?” The order is awaiting your signal.” Zara stated without as much as change in her friendly happy voice. “I see...” Nevan replied and looked at all the people who were currently gathered in the yard of the barracks.” Well, I will be returning to my duties now. I wish you all luck from now on.” The captain stated and returned back inside the building, leaving everyone outside to their own choices. “So...” Sala stated and looked around.” Should we head towards the gate now?” Vala finished the statement as they were fixing each others' backpack. They wondered who the woman carrying Spencer was... also why Spencer was playing with the woman's bosom. “The gate... You all are heading into the tunnels?” Zara asked, raising an eyebrow.	Name: Azerus Elon Thorn Aliases: The light priest Age: Mid to late 20's Race: Aasimar Place of Origin: Belizarius Gender: Male Class/Job: Priest / Witch hunter Stats Strength: 17 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 13 Intelligence: 10 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 7 Physical Attributes Height:5"11, Weight:170lbs Build:Lean & Muscular Eyes: Light light blue Hair: short light dirty blonde Skin Tone: Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: He has plenty of scars and a story for most, but no tattoo's. Day To Day Attire: Simple robes and basic rags with an underside of leather greaves and bracers. Always kept clean. Azerus does not wear fancy clothes or a lavish attire, merely clothes of practicality and purpose. However he does favour a hood for discretion. Strengths: Max of 3Martial Combat Weaknesses: Minimal of 3 Psychological Attributes Focused * Arrogant * Trait * Trait Sexuality: Under a vow of celibacy. Relationship Status: Devoted solely to the church Personality: Azerus has little appreciation or sense for humour. It is not to say he is not kind, he is just very serious and strict. Habits: Vow of CelibacyVow of PovertyVow of CleanlinessVow of fastingVow of Truth Hobbies: Azerus is truly a fanatic of the church. It is all that occupies his time and thought leaving little room for simple pleasantries. Outside of meditation, prayer and training he does manage to find solace in listening to music and strategising over a game very similar to chess. Fears:The darkness within MagicLosing control of his own mind or spiritBeing disowned or shunned by the church Likes: Followers of the church LightLaw & Order Dislikes: 6 minimalThe academyPractitioners of magic ChaosLiars Skills Magic resistance: Description Create light: Description Knowledge anatomy: Description Knowledge tracking: Description Skill: Description Skill: Description Magic A listing of spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting True sight: Azerus eyes are consumed by a soft glowing light as he is granted the divine gift of true seeing. Illusions, lies, trickery and magic all become seen for what they are. To call upon such a gift Azerus must recite a short prayer and close his eyes for a moment. To see as the light sees is tiring and disorientating for a mortal mind, therefore it cannot be held for prolonged lengths of time. Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Animals: Have a horse or bird? Animal: Description Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Magical Items: Item: Description Item: Description Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Creation Materials: Anything used to brew potions or for alchemy Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description History Childhood: Fed lies his entire childhood youth of the corruptive and vile nature of magic, young orphaned Azerus was groomed into the perfect tool for the church. His memories of his loving parents tarnished by the poisonous tongue of those with selfish agendas and truths to hide. Still to this day he foolishly believes that magic corrupted and killed his parents but he couldn't be further from the truth. Adulthood: Special Moments: Things that stick out in you characters mind most often Current Events: What brings you here? What were you most recently up to? What's a character like you doing in an rp like this? Extras Character Quote: Those that fear the dark haven't seen what the light can do. Theme Song: Aura Color: An electric light with jagged sharp lines. Scent: Anything Else:
55,003	1,501	67	1,739	1,220	Guthrie Location: Barracks Interacting with: Zara, Spencer, Vamon, Zara, Vala and Nevan "The captain...she what?" Guthrie replied back to Vamon as the duo became a trio. Well actualy a quartett when one counted Spencer into the group as well. The situation had just gotten odder. Guthrie wasn't entirely sure how to respond to either the woman carrying Spencer, nor to Vamon who suddenly came out. But he wasn't about to attack the woman for simply carrying Spencer to them. Who knew, maybe she 'just had that effect on' her? Soon the quartett had turned into a...well, Guthrie wasn't sure what it was called by now, but it was big. Captain Nevan had apparently been looking for Guthrie, and he understood why once he saw what she was throwing to him. He grabbed the thing tucked in cloth with his hand, feeling the weight in his arm. A sword? Why? "If this can kill it, I'll be very careful with it. And I'll return it back to you as soon as possible, I promise." Guthrie placed the sword on his back, tucked firmly between his backpack and other belongings so that it wouldn't fall off. The conversation between Nevan and the strange woman began and ended quickly, leaving the group one person less as the Twins suggested their departure. Guthrie agreed, best not to wait any longer. They had a long trek before them, best to get as far as possible with what energy they had left. He began to pack the contents of the boxes into his backpack and other satchel when the stranger asked them a question. "Yes, and as soon as possible. For different reasons, but good reasons. I have a creature to hunt, as you might have understand. What, are you surprised? If there's a war about to commence, I can't see any of us wishing to partake in it."	Name: Guthrie Jean Harlanson Aliases: «Blade» Age: 31 Race: Human Place of Origin: Bori Gender: Male Class/Job: Fighter/Mercenary, ranger or guide Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 17 Dexterity: 14 Constitution: 15 Intelligence: 9 Wisdom: 11 Charisma: 9 Physical Attributes Height: 1,76M Weight: 80kg Build: Muscular Eyes: Green Hair: Light brown Skin Tone: Light tanned Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A narrow scar runs across Guthrie’s left eye, amazingly leaving his eye unscaved. Another pair of scars run across his chest and stomach, and one where a dagger was thrust into his side. Day To Day Attire: Guthrie cares little for fashion, preferring to wear comfortable and easily maintained clothes over what those tall-nosed nobility in Belizarius wears. He can be seen wearing a plain, white shirt with leather threads to adjust his chest and sleeves. He wears (mostly) dirty and roughen-up brown pants and sturdy leather boots. If the cold sets in, he sports a thick fur-coat across his shoulder. Strengths: Max of 3Strong Good sense of direction Adaptive Weaknesses: Minimal of 3Illiterate Never backs down from a fight Weary of magic Psychological Attributes Loyal * Unforgiving * Determined * Hard to express his true feelings Sexuality: Hetersexual Relationship Status: Single Personality: When you first set eyes upon Guthrie and exchange words, you will get the impression that this man lives and breathes for what he carries at his side; His blade. Guthrie is the type of man who is at his best when in a fight, either battling foes of his own nature or against whatever creatures that lurks in the darkness of the tunnels. In-fact, some might think that lacks emotion, simply staring down (or up) at you wondering whether to strike you down or to accept your coin for protection. While that is true for Guthrie the “Blade”, Guthrie Jean Harlanson is far from emotionless once you get to know the man beneath all that armour, especially over a glass of mushroom brew. Some might say that his mood reflects his blade; when drawn, he is sharp and ready for blood. But while sheathed, he’s mostly harmless and comfortable to be around. He enjoys the company of trusted and loyal friends, laughs at their jokes and mourns in their own sorrows. The only thing he doesn’t is speak of his own sadness and troubles. Then the blade is drawn once again. Habits: Minimal 2 Spits at the ground Cracking his knuckles and other joints Hobbies: Grinding his sword, training and sparring, and learning the geography of the underworld Fears: 3 real fears that make your character unhinged Dying by magic Being buried alive Whatever murdered his parents Likes: 6 minimalA good and worthy fight Mushroom brew His canine companion, Theo The light from a fire His sword True friends Dislikes: 6 minimalLosing a battle Not being able to read The Mines Pacifists Magicians Being judged because of his illeteracy Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Navigation: Guthrie is proficient in remembering landmarks and such, in order to remember previously taken routs and where to travel to get somewhere quicker and/or safer. Tracking: “No, that’s not a normal spider mark. See the way the print leans slightly to the left? That means that it’s a deep-cave moss spider. Though normally harmless, they can be dangerous when met in numbers. Luckily it was alone and heading in that direction, so we’re safe.” First-aid: With the usual combat, Guthrie has also learned how to dress wounds and make sure they re-grow properly. It wasn’t always just as easy to find the nearest town to get himself patched up; sometimes he had to do it himself. Weapon & armour maintenance: Guthrie prefers to maintain his weapons and armour the best he can. It’s cheaper, and quite useful out in the field. Cooking: When outside of a settlement and in need of food, Guthrie is able to cook up something that doesn’t taste too horrible. Sword fighting: What is there to say? Guthrie had handled a blade for as long as he’s been an adult, and hasn’t died fighting yet. Leather working: His time working with his mother taught him the basics of how to work with leather. He’s able make not overly complicated pieces of leather-apparel, including his own leather armour. Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Clothing: As mentioned earlier. Coin purse: 8 gold coins and 3 silver pieces. Leather pouch: Pouch containing dog food for Theo and other stray dogs in need of a snack. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Steel sword: A one-handed steel sword, about 2’5 feet long and visible used. The same sword his father gave him for his 16th birthday, he’s over the years etched in various marks into the blade, resembling various creatures that Guthrie has slain. Steel dagger: A simple steel dagger for cooking and gut-poking if needed. Shield: The shield is about 3’5 feet in diameter, made out of his a wood base and reinforced with steel bands. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Leather armour: Guthrie wears leather armour that covers his torso and arms down to the elbows. It bears marks of wear and tear, while some pieces seem brand new. Steel platings: Steel plates cover Guthrie’s weak spots; his torso, shoulders, knees and thighs, and elbows and wrists. While reasonable heavy and clunky, Guthrie is trained in wearing this to the point that it rarely bothers him. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Animals: Theo: A loyal canine with the appearance of an Alaskan Malamute Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Flint and steel: For making fires. Grinding stone: Guthrie uses this to sharpen his sword and dagger, and reluctantly others who might ask. Waterskins X2: Water enough for nearly a weeks need. Sleeping bag: Leather sleeping bag with wool sewn inside for a warm and comfortable night’s sleep. Torches: Simple map: While Guthrie cannot read or write, he can draw a simple map of his surroundings with surprisingly accuracy. Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Antidote X3: Antidotes against the poisons of various spider and snake species. History Childhood: Guthrie was born into what you could call a normal poor man’s family on the outskirts of Bori. His father worked as a miner in the iron mines when they were still open back in the day, and his mother a seamstress sewing new and old clothes for the miners to keep the family fed. And it wasn’t long Guthrie followed his father down into the mines. For a while working down in the mines was bearable enough for Guthrie, who still small and slender was perfect for those tight spots where the grown-ups couldn’t reach. And when he became too big to fit into those tight spots, he joined his father in digging deeper and deeper for that previous iron. His father must have been proud of his own son, growing into a strong and able man who could pay for his own needs. And then the cave-in happened. Guthrie was buried alive for two whole days before he was found, barely breathing after having his ribs cracked and lungs full of dust. His father had been lucky and was just at the entrance when it happened, but he feared that he had lost his only son. That fear grew to love once Guthrie was found, but also a determination that he should never set foot in the mines ever again. Which he never did, especially not when the mines were closed because of the Belizarius-Zalu dispute. Guthrie began to help his mothering sewing, while his father did his best to get work wherever he could, though neither of them really missed the mines. Adulthood: As Guthrie turned 16, his father gifted him his old sword, whom his own father had handed down to him and his father’s father to his father. It wasn’t until he was 18 that he used it, working as a caravan guard travelling from Bori to Belizarius. And it was then that he learned something about himself; he could stand is ground in a battle, better than all the other guards. This was when he decided to learn how to wield his blade like a master. He continued his work as a guard, ranging from caravans to nobles in Belizarius. And though he never learned how to read or write, he was happy to earn his living and keep his family fed. Special Moments: It was seven years ago that Guthrie received those words that would change his life; his parents were dead. Dropping everything at hand, including his client he was supposed to protect from a band of peasants, he rushed home to find that liar who told him such horrible tales. But it wasn’t lies; they were in-fact dead. Guthrie never learned what really killed them and why they of all people, but he learned two things from his short stay; it sucked all the blood from its victims through their eyes, and -according to a rather drunk bum – it had eyes as red as fresh blood. It wasn’t a whole lot to go after, but Guthrie decided that from that day on, he would chase down whatever had murdered his parents and take revenge. And so he spent more time searching the tunnels, both mapped and unmapped, hoping to find that awful beast who had taken his only family from him. While he did find various creatures that he would learn to avoid, to slay or to befriend, such as his loyal canine companion Theo, he never found anything other than hints to the beast’s existence. Until now. Current Events: Now Guthrie stands at the outskirts of Shezze, a small and insignificant frontier-village. Word has it that something deadly had been spotted in the vicinity, and Guthrie will waste no time in his quest for revenge. Extras Character Quote: “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” Aura Color: Fiery red though with hints of a cooler shade of red around his chest. Scent: Sweat and dog. Anything Else:
55,004	1,501	68	2,068	714	Vamon Location: BarracksInteracting With: Sala & Vala, Guthrie, Spencer, Nevan, Zara Vamon looked quite surprised as Spencer addressed him. She defiantly seemed… off. It almost seemed as though she had a fair few too many drinks at the tavern. She didn’t seem like that type of person, but granted Vamon had only met her once before. “Uh- yes, I’m quite goodie- Good. I’m good, I’m fine” The whole situation had really caught him off guard, leaving him a little flustered. He thought for a moment about the situation. Was it possible that the woman had drugged Spencer? It didn’t seem likely, especially since she had come straight to the barracks with her. “Ah, well that’s good to hear, I suppose.” He said, glancing at Spencer who seemed to be rather enjoying the situation. He decided to ask her exactly what was going on once she calmed down a little. He turned to see that the Captain and the twins had followed him out. He smiled a little as he glanced over the blade that she presented to Guthrie. He had seen some research in his book a while ago about the topic of silver, a small debate on whether its properties against creatures of undeath was alchemical or magical, and if one then was the property able to be reproduced. But that was one of the first entries in the book so it could very well be outdated information. Either way, having a silver blade in the party was near invaluable considering their journey. But something soon caught his eye as the woman threw it to the Captain. It was a crystal as black as the caves themselves that seemed to emanate an inky aura. For a moment Vamon was speechless, simply left wondering what the item could possibly be. Before he could say a work though, the Captain made her way back into the building, the crystal firmly in hand. He turned to the woman who had given the stone over and waited for Guthrie to address her. “Yes, as much as I would like to stay behind to assist your fight, I don’t think I would be of much use in combat” He offered a shrug to the woman. “So as crazy as it might seem, we have decided to venture off on our own. But that aside, I was wondering… What exactly was that crystal you gave the Captain?” He knew that getting ready to go was a more pressing matter for the moment, but he couldn’t just ignore something like this. He had been so intensely interested in the sun shards for many years, so something like this peaked his interests rather intently. “I don’t mean to pry, but I have been rather interested in the study of crystals for some time and I don’t think I have seen one like that before.” His interest in the topic was apparent from his tone. Part of him thought that perhaps it was simply a common crystal that he was unaware of, a simple misunderstanding, but he knew it couldn’t be that simple. Or at least he hoped it was.	Name: Vamon Koarmez Aliases: “The Heretic” “Son of the Priest” Age: 26 Race: Human Place of Origin: Belizarius Gender: Male Class/Job: Alchemist Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 7 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 12 Intelligence: 20 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 8 Physical Attributes Height: 5”9’ Weight: 140lbs Build: Thin Eyes: Red Hair: Light Blonde, almost white Skin Tone: Pale Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A brand across his cheek that he often covers Day To Day Attire: Large dark clothes and cloaks Strengths: Encyclopaedia like knowledge of Crystals and AlchemyHearty tolerance towards gasses and poisonsAbility to brew potions as well as create volatile extracts and poisons Weaknesses: Lacking physical strengthDifficult time in social situations due to his brandEasily recognised and disliked by members of the Church of Light Psychological Attributes Paranoid * Distrusting * Pessimist * Critical Thinker Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: None Personality: Vamon was once a bubbly and happy youth. He eagerly looked forward to completing his daily duties and happily spending late night studying crystals. But after his exile he became a much more reserved and quiet person. He will often stay quiet when people are conversing around him unless he is called upon or has important information. Despite his quiet nature though, he is caring and defending of people that he considers true friends or allies. But if the conversation switches to Alchemy or Crystals he immediately shows interest. When he gets started on a topic he is passionate about, his old personality starts to show itself. He will often find himself rambling about his discoveries or findings until someone interrupts him or he becomes aware that he has been talking for far too long. Habits: Minimal 2 Praying before he sleeps at nightTaking notes on his surroundings Hobbies: Studying crystals and finding new uses for them Fears: The Church of LightThe concept of something being unable to be understoodBeing discovered to be a heretic Likes: StudyingDiscovering new thingsExploringCrystalsThe smell of sulphurBrewing potions Dislikes: The DarkThe Church of LightClose minded peopleBeing academically stumpedNot understanding the situationBeing spoken down to Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Scent: Vamon has a very keen sense of smell and can detect the unique scent of alchemical materials from a distance. It also helps him to identify potions and poisons without having to test them. Bombs: While not the most used tool in his arsenal, Vamon carries around a selection of carefully crafted vials. These vials contain separated chemicals that when come into contact with each other cause interesting reactions, functioning as a miniature thrown bomb. The bombs don’t explode, but instead form an acid that gets onto anything hit, burning it severally. Brewing: In the dark and foreboding tunnels there is danger around every corner. You are likely to be injured or even worse. So Vamon studied up on potions and the various types of things he could create with materials he could carry around with him. He is well versed in creating potions ranging from helping you see in the dark to even healing scrapes and wounds. Dueling: Surprisingly enough, Vamon was well versed in the art of the duel. He often partook in duelling during his time in Belizarius, and became rather good at the sport. His skills are somewhat transferable to combat, but the lack of rules often catches him off guard. Poison: By combining various chemicals, or in some cases simply harvesting it from an animal, Vamon can collect and apply poisons to his weapon or the weapons of people around him. He generally avoids letting others know that he has poison, as it can be seen as a bit of a bad character trait to have, but in a life or death situation he will advise allies to use them. Good with Animals: While he doesn’t have any pets of his own, Vamon is rather good with animals. They have an odd affinity for him and he trends to prefer the company of animals to humans. He hopes to find a pet one day, but most of the animals he has come across in the tunnels have been less than accomidating. Sneaking: Under the right circumstances, Vamon is rather adept at sneaking. Magic A listing of spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting Push: Vamon has very little knowledge of magic, but in his time he did manage to learn two spells that are somewhat useful to him. The first is push, a spell that creates a force that pushes an object away from him. It is not very strong, and is highly unlikely to knock a person off their feet, but it can move small objects with ease. It happens almost instantly and its only cost is draining a little energy from the user. Vamon generally avoids using magic if he can though, more as a personal preference than any ideology. Pull: The second of these spells is, inversely, pull. Pull is similar to push as it allows the user to pull something towards their hand. This spell is mostly useful for quickly retrieving items while he is working, but he has had to use it a few times to retrieve a disarmed weapon. Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Item: Dark Baggy clothing. Item: Coin purse containing 80 silver coins. Item: Facial masks and scarves to hide his scar and protect him from fumes. Item: A set of holy beads that was given to him by the Church of Light Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Item: A Rapier that he keeps on his person at all times Item: A dagger kept on a thigh holster Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Item: Basic leather armor that he wears under his cloak Animals: Have a horse or bird? Animal: None Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Item: Bedroll Item: Rations Item: Waterskin Item: Sealed Alchemical supply bag Item: Set of Alchemical tools Item: Notebook and pencil Magical Items: Book of Secrets: The book that he got from the old man’s body was more than he had originally thought. The book was passed from alchemist to alchemist, containing many lifetimes of work. The book chooses an owner when its previous one dies. It latches onto the next person of considerate intelligence that approaches it. When the book chooses an owner it is bonded to it for life. The condense of the book that were once magically coded become readable. Any that the owner permit to read the book are allowed to read the contents of the book for as long as the owner decides to allow them. Only the owner can write in the book, and anything written into it immediately becomes encoded. Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Potion of See Darkness: x 3 – Allows the drinker to see much better in darkness, but makes them sensitive to light. Potion of Healing: x 2 – Allows the drinker to heal wounds that would normally take a long time to heal. Potion of Hiding: x 1 – Allows the drinker to blend into their surroundings. Does not offer true invisibility, but in the darkness would make it very difficult to see the drinker. Alchemical Bombs: x 8 – Acidic bombs that are made with careful combinations of chemicals in specially designed vials Creation Materials: Anything used to brew potions or for alchemy Arsenic: x 4 doses Magnesium: x 10 doses Sulphur: x 20 doses Lamp Fuel: Crystals: x 10 Vials: x 20 Ephedra: x 10 doses History Childhood: Vamon had a privileged childhood. He was born as the only son to a high ranking member of the Church of Light. Naturally he was taught the teachings of the church from a young age, and started to work towards being an upstanding member of both the community and the church. But he discovered the intoxicating draw of alchemy one day when he was running errands in the city. He was drawn in by the intoxicatingly disgusting smell wafting from an alley. It was a mix of smoke and sulphur that lead him towards the lifeless body of an old man. He was about to call someone to help when he saw a book. He was inexplicably drawn to it, and opened it to reveal a book of alchemical recipes and secrets behind crystals. Adulthood: The day in the alley changed his life forever. He spent less time working for the church and progressively more time studying the book and finding his own alchemical solutions. The exposure to the fumes slowly bleached his hair, turning it almost white and giving him a grizzled voice that sounds almost intimidating. The church disagreed with what he was doing, but they allowed him to operate mostly because of the influence of his father. But that all changed when he pushed his luck a little too far. Special Moments: His interests turned to crystals as his studies continued. He is currently working on research that would allow him to imbue spells into a crystal to allow them to be used by anyone and reusable multiple times. He wanted to study the Sun Shard to see if it could get him any more information, but he was caught in the act. The church wanted to immediately execute him, but his father managed to negotiate a deal. They branded his face with the mark of a heretic and exiled him from his home for the rest of his life. Current Events: Since his banishment, Vamon has been struggling to find a place to settle down. He managed to stow away with a convoy making its way through the tunnels, but was discovered along the way. It turns out that sulphur has a very distinct smell, one that can often get you discovered in a sticky situation. Now he is left in Shezze with no idea where to go next. The only goal driving him is the pursuit of further knowledge, and the hope that one day he could finish his study on a Sun Shard. Extras Character Quote: “The Church doesn’t understand that the pursuit of knowledge is the only way to make progress.” Aura Color: A deep greenish yellow aura would suit Vamon best. Scent: A deeply ingrained smell of sulphur and dust lingers where he goes.
55,005	1,501	69	612	2,191	Spencer Location: Barracks, ShezzeInteracting With: Everybody! "Waaaaaaaaah! I got a silver sword! Weheheheee!" As soon as Spencer had finished speaking a hand deftly drew the sword at her hip, raising the blade for all to see. The blade itself seemed to be made of steel with it's razor-like edges lined with deterring silver. Despite the short length of the blade, there was no doubt it would have quite some affect on the denizens of the dark. Haphazardly the blade wobbled in her hands, before it slipped and fell on her shoulder. Had her jacket not been there to protect her, the results may have been quite nasty. Of course, due to Spencer's intoxication, this wasn't a concern. "Woopsie! Huehuehue... OK, I'm getting down now~!" At this, Spencer would attempt to get off of Zara's back, wiggling her feet like a child to get her way. Assuming she was able to do so, she would swiftly sheath her sword, wobbling slightly on her feet, though able to keep balanced. Mostly. As Zara asked about going into the tunnels, Ira-Anne finally seemed to get a grasp on what was going on. "The... tunnels?" She asked with wide-eyed confusion. "But aren't they reeeeeeeeeeeeally spooky? Won't you all be spooked?"	Name: Ira-Anne Spencer Aliases: Spencer the Vampire; Spence; Spencer Age: 53 Race: Vampire Place of Origin: Ess’zia’zalu Gender: Female Class/Job: Merchant, Bard (no magic properties), and Swordsman Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 8 Dexterity: 14 Constitution: 9 Intelligence: 17 Wisdom: 5 Charisma: 17 Physical Attributes Height: 4'11 Weight: 41kg Build: Thin. Very. Eyes: Ruby red. Hair: Short, dark brown; so brown it's basically black. Skin Tone: Pale. Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Two scars on her neck from when she was first bitten. Day To Day Attire: Put simply? This. Strengths: Max of 3Nimble/Swift/Agile.Good with people.Doesn't require much sustenance. Weaknesses: Minimal of 3HATES blood; will not drink from a healthy, living being unless absolutely necessary. Only drinks from those close to death, recently dead, or in a frenzy upon entering a manic state.Delusional when hungry. Which is most of the time.Allergic to garlic, sunlight is painful, and silver causes serious trouble.Blood eyes and fangs for easy identification.Is rather... emotional.Isn't always the most articulate. Psychological Attributes Delusional * Scared * Bipolar * Somewhat childish Sexuality: "Sexa-what?" She has no idea. Relationship Status: N/A Personality: Ira isn't perfect when it comes to her personality. In fact she faces numerous mental illnesses which make everyday living for her as unique as those in her favourite novels! Generally Ira is a lot like a constantly frightened little girl who suffers from delusions, although these delusions are often what make her personality fluctuate between upbeat and terrified. When not suffering from delusions, at least not for a long period of time, her mood is a lot lighter and she is far more outgoing. She likes to sing, dance, sell things in her shop, read, write, play games with herself (or others if she has company), practice speeches and public speaking, do bad impressions, and sometimes adventure. She's a lot more joyous and likes to spread that joy with others. Although she talks loud and often, Ira tends to not always be the most articulate speaker, accidentally saying things that may be insensitive or inappropriate, her emotions often being the guide for her speaking ability. She's smart, though, and enjoys messing with puzzles, often randomly issuing them to strangers to see if they are capable. On the other hand, Ira has her... less joyous side. Terrified out of her wits and quiet, Ira's delusional state involves her nerves being on-edge and her accomplishments declining to a sharp and sudden zero. She fears doing things because she doesn't want to go into a frenzy, and so usually just studies up on cures, ways to make blood, what the most human blood one can find underground is, or plan her next victim. If left unable to do those things, however, Ira will essentially do nothing but eat, sleep, loiter, and defecate. While rather level-headed and capable in combat when not in this state, she will almost always attempt to flee in terror when faced with danger in her frightened mindset. This is sometimes accompanied by Ira desperately clutching her Sun Shard amulet and rocking back and forth, weeping. Habits: Minimal 2 Clutches her Sun Shard amulet when nervous or afraid.Raises her hood in public for fear of being recognised by members of the Church, or more superstitious folk.Adjusts her glasses.Muddles her speech. Hobbies: Enjoys writing, reading, singing, dancing, playing violin, practicing swordsmanship, and resting. Well, in a good mood. Fears: 3 real fears that make your character unhinged Death, both for her and innocents.Going into a frenzy.The delusions she has.Losing her amulet.The dark.The Church.Hunters.The creatures in the tunnels.People shaming her. Publicly, obviously.Her extra weaknesses as a vampire.Getting her extra strengths as a vampire.Humans. Likes: 6 minimalBooksSinging/ComposingPeople who aren't especially judgmentalGood humourBeing so young stillFriends Dislikes: 6 minimalStill not 'developed'NightmaresHer glasses getting dirtyBloodHer vampiric featuresCriticism which isn't asked for Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Vision: Mostly due to her vampirism, Ira is a lot more sensitive to light, and thus tends to see a lot better than most people. In fact, with her little Sun Shard amulet, she can navigate and make out the area ahead of where the light for most people loses it's effectiveness. This ability has steadily gotten better over time, though of course has a loooooooooooong way to go. Also, direct sunlight, as in that from the sun, is not only blinding, but painful for her. Better Senses: What sets her vision apart from the rest is it's many lengths more potent than, for example, Ira's hearing. However, her other senses are still quite a bit more potent than the average human. Able to hear a whisper from across a street (although not well) and able to smell a select person's blood as though she were a hound, in order to track them. These senses are used often for exploiting people in her shop, however, and can sometimes be a hindrance in combat (e.g. unable to hear due to the loud noises). Swordsmanship: Though not excellent with a blade, Ira can handle herself if the situation calls for it. Though she's usually a lot more skilled at avoiding fights or planning escapes routes, she can still use her intelligence to out-smart an enemy with a blade. A People Person: Despite being a vampire, Spencer is good with people. Well, when she's not delusional, anyways. She is great at handling others' emotions, offering support and helpful advice, though occasionally muddles her speech. This can lead to some humorous misunderstandings and Ira's unique and estranged laugh, which often has people laughing harder. Tactical: Due to all the texts she's read and games she plays, Spencer has a pretty solid understanding of tactics. She's good with her decision-making and knows how to handle various situations, be it in combat or in conversation with someone, as well as anything in between. Though she lacks much experience in actually applying this with others, her outgoing personality leads her to being capable of issuing orders or making plans. Healing: Yes, Ira can self-heal, however the ability isn't quite as powerful as one would think. The process takes almost a half-hour to kick in, and has varying rates dependent on where the wound actually is. Wounds at her core heal the quickest due to their close proximity with the stomach, in which a blood vile (the trigger for the healing process) would go when ingested. Wounds to her head, forearms, hands, fingers, calves, feet, and toes all are significantly slower. Additionally, more blood is required to properly heal the more intense wounds, draining Ira's supply. Wounds in the past have ranged from an hour to heal to several days, depending on intensity and blood on her person. Out of desperation instincts may kick in and Ira could go into a frenzy, draining whoever or whatever is closest to her in order to heal herself, though if too much of her own blood is lost, this frenzy dies with Ira. Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Sun Shard Amulet: This is Ira's most prized possession, and she NEVER lets it out of her sight, or even off her person. It emits light like all Sun Shards, though is somewhat dimmer than others due to it's long-term use. The Sun Shard itself is actually carved into a hexagonal shape, with a perfect sheen and cut, lacking even a single chip. It's a priceless artifact. Usually the Sun Shard is hidden beneath her cloak, though she will occasionally reveal the item for light or comfort. Glasses: Large, round, nerdy glasses. What you should expect from someone like her. They help her read up close, though she will usually just wear them regardless of the situation. They get dirty easy. Handkerchief: Exactly what you think it is. Used to clean glasses, wipe away tears, or to cover her mouth in especially dusty/dirty areas. Her Coin Purses: Keeps all her money on her, though in various purses. And pockets. Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Silver-tipped Steel Sword: Clue is in the name. Ira's sword is made of a thin, refined steel, with a literal silver lining at the tip extending ten centimeters along the blade's edges. Is a little longer and thinner than most blades, but will still get the job done. She was self-taught with it, and wields it in a left-handed reverse grip. Yes she's aware that's wrong, but it works! Steel Dagger: Lacks a whole lot of practical use, and is her last-resort weapon in case she loses her sword or bow. It's quite sharp, but requires close proximity. Bow and Arrow: Yes she has a bow, but really needs to learn how to use it... Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Cloak: It doesn't offer much protection except for being really dark. Makes hiding a bit easier. Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling 7x Viles of Spare Blood: Not always fresh. It's Ira's sustenance, the only stuff she really needs. She can survive for months off of it if she doesn't exert herself much, but considering her trade it's hard not to run into trouble occasionally or be forced to travel. Thus it'll only last her about a week, usually, and tastes horrid. Might make her sick in the process, too. She'll be forced to drink a vile if entering a combat situation or when wounded, making managing her sustenance a bit more difficult. Additionally, while this triggers her healing process, the process is slow and will require more viles for more intensive wounds. Her Wares: Carrying ones wares around with them is a little extreme at times, especially without vampire super strength. Still, these are usually just expensive trinkets, small weapons, goods, books, sometimes food, and alchemical things. Though lately all she has on her is a rusty dirk, three necklaces, five different books (four philosophical texts, one literature), and a vase. Her Violin: Yes, carrying the violin around as well makes things heavier, but she likes her music. Somehow always manages to carry it despite what she also has in her bag. Magical Items: The Big Book of Everything: Once you write something into the Big Book, it's cataloged into it's pages for eternity. If you were just an ordinary person opening the book on a whim, then you'd find that it has absolutely no writing in it whatsoever. However, if you were looking for something which has been entered into the Big Book, then you're in luck! See, upon writing in the book, your words will disappear from the page you wrote it on and only show if you desire to see the knowledge. The book has some sort of mind-reading capability, and if someone wants something from the book, it'll display it on a page, so long as it's been entered. Ira has only recently got her hands on the artifact and has treasured it second only to her amulet and guitar. Weak Illusion Potion x3: Aforementioned big book of everything managed contained a rather useful illusion potion. It's nothing especially strong, but it changes the colour of Ira's eyes to a deep blue instead of red, and her fangs are slightly less visible. The potions, despite not being especially powerful, have a long effect time of four hours, and the ingredients are fairly common in the tunnels. History Childhood: The start of Ira's young life was grand. She was raised to a loving priestess mother and funny violinist father. A unique blend to be sure, but the two cherished one-another, as well as their only daughter, all throughout Ira's childhood. Ira's mother was one of the good kinds of priestess', and though she didn't condone what those who were corrupt in the Church were doing, she was smart enough not to question them. She raised Ira by inspiring her with faith in the Church, setting her daughter onto a path of righteousness and kindness, but also intelligence. On the other hand, her father treated her more like an equal, like a friend, like a mentor. He taught Ira the joys of living, those being in music, literature, and good humor. Both parents had desires to raise their child the right way, and they trusted one-another to make sure their little girl grew up to be a good person. And for Ira-Anne Spencer, this process was a smooth and happy part of her life which still bring a tear to her eye to this day. Mostly in happiness, but also in traumatic sadness... Ira's upbringing had been rather smooth until she was ten, when she and her father were attacked by a man -- though he seemed more creature than man -- and were sucked almost bone-dry of blood. Ira's father had been killed, however Ira survived as the guards arrived in time to drive the beast off thanks to the commotion her father made during the scuffle, as well as Ira's own cries for help. Tragedy struck, however, when the signs of vampirism started to appear on the young girl in recovery. Everyone, including her own mother (likely out of grief) blamed Ira for the events which transpired, and Ira was to be executed for being both a demon spawn and a murderer. She was still in recovery, not even conscious, when the election of execution was made, however Ira's mother plead to spend the night with her child one last time. Somehow, Ira doesn't quite know, but somehow she managed to do so. That was when Ira and her mother became public enemies of both the Church and, in many peoples' eyes, all living beings. Ira awoke the night her mother stayed overnight, and her mother filled her in on what had happened, and what was to come. Though obviously torn in her decision, Ira's mother decided to risk her own life to save that of her child. She already had an escape plan hatched (it helped knowing the city due to her being a priestess), and, knowing there was no going back, the two enacted their escape from Zalu. The road was tough, needless to say, but the two were close. However, just as they were reaching the outskirts, they ran into a large patrol of guards and were forced to run. Ira didn't have the strength yet, so her mother had to do all the work. While they were attempting to escape, Ira's mother had been shot multiple times with arrows, and found herself leaving a trail of blood for the guards to follow by. Her strength was weakening and they were running out of time. Time that she didn't have. But Ira did. The last of her mother's strength was sapped by none other than Ira herself, when she drained her mother of blood to recover her own strength. After slitting her own throat with her husband's sword, Ira's mother handed her daughter her prized Sun Shard Amulet and the sword she'd just used to take her own life. Her dying wish was but three words long: "Run... and live...!" So Ira ran. And ran. And ran. She didn't stop until she couldn't run any further, and when that happened, she cried. Yet she didn't even have the strength for that, and fell asleep soon after her collapse... Adulthood: She stayed like that for days. But eventually, she got too hungry to continue laying on the ground. She found herself drawn back to Zalu, in search of food. Yet the only food avaliable was an old man in a dark alley on the very outskirts of town, sickly and starving himself... The two talked, the old man telling his story. He was a noble once, but was found corrupt and tried, all he stood for ruined. He'd lived on the street for far too long now, and he knew his time was up. He said that killing him in such a state would be considered merciful and would be praised by people like him - that death was the best thing for him. Though she barely knew this man longer than a couple of hours, that lesson ended up shaping all of Ira's coming life. She gave the man peace, and was blessed with what little life he could offer. Though Ira hated the blood, she saw just how happy death had made the man, and experimented. She learned only to take the lives of willing participants, or drain small amounts of blood from unsuspecting individuals to get her by, so to not completely delve into her vampire self. She aged to look a bit older, somewhere in her mid teens, however it stopped after a certain point and her aging slowed to a crawl. She's lived her life as closely to what her parents would have wanted for her since then, though of course there are some exceptions like being a vampire or being wanted by the city of Zalu (and sometimes beyond). She opts to drink blood as little and far-between as possible, going for long periods starved of the stuff now, fasting. Due to a certain event that happened long ago, Ira makes sure never to starve herself too much, and has learned that the sacrifice of the few is optimum to save the many. Nowadays Spencer the Vampire roams the underground to try and make an honest living, though not everyone takes to vampires very well... Special Moments: Her parents' death plague her mind and often bring about most of her fears and delusions. Her mothers death weighs especially heavy on her conscience, and Ira feels guilty for not being able to save her. Also her freak incident in the past haunts her, and acts as a constant reminder to never starve herself to the point of near-death... Current Events: Shezze is a safe haven for Spencer. The people out there are on hard times, and Ira makes exceptions for them, cutting down prices till it's a dime a dozen. They keep out of each-others' way, though trading relations are good, and Ira has steadily begun earning something of a place there, though it may be awhile yet to find that. Of course... it would all come to an end if she were to be found out as a vampire... Extras Theme Song: A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes; Happy Theme; Delusional Theme Aura Color: Red and grey. Scent: Blood. Pretty straightforward, I know. Anything Else: I didn't completely fill in the stats because I wanted a more accurate representation of her strength and constitution without advancing other stats, though if it's essential to the app then I'd just up the strength and constitution to 11.
55,006	1,501	70	1,991	4,769	Situation Updates : The situation had not changed much. Guards were still hurrying to their duties in the barracks' yard, the only difference was that people seemed to be returning to their homes on the citizens' side as more and more people could be seen outside the barracks' walls. Sala & Vala Location: Barracks Interacting With: Spencer, Guthrie, Vamon and Zara. “Seems we are... ready to depart indeed!” The witches stated, grabbing their bags firmly in hands and making final preparations, pulling their glowing potion medallions over their shirts and after activating them, they shone so they can easily walk forward. Vamon seemed interested in that black radiating crystal. It was normal to be curious about it, but the witches were more interested in the way the vampire girl was acting. Spencer was still acting as a drunk as she was let to get off the woman's back. She looked adorable, swinging her sword. “It's fine, Spencey.” Zara stated to the vampire, placing a hand on her head and rubbing it softly in gentle manner.” It may be spooky, but it's not scary!” She whispered in the child's ear then.” Humans are scarier, right? Especially those church fellas that will be all over the alliance settlements.” The woman whispered softly into the child's ears.” You'd better be with the group, right? Besides, if you come, I will indeed treat you to something tastier than anything you ever tried!” She whispered and looked at the others.” Look, I know this will be kind of forced on my part, but I wish to join you. At least for a time, I have knowledge of some of the tunnels that await you out there and will certainly be of use! At least until we reach my Order's stronghold that's located on that direction.” The warrior woman stated and looked at Vamon, Guthrie and the witches, while still gently caressing Spencer's head. “What do you 2 think?” the witches asked in single voice. They saw a good thing in increasing their numbers and this woman was probably trustworthy if the captain was fine with her.	Name: Azerus Elon Thorn Aliases: The light priest Age: Mid to late 20's Race: Aasimar Place of Origin: Belizarius Gender: Male Class/Job: Priest / Witch hunter Stats Strength: 17 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 13 Intelligence: 10 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 7 Physical Attributes Height:5"11, Weight:170lbs Build:Lean & Muscular Eyes: Light light blue Hair: short light dirty blonde Skin Tone: Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: He has plenty of scars and a story for most, but no tattoo's. Day To Day Attire: Simple robes and basic rags with an underside of leather greaves and bracers. Always kept clean. Azerus does not wear fancy clothes or a lavish attire, merely clothes of practicality and purpose. However he does favour a hood for discretion. Strengths: Max of 3Martial Combat Weaknesses: Minimal of 3 Psychological Attributes Focused * Arrogant * Trait * Trait Sexuality: Under a vow of celibacy. Relationship Status: Devoted solely to the church Personality: Azerus has little appreciation or sense for humour. It is not to say he is not kind, he is just very serious and strict. Habits: Vow of CelibacyVow of PovertyVow of CleanlinessVow of fastingVow of Truth Hobbies: Azerus is truly a fanatic of the church. It is all that occupies his time and thought leaving little room for simple pleasantries. Outside of meditation, prayer and training he does manage to find solace in listening to music and strategising over a game very similar to chess. Fears:The darkness within MagicLosing control of his own mind or spiritBeing disowned or shunned by the church Likes: Followers of the church LightLaw & Order Dislikes: 6 minimalThe academyPractitioners of magic ChaosLiars Skills Magic resistance: Description Create light: Description Knowledge anatomy: Description Knowledge tracking: Description Skill: Description Skill: Description Magic A listing of spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting True sight: Azerus eyes are consumed by a soft glowing light as he is granted the divine gift of true seeing. Illusions, lies, trickery and magic all become seen for what they are. To call upon such a gift Azerus must recite a short prayer and close his eyes for a moment. To see as the light sees is tiring and disorientating for a mortal mind, therefore it cannot be held for prolonged lengths of time. Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Animals: Have a horse or bird? Animal: Description Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Magical Items: Item: Description Item: Description Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Creation Materials: Anything used to brew potions or for alchemy Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description History Childhood: Fed lies his entire childhood youth of the corruptive and vile nature of magic, young orphaned Azerus was groomed into the perfect tool for the church. His memories of his loving parents tarnished by the poisonous tongue of those with selfish agendas and truths to hide. Still to this day he foolishly believes that magic corrupted and killed his parents but he couldn't be further from the truth. Adulthood: Special Moments: Things that stick out in you characters mind most often Current Events: What brings you here? What were you most recently up to? What's a character like you doing in an rp like this? Extras Character Quote: Those that fear the dark haven't seen what the light can do. Theme Song: Aura Color: An electric light with jagged sharp lines. Scent: Anything Else:
55,007	1,501	71	612	2,191	Spencer Location: Barracks, ShezzeInteracting With: Everybody! Spencer was clearly confused about how something could be spooky and not scary. In her eyes, they were basically the same thing. But, as intoxication tends to lead one to do, Spencer decided to trust Zara's judgement. Perhaps her trust in the woman would even lead others to a more trusting conclusion. "OK~! I trust miss Zara...!" Declared the vampire enthusiastically, patting her now-sheathed blade as though taking pride in the weapon. "I'm a good fighter, hehehe! If you guys need, I'll be doing all the battle work, going stab and slash and boosh!" Her expression of different methods to strike something using only onomatopoeia was pretty remarkable, as she continued on listing sounds before seemingly coming to her senses. "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait... Whaaaaaaaaa? Huuuuuuuuuuuuh? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh?" It appeared as though Spencer had forgotten what she was doing... With a shrug, the little vampire felt for her backpack, before freezing up suddenly. "Oh nuuuuuuuuu! My stuffs! Iz back in da plaza! DA PLAZA!" Despite being a little melodramatic, she still appeared to show concern for her missing items. "I wan'it, 'cause my stuff is pretty cool! I've got my bow and a dirk and a vase if we need one for decorating! And the... oh no... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! THE BIG BOOOOOOOK!" Without warning (save for her screaming) Spencer took off in the direction of her bag, in an effort to retrieve it. Though barely tangible, one of the party may have heard a "I'll be back!" in the middle of her screaming, however this all depended on how hard they were listening. Though with her screaming, that was no small wonder if they had heard. Spencer continued to run straight from the barracks to the plaza, now with much less screaming, where she would look to locate her bag.	Name: Ira-Anne Spencer Aliases: Spencer the Vampire; Spence; Spencer Age: 53 Race: Vampire Place of Origin: Ess’zia’zalu Gender: Female Class/Job: Merchant, Bard (no magic properties), and Swordsman Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 8 Dexterity: 14 Constitution: 9 Intelligence: 17 Wisdom: 5 Charisma: 17 Physical Attributes Height: 4'11 Weight: 41kg Build: Thin. Very. Eyes: Ruby red. Hair: Short, dark brown; so brown it's basically black. Skin Tone: Pale. Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Two scars on her neck from when she was first bitten. Day To Day Attire: Put simply? This. Strengths: Max of 3Nimble/Swift/Agile.Good with people.Doesn't require much sustenance. Weaknesses: Minimal of 3HATES blood; will not drink from a healthy, living being unless absolutely necessary. Only drinks from those close to death, recently dead, or in a frenzy upon entering a manic state.Delusional when hungry. Which is most of the time.Allergic to garlic, sunlight is painful, and silver causes serious trouble.Blood eyes and fangs for easy identification.Is rather... emotional.Isn't always the most articulate. Psychological Attributes Delusional * Scared * Bipolar * Somewhat childish Sexuality: "Sexa-what?" She has no idea. Relationship Status: N/A Personality: Ira isn't perfect when it comes to her personality. In fact she faces numerous mental illnesses which make everyday living for her as unique as those in her favourite novels! Generally Ira is a lot like a constantly frightened little girl who suffers from delusions, although these delusions are often what make her personality fluctuate between upbeat and terrified. When not suffering from delusions, at least not for a long period of time, her mood is a lot lighter and she is far more outgoing. She likes to sing, dance, sell things in her shop, read, write, play games with herself (or others if she has company), practice speeches and public speaking, do bad impressions, and sometimes adventure. She's a lot more joyous and likes to spread that joy with others. Although she talks loud and often, Ira tends to not always be the most articulate speaker, accidentally saying things that may be insensitive or inappropriate, her emotions often being the guide for her speaking ability. She's smart, though, and enjoys messing with puzzles, often randomly issuing them to strangers to see if they are capable. On the other hand, Ira has her... less joyous side. Terrified out of her wits and quiet, Ira's delusional state involves her nerves being on-edge and her accomplishments declining to a sharp and sudden zero. She fears doing things because she doesn't want to go into a frenzy, and so usually just studies up on cures, ways to make blood, what the most human blood one can find underground is, or plan her next victim. If left unable to do those things, however, Ira will essentially do nothing but eat, sleep, loiter, and defecate. While rather level-headed and capable in combat when not in this state, she will almost always attempt to flee in terror when faced with danger in her frightened mindset. This is sometimes accompanied by Ira desperately clutching her Sun Shard amulet and rocking back and forth, weeping. Habits: Minimal 2 Clutches her Sun Shard amulet when nervous or afraid.Raises her hood in public for fear of being recognised by members of the Church, or more superstitious folk.Adjusts her glasses.Muddles her speech. Hobbies: Enjoys writing, reading, singing, dancing, playing violin, practicing swordsmanship, and resting. Well, in a good mood. Fears: 3 real fears that make your character unhinged Death, both for her and innocents.Going into a frenzy.The delusions she has.Losing her amulet.The dark.The Church.Hunters.The creatures in the tunnels.People shaming her. Publicly, obviously.Her extra weaknesses as a vampire.Getting her extra strengths as a vampire.Humans. Likes: 6 minimalBooksSinging/ComposingPeople who aren't especially judgmentalGood humourBeing so young stillFriends Dislikes: 6 minimalStill not 'developed'NightmaresHer glasses getting dirtyBloodHer vampiric featuresCriticism which isn't asked for Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Vision: Mostly due to her vampirism, Ira is a lot more sensitive to light, and thus tends to see a lot better than most people. In fact, with her little Sun Shard amulet, she can navigate and make out the area ahead of where the light for most people loses it's effectiveness. This ability has steadily gotten better over time, though of course has a loooooooooooong way to go. Also, direct sunlight, as in that from the sun, is not only blinding, but painful for her. Better Senses: What sets her vision apart from the rest is it's many lengths more potent than, for example, Ira's hearing. However, her other senses are still quite a bit more potent than the average human. Able to hear a whisper from across a street (although not well) and able to smell a select person's blood as though she were a hound, in order to track them. These senses are used often for exploiting people in her shop, however, and can sometimes be a hindrance in combat (e.g. unable to hear due to the loud noises). Swordsmanship: Though not excellent with a blade, Ira can handle herself if the situation calls for it. Though she's usually a lot more skilled at avoiding fights or planning escapes routes, she can still use her intelligence to out-smart an enemy with a blade. A People Person: Despite being a vampire, Spencer is good with people. Well, when she's not delusional, anyways. She is great at handling others' emotions, offering support and helpful advice, though occasionally muddles her speech. This can lead to some humorous misunderstandings and Ira's unique and estranged laugh, which often has people laughing harder. Tactical: Due to all the texts she's read and games she plays, Spencer has a pretty solid understanding of tactics. She's good with her decision-making and knows how to handle various situations, be it in combat or in conversation with someone, as well as anything in between. Though she lacks much experience in actually applying this with others, her outgoing personality leads her to being capable of issuing orders or making plans. Healing: Yes, Ira can self-heal, however the ability isn't quite as powerful as one would think. The process takes almost a half-hour to kick in, and has varying rates dependent on where the wound actually is. Wounds at her core heal the quickest due to their close proximity with the stomach, in which a blood vile (the trigger for the healing process) would go when ingested. Wounds to her head, forearms, hands, fingers, calves, feet, and toes all are significantly slower. Additionally, more blood is required to properly heal the more intense wounds, draining Ira's supply. Wounds in the past have ranged from an hour to heal to several days, depending on intensity and blood on her person. Out of desperation instincts may kick in and Ira could go into a frenzy, draining whoever or whatever is closest to her in order to heal herself, though if too much of her own blood is lost, this frenzy dies with Ira. Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Sun Shard Amulet: This is Ira's most prized possession, and she NEVER lets it out of her sight, or even off her person. It emits light like all Sun Shards, though is somewhat dimmer than others due to it's long-term use. The Sun Shard itself is actually carved into a hexagonal shape, with a perfect sheen and cut, lacking even a single chip. It's a priceless artifact. Usually the Sun Shard is hidden beneath her cloak, though she will occasionally reveal the item for light or comfort. Glasses: Large, round, nerdy glasses. What you should expect from someone like her. They help her read up close, though she will usually just wear them regardless of the situation. They get dirty easy. Handkerchief: Exactly what you think it is. Used to clean glasses, wipe away tears, or to cover her mouth in especially dusty/dirty areas. Her Coin Purses: Keeps all her money on her, though in various purses. And pockets. Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Silver-tipped Steel Sword: Clue is in the name. Ira's sword is made of a thin, refined steel, with a literal silver lining at the tip extending ten centimeters along the blade's edges. Is a little longer and thinner than most blades, but will still get the job done. She was self-taught with it, and wields it in a left-handed reverse grip. Yes she's aware that's wrong, but it works! Steel Dagger: Lacks a whole lot of practical use, and is her last-resort weapon in case she loses her sword or bow. It's quite sharp, but requires close proximity. Bow and Arrow: Yes she has a bow, but really needs to learn how to use it... Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Cloak: It doesn't offer much protection except for being really dark. Makes hiding a bit easier. Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling 7x Viles of Spare Blood: Not always fresh. It's Ira's sustenance, the only stuff she really needs. She can survive for months off of it if she doesn't exert herself much, but considering her trade it's hard not to run into trouble occasionally or be forced to travel. Thus it'll only last her about a week, usually, and tastes horrid. Might make her sick in the process, too. She'll be forced to drink a vile if entering a combat situation or when wounded, making managing her sustenance a bit more difficult. Additionally, while this triggers her healing process, the process is slow and will require more viles for more intensive wounds. Her Wares: Carrying ones wares around with them is a little extreme at times, especially without vampire super strength. Still, these are usually just expensive trinkets, small weapons, goods, books, sometimes food, and alchemical things. Though lately all she has on her is a rusty dirk, three necklaces, five different books (four philosophical texts, one literature), and a vase. Her Violin: Yes, carrying the violin around as well makes things heavier, but she likes her music. Somehow always manages to carry it despite what she also has in her bag. Magical Items: The Big Book of Everything: Once you write something into the Big Book, it's cataloged into it's pages for eternity. If you were just an ordinary person opening the book on a whim, then you'd find that it has absolutely no writing in it whatsoever. However, if you were looking for something which has been entered into the Big Book, then you're in luck! See, upon writing in the book, your words will disappear from the page you wrote it on and only show if you desire to see the knowledge. The book has some sort of mind-reading capability, and if someone wants something from the book, it'll display it on a page, so long as it's been entered. Ira has only recently got her hands on the artifact and has treasured it second only to her amulet and guitar. Weak Illusion Potion x3: Aforementioned big book of everything managed contained a rather useful illusion potion. It's nothing especially strong, but it changes the colour of Ira's eyes to a deep blue instead of red, and her fangs are slightly less visible. The potions, despite not being especially powerful, have a long effect time of four hours, and the ingredients are fairly common in the tunnels. History Childhood: The start of Ira's young life was grand. She was raised to a loving priestess mother and funny violinist father. A unique blend to be sure, but the two cherished one-another, as well as their only daughter, all throughout Ira's childhood. Ira's mother was one of the good kinds of priestess', and though she didn't condone what those who were corrupt in the Church were doing, she was smart enough not to question them. She raised Ira by inspiring her with faith in the Church, setting her daughter onto a path of righteousness and kindness, but also intelligence. On the other hand, her father treated her more like an equal, like a friend, like a mentor. He taught Ira the joys of living, those being in music, literature, and good humor. Both parents had desires to raise their child the right way, and they trusted one-another to make sure their little girl grew up to be a good person. And for Ira-Anne Spencer, this process was a smooth and happy part of her life which still bring a tear to her eye to this day. Mostly in happiness, but also in traumatic sadness... Ira's upbringing had been rather smooth until she was ten, when she and her father were attacked by a man -- though he seemed more creature than man -- and were sucked almost bone-dry of blood. Ira's father had been killed, however Ira survived as the guards arrived in time to drive the beast off thanks to the commotion her father made during the scuffle, as well as Ira's own cries for help. Tragedy struck, however, when the signs of vampirism started to appear on the young girl in recovery. Everyone, including her own mother (likely out of grief) blamed Ira for the events which transpired, and Ira was to be executed for being both a demon spawn and a murderer. She was still in recovery, not even conscious, when the election of execution was made, however Ira's mother plead to spend the night with her child one last time. Somehow, Ira doesn't quite know, but somehow she managed to do so. That was when Ira and her mother became public enemies of both the Church and, in many peoples' eyes, all living beings. Ira awoke the night her mother stayed overnight, and her mother filled her in on what had happened, and what was to come. Though obviously torn in her decision, Ira's mother decided to risk her own life to save that of her child. She already had an escape plan hatched (it helped knowing the city due to her being a priestess), and, knowing there was no going back, the two enacted their escape from Zalu. The road was tough, needless to say, but the two were close. However, just as they were reaching the outskirts, they ran into a large patrol of guards and were forced to run. Ira didn't have the strength yet, so her mother had to do all the work. While they were attempting to escape, Ira's mother had been shot multiple times with arrows, and found herself leaving a trail of blood for the guards to follow by. Her strength was weakening and they were running out of time. Time that she didn't have. But Ira did. The last of her mother's strength was sapped by none other than Ira herself, when she drained her mother of blood to recover her own strength. After slitting her own throat with her husband's sword, Ira's mother handed her daughter her prized Sun Shard Amulet and the sword she'd just used to take her own life. Her dying wish was but three words long: "Run... and live...!" So Ira ran. And ran. And ran. She didn't stop until she couldn't run any further, and when that happened, she cried. Yet she didn't even have the strength for that, and fell asleep soon after her collapse... Adulthood: She stayed like that for days. But eventually, she got too hungry to continue laying on the ground. She found herself drawn back to Zalu, in search of food. Yet the only food avaliable was an old man in a dark alley on the very outskirts of town, sickly and starving himself... The two talked, the old man telling his story. He was a noble once, but was found corrupt and tried, all he stood for ruined. He'd lived on the street for far too long now, and he knew his time was up. He said that killing him in such a state would be considered merciful and would be praised by people like him - that death was the best thing for him. Though she barely knew this man longer than a couple of hours, that lesson ended up shaping all of Ira's coming life. She gave the man peace, and was blessed with what little life he could offer. Though Ira hated the blood, she saw just how happy death had made the man, and experimented. She learned only to take the lives of willing participants, or drain small amounts of blood from unsuspecting individuals to get her by, so to not completely delve into her vampire self. She aged to look a bit older, somewhere in her mid teens, however it stopped after a certain point and her aging slowed to a crawl. She's lived her life as closely to what her parents would have wanted for her since then, though of course there are some exceptions like being a vampire or being wanted by the city of Zalu (and sometimes beyond). She opts to drink blood as little and far-between as possible, going for long periods starved of the stuff now, fasting. Due to a certain event that happened long ago, Ira makes sure never to starve herself too much, and has learned that the sacrifice of the few is optimum to save the many. Nowadays Spencer the Vampire roams the underground to try and make an honest living, though not everyone takes to vampires very well... Special Moments: Her parents' death plague her mind and often bring about most of her fears and delusions. Her mothers death weighs especially heavy on her conscience, and Ira feels guilty for not being able to save her. Also her freak incident in the past haunts her, and acts as a constant reminder to never starve herself to the point of near-death... Current Events: Shezze is a safe haven for Spencer. The people out there are on hard times, and Ira makes exceptions for them, cutting down prices till it's a dime a dozen. They keep out of each-others' way, though trading relations are good, and Ira has steadily begun earning something of a place there, though it may be awhile yet to find that. Of course... it would all come to an end if she were to be found out as a vampire... Extras Theme Song: A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes; Happy Theme; Delusional Theme Aura Color: Red and grey. Scent: Blood. Pretty straightforward, I know. Anything Else: I didn't completely fill in the stats because I wanted a more accurate representation of her strength and constitution without advancing other stats, though if it's essential to the app then I'd just up the strength and constitution to 11.
55,008	1,501	72	1,739	1,220	Guthrie Location: Barracks Interacting with: Everyone "You, coming with us?" The woman they had barely known for a few minutes, had now just asked them if she could join them in their journey through the tunnels. The Twins seemed to approve their fellowship growing even larger, while Vamon remained silent about the issue for now. Guthrie was more sceptical. While he wasn't neccecarly against safety in numbers, he also believed in the benefits of silence, stealth and the element of surprise. And even more sceptical with the thought of her causing the same kind of behavior of Spencer amongst themselves. Then again, her mention of her knowledge of the tunnels and a stronghold peaked his interest. "Well..." He said, looking at the different members of their growing party, before resting his eyes on her. "If you know your way through some of the tunnels, I can't turn down such assistance. You have my acceptence of joining us, at least till we reach that stronghold you speak of. I was under the impression that this was the last bastion of humanity before the darkness?" Then all of a sudden, Spencer ran off. To where, Guthrie had really no idea, just that she had lost something and ran after it. "Hmpf...Theo, follow her. Keep her safe. You understand, boy?" Guthrie spoke down to his feet, where Theo had been standing while the conversation continued. Theo barked as if acknowledging his master's bidding, and ran after Spencer.	Name: Guthrie Jean Harlanson Aliases: «Blade» Age: 31 Race: Human Place of Origin: Bori Gender: Male Class/Job: Fighter/Mercenary, ranger or guide Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 17 Dexterity: 14 Constitution: 15 Intelligence: 9 Wisdom: 11 Charisma: 9 Physical Attributes Height: 1,76M Weight: 80kg Build: Muscular Eyes: Green Hair: Light brown Skin Tone: Light tanned Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A narrow scar runs across Guthrie’s left eye, amazingly leaving his eye unscaved. Another pair of scars run across his chest and stomach, and one where a dagger was thrust into his side. Day To Day Attire: Guthrie cares little for fashion, preferring to wear comfortable and easily maintained clothes over what those tall-nosed nobility in Belizarius wears. He can be seen wearing a plain, white shirt with leather threads to adjust his chest and sleeves. He wears (mostly) dirty and roughen-up brown pants and sturdy leather boots. If the cold sets in, he sports a thick fur-coat across his shoulder. Strengths: Max of 3Strong Good sense of direction Adaptive Weaknesses: Minimal of 3Illiterate Never backs down from a fight Weary of magic Psychological Attributes Loyal * Unforgiving * Determined * Hard to express his true feelings Sexuality: Hetersexual Relationship Status: Single Personality: When you first set eyes upon Guthrie and exchange words, you will get the impression that this man lives and breathes for what he carries at his side; His blade. Guthrie is the type of man who is at his best when in a fight, either battling foes of his own nature or against whatever creatures that lurks in the darkness of the tunnels. In-fact, some might think that lacks emotion, simply staring down (or up) at you wondering whether to strike you down or to accept your coin for protection. While that is true for Guthrie the “Blade”, Guthrie Jean Harlanson is far from emotionless once you get to know the man beneath all that armour, especially over a glass of mushroom brew. Some might say that his mood reflects his blade; when drawn, he is sharp and ready for blood. But while sheathed, he’s mostly harmless and comfortable to be around. He enjoys the company of trusted and loyal friends, laughs at their jokes and mourns in their own sorrows. The only thing he doesn’t is speak of his own sadness and troubles. Then the blade is drawn once again. Habits: Minimal 2 Spits at the ground Cracking his knuckles and other joints Hobbies: Grinding his sword, training and sparring, and learning the geography of the underworld Fears: 3 real fears that make your character unhinged Dying by magic Being buried alive Whatever murdered his parents Likes: 6 minimalA good and worthy fight Mushroom brew His canine companion, Theo The light from a fire His sword True friends Dislikes: 6 minimalLosing a battle Not being able to read The Mines Pacifists Magicians Being judged because of his illeteracy Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Navigation: Guthrie is proficient in remembering landmarks and such, in order to remember previously taken routs and where to travel to get somewhere quicker and/or safer. Tracking: “No, that’s not a normal spider mark. See the way the print leans slightly to the left? That means that it’s a deep-cave moss spider. Though normally harmless, they can be dangerous when met in numbers. Luckily it was alone and heading in that direction, so we’re safe.” First-aid: With the usual combat, Guthrie has also learned how to dress wounds and make sure they re-grow properly. It wasn’t always just as easy to find the nearest town to get himself patched up; sometimes he had to do it himself. Weapon & armour maintenance: Guthrie prefers to maintain his weapons and armour the best he can. It’s cheaper, and quite useful out in the field. Cooking: When outside of a settlement and in need of food, Guthrie is able to cook up something that doesn’t taste too horrible. Sword fighting: What is there to say? Guthrie had handled a blade for as long as he’s been an adult, and hasn’t died fighting yet. Leather working: His time working with his mother taught him the basics of how to work with leather. He’s able make not overly complicated pieces of leather-apparel, including his own leather armour. Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Clothing: As mentioned earlier. Coin purse: 8 gold coins and 3 silver pieces. Leather pouch: Pouch containing dog food for Theo and other stray dogs in need of a snack. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Steel sword: A one-handed steel sword, about 2’5 feet long and visible used. The same sword his father gave him for his 16th birthday, he’s over the years etched in various marks into the blade, resembling various creatures that Guthrie has slain. Steel dagger: A simple steel dagger for cooking and gut-poking if needed. Shield: The shield is about 3’5 feet in diameter, made out of his a wood base and reinforced with steel bands. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Leather armour: Guthrie wears leather armour that covers his torso and arms down to the elbows. It bears marks of wear and tear, while some pieces seem brand new. Steel platings: Steel plates cover Guthrie’s weak spots; his torso, shoulders, knees and thighs, and elbows and wrists. While reasonable heavy and clunky, Guthrie is trained in wearing this to the point that it rarely bothers him. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Animals: Theo: A loyal canine with the appearance of an Alaskan Malamute Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Flint and steel: For making fires. Grinding stone: Guthrie uses this to sharpen his sword and dagger, and reluctantly others who might ask. Waterskins X2: Water enough for nearly a weeks need. Sleeping bag: Leather sleeping bag with wool sewn inside for a warm and comfortable night’s sleep. Torches: Simple map: While Guthrie cannot read or write, he can draw a simple map of his surroundings with surprisingly accuracy. Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Antidote X3: Antidotes against the poisons of various spider and snake species. History Childhood: Guthrie was born into what you could call a normal poor man’s family on the outskirts of Bori. His father worked as a miner in the iron mines when they were still open back in the day, and his mother a seamstress sewing new and old clothes for the miners to keep the family fed. And it wasn’t long Guthrie followed his father down into the mines. For a while working down in the mines was bearable enough for Guthrie, who still small and slender was perfect for those tight spots where the grown-ups couldn’t reach. And when he became too big to fit into those tight spots, he joined his father in digging deeper and deeper for that previous iron. His father must have been proud of his own son, growing into a strong and able man who could pay for his own needs. And then the cave-in happened. Guthrie was buried alive for two whole days before he was found, barely breathing after having his ribs cracked and lungs full of dust. His father had been lucky and was just at the entrance when it happened, but he feared that he had lost his only son. That fear grew to love once Guthrie was found, but also a determination that he should never set foot in the mines ever again. Which he never did, especially not when the mines were closed because of the Belizarius-Zalu dispute. Guthrie began to help his mothering sewing, while his father did his best to get work wherever he could, though neither of them really missed the mines. Adulthood: As Guthrie turned 16, his father gifted him his old sword, whom his own father had handed down to him and his father’s father to his father. It wasn’t until he was 18 that he used it, working as a caravan guard travelling from Bori to Belizarius. And it was then that he learned something about himself; he could stand is ground in a battle, better than all the other guards. This was when he decided to learn how to wield his blade like a master. He continued his work as a guard, ranging from caravans to nobles in Belizarius. And though he never learned how to read or write, he was happy to earn his living and keep his family fed. Special Moments: It was seven years ago that Guthrie received those words that would change his life; his parents were dead. Dropping everything at hand, including his client he was supposed to protect from a band of peasants, he rushed home to find that liar who told him such horrible tales. But it wasn’t lies; they were in-fact dead. Guthrie never learned what really killed them and why they of all people, but he learned two things from his short stay; it sucked all the blood from its victims through their eyes, and -according to a rather drunk bum – it had eyes as red as fresh blood. It wasn’t a whole lot to go after, but Guthrie decided that from that day on, he would chase down whatever had murdered his parents and take revenge. And so he spent more time searching the tunnels, both mapped and unmapped, hoping to find that awful beast who had taken his only family from him. While he did find various creatures that he would learn to avoid, to slay or to befriend, such as his loyal canine companion Theo, he never found anything other than hints to the beast’s existence. Until now. Current Events: Now Guthrie stands at the outskirts of Shezze, a small and insignificant frontier-village. Word has it that something deadly had been spotted in the vicinity, and Guthrie will waste no time in his quest for revenge. Extras Character Quote: “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” Aura Color: Fiery red though with hints of a cooler shade of red around his chest. Scent: Sweat and dog. Anything Else:
55,009	1,501	73	2,068	714	Vamon Location: BarracksInteracting With: Sala & Vala, Guthrie, Spencer, Zara Vamon was a little surprised to hear that the woman wanted to join them. She may have been a companion of the captain, and her knowledge of the tunnels would most deffinatly be useful, but he couldn’t help shaking his suspicions. Could he risk travelling into the unknown with someone he just met? He kept quiet and listened to his companions give their answers, deciding to trust their judgment. He thought for a moment about how odd that really was, considering he had only just met his companions today as well. Letting out a small sigh, he smiled beneath his mask and looked to the woman. “Well if my companions are fine with it, then I am fine with it too. Welcome to our little travelling party, if one can call it that” He found himself chuckling a little as Spencer proudly boasted about her combat skills. If he recalled correctly, she introduced herself as a travelling merchant, but he chose not to speak on it. He had seen some pretty strange things today, so perhaps it wasn’t that crazy to think she might actually have some combat ability. But all of a sudden he found himself jumping, as the girl started screaming and running away, only turning back to say that she would be back soon. “I guess we should finish up our preparations for when she returns” He said to the group after a small silence. He turned and began to rummage through one of the boxes left for them, collecting any alchemical supplies and putting them in his bag, making sure to separate them carefully. He made a mental note to ask about the dark crystal from before once they had made their way out into the tunnels. They could be travelling for quite a while, so he didn’t think there to be too much of a rush. That said though, Guthrie raised a good point. “If you don’t mind, could I ask just what this order is? You mentioned them to the captain before as well.” He said, glancing back to the woman for a moment, before looking back into the box. If this order had any connection to the dark crystal, then it would be in his interest to find a little more out about them. And since they had the time, he might as well ask.	Name: Vamon Koarmez Aliases: “The Heretic” “Son of the Priest” Age: 26 Race: Human Place of Origin: Belizarius Gender: Male Class/Job: Alchemist Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 7 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 12 Intelligence: 20 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 8 Physical Attributes Height: 5”9’ Weight: 140lbs Build: Thin Eyes: Red Hair: Light Blonde, almost white Skin Tone: Pale Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A brand across his cheek that he often covers Day To Day Attire: Large dark clothes and cloaks Strengths: Encyclopaedia like knowledge of Crystals and AlchemyHearty tolerance towards gasses and poisonsAbility to brew potions as well as create volatile extracts and poisons Weaknesses: Lacking physical strengthDifficult time in social situations due to his brandEasily recognised and disliked by members of the Church of Light Psychological Attributes Paranoid * Distrusting * Pessimist * Critical Thinker Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: None Personality: Vamon was once a bubbly and happy youth. He eagerly looked forward to completing his daily duties and happily spending late night studying crystals. But after his exile he became a much more reserved and quiet person. He will often stay quiet when people are conversing around him unless he is called upon or has important information. Despite his quiet nature though, he is caring and defending of people that he considers true friends or allies. But if the conversation switches to Alchemy or Crystals he immediately shows interest. When he gets started on a topic he is passionate about, his old personality starts to show itself. He will often find himself rambling about his discoveries or findings until someone interrupts him or he becomes aware that he has been talking for far too long. Habits: Minimal 2 Praying before he sleeps at nightTaking notes on his surroundings Hobbies: Studying crystals and finding new uses for them Fears: The Church of LightThe concept of something being unable to be understoodBeing discovered to be a heretic Likes: StudyingDiscovering new thingsExploringCrystalsThe smell of sulphurBrewing potions Dislikes: The DarkThe Church of LightClose minded peopleBeing academically stumpedNot understanding the situationBeing spoken down to Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Scent: Vamon has a very keen sense of smell and can detect the unique scent of alchemical materials from a distance. It also helps him to identify potions and poisons without having to test them. Bombs: While not the most used tool in his arsenal, Vamon carries around a selection of carefully crafted vials. These vials contain separated chemicals that when come into contact with each other cause interesting reactions, functioning as a miniature thrown bomb. The bombs don’t explode, but instead form an acid that gets onto anything hit, burning it severally. Brewing: In the dark and foreboding tunnels there is danger around every corner. You are likely to be injured or even worse. So Vamon studied up on potions and the various types of things he could create with materials he could carry around with him. He is well versed in creating potions ranging from helping you see in the dark to even healing scrapes and wounds. Dueling: Surprisingly enough, Vamon was well versed in the art of the duel. He often partook in duelling during his time in Belizarius, and became rather good at the sport. His skills are somewhat transferable to combat, but the lack of rules often catches him off guard. Poison: By combining various chemicals, or in some cases simply harvesting it from an animal, Vamon can collect and apply poisons to his weapon or the weapons of people around him. He generally avoids letting others know that he has poison, as it can be seen as a bit of a bad character trait to have, but in a life or death situation he will advise allies to use them. Good with Animals: While he doesn’t have any pets of his own, Vamon is rather good with animals. They have an odd affinity for him and he trends to prefer the company of animals to humans. He hopes to find a pet one day, but most of the animals he has come across in the tunnels have been less than accomidating. Sneaking: Under the right circumstances, Vamon is rather adept at sneaking. Magic A listing of spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting Push: Vamon has very little knowledge of magic, but in his time he did manage to learn two spells that are somewhat useful to him. The first is push, a spell that creates a force that pushes an object away from him. It is not very strong, and is highly unlikely to knock a person off their feet, but it can move small objects with ease. It happens almost instantly and its only cost is draining a little energy from the user. Vamon generally avoids using magic if he can though, more as a personal preference than any ideology. Pull: The second of these spells is, inversely, pull. Pull is similar to push as it allows the user to pull something towards their hand. This spell is mostly useful for quickly retrieving items while he is working, but he has had to use it a few times to retrieve a disarmed weapon. Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Item: Dark Baggy clothing. Item: Coin purse containing 80 silver coins. Item: Facial masks and scarves to hide his scar and protect him from fumes. Item: A set of holy beads that was given to him by the Church of Light Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Item: A Rapier that he keeps on his person at all times Item: A dagger kept on a thigh holster Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Item: Basic leather armor that he wears under his cloak Animals: Have a horse or bird? Animal: None Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Item: Bedroll Item: Rations Item: Waterskin Item: Sealed Alchemical supply bag Item: Set of Alchemical tools Item: Notebook and pencil Magical Items: Book of Secrets: The book that he got from the old man’s body was more than he had originally thought. The book was passed from alchemist to alchemist, containing many lifetimes of work. The book chooses an owner when its previous one dies. It latches onto the next person of considerate intelligence that approaches it. When the book chooses an owner it is bonded to it for life. The condense of the book that were once magically coded become readable. Any that the owner permit to read the book are allowed to read the contents of the book for as long as the owner decides to allow them. Only the owner can write in the book, and anything written into it immediately becomes encoded. Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Potion of See Darkness: x 3 – Allows the drinker to see much better in darkness, but makes them sensitive to light. Potion of Healing: x 2 – Allows the drinker to heal wounds that would normally take a long time to heal. Potion of Hiding: x 1 – Allows the drinker to blend into their surroundings. Does not offer true invisibility, but in the darkness would make it very difficult to see the drinker. Alchemical Bombs: x 8 – Acidic bombs that are made with careful combinations of chemicals in specially designed vials Creation Materials: Anything used to brew potions or for alchemy Arsenic: x 4 doses Magnesium: x 10 doses Sulphur: x 20 doses Lamp Fuel: Crystals: x 10 Vials: x 20 Ephedra: x 10 doses History Childhood: Vamon had a privileged childhood. He was born as the only son to a high ranking member of the Church of Light. Naturally he was taught the teachings of the church from a young age, and started to work towards being an upstanding member of both the community and the church. But he discovered the intoxicating draw of alchemy one day when he was running errands in the city. He was drawn in by the intoxicatingly disgusting smell wafting from an alley. It was a mix of smoke and sulphur that lead him towards the lifeless body of an old man. He was about to call someone to help when he saw a book. He was inexplicably drawn to it, and opened it to reveal a book of alchemical recipes and secrets behind crystals. Adulthood: The day in the alley changed his life forever. He spent less time working for the church and progressively more time studying the book and finding his own alchemical solutions. The exposure to the fumes slowly bleached his hair, turning it almost white and giving him a grizzled voice that sounds almost intimidating. The church disagreed with what he was doing, but they allowed him to operate mostly because of the influence of his father. But that all changed when he pushed his luck a little too far. Special Moments: His interests turned to crystals as his studies continued. He is currently working on research that would allow him to imbue spells into a crystal to allow them to be used by anyone and reusable multiple times. He wanted to study the Sun Shard to see if it could get him any more information, but he was caught in the act. The church wanted to immediately execute him, but his father managed to negotiate a deal. They branded his face with the mark of a heretic and exiled him from his home for the rest of his life. Current Events: Since his banishment, Vamon has been struggling to find a place to settle down. He managed to stow away with a convoy making its way through the tunnels, but was discovered along the way. It turns out that sulphur has a very distinct smell, one that can often get you discovered in a sticky situation. Now he is left in Shezze with no idea where to go next. The only goal driving him is the pursuit of further knowledge, and the hope that one day he could finish his study on a Sun Shard. Extras Character Quote: “The Church doesn’t understand that the pursuit of knowledge is the only way to make progress.” Aura Color: A deep greenish yellow aura would suit Vamon best. Scent: A deeply ingrained smell of sulphur and dust lingers where he goes.
55,010	1,501	74	1,991	4,769	Situation Updates : Spencer ran away form hte group with utmost haste! People weren't really back in hte settlement just yet. They were hours away from returning from their work in the local tunnels which they were digging. Her road to the plaza was clam, clear and only lit up by the occasional torches along hte way. Nothing happened along the way and her things were just as she forgot them earlier. Theo also ran after the vampire girl, catching up to her quite fast. : By the barracks the situation remains as it was until now. No notable changes happened while the guards were preparign for the upcoming conflict. Sala & Vala Location: Barracks Interacting With: Spencer, Guthrie, Vamon and Zara. "Yeah, one way or another." Zara replied to Guthrie with a shrug." I'm already supposed to head in that direction since I have to return back to the fortress, so I must tag along for a while at least." She confirmed with a nod, moving her sword sheaths back to her back with their straps, now that Spencer wasn't riding on her anymore. At the warrior's question about the bastion of humanity, Sala and Vala also turned their eyes on Zara again, focusing on her with questioning eyes, almost as if repeating that question themselves. It was turly interesting turn of events that they didn't qutie expect just yet. Well they knew there were other settlemetns out there, elves and dwarves since those occsionally show up between decades, but a place where there were people closer to the settlement network was a news for them. "Did you really expect the people here to be the only ones who survived?" Zara replied with a question to Guthrie and smiled." There are many out there, who knows how many actually, cannot be sure. My order lives in a fortress just about a week's travel from here. Beyond that are other settlements though the distance to there isn't exactly known. We keep contact with an elf community, but they are hte only ones who send messengers every 2 or so years. There's also a dwarven forge city far from here. That one I do know where it is, but it takes just a little over a year of traveling from the order's base." She explained with a shrug." Beside those two, who knows how many more are there just in radius around here. Because we cannot dig everywhere and know everything in complete sphere around us, in theory there could be a settlement deep under us, who knows." Zara added, finishing the positioning of her swords with a smile. It was important for them to be easy access. "We are 'The Black Sun', we've been around just as long as the church of light has been, actually longer." She stated with a shrug as if it was the most natural thing to do." The church has a lot to answer for and we remember it all..." She stated.	Name: Azerus Elon Thorn Aliases: The light priest Age: Mid to late 20's Race: Aasimar Place of Origin: Belizarius Gender: Male Class/Job: Priest / Witch hunter Stats Strength: 17 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 13 Intelligence: 10 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 7 Physical Attributes Height:5"11, Weight:170lbs Build:Lean & Muscular Eyes: Light light blue Hair: short light dirty blonde Skin Tone: Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: He has plenty of scars and a story for most, but no tattoo's. Day To Day Attire: Simple robes and basic rags with an underside of leather greaves and bracers. Always kept clean. Azerus does not wear fancy clothes or a lavish attire, merely clothes of practicality and purpose. However he does favour a hood for discretion. Strengths: Max of 3Martial Combat Weaknesses: Minimal of 3 Psychological Attributes Focused * Arrogant * Trait * Trait Sexuality: Under a vow of celibacy. Relationship Status: Devoted solely to the church Personality: Azerus has little appreciation or sense for humour. It is not to say he is not kind, he is just very serious and strict. Habits: Vow of CelibacyVow of PovertyVow of CleanlinessVow of fastingVow of Truth Hobbies: Azerus is truly a fanatic of the church. It is all that occupies his time and thought leaving little room for simple pleasantries. Outside of meditation, prayer and training he does manage to find solace in listening to music and strategising over a game very similar to chess. Fears:The darkness within MagicLosing control of his own mind or spiritBeing disowned or shunned by the church Likes: Followers of the church LightLaw & Order Dislikes: 6 minimalThe academyPractitioners of magic ChaosLiars Skills Magic resistance: Description Create light: Description Knowledge anatomy: Description Knowledge tracking: Description Skill: Description Skill: Description Magic A listing of spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting True sight: Azerus eyes are consumed by a soft glowing light as he is granted the divine gift of true seeing. Illusions, lies, trickery and magic all become seen for what they are. To call upon such a gift Azerus must recite a short prayer and close his eyes for a moment. To see as the light sees is tiring and disorientating for a mortal mind, therefore it cannot be held for prolonged lengths of time. Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Spell: Description Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Animals: Have a horse or bird? Animal: Description Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Magical Items: Item: Description Item: Description Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Creation Materials: Anything used to brew potions or for alchemy Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description History Childhood: Fed lies his entire childhood youth of the corruptive and vile nature of magic, young orphaned Azerus was groomed into the perfect tool for the church. His memories of his loving parents tarnished by the poisonous tongue of those with selfish agendas and truths to hide. Still to this day he foolishly believes that magic corrupted and killed his parents but he couldn't be further from the truth. Adulthood: Special Moments: Things that stick out in you characters mind most often Current Events: What brings you here? What were you most recently up to? What's a character like you doing in an rp like this? Extras Character Quote: Those that fear the dark haven't seen what the light can do. Theme Song: Aura Color: An electric light with jagged sharp lines. Scent: Anything Else:
55,011	1,501	75	1,739	1,220	Guthrie Location: Barracks Interacting with: Everyone Other settlements...other people...Guthrie hadn't that of that before, not even as a passing thought that might wander through his mind just before falling asleep. All his life he had focused on the matters at hand, the physical issues that he could see, smell, feel and hurt, but outside of that? It made sense, though, who knew how large those caves and tunnels truly were? And if their small part of civilization had survived, surely it had done so elsewhere. But most importantly, more people meant more witnesses for the Creature that murdered his parents. That was what really caught his attention. "A week's travel, aye? That's not too bad. And as long as your order, this Black Sun doesn't treat my companions as bad as that priest, I can do nothing but allow you into the party. But..." Guthrie turned his attention to the Twins. He saw the anticepation in their eyes fixated on Zara as if...well, Guthrie didn't know, but it seemed important. "Sala, Vala, what is your answer...answers? Are you two fine with allowing her into our fellowship?"	Name: Guthrie Jean Harlanson Aliases: «Blade» Age: 31 Race: Human Place of Origin: Bori Gender: Male Class/Job: Fighter/Mercenary, ranger or guide Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 17 Dexterity: 14 Constitution: 15 Intelligence: 9 Wisdom: 11 Charisma: 9 Physical Attributes Height: 1,76M Weight: 80kg Build: Muscular Eyes: Green Hair: Light brown Skin Tone: Light tanned Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A narrow scar runs across Guthrie’s left eye, amazingly leaving his eye unscaved. Another pair of scars run across his chest and stomach, and one where a dagger was thrust into his side. Day To Day Attire: Guthrie cares little for fashion, preferring to wear comfortable and easily maintained clothes over what those tall-nosed nobility in Belizarius wears. He can be seen wearing a plain, white shirt with leather threads to adjust his chest and sleeves. He wears (mostly) dirty and roughen-up brown pants and sturdy leather boots. If the cold sets in, he sports a thick fur-coat across his shoulder. Strengths: Max of 3Strong Good sense of direction Adaptive Weaknesses: Minimal of 3Illiterate Never backs down from a fight Weary of magic Psychological Attributes Loyal * Unforgiving * Determined * Hard to express his true feelings Sexuality: Hetersexual Relationship Status: Single Personality: When you first set eyes upon Guthrie and exchange words, you will get the impression that this man lives and breathes for what he carries at his side; His blade. Guthrie is the type of man who is at his best when in a fight, either battling foes of his own nature or against whatever creatures that lurks in the darkness of the tunnels. In-fact, some might think that lacks emotion, simply staring down (or up) at you wondering whether to strike you down or to accept your coin for protection. While that is true for Guthrie the “Blade”, Guthrie Jean Harlanson is far from emotionless once you get to know the man beneath all that armour, especially over a glass of mushroom brew. Some might say that his mood reflects his blade; when drawn, he is sharp and ready for blood. But while sheathed, he’s mostly harmless and comfortable to be around. He enjoys the company of trusted and loyal friends, laughs at their jokes and mourns in their own sorrows. The only thing he doesn’t is speak of his own sadness and troubles. Then the blade is drawn once again. Habits: Minimal 2 Spits at the ground Cracking his knuckles and other joints Hobbies: Grinding his sword, training and sparring, and learning the geography of the underworld Fears: 3 real fears that make your character unhinged Dying by magic Being buried alive Whatever murdered his parents Likes: 6 minimalA good and worthy fight Mushroom brew His canine companion, Theo The light from a fire His sword True friends Dislikes: 6 minimalLosing a battle Not being able to read The Mines Pacifists Magicians Being judged because of his illeteracy Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Navigation: Guthrie is proficient in remembering landmarks and such, in order to remember previously taken routs and where to travel to get somewhere quicker and/or safer. Tracking: “No, that’s not a normal spider mark. See the way the print leans slightly to the left? That means that it’s a deep-cave moss spider. Though normally harmless, they can be dangerous when met in numbers. Luckily it was alone and heading in that direction, so we’re safe.” First-aid: With the usual combat, Guthrie has also learned how to dress wounds and make sure they re-grow properly. It wasn’t always just as easy to find the nearest town to get himself patched up; sometimes he had to do it himself. Weapon & armour maintenance: Guthrie prefers to maintain his weapons and armour the best he can. It’s cheaper, and quite useful out in the field. Cooking: When outside of a settlement and in need of food, Guthrie is able to cook up something that doesn’t taste too horrible. Sword fighting: What is there to say? Guthrie had handled a blade for as long as he’s been an adult, and hasn’t died fighting yet. Leather working: His time working with his mother taught him the basics of how to work with leather. He’s able make not overly complicated pieces of leather-apparel, including his own leather armour. Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Clothing: As mentioned earlier. Coin purse: 8 gold coins and 3 silver pieces. Leather pouch: Pouch containing dog food for Theo and other stray dogs in need of a snack. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Steel sword: A one-handed steel sword, about 2’5 feet long and visible used. The same sword his father gave him for his 16th birthday, he’s over the years etched in various marks into the blade, resembling various creatures that Guthrie has slain. Steel dagger: A simple steel dagger for cooking and gut-poking if needed. Shield: The shield is about 3’5 feet in diameter, made out of his a wood base and reinforced with steel bands. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Leather armour: Guthrie wears leather armour that covers his torso and arms down to the elbows. It bears marks of wear and tear, while some pieces seem brand new. Steel platings: Steel plates cover Guthrie’s weak spots; his torso, shoulders, knees and thighs, and elbows and wrists. While reasonable heavy and clunky, Guthrie is trained in wearing this to the point that it rarely bothers him. Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Item: Description Animals: Theo: A loyal canine with the appearance of an Alaskan Malamute Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Flint and steel: For making fires. Grinding stone: Guthrie uses this to sharpen his sword and dagger, and reluctantly others who might ask. Waterskins X2: Water enough for nearly a weeks need. Sleeping bag: Leather sleeping bag with wool sewn inside for a warm and comfortable night’s sleep. Torches: Simple map: While Guthrie cannot read or write, he can draw a simple map of his surroundings with surprisingly accuracy. Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Antidote X3: Antidotes against the poisons of various spider and snake species. History Childhood: Guthrie was born into what you could call a normal poor man’s family on the outskirts of Bori. His father worked as a miner in the iron mines when they were still open back in the day, and his mother a seamstress sewing new and old clothes for the miners to keep the family fed. And it wasn’t long Guthrie followed his father down into the mines. For a while working down in the mines was bearable enough for Guthrie, who still small and slender was perfect for those tight spots where the grown-ups couldn’t reach. And when he became too big to fit into those tight spots, he joined his father in digging deeper and deeper for that previous iron. His father must have been proud of his own son, growing into a strong and able man who could pay for his own needs. And then the cave-in happened. Guthrie was buried alive for two whole days before he was found, barely breathing after having his ribs cracked and lungs full of dust. His father had been lucky and was just at the entrance when it happened, but he feared that he had lost his only son. That fear grew to love once Guthrie was found, but also a determination that he should never set foot in the mines ever again. Which he never did, especially not when the mines were closed because of the Belizarius-Zalu dispute. Guthrie began to help his mothering sewing, while his father did his best to get work wherever he could, though neither of them really missed the mines. Adulthood: As Guthrie turned 16, his father gifted him his old sword, whom his own father had handed down to him and his father’s father to his father. It wasn’t until he was 18 that he used it, working as a caravan guard travelling from Bori to Belizarius. And it was then that he learned something about himself; he could stand is ground in a battle, better than all the other guards. This was when he decided to learn how to wield his blade like a master. He continued his work as a guard, ranging from caravans to nobles in Belizarius. And though he never learned how to read or write, he was happy to earn his living and keep his family fed. Special Moments: It was seven years ago that Guthrie received those words that would change his life; his parents were dead. Dropping everything at hand, including his client he was supposed to protect from a band of peasants, he rushed home to find that liar who told him such horrible tales. But it wasn’t lies; they were in-fact dead. Guthrie never learned what really killed them and why they of all people, but he learned two things from his short stay; it sucked all the blood from its victims through their eyes, and -according to a rather drunk bum – it had eyes as red as fresh blood. It wasn’t a whole lot to go after, but Guthrie decided that from that day on, he would chase down whatever had murdered his parents and take revenge. And so he spent more time searching the tunnels, both mapped and unmapped, hoping to find that awful beast who had taken his only family from him. While he did find various creatures that he would learn to avoid, to slay or to befriend, such as his loyal canine companion Theo, he never found anything other than hints to the beast’s existence. Until now. Current Events: Now Guthrie stands at the outskirts of Shezze, a small and insignificant frontier-village. Word has it that something deadly had been spotted in the vicinity, and Guthrie will waste no time in his quest for revenge. Extras Character Quote: “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” Aura Color: Fiery red though with hints of a cooler shade of red around his chest. Scent: Sweat and dog. Anything Else:
55,012	1,501	76	2,068	714	Vamon Location: BarracksInteracting With: Sala & Vala, Guthrie, Zara Vamon nodded as the woman spoke. It made sense, why was their little society the only one that had made a place for itself. It seemed possible, even probably that there could be other settlements just as big as their own. The thought was a little daunting, after all the world around him was all he had known. Perhaps somewhere out in the darkness there was someone who had all the answers to questions that had wracked his brain for years. The thought gave him an odd sense of hope, perhaps their journey into the darkness wasn’t as crazy as it seemed. That said though, the mention of this ‘Black Sun’ intrigued him. The name alone was enough to raise an eyebrow, but to think they had been around for longer than the church. “I would love to hear more about The Black Sun, perhaps once we get on the road” Vamon said, finishing up his search through the box. He had gathered up the last of the perishable and more fragile alchemy supplies in his own pack, before grabbing his share of the remaining supplies. He turned to face the twins as Guthrie posed his question. He didn’t think they would be too opposed to the idea, but he had only known them for a short time so it was hard to tell. That said, he was hoping to travel with her for a little while at least. He couldn’t be sure on whether he trusted the new woman yet, but she had information that he was interested in. Plus, if they were going to make a stop in the fortress of this order, he might be able to learn a lot more. If they were as old as Zara claimed, then they would most defiantly have some interesting books. Perhaps he could find some answers, if given the chance to look for them.	Name: Vamon Koarmez Aliases: “The Heretic” “Son of the Priest” Age: 26 Race: Human Place of Origin: Belizarius Gender: Male Class/Job: Alchemist Stats Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. Strength: 7 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 12 Intelligence: 20 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 8 Physical Attributes Height: 5”9’ Weight: 140lbs Build: Thin Eyes: Red Hair: Light Blonde, almost white Skin Tone: Pale Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A brand across his cheek that he often covers Day To Day Attire: Large dark clothes and cloaks Strengths: Encyclopaedia like knowledge of Crystals and AlchemyHearty tolerance towards gasses and poisonsAbility to brew potions as well as create volatile extracts and poisons Weaknesses: Lacking physical strengthDifficult time in social situations due to his brandEasily recognised and disliked by members of the Church of Light Psychological Attributes Paranoid * Distrusting * Pessimist * Critical Thinker Sexuality: Bisexual Relationship Status: None Personality: Vamon was once a bubbly and happy youth. He eagerly looked forward to completing his daily duties and happily spending late night studying crystals. But after his exile he became a much more reserved and quiet person. He will often stay quiet when people are conversing around him unless he is called upon or has important information. Despite his quiet nature though, he is caring and defending of people that he considers true friends or allies. But if the conversation switches to Alchemy or Crystals he immediately shows interest. When he gets started on a topic he is passionate about, his old personality starts to show itself. He will often find himself rambling about his discoveries or findings until someone interrupts him or he becomes aware that he has been talking for far too long. Habits: Minimal 2 Praying before he sleeps at nightTaking notes on his surroundings Hobbies: Studying crystals and finding new uses for them Fears: The Church of LightThe concept of something being unable to be understoodBeing discovered to be a heretic Likes: StudyingDiscovering new thingsExploringCrystalsThe smell of sulphurBrewing potions Dislikes: The DarkThe Church of LightClose minded peopleBeing academically stumpedNot understanding the situationBeing spoken down to Skills A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges Scent: Vamon has a very keen sense of smell and can detect the unique scent of alchemical materials from a distance. It also helps him to identify potions and poisons without having to test them. Bombs: While not the most used tool in his arsenal, Vamon carries around a selection of carefully crafted vials. These vials contain separated chemicals that when come into contact with each other cause interesting reactions, functioning as a miniature thrown bomb. The bombs don’t explode, but instead form an acid that gets onto anything hit, burning it severally. Brewing: In the dark and foreboding tunnels there is danger around every corner. You are likely to be injured or even worse. So Vamon studied up on potions and the various types of things he could create with materials he could carry around with him. He is well versed in creating potions ranging from helping you see in the dark to even healing scrapes and wounds. Dueling: Surprisingly enough, Vamon was well versed in the art of the duel. He often partook in duelling during his time in Belizarius, and became rather good at the sport. His skills are somewhat transferable to combat, but the lack of rules often catches him off guard. Poison: By combining various chemicals, or in some cases simply harvesting it from an animal, Vamon can collect and apply poisons to his weapon or the weapons of people around him. He generally avoids letting others know that he has poison, as it can be seen as a bit of a bad character trait to have, but in a life or death situation he will advise allies to use them. Good with Animals: While he doesn’t have any pets of his own, Vamon is rather good with animals. They have an odd affinity for him and he trends to prefer the company of animals to humans. He hopes to find a pet one day, but most of the animals he has come across in the tunnels have been less than accomidating. Sneaking: Under the right circumstances, Vamon is rather adept at sneaking. Magic A listing of spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting Push: Vamon has very little knowledge of magic, but in his time he did manage to learn two spells that are somewhat useful to him. The first is push, a spell that creates a force that pushes an object away from him. It is not very strong, and is highly unlikely to knock a person off their feet, but it can move small objects with ease. It happens almost instantly and its only cost is draining a little energy from the user. Vamon generally avoids using magic if he can though, more as a personal preference than any ideology. Pull: The second of these spells is, inversely, pull. Pull is similar to push as it allows the user to pull something towards their hand. This spell is mostly useful for quickly retrieving items while he is working, but he has had to use it a few times to retrieve a disarmed weapon. Possessions Possessions Generally On Person: Clothing, coin purse, money, etc Item: Dark Baggy clothing. Item: Coin purse containing 80 silver coins. Item: Facial masks and scarves to hide his scar and protect him from fumes. Item: A set of holy beads that was given to him by the Church of Light Weapons: Personal weapons, no magically enhanced items Item: A Rapier that he keeps on his person at all times Item: A dagger kept on a thigh holster Armor: Base armor only, no magically enhanced items Item: Basic leather armor that he wears under his cloak Animals: Have a horse or bird? Animal: None Pack Contents: What do you carry in you pack when traveling Item: Bedroll Item: Rations Item: Waterskin Item: Sealed Alchemical supply bag Item: Set of Alchemical tools Item: Notebook and pencil Magical Items: Book of Secrets: The book that he got from the old man’s body was more than he had originally thought. The book was passed from alchemist to alchemist, containing many lifetimes of work. The book chooses an owner when its previous one dies. It latches onto the next person of considerate intelligence that approaches it. When the book chooses an owner it is bonded to it for life. The condense of the book that were once magically coded become readable. Any that the owner permit to read the book are allowed to read the contents of the book for as long as the owner decides to allow them. Only the owner can write in the book, and anything written into it immediately becomes encoded. Potions: Premade or prepurchased potions Potion of See Darkness: x 3 – Allows the drinker to see much better in darkness, but makes them sensitive to light. Potion of Healing: x 2 – Allows the drinker to heal wounds that would normally take a long time to heal. Potion of Hiding: x 1 – Allows the drinker to blend into their surroundings. Does not offer true invisibility, but in the darkness would make it very difficult to see the drinker. Alchemical Bombs: x 8 – Acidic bombs that are made with careful combinations of chemicals in specially designed vials Creation Materials: Anything used to brew potions or for alchemy Arsenic: x 4 doses Magnesium: x 10 doses Sulphur: x 20 doses Lamp Fuel: Crystals: x 10 Vials: x 20 Ephedra: x 10 doses History Childhood: Vamon had a privileged childhood. He was born as the only son to a high ranking member of the Church of Light. Naturally he was taught the teachings of the church from a young age, and started to work towards being an upstanding member of both the community and the church. But he discovered the intoxicating draw of alchemy one day when he was running errands in the city. He was drawn in by the intoxicatingly disgusting smell wafting from an alley. It was a mix of smoke and sulphur that lead him towards the lifeless body of an old man. He was about to call someone to help when he saw a book. He was inexplicably drawn to it, and opened it to reveal a book of alchemical recipes and secrets behind crystals. Adulthood: The day in the alley changed his life forever. He spent less time working for the church and progressively more time studying the book and finding his own alchemical solutions. The exposure to the fumes slowly bleached his hair, turning it almost white and giving him a grizzled voice that sounds almost intimidating. The church disagreed with what he was doing, but they allowed him to operate mostly because of the influence of his father. But that all changed when he pushed his luck a little too far. Special Moments: His interests turned to crystals as his studies continued. He is currently working on research that would allow him to imbue spells into a crystal to allow them to be used by anyone and reusable multiple times. He wanted to study the Sun Shard to see if it could get him any more information, but he was caught in the act. The church wanted to immediately execute him, but his father managed to negotiate a deal. They branded his face with the mark of a heretic and exiled him from his home for the rest of his life. Current Events: Since his banishment, Vamon has been struggling to find a place to settle down. He managed to stow away with a convoy making its way through the tunnels, but was discovered along the way. It turns out that sulphur has a very distinct smell, one that can often get you discovered in a sticky situation. Now he is left in Shezze with no idea where to go next. The only goal driving him is the pursuit of further knowledge, and the hope that one day he could finish his study on a Sun Shard. Extras Character Quote: “The Church doesn’t understand that the pursuit of knowledge is the only way to make progress.” Aura Color: A deep greenish yellow aura would suit Vamon best. Scent: A deeply ingrained smell of sulphur and dust lingers where he goes.
55,013	1,502	0	2,489	654	Trenton Baker There was a new moon over Melaron on this most auspicious of nights - dark storm clouds brewed on the horizong, near totally blocking out the light of the stars. So it was that the only light on the worn cobble road through the winding trees came from the dim lantern clutched in a skeletal hand by one of the party of four that walked on it. Trenton Baker, Captain of the dread ship The Hangman,, the Lord of Black Seas, Master of the Dead, was uneasy. A novel sensation, really - he hadn't been uneasy in decades, not since the first time he had sailed through the dark waters, back when he was still alive. He had thought that he was past fear - he had sailed waters unknown to mortal men, struck deals with demons and slaughtered mighty armies with a few waves of his hand. He was not afraid of this strange, dark forest; he was not afraid of the bizarre voice that had spoken to him in his dreams, bidding him come to this exact place on this exact night. But he was uneasy. And annoyed. Like a damn dog, the pirate thought to himself, Wagging my tail and coming when I'm called. Whatever was happening here, it had better have been worth the trip. The meeting spot was several miles from the coast, so he'd been forced to leave his ship docked in a cove, guarded by a literal skeleton crew while he went tramping off into the woods with his three favorite zombies. The immortal pirate had nothing but time, but even so he hated when his was wasted. At long last, he spied the cottage that the voice had told him about. It was hardly the most auspicious location for a man like him to be called to, being a dilapidated wreck that barely had four walls and a roof to its name. He stepped through the door, followed closely by the lurching corpses behind him. The inside of the building was totally bare, save for a few chairs and one table that still had three of its legs. Either whatever was supposed to happen hadn't yet, or some very unwise someone was trying to play Trenton for a fool. Trenton Baker, scourge of the seven seas, sat down and drummed his fingers on the table, humming a shanty to himself as he waited. He hated waiting.	Name: Trenton Baker Title: The Lord of Black Seas Three-word description: Mystical Necromancer Pirate. Trenton is a man of average height and muscular build, with the strong arms and weathered skin of an experienced seaman. At all times his eyes glow with a dull green light the color of sea-foam, an effect that becomes more pronounced when he uses his powers. He wears his matted black hair down on his shoulders, and no matter where he is or what he's doing, it is always damp with sea foam. His face wears a goatee and often a cocky grin or an outright snarl, and his body has only ever been witnessed wearing one thing - a tattered overcoat over a grey tunic and trousers, with a cutlass sheathed at his belt and all manner of belts slung around his waist. The air around him is heady with the stench of the sea - salt water and seaweed and dead fish and brine. There is no warmth in his flesh - his chest can never be seen to rise or fall with a breath, and where the beating of his heart should be there is only silence. Any mortal who looks upon him comprehends his nature almost immediately, instinctively. Trenton is not a corpse, but nor is he a living man; he is a man who stopped living one day without ever dying. Trenton has enormous power over souls - living, dead, and everything in between. He can call the souls of the living back into their bodies and force them to serve him, but this is no resurrection - this is undeath, because the existence of one soul is one of tortured unlife. He can feed on souls to sustain himself, and has to if he wants to make constant use of his powers. Most frighteningly, however, he is even able to rip particularly weak souls straight out of his victim's bodies, killing them instantly and binding them forever to his will. Oh, he's also an exceptional swordfighter and sailor, but that all seems a bit less important when you can create undead armies en masse whenever you want. Finally, he is capable of traveling very, very quickly wherever there is the ocean, for he is intimately familiar with the strange seas of the next world, and often dips in and out of them to speed his travel. Trenton's most prized possession is, of course, his ship - The Hangman. This massive warship is thoroughly haunted, crewed by spirits enslaved by its Captain and boasting a hold full of plunder from this world and the next, some of it living and screaming to be set free. She sails all across the outskirts of the world, for she is far faster than any natural ship and needs no wind to glide across the waters. The effects Trenton keeps on his person are more limited - his cutlass, an old blade forged in bygone times, bears a powerful enchantment - the power to rip the soul from any man slain by it. This is, of course, entirely superfluous, as Trenton is more than capable of doing so on his own, but he wields it anyway (mainly because he is fond of it). In his pocket he keeps a chunk of black obsidian about the size of a knife blade, which he categorically refuses to answer any questions about. There are many stories about what lays beyond the edge of the world. Some say that off the far corners of the map there is only an endless sea, a vast expanse of rolling waves that extends forever. Some speak of a strange land where the sun never rises, where the stars burn with green and black fire and the sea churns with all manner of serpents and stranger, fouler things. Still others claim that this is the land of the dead, where the souls of saint and sinner alike languish in eternity, staining the water like blood. The stories all agree about one thing, at least - only one man has ever sailed those waters and returned. His name has been lost to time, but every sailor in the world knows his tale by heart. He was a humble sailor, a deckhand who always did as he was told. His ship was off on an expedition of exploration, a noble quest to discover what lay beyond the western edges of the map; a fool's errand, of course. They sailed for months, through driving rain and baking sun alike. The crew all begged the captain to turn from this course, return home before they all starved, but he had gone mad with his hunger for glory, and could not be swayed. The crew began to talk of mutiny, but by then it was too late. The tales all differ as to what happened next - perhaps they found the edge of the world and sailed straight off it, or maybe a storm came upon them and blew them into the next world. Maybe they came upon some stranger passageway still. Whatever happened, the sailors had found what they sought, but it brought them no joy. Time left them; sanity left them. They might have drifted in those black seas for a hundred years or maybe just for a day - they breathed the air of this land, they counted its stars, they wept in fear of the things that swam in its waters. At long last the ship struck land - a towering mountain of black obsidian that stretched up to rend the heavens. It was here that the sailors heard the song of the next world, and it was here that they were unmade by it. All except one, that is. It is unknown if this sailor was an evil man before he touched the shores of the dead, or if the unholy powers that possessed him made him so - either way he had gone mad with hatred and cruelty, and refused to die. The vessel that had borne him to this place was unworthy of him, so he raised a mighty warship from the black seas and sailed away with a crew of dead men. It is said that he still haunts the seas of both worlds, preying on any vessel unlucky enough to run afoul of him, feasting on their souls and enslaving their corpses to become fuel for his dark desires. Or so the stories say. Trenton is more than a terrifyingly powerful necromancer and scourge of the seven seas; he's also a sneering, petulant jerk. He lives only for amusement and the fulfillment of his every whim, and will happily kill or enslave anyone who opposes him on any level (as well as a lot of people who don't). He is deeply sadistic and hedonistic, and enjoys tormenting people and keeping them as his 'playthings'. Easily bored, he'll almost always throw his toys out the second they stop amusing him; the plunder in his ship's hull exists only to please him, as he'd much sooner take what he wants than pay for it. Trenton, unlike many of his villainous contemporaries, has no delusions of eloquence. He is a coarse talker, a childish bully, and a generally wholly unpleasant man. He treats the lives of his minions, his slaves, and pretty much everyone as being wholly disposable, worth only what they can provide to him in the immediate short term. It is very difficult, if not impossible, to find anything to like about him whatsoever. The moon was full as the battle raged across the decks of the two ships that had pulled up alongside each other. One was a resplendent warship that bore the orange colors of the port city of Geldren; the other was ragged, and sailed under no banner. The night air rang with the sound of flying spells and crashing steel as the two forces engaged each other - one made of warm flesh and iron will, and the other of bone and meat and foul magic. Trenton Baker, Captain of The Hangman, kicked open the door to his quarters and strode out on the deck to see what all this commotion was about, his blade in one hand and a half-empty bottle of Melaronian wine that was, it had to be said, fairly disappointing. A sailor armed with a trident and undue bravery roared a war cry and charged the captain, aiming to run him through. Trenton tossed the bottle off the side of the ship and stuck his hand out, eyes pulsing green, and his attacker stopped in his tracks, twitching and sputtering at the mouth. A green mist leaked out of his eyes and floated towards the captain, who grinned as he inhaled the feeble soul. The man fell to the deck, convulsing, and a moment later was still. "Thought you could take me in the dead of night?" Trenton roared at nobody in particular. "I am the feckin' dead of night!" On his right a rotted zombie tackled a sailor and began to tear at his flesh, filling the sea air with screams. Trenton's eyes pulsed again as the corpse found the man's throat, and the mangled body rose a moment later, sword still clutched in its hand, and immediately rounded on its former allies. Trenton dove into the fray, hacking and slashing with his blade, cutting his enemies limb from limb and soul from body. The battle had been going poorly for the would-be heroes when it was just living against undead - with Trenton himself involved, it quickly turned into a slaughter. It wasn't long before those remaining alive threw their weapons on the deck, and Trenton ordered them all lined up on their knees. The pirate captain strode up and down the deck, reviewing each of his captives silently. A mass of dead flesh walled the men in on every side, all perfectly still, their dead eyes radiating with his power. At length, Trenton paused in front of one man, more of a boy, really, who was shaking and almost mewling in terror. "What's your name, lad?" He asked, bending over so his visage was a mere inch away from the boy's face. The youth recoiled and gagged with fright, bringing his hands over his eyes as though that would make the world go away. "I said," Trenton repeated slowly, "What's your name?!" He grabbed the boy by the collar and threw him to the deck, kicking wildly at his head in a sudden fury. "I asked you what your name was! Not gonna look at me, not gonna talk to me, huh? Gonna cut you up and feed you to your friends, snotty little..." His rant trailed off into indistinct yelling, the blows still raining on the lad's head and neck as he rolled and begged and tried to swap away the kicks, until at last he fell still. Trenton strode away, and the boy rose to his feet a moment later, stepping back to join the mass of the dead. "Where's your captain? I didn't already kill him, did I?" Trenton asked the captives, and with a quivering hand one of them pointed down the line. "H-he's over there, sir," the pointer said and Trenton strode in that direction, stopping only to shove over a random prisoner with his foot and let out a laugh as he did so. He stopped in front of the man who looked like the captain, a grizzled old seaman clad in an officer of Geldren's dress uniform. The pirate crouched down to look at him face to face, and to his credit the other man showed no signs of fear. "Hi," Trenton offered, and cocked his head as he stroked his prisoner's weathered cheek. "So. Who the shit are you?" "I am Captain John Feldrich of the Royal Geldren Navy-" was all the man got out before Trenton struck him across the chin, a sneer on his face. "Blah, blah, Captain Arsehole. Let me guess, sent to kill me by your king or your queen or some big shit because something that 'belonged' to them belongs to me now, yeah? Well," he spread his arms around the scene, "That didn't go too well, did it? Laugh with me!" Trenton tilted his head back and howled with a deep belly laugh, and around him dozens of dead jaws sagged open and emitted a groaning, clattering sound that was something like laughter. The prisoner's head stayed high. "I do not fear you, creature. I am an honest man and I say my prayers each night, and your unholiness holds no terror -" Trenton giggled at that, rising to his feet and patting the man on the head. "Oh, you're a fun one. I think I'll keep you," he announced as he turned his back on the prisoners. "Throw him in the brig with the others. Kill and eat the rest." The sound of screams and curses rose in the night air behind him as Trenton strode back to his quarters and slammed the door behind him.
55,014	1,502	1	2,487	9,775	♛ The Apotheosis of the Court ♛ Melaron. It was both a place of power as well as a beacon point of light, justice…and attraction for those of a darker allegiance. Yet the callings of forces greater than one’s own mortal coil and flesh beckoned those steeped into the shadows towards the city of radiance and light. It was there that these travelers would be blessed with an unholy moon to guide their way with pale light. Yes, that was the best word to describe this entire scenario. Unholy. For despite the evil that lay waste in these villain’s paths, all of them lay hallow in comparison to the words of the dark god that had summoned them here. Or so they were led to believe, but one dare not carry their pride and accomplishments lightly in the presence of Kil'threx. One such denizen who had been summoned forth from the slumber of inactivity walked into the mortal world once more via a portal of great power, accompanied by only another. Unlike some who had partaken in this pilgrimage, Aesir, the Apotheosis of the Court held no fear in his heart. He was much too old and devoted to other goals to let fear permeate his nature; no, instead a burning curiosity had guided his steps on this night. He had manifested not far from the cottage that was to be their destination and so immediately set forth in that direction. Upon his figure was the mask that solidified his existence as one of the Court’s. Whatever that actually meant. Nevertheless, there was no need to rush on this night of nights, the wind ensuring his path would not falter. No words were spoken to his most loyal subject for they shared a bond greater than that of love, loyalty, or devotion. Perhaps, in the end, it was merely a pawn walking with its master but that would not discourage Aesir from utilizing said pawn if need be. Musing once more on such thoughts, the armored man had at long last reached the cottage, only to notice a platoon of skeleton warriors already entering. Interest increasing, the masked man proceeded to walk through one of the cottage’s walls and into the establishment, phasing through like a phantom. Then he rested his back against the very same wall with crossed arms, features hidden and expressionless behind his mask. So then, he was not the first to arrive to their marked beginning? The masked man turned his face towards the pirate and said nothing, merely staring at him with his gaze. His servant could do as she wished for there was no more reason for her to be at his side. In any case, he could sense the approaching presences of more individuals, each of them headed for the very cottage he found himself residing in. To be called by the famed God of Evil? Well then, things were bound to be interesting. ,	♛ The Apotheosis of the Court ♛ "Do you have a premonition in you? Do you have a desire for war in you? That is the proof of those who will go on with me." ✧Name: Aesir. ✧Title: The The Apotheosis of the Court. ✧Description: Immortal World Conqueror. ✧Appearance: A man of great build who is almost never seen without his armor of war. Aesir chooses to style his hair into that of a single braid, weaving it in the distinct pattern of the great snakes and dragons of old. Rumor has it that he has done this in acknowledgement of the goddess Apophis. His armor takes on hues of red, black and orange while his eyes are a dull gray in coloration; whether this is a sign of age or magical influence, no one knows. Those that perhaps did are no longer among the living. Lastly, he wears a cape that parts into two down the middle, resembling more of a scarf than anything else. ✧Magic/Skills/Abilities: Despite trusting his blade above all else, Aesir still recognizes the usage of magic in this world. Apart from being a masterful swordsman, his focus in magic leans towards the defensive type, able to generate barriers of many kinds and specialties to both himself and his allies. Sometimes they can even be used to trap the enemy, utilizing one of those specialties mentioned such as causing the barrier to explode upon itself for example. Though Aesier’s most grandiose skill is not any sort of active ability, but rather lies passive. Aesir has obtained complete immortality in his mortal life and thus can never be truly killed; as such, the only method to defeat him is to seal his body and soul away. Or be some sick sadist and just keep killing him until one gets bored. ✧Inventory/Holdings: Aesir is usually never seen without his fully-adorned set of armor that does well in protecting him against not only physical attacks, but also magic as well, allowing him to focus all of his efforts through weaponry and brute strength. Furthermore, he possesses a pair of double-sided great swords named Omnia that can be split apart if needed. It is said that when these mighty weapons are swung, they are able to summon forth powerful creatures both wild and strange to assure Aesir of victory. Lastly, he holds a mask that does little in battle apart from protecting his face and adding some truth to his myth as the “Masked Berserker”. Contrary to popular belief, Aesir is not currently possessing the body of a servant; he is instead in full control of his original body through which his immortality keeps him sustained at the physical appearance of youth. His kingdom is said to be be coated in a field of concealment that only fools dare to uplift, his forces stretched far and wide within his land. Those under his rule consist of many non-human creatures and those who praise his name and the glory of war. Alongside his rule is his most trusted servant, the Chaos Angel known as Iona. His personal fortress, which lies in the heart of his kingdom, is said to be a mighty tower that reaches so high it scrapes away the boundary of the heavens and the mortal world below. A constant stream of energy is pulsed out of the tower and aimed upward. In this way, the kingdom is forever protected and concealed, though some hold question that the constant stream of power is perhaps Aesir's attempt to wage war with the divine. ✧Myth: Legends tell of a boy reared by man but cursed by the gods who would breathe among the living. A boy whose ambition and thirst for control and power were thought to be signs of ill omen from the divine. Yet man is blind and ignorant as time has proven again and again; before long, the boy was no longer a boy and his desire to conquer had been fully realized in the form of massive armies assembled to his beck and call. But all things born of this world are destined to end, faded to die, and soon enough, the man was brought before Death’s door. Yet in the twilight of his passing, a god, or a trickster, or a devil of a Court long since forgotten in time, offered unto him the powers with which to cheat Death. Driven by his consumption of power, the man soon took upon his newfound partner’s deal to which he was assured there would be no consequence. There is always a consequence however, be it manifested through physical, mental, or even spiritual means. The man, now dubbing himself as Aesir in mockery of the gods who failed to end his mortal life, became a being cursed to walk the earth, whose sole purpose was to cause conflict wherever he moved. Neither love nor forgiveness could save him. Now he bathes in the blood of his enemies alone, in a fortress and kingdom thought to be hidden away in a land that lives only in myth. Or so the stories go. Be it by fate or choice or chance, the Apotheosis of the Court was rustled from his state of dormancy by a being of bitter tidings. A servant of Kil'threx had approached the conquering king in his own throne room, promising a new purpose with the prospect of spreading war in the name of the dark god. With the taste of strife fresh upon his breath, the “Masked Berserker” set off once more to do his duty in causing chaos upon the land. ✧Personality: It is no secret that the man named Aesir has an intimate relationship with war and conflict. So much so that many wonder if he is perhaps driven by some goal or pursuit to justify his ways. Yet despite his thirst for battle and strife, there is an air of chivalry surrounding the man. He will not raise a weapon against those without arms; whether it is because he holds pity or sees staining his hand as a waste of time is unknown. Furthermore, Aesir has no qualms in either watching battle take place or directly joining the front lines himself as he acknowledges the need for both tactics in war. However, if he does take blade in hand, he will fight to the very last and treats every soldier like a son of his own. A father to his men on the battlefield and a king to his subjects in the throne room. “War never changes. You humans only think it changes merely because you witness something that forces your mind to reconsider the variables. To recount, to rethink, to do away with strategies and plans. War may have many faces, with new weapons and ever developing powers…but I assure you my friend. War never changes.” The patron of conflict and battle himself sat highly upon his throne while the world burned all around him. Literally. The latest army of adventurers had traversed through hell and back to make it this far. To that he had to commend them in their willingness to be slaughtered. A great battle had taken place here, ending in conclusion with the bombardment of his castle with spells meant to tear apart the very skies themselves. But here he still sat, unfazed and unconcerned, but no less proud that despite the eons passing by, mankind was still prevalent in their ability to enact war upon each other. “You’ve done well to reach my doorstep, but alas, like any pawn, you were destined to fall,” the immortal continued to monologue to the mound of charred corpses that lay beside his booted feet. “To think you’d sacrifice yourselves in the efforts of slaying Aesir of the Court among your own bodily shells….a bold move. But ultimately useless against me,” he said, rising from his now crumbling throne and walking among the living inferno that was his home. “Come Iona. We have much to do. The humans have made my blood boil with ecstasy by forcing me to make a new army. My favorite pastime,” he called out to the ruins of his fortress before melting away into the darkness and smoke. “Hmm…we’re going to need a new castle. Something resistant to fire this time,” he muttered to himself. ♛ Theme ♛
55,015	1,502	2	2,033	9,329	~The Faceless, Nyarlith~ Within the forest, off the beaten path close to the cabin, something stirred. It was subtle at first. A trick of the darkness for those with normal eyes. Then, silent whispers were heard, muttering impossible things to those who heard as a bell tolled somewhere in the distance. The whispers grew louder and louder with each toll of this unseen bell, threatening to deafen any mortal that would have been listening. And then silence. Two figures stood in the forest, appearing as if from nowhere right in front of the cottage's door. Both garbed in robes and a mask, all bodily features hidden by the darkness. One inhaled, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air, before turning its head upwards towards the sky. The situation seemed in total, quite surreal. Two figures appearing from nowhere in a dark forest. Someone could have very well thought this was a nightmare or dream had it not been for the fact this was all very, very, real. Wordlessly, the two entered the cabin, a feeling of slight unease washed over the purple robed being. It was Exciting. It was a rare thing when Khata Nyarlith was excited. Over their incredibly long life they had seen many things, communed with a number of great ones, discovered many things within the Unknown. Of course, no matter how deep they dug into the unknown beyond, there was always more. Another great one to find, commune with, and speak with. The same excitement filled the creature now, for they were about to commune directly with an ancient great one themselves. It was enough to make them absolutely joyous. If that expressionless, mask covered face could express emotion, it would be wearing the largest grin man had ever laid eyes on. "Ahhh, it seems we are not the first to arrive." Nyarlith commented joyfully as they entered the cottage noticing the two others, especially the one with the mask. The black, eyeless sockets in it gazing at the other masked individual for a few seconds, as if trying to discern something about it...before simply laughing and walking to the other side of the room followed by the second masked individual with it who glare at Aesir from beneath their mask, but said nothing and merely accompanied their master to the opposite wall. "How wonderful!" They spoke again, voice neutral and unable to tell the creatures gender from it alone. It turned to face those currently gathered in the room, likely would have been smiling beneath its mask had it the face to do such an action with. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance future comrades! Especially you, masked one! Such an exquisite, beautiful thing you are. Your eyes are so dull though, it makes me sick. Such a beautiful ornament is wasted on you." They chuckled, though what they could have been thinking beyond their words were nothing but a mystery. "But I digress! All of us have been beckoned by the Great One here for a reason, no? Ahh, I can see great things will be done in this room! The start of something wonderfully chaotic." The second masked individual simply remained quiet, observing the others in the room, masked features going from the pirate to the impertinent one with the mask. A sword was strapped to their belt, likely ready to be used at any moment. "Lord Nyarlith, please refrain from such antics. We can not trust any of these...insects." The voice, though muffled by the mask and spoke with obvious disdain, was clearly feminine. At this, the one named Nyarlith laughed, walking away from the center of the room and back towards the wall opposite of Aesir, falling silent as it observed the reactions the others would have to this.	Name: Khata Nyarlith Title: The Faceless One Three-word description: Arcane Nightmare Horror Appearance: When out among other gods, mortals, or anytime else she's basically not lounging in her abode, she...it, is dressed in luxurious purple robes, complete with long flowing and imposing cloak, claws metal gauntlets and a rather...odd mask covering his-hers-its, features. All of the equipment is summonable, meaning she can summon it from anywhere should she so desire. The robe itself is fairly durable, and acts as a fairly decent suit of leather armor to naturally deflect physical attacks. Of course, it has also been heavily enchanted and fortified. If one had the misfortune of removing the mask...well, all they would see is a gaping hole where its face should be. If, one were to pay her a little visit in her not so humble abode and bow to her, they would find a much less mysterious, and much more beautiful and alluring creature. Standing roughly at five foot eight with pale skin, bright golden colored eyes dressed in fine silk clothing with pure white hair tied up, and wearing some fairly revealing clothing. She is often seen smiling, an uneasy sometimes 'unhinged' grin, one might say. Of course, this appearance is simply a magically kept facade. Her true form is...something much more terrifying. This horrific fleshy mass is...well, exactly what someone's nightmares are made out of. Cold, clammy, and somewhat slimy to the touch its not something anyone wants to meet in a dark alleyway. It stands at eight feet tall, and lacks any sort of facial features. Only a giant gaping mouth, twisted sideways where a face should be. Three strong looking arms protrude from its body, with obvious muscle one might expect from something other than a mage. Powerful legs hold it upright, ready to carry the creature with the same musculature as its legs. Several tentacles writhe and protrude from the creatures body, ready to be used as weapons for both offense and defense. Magic/Skills/Abilities: As far as skills go, Khata is what some might say, a complete master of the arcane. She has a incredible advance understanding of magic in general, which she uses to create horrific arcane creatures. Her most powerful skill, however, is the ability to summon various abominations from some unknown plane. Contact with these beings have slightly eroded her sanity over the years, but she cares not. all is for the sake of knowledge and magic...and power. Of course, summoning such creatures are somewhat difficult to do in battles, though the effect they have and the sheer potential for destruction they can cause is greatly worth it. However, such things won't help her if she's being attacked at close range. She can beckon these entities into a sort of half-existence, letting them dwell within her body and granting her a variety of effects and most importantly, physical boons and physical alterations. Aside from this, she also has various spells at her disposal that involve simply destroying things with the power of the stars and heavens. her most unique ability, however, is the ability to speak to mortals within their dreams. Such dreams, are often horrific nightmarish things, often ending with the victim being devoured by some abomination. Such people, are usually eventually driven mad and are either killed, or flee and search for her tower... Inventory/Holdings: Inventory: Enchanted Robes, to bind the flesh to a mortal form A Staff Spear, to rend flesh of foes and commune with greater powers A mask to conceal the face, to hide the true nature of things Black stones, ascending to the heavens to beckon otherworldly creatures The robes themselves are something summonable. They are enchanted to withstand physical blows, magic of all kinds, and extreme temperatures and environments. Aside from that, they are nothing special and function as typical robes do. Additionally, at her side and also summonable, is a spear designed to also function as a channel for magic. It does both jobs equally well, and while she's not as trained as some purely physical fighter would be, they would find themselves likely surprised by her skill with it to start with. And lastly, is her mask. It has the power to hide or reveal otherworldly things. Tower of Nyarlith The massive, sprawling black tower of Nyarlith is something of a legend among those who study the arcane. It is located not in this physical plane, but rather it has been summarily removed from this plane of existence thanks to pacts struck with eldritch beings. It was once located in what is today a vast desert, with nothing but sands and ruins as far as the eye can see. The desert was once home to a thriving civilization, but it has long sense fallen. Where the tower once stood, is nothing but a massive hole filled with water, where an eldritch guardian sleeps and watches over the seal that keeps the tower concealed from this reality. The hole, is said to be where the base of the tower once stood. Around it are the ruins of the city that have fallen into disrepair, and some have even sunken into the massive basin of water. Indoctrinated, Abominations, and the Enlightened What does Khata enjoy more than anything else? Dominating others, and her precious little slaves who have lost all form of what one might call 'free will'. They have been broken mentally, but their physical abilities are kept intact for obvious reasons. Surprisingly, slaves are treated well as long as they of course, behave. They make up the main cannon fodder of her forces within the tower, catering to her every whim and fighting for her on the front lines as slave warriors. Often times, their equipment is pretty heavily enchanted with magic, and some make use of magic themselves. Additionally, eldritch abominations which stalk the hallways and are always in the process of being made. These mindless creatures have no mind, and only serve to serve their masters. Mindless beasts, with no way to really control them. Set them loose upon enemy ranks, and watch the chaos unfold. The faithful, are the few insane humans who make their way to the tower after being affected by her dreams. They for the most part, are normal humans who have taken up tutelage under her. Masters of the arcane and summoning eldritch beings and contacting them for boons. Myth: Once, in the Vastness of the now desolate Great Desert, there existed a kingdom by the name of Azair. It was a prosperous, powerful kingdom that had been around for ages and had no equal in power. It was unified, a veritable utopia of wealth, civil stability and culture. Wars were said to have been a distant thing of the past, and power struggles were nonexistent for these people. Many people came to this utopia, lived there, and built lives. Of course, Utopias aren't exactly a realistic thing, and there is no such thing as a civilization without conflict... The high priest of Azair used to be a friendly, kinder, older human. However, they had a fascination with things of the arcane nature that would eventually be his downfall. She skirted too close to the truth. Came into contact with eldritch beings who showed him visions of what the future might hold for him and the kingdom. War. Famine. Destruction. POWER. All he had to do...was let the creature in. Let it in his head. So he did. What happens next should be of no mystery. The old priest was devoured by his desire for arcane knowledge, drove him insane. Power hungry. Eventually, this led him to wrenching power from the king, constructing the Tower of Nyarlith out of the finest obsidian stone that could be mined. After that...he sentenced everyone to death, letting eldritch creatures roam the streets and have their way with the humans in return for locking away the tower in another plane of existence. Of course, that's all history. Slightly embellished, or so the story goes. What is the actual truth of it? No one knows. For centuries, the tower had been dormant. Hiding away in its sealed off realm where its owner indulged their magic curiosities, eventually transforming even their own body into something horrific and inhuman. And then, came Kil'threx, speaking to them in a dream. An eldritch creature had a task for them. And they would agree wholeheartedly for a chance to serve a higher calling. Creating a portal between the realm of the waking, and the realm of the Nightmare Tower, she set foot on the world once again in such, a long, long time. Personality: Really...not all there in the head. Talks to herself, makes odd comments, and otherwise is just generally unhinged. She takes great pride in her abilities, and loves showing people just how destructive and awe inspiring they can be. She has an insatiable lust for knowledge, magic trinkets, and loves them to no end, actively seeking them out and will always accept items of a magical nature as payment for services rendered. That said, she treats her slaves and subjects rather well as mentioned previously. She subscribes that a loyal slave who loves you, will always be more effective than a fearful slave that is similar to a feral dog. She'll even go out of her way to save slave units and soldiers, should she have too. Of course, disobedience and failure is dealt with harshly...but punishment is always acceptable when a slave has failed their duties. Oh, and well, remember she's a complete sadist and often goes out of her way to inflict pain and suffering upon others that aren't her loyal slaves, faithful, or abominations. Sample post (put this in a hider please): "How lovely of you all to join us!" The voice cackled as the doors to the tower opened, a clock chiming somewhere above. "Wohoho, how lovely indeed! Majestic even! Welcome to my humble abode, little adventurers! I'm curious as to how you lovely little things found all of your way here! Entertain my curiosity some, maybe? Please? It's been oh so very long since I saw the outside world, being all trapped here in my castle~" The pale woman upon the throne giggled in an unsettling fashion. "Do not listen to the creatures words or be...seduced by its form! That is what we are here to kill!" The white clad paladin drew his sword, the doors to the throne room slamming shut behind him. "It's not even a woman!" The other party of adventurers drew their weapons. One with a rather nasty looking axe, dressed in some black robes. Another with a large hammer engraved with various holy symbols. Khata simply laughed from her throne. "Majestic! Heroes are heroes, even in a dream!" her smile turned into an unsettling grin as she looked down upon the adventurers in her throne room. And then she was in front of the Paladin. "Calling me an it...how rude. Typical hero! And here I am a damsel in distress, locked away in a tower. Are these not 'real' enough for you? Is that it?~" She said, pressing her chest against the paladins armor. The holy warrior reacted almost instinctively, aiming a sword right for the creatures heart...or where it was supposed to be. The blade pierced the creatures soft flesh, but instead of hitting the creatures heart and incapacitating it, she seemed wholly unaffected by it. There was a sickening crunch as the paladins armor was pierced instead. The creatures arm had turned into a a mass of writhing tentacles that slowly enveloped the paladin, crushing his bones and slipping into the cracks through his armor. The other two shook off their shock quickly enough, and proceeded to counter attack, trying to save their companion. The axe was brought down in an attempt to strike her head. The hammer attacked her from the side, in an attempt to prevent her from running. However, she dropped the paladin...and was suddenly ten feet away back in front of her throne. The heroes looked absolutely confused. "Ah, ah, so adorable. So adorable! You funny little humans, so adorable! Saving him, when you should be saving yourselves! Surprised? This is my tower! You think you can defeat me here? My gods won't let me die so easily, ahahaha~ Lemme show you again." Suddenly, she was once again in front of the heroes in the blink of an eye...with her spear slammed right into his heart. She swung the spear around, slamming it into the remaining hero. "Hehe...one left. I wonder...how much fun I can have with you?~" Night falls on the sands, Starlight beckoning towards Nyarlith. It is said the sands were once more hospitable, but after the fall of Azair the water in the desert dried up, filling a giant pool in the center of the once great metropolis where the Palace of the old King once stood. The dried earth split, great fissures forming leading to the depths of the earth... Existing on the southern edge of the continent, The Drazir wastes are, well, as one might expect from the name; A vast, endless ocean of sand, ancient stone ruins and fissures that lead far into the earth, swallowing travelers who lose their footing close to their edge. The desert is incredibly hot, the harsh sun beating down upon the sands making it reach temperatures that would make most men stay as far away as possible throughout the day. The clear, cloudless skies don't help, letting the sun fall unfiltered through. One should keep in mind, the desert is not lifeless during the day. A variety of beasts roam the sands that call the place home, waiting to prey upon those who would brave the desert. They tend to take refuge within desert ruins or the sandy caves that have been carved into the walls of the crags that litter the region. Some of these beasts, are some of the horrid experiments that have found their way out of Nyarlith, and should not be taken lightly. However, at night the desert takes a much more...peaceful looking form. It cools to a much more reasonable temperature, the large moon illuminating the desert in its pale light. Starlight shines from above, twinkling like little gems embedded in the sky. It is probably the time someone would wish to travel through the desert as the cooler temperatures make it much more tolerable to travel through. However, some nocturnal creatures come out at night, beckoned by the moonlight. It is by no means completely safer to travel. The various ruins that dot the sands, are always of interest to scholars and wizards, hoping to stumble upon some artifact of great power. A way to commune with the same gods that the old kingdom Azair possibly had contact with before their fall. One should be careful though, quite a few of Nyarlith's faithful call these ruins home. Stumbling upon them will often not go well for the unprepared... A few sparse oasis exist through the region which are safe enough, but for the most part it is completely devoid of flowing water, save for underground springs. The gates of Azair still stand watch over the ancient city, time only adding to their wondrous splendor and beckoning the curious inwards with promise of treasure and knowledge. Some say on the night of the Pale Moon, you can still hear the frantic calls of the citizens, pleading for their gods to same them from the monstrosities that were unleashed upon them. The ruins of the once great civilization still stand to this day, a defiant opponent to both sands and time. The ancient monolithic stone walls of the city have eroded with time, but not faltered in their tasks of keeping out sands and invaders. The city itself is a surprisingly...green place. An ancient waterway runs from under the central gate into the giant pool in the center of town where the Palace once stood. Plants seem to have flocked to this source of water, and have taken root within the city. The ruins themselves hold many magical and arcane secrets, should one be brave enough to find and brave them. And of course, make it past the plethora of creatures living here. Most, are discarded remnants from Nyarlith. Failed experiments, guards, or even some indoctrinated humans seeking for a way to enter the tower. All manner of obscene, abhorrent experiments that only one as mad as Nyarlith could come up with take place within its halls. Many a foolish wizard seek the tower and the ruined land of Azair, if only for some insight into the arcane mastery of the realms master. The master is a fickle thing, and if you entertain them you may be granted a boon of insight. People who manage to leave the tower, often go on to become powerful wizards until the end of their life draws near, and they are beckoned to return to Nyarlith. Erected so long again, the tower has remained in pristine condition thanks to otherworldly influences and magic. It currently exists on an otherworldly plane, in a realm caught eternally between sunrise and sunset, with the sun setting in the east, and the moon rising in the west. Clouds fill the sky, moving at an unnaturally swift rate as an unseen wind carries them to their destination. In this realm, the tower does not exist in a sea of sand as one might expect...but an actual sea. It stretches as far as the eye can see. An endless abyss, where all manner of eldritch creatures have taken refuge and live. The tower extends far into the heavens, all the way past the swift moving clouds above, and into a cool crisp night air where the silver, pale moon shines brightly and illuminates the roof of the tower, where all manner of obscene rituals take place under the amused gaze of Nyarlith. The only way into the tower is to beckon the Blood Moon, and step through the revealed portal that has been revealed. Pray the guardian doesn't awaken, however. It is a ravenous beast, that will let no trespassers through without its masters permission. The contents of the tower are vast and seemingly endless. Indeed, the tower almost seems to be bigger on the inside at times. A few notable locations within: -The Study Halls located on the upper floors, where scholarly pursuits are shared between the Enlightened -The Archives, located at the second highest place in the tower where all manner of magical tomes and research documents are kept -The Labs situated in the middle, where magical experiments are conducted. -The Communal room, located just below the archives, where one can attempt to commune with the elder gods. -The Lower halls, where abominations and experiments lurk. -Above the lower halls, are where the Indoctrinated rest. -The Beckoning platform, where rituals to beckon the gods to this realm are performed. -The throne Room, where Nyarlith grants audience to those who wish it. -Many, many, more unnamed rooms exist, their purposes many. The indoctrinated of Nyarlith have lost all sense of free will, unable to disobey orders from the creature that calls themselves their master. To be certain, they retain their desires, wants, former personalities from before but they can not do anything against the will of Nyarlith. I had the...opportunity to meet one once. I expected a mindless husk, but was surprised. They appear just as you or I. Completely normal. I wouldn't have even known, had they not told me. Its frightening. It makes you wonder just how many have been lost to that creatures influence and we have no way of telling. Slaves, or the 'Indoctrinated' as some call them, make up most of the population within and outside Nyarlith. Those who have had their minds dominated by Nyarlith and have lost all sense of what one might call 'free will'. Not that many would ever wish to do anything other than what their master tells them too. Such thoughts have all been wiped from their minds. These creatures come from all number of races that have existed. They are fairly easy to tell, as most will be dressed in simple robes or armor, depending on their own chosen specialty. They are as numerous as stars in the sky, and it is difficult to gauge the actual number of them. They are currently led by a general, a powerful man who was once a part of a group of paladins that sought to bring an end to Nyarlith, but who was instead given insight into the arcane knowledge, who then pledged loyalty to the creature. Those outside the tower, carry out special tasks. Reconnaissance, bring back information about the state of the world, bring back useful materials for experiments, etc. Those inside the tower, often cater to the wants and desires of their master. It is no secret they take great pleasure in indulging in mortal sins with their indoctrinated or Enlightened. The lower halls of Nyarlith are home to all manner of creatures. Experiments conducted by Nyarlith in order to achieve some greater purpose...or simply to sate the creatures sadistic pleasures. The experiments conducted at Nyarlith produce all kinds of abominations and creatures. There is no set explanation or classification for these monstrosities. Most cannot be controlled, tamed,or spoken too, even their masters have trouble with it. Most are kept within the lowest parts of the tower as insurance and guards. Some though, manage to slip through the veil and into the desert. Most, used to be human of some sort. Some though, appear to be chimeras. Animals fused with other things, most often things that seem to come from beyond the veil or other aquatic creatures. Slugs, octopi, fish, etc. Not all who seek Nyarlith are those indoctrinated. Not all of them are mages either. Simply someone the creature has taken an interest in, and have given them a choice. Come to Nyarlith and gain their own insight into the world without his aid, or go on living as ignorant, sightless beings. Those who accept, are whisked away to the tower where they may commune with the great ones themselves, find their own path of Enlightenment. Differing from the Indoctrinated, since they still retain all forms of free will, thought, and in fact, some in the past have actively worked against Nyarlith at times. They are easy to recognize, all wear masks similar to Nyarlith in reverence to the one who granted them such insight into otherworldly knowledge. Not all of them are mages, in fact some do not have the ability to cast magic at all. Some are simply special warriors or those born with a natural talent for seeing things. These Enlightened few, make up the higher ranks of Nyarlith's people. Whereas the indoctrinated are simple servants, guards, keepers, and general soldiers, the Enlightened are able to conduct their own experiments and travel between the tower and the waking realm. They are often the leaders, generals, and otherwise those of power within the tower. Dreams. All men have them, but few are able to master and understand what they truly are. Dreams are a time when human minds are open to the most insight. Able to hear the eldritch mutterings of those greater than them. Dreams, is an Area Nyarlith is quite well acquainted with. Often times, they will find a mortal they've taken an interest in and show them a nightmare. Such nightmares often will end with those afflicted seeking the tower and her. Depending on how they handled the nightmares and how much of the eldritch things they can see, they will either be turned into one of the Enlightened or one of the Indoctrinated. One of her lesser known abilities, however, is the ability to create peaceful seeming, lucid dreams for a few. A rarely used skill, but it allows communication, sharing of ideas and for him to see into a persons psyche. Often times, their form in this dream is vastly different than what the legends and myths state. Most often, the dreams take place under the bright light of the moon on a balcony, overlooking the sea.
55,016	1,502	3	2,778	353	Whisper and Shadow What struck Vortigern most was the cold. Not the chill in the air, as he was well beyond worrying about such things, but rather that cold shadow that hung on the edges of his magical senses, sharply honed even before his transcendence, like the frost on a once-fresh corpse left out in winter. He did not need to guess at the origin. Vortigern gathered his power about himself. To those with power, pale light clung to his person, waving and flickering about like a flame. The grass crunched under his boots. There would be no sneaking tonight. While the specifics were unknown to him, there could be only one reason Kil'Threx would speak with him. It may have been couched in pretty words, but the truth of the matter was that his future held servitude. He had made his peace with it. As he opened the door, he briefly wondered if anyone would recognise his robes. The Order of the Stars had changed their sense of fashion a few times over the past eight centuries, but it might still be recognized. It could make for amusing conversation as we await our benefactor. The door opened with a creek, a testament to the cottage's age. He stepped in to find it already occupied in part. Some manner of fel magic clung to each of those already assembled. Nodding to each in turn, Vortigern made his way to the ta le. And took his seat wordlessly.	Name: Vortigern Titles: He of Whisper and Shadow The Spiritbinder Grand Magus (honorary, “postmortem”) Three-word description: Dark Magic Spymaster Appearance: He of Whisper and Shadow, contrary to what most of those who truly know of his existence believe, is not a formless spirit, jumping from one host body to the next. Vortigern, in fact, does possess a body. As a matter of fact, aside from its remarkably pale skin, Vortigern’s body is in good shape. Its eyes are dark, its hair is long and healthy, and its skin is actually quite smooth. To the more magically sensitive, he would appear surrounded by a thick pale mist. This is part of Vortigern’s true essence, which has transcended his mortal flesh, but still animates it. On those rare occasions where Vortigern chooses to go out, he usually wears an old set of robes, well-maintained from his magic, of a style used by the Order of the Stars about a thousand years ago. They are largely black, but trimmed and patterned with gold thread, and belted with leather and steel. His hands and feet are covered by thick leather boots, dyed black. The palms of each glove are adorned with heavily stylized circles. He wears a hood and cowl, styled in the same vein as his robes, which obscures his face and hides his hair. In addition, he wears a similarly styled cloak for more decorative purposes. Magic/Skills/Abilities: Active Spellcasting: While never his specialty, Vortigern knows how to invoke more direct methods of using magic to inflict harm: fire, lighting, ice, kinetic force, clouds of toxic gas, and so on. Illusionary Design: Technically a form of Active Spellcasting, but different in function than the rest. Vortigern can bend light to create false images, and distort the air to create false sounds and scents. Summoning: Easily Vortigern’s greatest ability is to call upon spirits already in his service. Calling them requires very little effort, considering they are already bound to him, and is facilitated by the stylized circles inscribed into his gloves. In a fight, all but the weakest of the spirits under his command can disorient his opponents, and the strongest are capable of inflicting some serious mental harm. He prefers to use spirits over fighting directly. Spirit Assault: How Vortigern prefers to go about fighting enemies directly. Using his knowledge of the human spirit and mind, he can seriously curtail a person’s ability to use their body. When attempted at a distance, this cannot be directed at a specific individual, and results in moderate sluggishness at worst. Direct physical contact allows for attacks that are far more devastating, including up to total paralysis and unconsciousness. To affect internal organs Vortigern must physically strike a part of the body that lines up with that organ—for example, to stop the heart Vortigern must strike in the middle of the chest. If a person survives being attacked in this method, they will recover from these attacks fully with sufficient time. Domination: A specific technique related to spirit assault, Vortigern is able to twist a person’s body and mind to serve him. An unwilling subject is hollowed out entirely, rendered nothing more than an obedient husk. A complacent—willing or unconscious—subject retains their mental faculties and personality, but is unable to disobey Vortigern’s commands. Vortigern receives willing subjects either through coercion or through his cult (more on that in a bit). Vortigern can employ this technique to alter the mind and memory of a person who hasn’t been hollowed out. Transcendence: Approximately eight hundred fifty years ago, Vortigern performed a ritual that altered the nature of his spirit, becoming He of Whisper and Shadow. As a result, his body does not physically age, and nothing short of total destruction will break his spirit’s connection to it. Even still, it is more likely that he will become a powerful spirit after that occurs, like those he controls now but far greater in scope, than it is that he will pass on. Inventory/Holdings: Objects: The Staff of the Spiritbinder. Vortigern’s staff from before he became He of Whisper and Shadow. It is a long piece of an uncertain dark wood, crowned by a crow perched inside of a circle. As per instructions he gave to close associates before his transcendence, it was buried on the grounds of the Order of the Stars eight hundred fifty years ago. Some fifty years ago, it was disturbed and dug up. The leader of the Order took to using it as a symbol of his office. When Vortigern learned of this, he snuck in to the transgressor’s bedchambers, turned the man into a drooling husk in his sleep, and took a number of magical artifacts, including the staff. The staff serves as a means to amplify his control over spirits, but the main reason he created was to serve a function during his transcendence. Alkor’s Amulet. An amulet created by Alkor the Spellweaver, a founding member of the Order of the Stars, which Vortigern stole while retrieving his staff. It’s consists only of a sphere of brass threaded on a course string. The amulet amplifies the wearer’s magical ability. Darkblood. A ceremonial dagger of unknown origin, which Vortigern stole while retrieving his staff. Its blade is an unknown black metal, and its hilt, handle, and pommel are made of gold. Purportedly, it alerts the bearer to the presence of demons, but precisely how has been forgotten. It is kept in an unadorned leather scabbard. Followers: Spirits. Vortigern has bound a veritable army of spirits into his service. The vast majorities of these are not particularly strong, but are eminently useful for matters of morale. A weak spirit can slip into an enemy encampment, and make all sorts of merry hell to ruin someone’s day—spoiling food, causing nightmares, whispering something in someone else’s voice to start a fight, and so on. Some of the more powerful spirits can whisper dark secrets into a sleeping person’s ear to drive them mad, or false secrets to cause mistakes, or even get a person to divulge their own secrets in their sleep. Some of the stronger spirits are capable of actually fighting, undergoing ethereal manifestation to fight someone as a gfigure identical to a risen ghost. All sorts of spirits are ideal scouts, being invisible. Spirits also serve as capable messengers. Whispers. About three centuries ago, Vortigern used a handful of individuals he had coerced into letting him Dominate them to found a cult in his honor. Its membership includes every person to join the eight-person High Council that has governed the Republic of the Carnelian Coast for the past eight hundred fifty years, as well as several key figures of governance and trade throughout the Republic. In addition to the more mundane options of having the Republic declare war wherever he wishes—a gross misuse of it as a resource—he can alter the flow of goods as he, and has access to what passes for the Carnelian espionage network. His cult also acts, in part, as his own intelligence network, giving him eyes and ears in places that the Carnelian Coast cannot reach. Shadows. An loose organization of assassins, thieves, and spies. Spread throughout the land, they provide information and blood to the highest bidder—but only if it is in Vortigern’s interest. Vortigern founded it personally three hundred years ago, and it is run through Vortigern has Dominated, who he taught to summon spirits He bound to himself, through which the servant communicates with their proxies, who distribute orders. Members of the Whispers are not permitted entry. All information its spies gather is recorded, and sometimes Vortigern will send them out on a personal mission (and simultaneously several dummy missions) of different types to achieve a personally desired end. Personal Army. To top it all off, Vortigern has a vast number of trained soldiers under his employ. They man his hidden fortress (more on that in a second), and are led directly by officers who have willingly submitted to Domination. The only soldiers permitted to interact with Vortigern, namely as his personal guard must first willingly submit to Domination. Holdings: Mountain Fortress-Complex. Starting from the long-defunct gem-mines for which the Carnelian Coast was named for long ago, Vortigern has developed massive fortress under the earth, hidden from view. Going down several stories, manned by Vortigern’s personal army, this serves as the nerve center for all of his operations. Myth: There are many tales the destitute of the Carnelian Coast tell themselves. For the pleasure of scaring each other at night. To explain the world to themselves. And, sometimes, just for its own sake. One of these stories is of a young mage named Vortigern. Vortigern was the youngest son of Vallirand, then the most powerful and influential merchant of the Carnelian Coast. To oppose him, and take his profits for themselves, a cadre of individually lesser merchants banded together to found the Carnelian Consortium, a body of dozens of merchants that banded together to regulate trade on the Coast—being one of the most prominent centers of trade in the known world. Vallirand was not permitted entry. Vortigern had no care for business, only for his studies, and one day moving west and joining the Order of Stars. But as his father’s business was undercut by the Consortium, so was the funding for Vortigern’s endeavors. And so, Vortigern had an idea: populism. If enough of the people of the Carnelian Coast could be rallied against the Consortium, and be convinced to not do business with the it, then it was guaranteed to collapse. So Vallirand and all of Vortigern’s brothers and uncles and cousins traveled the length of the Carnelian Coast, saying that the Consortium was taking away the power of individuals and states to do business as they pleased. There was a furor, and Vortigern’s plan almost succeeded, but for a brilliant response from the Consortium: the founding of a republic in the Carnelian Coast. Many of the people of the Coast were swayed, but many were not, and it looked like the region was to tear itself apart. And that was bad for business. Vallirand was admitted to the Consortium, and took up the cause of the Republic. Now there was only the matter of the extant states of the region. All were city-states, and most armed only militias and city guards, which had now, effectively, defected. There were a few holdouts, but they surrendered quickly. One unfortunate casualty of the fighting, however, was Vortigern’s eldest brother, the only of his siblings he cared for, and the heir to Vallirand’s many enterprises. When all was done, the Consortium sat down to do business in their new capital, and one quarter of them promptly keeled over. This number was Vallirand, and all of his supporters. Only some of the deaths were due to means one could call assassination, not including Vallirand’s, but it was plain to see what had happened. But instead of marshalling their resources to oppose the monstrous injustice done against them, all of Vortigern’s brothers and cousins and uncles squabbled over who got what of their late kinsman’s bounty. All the family was gathered for this in a lavish palace-home than Vallirand had owned. It caught fire. When the fire had been put out, it was discovered that the body-count was one short, and the vast fortune that Vallirand had kept there was gone. The only member of the family who could have escaped the fire and spirited away the wealth was the one mage: Vortigern. And there was no trace of him. Those living who knew the family said that Vortigern had no interest in business, and so it was concluded that he had taken what was technically his inheritance and gone to join the Order of Stars. Many were sad to see the wealth go—they had hoped to poach it from Vallirand’s successors—but they at least had his many enterprises to divide amongst themselves. While it is true that Vortigern had no interest in business, he had every interest in revenge. In addition to escaping the blaze with his father’s fortune, he had used his magic to set the fire, and ensure that his family could not escape. He saw his family’s actions after Vallirand’s death as a betrayal of his father, and so he punished them. However, he was not, on his own, even with his magic and the wealth and resources of his father, a match for the remainder of the Consortium. So he left the Carnelian Coast, swearing there, in the darkness of that night, to return. He journeyed west, as all had suspected, and became an apprentice to a member of the Order of the Stars. Vortigern proved to be an exceptional pupil, and was promoted to a full membership To this day, the name of Vortigern is still spoken, lauded for the advances made by his study of spirits leagues beyond what any one person was believed to be capable of accomplishing. For most, all of this achievement would have made life satisfying. And it might have done so for Vortigern as well, had his father not been betrayed. His anger remained, and his rage festered like an open wound. It was not enough. He grew ever more detached from his friends and associates, eventually shutting them out entirely. One day, he vanished, never to return. Some years after, the members of the Carnelian Consortium—which had been integrated into the leadership of the Republic of the Carnelian Coast—began to disappear as well. It began with the oldest members, who had been alive during the founding of the Republic, but once they were gone no person was safe. Soon, people were refusing appointments to the Consortium’s leadership, then the entirety of the Consortium. Then people began quitting their posts. Understaffed and overloaded, the Consortium collapsed, and nearly brought the Republic with it. Once the Consortium was gone, efforts of the Carnelian government ceased. Still, Vortigern was not satisfied. Wells were poisoned. Fortunes were stolen. Mansions burned. One-by-one, the entirety of the merchant class of the Carnelian Coast was unmade. Few died. Most were left to suffer. As the region had always been a center of trade, the economic collapse of the Carnelian Coast rippled throughout the known world, causing the first great economic disaster in recorded history: the Carnelian Collapse. It was clear that it had been precipitated by some driving will, so efforts were made to find and eliminate it. It was a party of two that eventually found Vortigern: a great warrior, and a powerful mage. They battled. In the end, Vortigern cast them out of his domain, but was gravely wounded in the process. But he did not die. To this very day, he lurks up and down the coast, growing in power, his hunger for revenge unsated. He prepares to lash out against the very world, and tear it asunder. There have been many great mages to pass in and out of the world. Most of them are known only to those mages who come after them. Being scholars by nature, those heirs remember them well—assuming the memories were true to begin with. This is the story, according to the Order of the Stars, of one mage who held some renown in his day, and for a short while after his untimely demise: Vortigern the Spiritbinder. One day, some ninehundred years ago, in the pale light before dawn, a young man came to the city of Melaron driving a cart covered with thick, course cloth. When he came up to the gates, the posted guards asked him what was in the cart. ”My inheritance” This was Vortigern. They lifted the canvas covering the cart to find something they had not been expecting: gold and jewels. Vortigern had such a mass of wealth with him that the guards were utterly stunned. Had he arrived at any other time of day, when the entry to the city was thronged with merchants, farmers, pilgrims, and so forth, much of the fortune would have been lost to thieves before he could get inside the city gates. As it stood, he only lost two jewels and to pouches of coins, as gifts to the guards on duty to pre-emptively thank them for not spreading any rumors. Vortigern made his way through the city and to hi8s destination: the Order of Stars. Some small handful of mages there were awake, and he was asked his business there. ”To join you.” Naturally, his ability needed to be tested, and that done the matter of purchasing supplies—both for magic and general living. He proved more than able enough to become the apprentice of one of the Order’s members, and his vast fortune covered any expense he faced. Ultimately, he was taken under the wing of one Calor Talloman, a mage of no especial ability for a member of the Order, but a skilled teacher. Vortigern thrived under his tutelage. Over the next fiveyears, he fostered a friendship with the apprentice of one of Calor’s associates, one Crutius Vallorn. Crutius would prove to be Vortigern’s dearest friend. Vortigern was hesitant to speak of his past, but opened up to these two. He told them of his father’s war, of his father’s murder, and of his family’s death. ”They were just… they wouldn’t stop fighting. Someone had just murdered my father, and they were arguing over money! I was so, so angry. And I hadn’t been trained yet, not yet—books don’t really count. I wouldn’t have chosen to do it, but I don’t miss them.” Vortigern had, in a fit of rage, accidentally set fire to his family’s large home. He managed to escape. When the flames had died down, he snuck back in and spirited his father’s wealth out of the city before his father’s rivals could get their hands on it. Crutius would comment, years after Vortigern’s death, that he had struggled with anger over his father’s betrayal all of his life. Those years spent, Vortigern found himself elevated from his apprenticeship. In truth, this came to pass sooner than was ordinary, but ability was of greater concern than age, and he was not so young as to raise eyebrows. With his apprenticeship complete, Vortigern chose to study spirits, a subject of stark difference from his former master, and of deep concern to the Order. While the subject was not itself anathema, many people—mages included—connected it to necromancy. Their concerns, however, were unfounded. Some considerable oversight, to which Vortigern consented, showed that he did not stray towards the souls of the dead. If anything, the reports that were compiled showed that Vortigern actively disdained those practices. After about a decade, he had gained notoriety within the Order. He knew more about the ways of spirits than anyone, and had been able to refine his methods somewhat since the day he banished the spirit summoning the horde. Offers of funding arose and steadily increased—wholly unnecessary, as his inheritance was still plentiful, but still appreciated. By all accounts, time was a far less plentiful resource. As such, why exactly he chose this point to take on an apprentice is unclear. Maybe he thought they would be a useful assistant with his research, or perhaps he was feeling the pangs of his mortality and wanted some piece of himself to live on. Perhaps it was something else. Whatever was the case, he found an apprentice in an applicant by the name of Saida, a young elven girl who had recently been orphaned. Precisely what made her an orphan is in no surviving record. Saida was Vortigern’s apprentice for eight years—slightly longer than normal—and remained involved in his work for seven years afterwards. During this time, Vortigern revolutionized how mages work with spirits. He rewrote how mages classify spirits, pinpointed the attributes that cause demonic manifestation—the ability of demons to create a physical body when summoned, long recognized as a key difference between them and ordinary spirits—and developed countless methods by which spirits could be summoned, bound, and banished. While some considerable advancement has been made since his death, the vast majority of modern methods are grounded largely in his developments, discoveries, and even some ideas he wrote down but never tested. However, he eventually drifted into another subject of study: the human spirit. Once again, this caused concerns about necromancy to arise, but Vortigern’s reputation eased the minds of his superiors. After another handful of years, it seemed that his research into the human spirit had come reached a breakthrough. But for it to continue, he would need to leave the city on a long journey. He left very specific instructions with Crutius and Saida. “I need to do an experiment, and I cannot allow myself to perform that experiment on any person but myself. I need to go out into the wilds. There is a very specific cave, far to the east of Melaron. Two years from now—you see this journal? There’s a map in here, as well as the ritual. I need the both of you—and it needs to be two people, and I trust you both more than anyone else alive—to go out to that cave in about two years time. The exact date you need to check inside the cave is in the journal. Don’t look inside the cave before that—details are in the journal. If I’m just, you know, sitting there, it all worked out. If my dead body is there, then it didn’t, and I’ll need a burial. If you find my staff there—just my staff—that’s the worst case scenario. You need to seal off the cave with the ritual in the journal. Then, you need to come back here—and it has to be here—and bury the staff on the grounds, then seal it with the same ritual. Honestly, it isn’t something I even really want to think about, so just read the journal after I leave, okay?” When Crutius and Saida checked the cave on the appointed date, they found Vortigern’s staff, buried on quarter of its length into solid stone. There was nothing else. Whatever the truth of Vortigern’s life, whoever knows the truth, he proves a difficult individual to find. Yet the agent of Kil’threx found its way to him, hidden deep beneath crag and valley. And so, Vortigern shall answer the summons of the God of Evil. Personality: Vortigern is pre-occupied with loyalty—those few of his personal servants who are not mindless husks are either physically incapable of betraying him (a group that includes both those he has Dominated and the spirits bound to his employ) or hysterical sycophants. Somewhat predictably, if someone in his organization betrays him, he responds swiftly and harshly, even when it might not be in his best interest to do so; he is preoccupied with revenge. By the same token, while he may be a distant master, he returns loyalty with loyalty. He will stand by his servants, however low they may be on the rung, as best he can without revealing his existence to the wider world. And when he enters into an agreement with someone, he keeps it, even if he could renege it with little to no consequence. That is not to say Vortigern is kind. He habitually treats the people of the world poorly, with his actions ranging from distant hostility to outright cruelty. Despite this, he usually maintains an air of amicability. He could easily order someone dragged into the darkness, their screams muffled by cloth and leather, while sounding like he was just recommending a good book to a friend. Not that he has friends, of course; that time has passed. When not scheming, deceiving, or otherwise active, Vortigern is given to pondering. On such occasions, he enters into a deep melancholy, and often waxes poetic. There was no light here. He knew every inch of smooth, unbroken stone, and as such did not require torch or spell to make his way, nor did any of the guards or spirits monsters that lurked this far down. The same could not be said of his uninvited guests. Yes. Soon. At the far end of this long hall. That was where he stood. At first, it was designed as a trap for those intruders who made it this far down. Briefly, he used it to experiment with his old studies, and had been considering doing so again. More recently, he had been using it for storage, and it was lined with crates and barrels of fine food for his body, and fine crafts for his work. There wasn’t much he couldn’t take for himself, after all. There was the telltale sound of stone grinding on stone. Yes, that was it. That was them. The sound of crashing metal. A warrior had jumped down ahead of their compatriots. Leather scaping stone. A softer, more nimble landing. Are knights now sleeping with thieves? Has the world changed so much? Or perhaps they always were. It wasn’t the part of the world I lived in, even then. He didn’t hear the next collision, but he did hear something else, just before: the fluttering of cloth. Someone wearing clothes, not armor, had jumped down. Could they possibly…? A shining light broke on the other side of the hall, bright and piercing. So it is. Things may yet prove interesting. “Name yourself, cretin! Tell us what you’re doing down here!” The mage is a feisty one. Vortigern said nothing. “We don’t need to know a damn thing about him, Cully,” said the Warrior, a Dwarf, “We saw his damn army. We just need to stop him.” Vortigern smiled. A hooded figure—by process of elimination, the nimble, leather-shoed one—leaned over to the mage, and spoke in low tones. “Are his eyes glowing?” “Yes.” Vortigern’s voice was soft, and but it stretched throughout the room. “They only do that on special occasions.” “Okay, he’s got good hearing. Good to know.” If only you knew, little thief. “I,” said Vortigern, “am perfect of flesh, and beyond flesh.” “Alright!” The Warrior raised his axe over his shoulder, both hands gripping its handle. “Let’s get this over with.” He charged. “Durmak! Wait!” Vortigern raised his hand, the pale light in his eyes sparking at his fingertips, and almost in no time at all—though the process did seem to linger a while to Vortigern—it had spread down between his fingers to his palm. The air shook, and the Warrior fell forward, collapsing onto his knees, his axe sliding along the floor to Vortigern’s feet. Arrows flew through the air. Most missed. One planted itself firmly in Vortigern’s neck. He did not falter. “Ancull, why isn’t he falling over? I hit him.” The thief who shot the arrows asked the mage. “I don’t think I know, Misha.” The mage looked up to Vortigern, her face slowly twisting in anexpression of horror. Vortigern reached up to the arrow in his throat with his other hand. Slowly, he pulled on it. When it was free of his flesh, blood began to pour down from the hole, staining his robes. The thief began to shake. “I think we may have stepped in it this time, Ancull.” Vortigern’s smile grew. The light in his eyes and hand darkened, turning a violent purple. A light shined from the back of the hall. The mage, Ancull, turned her head to see it. The light was creeping along the walls, the roof, the floor. Creeper to her. Past her. Past Misha. Past Durmak, the Warrior. Past Vortigern, onto the wall behind him. The light flowed into a complex pattern of circles, glyphs and spirals, eventually meeting in the center. Vortigern’s soft voice echoed through the hall again. “Yes, children, you have.” Pale clouds flowed out of the circle’s center. They floated around Vortigern. He heard them whisper to him, but he already knew their secrets. He curled the fingers of his outstretched hand into a fist, save one, pointing in the intruders’ direction. The spirits responded to the command. They rushed down the hall, taking the shapes of beasts and gaunt men, as the flow from the circle grew to a river of pale light. As the came upon Durmak, his armor began to glow; runes etched into his plates hummed with golden light, and the spirits flowed over him. The mage Ancull erected a barrier, a pale blue sphere, and the spirits flowed over it as well. They teared and the barrier, and gnawed upon it, but it held. Feisty, and of some considerable ability. Who taught her? Durmak stood. The symbols on his armor hummed with power, and the spirits jumped away from him. Vortigern lowered his hand. “So, you children know the game.” Vortigern kicked the axe at his feet over to Durmak. “Come, Warrior. Entertain me.” Taking his axe into his hands, Durmak charged. Vortigern sidestepped his down-swing and took hold of his arm. Half a second later, Durmak held his axe in his off hand, and his other hung limply at his side. Another strike, this time a side-swipe. Foolish, but determined. This time, Vortigern aimed lower, and Durmak found one of his legs giving out under him. “Damn.” Vortigern walked around him, slowly. “Is this how you imagined dying, Dwarf? A casualty of your own foolish design?” “Go suck a thousand cocks.” Vortigern kicked him in the side, rolling him over onto his back. “Durmak!” Vortigern looked up. The pale blue light of the mage Ancull’s shield could still be seen under the growing onslaught of spirits. It suddenly flashed. The room was filled with shrieking and keening as the spirits recoiled, recoiling from the shield. Ancull came running, with the thief Misha close behind her. Vortigern placed his boot on Durmak’s chest and faced them. “You three would have been better off not coming here.” The blood flowing from the hole in his neck began fall onto Durmak’s armor, where it sizzled and flashed in his golden runes. “I know what you are. My Mistress told me about it. The ritual designed by the Spiritbinder himself.” For the first time since the fight began, Vortigern’s smile faltered, then vanished utterly. “Who are you, child?” The fell light in his eyes and hand flickered. “I am Ancull of Ardanos.” “I’ve never heard of Ardanos. Is it some village in the middle of nowhere?” “It is my home. My Mistress found me there.” Mistress. That’s the second time she said it. And she knew about the ritual. “Saida.” Ancull growled at him. “That means nothing. You are not strong enough to defeat me.” Vortigern smiled. “Especially since she never taught you to watch your back.” The spirits surged over them from behind. Shieldless, Ancull and Misha were torn away, back into the vengeful cloud of angry spirits. Vortigern knelt down next to Durmak, whose head was turned away, towards where his friends had gone. Vortigern placed his hand, still glowing, on Durmak’s chest. “Worry not, child. You will not be away from them for long.” Vortigern slid his hand down to the felled Warrior’s stomach, and removed it. “There. If you’re lungs somehow start working, your heart or liver will see you dead. You’ll be with them again soon, child.”
55,017	1,502	4	682	1,490	Niddhogg At the dead of night, the Blackscale Tyrant himself crawled out from his bed of a molten lake. The beast pondered of this little 'deal' he was offered. By his wisdom and knowing the nature of the God of evil, it was most likely empty promises. Still though, it wouldn't hurt to do it any way, there seemed to be little sacrifices in providing his share of destruction, and after all, what dragon wouldn't want the role of a great destroyer? With wings stretched, and letting out a mighty roar that echoed around his domain and the forests beyond that in a hellish manner, the dragon soared out from the gaping hole of the summit, flying to the directions he had been given. Hours later after his take off, the loud beating of his wings could be heard from inside the cottage. The dragon spotted the small woodland house, an unusual place for a meeting, especially for something as large as he. The dragon would swoop down, landing in front of the small house with an earth shattering thud. His very shadow would cover the cottage entirely. The eye of the great dragon glowed, and his form would then rapidly shrink. From a massive reptilian to a rather handsome male of flowing black hair and Caucasian skin did he transform too, albeit his hair was strange, wings still present over his back, and an eye patch over where the right eye would be, he otherwise resemble a typical paladin in terms of the cliche appearance. However, the strangest part of his human form was that his left eye was still that of his dragons form, large and reptilian, with a strange slit for an iris. This eye glowed once more with crosshair-shaped red light as the dragon-turned human was suddenly incased with the legendary armor he obtained long ago, and armed with the lance that went with it. Now he entered the cottage, still huge for a human as he stood 6'5 in height. One could assume that a holy paladin would have invaded on there little get together if not for the bat-like wings and the faintly glow magical eye barely visible beneath the helmet. He took a seat with the other 'pawns'. Taking a brief look at the several others and giving minor opinions to each one in his head. A silence and studying glare he gave.	Niddhog Blackscale Tyrant Ancient Psychic Dragon A massive dragon of Black scales, with a total length of 175 feet from head to tail, and a height of 80 standing on all four legs. His scales are black and plate-like, and are as hard as steel, except for his soft underbelly which serves as a weak spot to his natural armor. An assortment of horns along his head, with three rows of sharp, spike-like scutes running down from the back of his neck to the tip of the tail, which also has a triangle-shaped barb. He has a wingspan of 230 feet, and he has four fingered claws on both his hind and forelimbs. The hands on his wings however, are smaller and have an additional 'thumb'. The wings are a bit more flexible then they appear. Instead of having a set of eyes, he has a single, giant reptilian eye at the center of his head. This eye provides both excellent vision and additional magical abilities aside from what would be expecting of a dragon. As a large dragon, you could expect the beast to have enormous strength and durability, but he also can be fairly fast for his size, especially in flight. Being a dragon his forked tongue also has a great sense of smell. His saliva is toxic, as it has a blood thinner that prevents blood from clotting, and can be slightly corrosive to non-dragonic organic material, and weak earthen materials like stone and certain metals. His saliva as a result is a translucent green color, and often steams when exposed to air. As expected, dragons have a natural affinity with fire, not only can he not be burned by any means (or directly negatively effected by heat alone), but he can breathe flames as well. However his fire is a bit more unusual then most dragons, as the flames are a gold-black color. Thought nothing else is remarkable about the fire. The fire can be produced and manipulated from almost any point of his exterior body, such as the mouth, wings, or claws. Manipulation can involve it being shot out as spheres, steady streams, etc. It can also determine the concentration of force and chemicals to make a much more explosive blast instead of a lingering fire. His eye grants near-perfect vision, even through pitch darkness or smoke-screen effects. It can see through almost any sort of illusion and protects him from such magic. Additionally, the eye can activate several 'spells'. Once it casts a spell, the eye glows a red, laser-like light before it takes effect. Telekinesis: Takes hold of an object, or multiple objects, with a limit of being able to carry up to 500 lbs in total weight, within sight and in a range of 10 meters. Alternatively, it can be used to send kinetic force or blasts towards wherever the eye is looking at as a powerful projectile of solid force, or directly around him. has a minute cool down between casting of this ability. Telepathy: Preferred method of communication with others, allows the dragon to speak in the minds of others and vice versa, however this can also be used to peer into the surface of the conscience of others, to validate if they are being truthful or if they are holding any secrets. Note that this isn't necessarily mind reading as it can only detect the mind thinking allowed. Shield: Creates a sort of shield or wall made of kinetic energy wherever he is looking at, usually directly in front of him. Pyrokinesis: This allows him to control fire directly, note that this isn't connected to his naturally ability to produce his green flames from his body, but this can allow him to control that fire after it has already left his original control. Uses of this ability can be to control where the fire spreads, fire tentacles, redirecting a fire projectile, or causing a spontaneous combustion on a target object or area within the same range as his telekinesis that can vary between some small sparks to a grenade-sized explosion. This can be used on any other form of fire as well, so long as that fire isn't directly in control of someone else. Electrokinesis: Limited to only shooting bolts of lightning from his eye, redirecting or neutralizing electricity, or imbuing a part of his body with electricity. Has a 4 minute cool-down. Transformation: He uses this only to turn into a human form, and to change back. However if the source of the spell is broken while he transformed as a human (I.E. Something destroys his eye) then he is forced back into his original form. Also his wings often stay in this state as well. Also he only has one eye in his human transformation, but the position of the eye is normal, with one and a right and an empty socket on the left. His human form, while has some dragonic properties such as being unable to burn, and his eye is still enchanted, it is his weaker form. While his physical stats are above human level it is dwarfed from his true form, the only advantages are being much faster and being able to use equipment. Summon: He uses this only to summon certain equipment that he uses, or to un-summon them to send them back to his lair. Within his lair he has amassed a vast sea of fortune, mostly of gold and other valuable treasures and artifacts, which was either stolen when he took over the lair, or what he added after some pillages or raids later. He has many magical equipment within this treasured horde as well, though he only uses a few of them, the rest he merely admires. It is difficult to use equipment without using his transformation anyway. So these are the only items of note. Human Form adorning his enchanted armor, and using Gilfried Gilfried: As seen in the picture, The lance is made of an enchanted steel that grants the weapon a power of electricity. As such, it can be used to evoke destructive flows of electricity with each blow, or fired range electrical attacks such a bolt of lightning. The blade is enchanted to be indestructible by physical means as well Armor of Salgberd: The same knight who wielded Gilfried adorned this armor, it is enchanted by the same methods, and made of the same material of the lance, however the electricity is mostly offered as resistance to electricity. His lair lies within a massive volcano, the mouth of the cave being large and wide enough for his size. Inside is a city of dwarven design, ruined by time and his own destruction. The cieling is very high, with a large opening that leads to the summit of the volcano and has full view of the sun in midday. Volcanic vents and pools of lava run through this city, carving through it molten streams. Beyond that is a massive lake of magma that serves as his resting area, and past that is an even larger cavern though not built by dwarves, a large natural cave instead. This cave houses his treasure hoard, which floods the cavern near the brim of it. A kingdom of dwarves, the name of which lost in history, were infamous for much of their great wealth and being blacksmiths of magical items. This one day, attracting the attention of a great dragon, whos origins itself varies between legend to legend. Some say that he was born by the god of evil himself as a last effort to destroy the world, others say that he was the very incarnation of the god of dragons himself, or others say that it was a dragon who was cursed by a god for a previous sin to loose his eye, though many stories tell of a connection with Kil'threx himself, either has a dragon corrupted by his power, an egg cursed with his wickedness, or a straight up creation of his own powers directly. regardless, all legends point to his claim over this dwarving kingdom. The few that survived such a calamity would go on to tell of his great might and horrible nature. Some say he was a wild beast, others say he was an intelligent devil. Regardless, the once great dwarven kingdom fell to ruin under the tyranny of the dragon. Afterwards the myth varies once more. Some peasants will tell you that he seeks his territory for children that got lost in the woods, others say that he is amassing a brood of dragons. His activities are the most told; Grazing over farms to feast on their cattle, destroying villages for the sake of destruction itself, or tyrannizing kingdoms with fear if they do not pay tribute to him. Many times does he seek to be revered as a god, and kingdoms that fail to acknowledge his might are swiftly destroyed. Many have tried to slay him, but none have made it back from the treacherous volcanic city he lays claim to. He is a great dragon that embodies the sins of Pride, Wrath, And Greed. He loves valuable treasures, rare items, and lost artifacts. A harmless hobby one would think, if not for his lust to steal these treasures from others, guarding his accumalated hoard jealously, the very reason he exterminated the dwarves of what is now his lair was for greed alone. His avarice has lead him to be paranoid, thinking of thieves or knights that wish to steal his treasure hoard, and because of that he rarely leaves his lair unless prompted too for one reason or another. Though he is ancient, he has a very short patience with those that poke a whole in his ego, or are simply too much of an annoyance to toy with. When he shows his wrath, it is often short, going on a destructive rampage or simply swiftly burning a mortal alive. However if someone does him a great wrong or injustice, he will seek vengeance, and his revenge will be brutal. He will often scheme how the revenge will be played in decades of time spans, setting pieces in too place and inspiring rumors and scapegoating all for the one man that decided to steal his golden goblet or made that one joke of him across an entire city of him being a gecko. Ultimately these revenge schemes will consist of a slow psychological torment and leading into a brutal murder, and every now and then throwing in perhaps some dirt to tarnish the target's reputation, working in the shadows as a sort of social puppet master. That being said, he loves deception. He is good at it, though of course, why deceive everyone when you can just burn it? He uses his deception solely for the purpose of his amusement rather then tying it in to anything more important, such as a mission, which he uses his brute force for. Revenge or toying with an arrogant paladin are the two favorites of his. As for his pride, perhaps a sin bigger then his avarice, as he sees himself as a God. A God worthy of praise, a God that even the other gods (yes, even Kil'threx, though he isn't stupid enough to say that too his face) Should fear and respect him. He does not work for anyone but himself, but he will work with someone should he see it too his advantage, or how he likes to put it "using a pawn". His pride tends to be his biggest weakness, both being as something he is easily angered by, and the fact that it is easy to please him, or to keep him from killing you. Stroking his ego is very effective against him, and doing so may persuade him. Though there is a very small limit in what you can get him to do with flattery alone. Territorial, he is. So much so that you will not find a single dragon 100 miles away from his lair in any direction, that is because he has killed every single one within that radius, and has kept a damn good job at making sure no new neighbors make their home. He cares not for those of evil alignment for the most part, just as he cares none for the good alignment. To him, his 'coworkers' are prey that are merely being used as pawns for now. He is wise, yes, and intelligent, as one would expect for such an ancient creature. However his wisdom is corrupted, tainted by his ego and avarice. His jealousy keeps his 'prized' knowledge to himself, though may give advice if he is pleased enough. His wisdom is poor in judgement, as he sees himself as the greatest in most if not all aspects, being above the gods and all. One thing is certain though, he is a crafty schemer for only his amusement. Heat was the first thing that fell over the knight's face. His blue eyes staring at the inferno before him. The cave entrance had been cold and damp but further in, and the entrance to the old dwarf city, the heat even unattended remained great. Volcanic pools of lava acted as lakes and rivers as they cut through crumbled buildings and structures of dwarven make. He stepped forward, slowly, electricity briefly escaping his lance. As he past through the cities, surprised to see no demons or hellspawn, or lesser dragons attack him, he eventually came across a massive lake of lava, and past that, a stalagmite cavern that looked even bigger and deeper then the city's cavern, filled with riches beyond his wildest dreams. "Dragon!" The knight shouted. "My name is Salgberd, knight of blue thunder!" He would smash the ground before him with the end of his lance, electricity flowed in the ground and great force shook the cavern. "I have come to slay thee and bring your head to justice!" For a moment after, all was quiet, until the magma began to bubble. A black mass slowly rose from the molten rock, rising, bigger then the knight imagined. Before him was the head and some of the neck of the beast, looming over him while the rest of his body was presumed to be beneath the molten liquid. He heard a booming voice in his mind. "You dare awaken me?!" the voice pounded in his head so loud that the knight staggered back and held his ears. He geared up his lance, ready to attack after recovering from the voice. "Sleep is the last thing you should worry about! demon!" He shouted as he would throw the lance directly into the eye of the dragon with great force and speed, however to his surprise, the lance stopped in mid air. "wha-" Before he could finish, the lance swiftly turned around as if by magic, and was then volleyed back towards him with the same force. He would catch it with great dexterity and strength, absorbing the electricity that came off of the weapon, though he would have to skid back a few feet. The massive eye at the center of the dragon glowed, a crosshair of red light illuminating off of it before a bolt of lightning connected between the pupil of the dragon and the chestplate of the knight. He would be blasted back by the bolt, but the electricity didn't hurt him. "That is some fine quality equipment you have..." The dragon seemed to vex in the head of the knight as he recovered again. The knight was tired of the dragon, and he charged again, leaping into the air with inhuman speed and strength as he went to impale the beast from above. The dragon watched him, clearly the man wasn't bright, as the beast simply moved its head and neck out of the way. As he did, the knight's eyes went wide, as he was now heading into the pool of lava. He screamed as he plummeted into the liquid. He surfaced, his armor keeping him alive but barely his skin was burning off of his bones in a gruesome matter. The dragon watched the fly be burned by the lamp, as it were, as the knight struggled to stay afloat in the burning liquid. He was pleased to see the equipment was unharmed by the heat due to its magical properties. Before the knight burned away completely, a voice ringed into his head. "Thank you for your donation." The following day, The village raised the alarms. Their hero has returned. All matter of men, women, and children gathered at the gates, and an expecting king to give the Salgberg his reward. The knight entered, fully clad in his armor. Cheering spread throughout the kingdom and the king along with his trusty guards approached the heroic figure. He offered the knight a golden relic of his family's keepsake. It was a fancy thing. The knight snatched it, aggressively so, to everyone's shock. He then turned back to face the king. "I am tired of pretending to be the good guy, I, Salgberg, am a knight only for riches and praise!" he exclaimed to the horrified faces of many. He then unsheathed his lance, and followed to stab the king. "I always hated you.." The knight said, the guards undrew their weapons and the knight ran through the crowd that was still shocked in cowardice. His only family tried to stop him, but the knight merely trampled over them, even slashing his father across the way, and escaping to the gates. The guards never did find him. The knight returned to the mouth of the dragon's lair, unmasking his helmet to reveal not Salgberg, but a different man altogether underneath the armor. The man laughed as he carefully placed the golden object down and morphed into his true form. The great black dragon that the knight tried to slay. The Great Dragon Niddhog had awoken from his chambers, laying ontop of his treasure hoard as if it were a bed or nest. Appearing before him, an apparition of the God of evil himself. Niddhog saw his 'master' as a roadblock to his true glory. He was greater then him, for now at least, that much was certain to the dragon. However eventually he will surpass his creator. The beast was silent as the manifestation of the Dark God spoke. "It is time to put your destruction for greater use, Níðhöggr." The god spoke, speaking of the Dragon's official name in perfect pronunciation. "You should know by now that I am not a henchma-" the God held his hand up, cutting the dragon off. Normally if one were to do this the dragon would inflict great wrath. However he wasn't about to loose his cool in front of a god, and besides it wasn't the actual god, just an apparition. He would stand back, and show him images of even grander treasure, legendary items, and above all, a small glimpse of the dragon's own reflection, ascending like a god. "I know what you seek, I know your ambitions, you cannot hide your true nature Níðhöggr, I designed it after all." The dragon's attention was now fully brought upon the god as he continued. "Aid in me, and with the others I will recruit, in the destruction of the world. You will be paid in more then just physical value in your efforts, perhaps even the power you seek.." Before the dragon could question him further the apparition faded. The dragon was deep in thought, he doubted that if he knew his true intentions then he wouldn't grant him godhood, it was likely just empty promises. Still, he doubted that his efforts wouldn't go unrewarded, and there is always the chance that his creator is more foolish then he thought. So the dragon rose from his gold hoard. There wasn't much of a cost for doing this either, any risks at first glance. Destruction was what he loved, though it seemed he had to help others as well. The dragon would fly out above the city, through the large opening in the summit, and land upon a cliff. His talons digging into stone as he oversaw the landscape before him. If he had to tolerate these other nuisances, so be it.
55,018	1,502	5	863	380	Deos was far from the first one to make his way to the deary cottage, but he wouldn't be shown up for it. While not alone, he was the only human-ish look man present but flanked on either side of him was one of his special War-Beasts, the Varleth. Large beasts of many claws and barbed tail that stood about five feet tall. Gladly keeping pace with their master as he suddenly found himself engulfed in a large shadow, peering up to see the great from of a dragon on approach for a landing. Almost in awe he gave an approving nod as the beast not only landed at the same location he was going to, but also shapeshifted to be a man just a few inches taller than he was. Seeing such a sight made him pick up the pace to see who else would be coming to this little pow-wow. Upon reaching the door to the cottage he stepped in as his pets flanked him one by one to be able to fit through the rotted frame to fit inside. Their eyeless heads glancing around as if they could see sniffing at the air to gather those around him, snarling at everyone involved save Deos himself. A soothing hand on each of their heads made them simmer down before Deos spoke his first words, looking directly at Niddhog as he did, being rather active with his gesturing hands, "I don't know what you are, but I want one. Actually... fuck it, I want like three. I don't mean any offense. Just... I must have one of you in my collection of soldiers." He excitedly said, already taking pleasure in the cast around him. Though after he said that his attention rotated back around to see the others, many of whom didn't look like anything special, but some looked rather... unique and by gauging their dress code he almost wanted to armor himself to match the crowd. Though in his mind it was arbitrary. Besides showing off his beautiful necklace felt like a good idea currently. One thing he could note though was that nobody here seemed to be in any sort of "power" as it were. Such they had loads of power and it was clear to see some had some titles to their face, but none of them seemed to be the one who called to him, they didn't feel familiar in that sense. So the host had yet to arrive and make his true appearance apparently. In that case though, "Quiet the cast we have today, anybody feel up for a wee chat till our gracious host arrives?" Pointing to Nyarlith he continued, "You look like fun, got anything to say for yourself?"	Name: Deos “Johnny” Risleth Title: The Sovereign of Eternal War Three-Word Description: Burning Demonic Warlord When not adorned with his spectral armor Deos often takes the appearance of a human, clad often in dark colored dress clothes, favoring blacks and reds above all else. His hair is often unkempt and generally messy with the color changing between black and red depending on what shade he feels like wearing. His eyes are one very curious part about him that shows the world he is no human as they are pure black with nothing but a red iris to denote any change in color. That however is not the strangest thing that sets him apart from mortal men. The strangest is the cut on his neck from when he was beheaded ages ago, healed by foul magic and wicked ways, but still containing the black stitching that once held the two together. For his frame he holds a rather lithe and toned body, despite his supernatural strength. His skin is a rather tan hue and with a well-kept complexion again despite his rather dark or aggressive life. Particularly interesting about that same bit of information is that his body is near devoid of scars or blemishes despite his beheading mark, again despite his incredibly violent life. Not because he doesn’t take injury but because he heals himself from any harm his foes deal him, even going so far as to take away the scarring as he doesn’t particularly like the blemishing of his body. The only reason he keeps the neck scar is because he believes it gives him some character and wears it almost as a morbid necklace. Finally are his oversized demon wings that stretch out of his back. Bat wings with black bone structure with red internal membranes they clearly show that he is no angel. Even with their size he has incredible control over them, allowing him to almost use them as hands herding and wrapping his large wingspan around things or people. When dressed in his “normal” clothing his entire look drastically changes. Clad in dark armored plates that envelope his entire frame with skulls, chains, and horns placed all around the set. His visage of burning armor that spills forth Hellfire from joints, eyes, and creases spins a daunting image for any foe to face. Spaces in the back make room for his massive wings to unfurl and grow to allow him to move swiftly as well as take to the skies despite the armor. His armor is equipped with long claws at the end of each finger that he uses to rend and tear at foes as well as claw and break apart obstacles. Being the Sovereign of battle, bloodshed, and war Deos ‘ powers revolve around fire and strength. His body is capable of withstanding incredible amounts of trauma having his frame be naturally durable under his magical and powerful armor. His strength is something to be feared, striking with a force though cleaves through bodies and fortifications much as a siege engine would. Letting him lay waste to man, defense, and ground before him. His magic is incredible powerful but just as powerful as it is, it is also focused. His repertoire of spells is low leaving him with the domain of casting powerful blasts and rays of fire that surge from his body. Similarly for his destructive fire he has to ability to make a vicious transformation into a malicious and incredible powerful Demon Lord. Taking the shape of a burning beast that sheds his wings for another pair of arms, augmenting his strength and magical power in exchange for his speed and ability to fly. He also contains within him the power of rapid regeneration allowing him to survive and continue to wage war despite taking on grieves wounds and savage injuries. On the topic of healing he is also immortal having very little that can keep him down. Whenever he takes enough damage that would warrant him to “die” he is taken back to his realm of Hell to recover over a span of time. To reach his realm he has to ability to strike the air before him to rip open portals to and from his lands to not only get himself home, but also take others and bring forth his armies to lay siege. The range of scale of these portals require more time depending on the size, making small single person portals have an instantaneous cast, while large army sized ones can take up to several hours to bring forth. The portals can only connect to his realm though. So while they offer a quick way for him to leave his realm and head back home, he can't use them to just jump from place to place outside of his realm. They must always link back to his realm before heading off to another place. For a portal bigger than a small group of people he must be on site to stabilize it, meaning he must focus on the portal to make one big enough to let an entire army through. While being made, the portals are vulnerable to dispelling magics making it so that if a anti-magic field of a portal disrupting force is present he can't successfully stabilize a portal. Once they are set up however an enemy mage of sufficient power must go to the portal's site to focus and channel dispelling magic to close it. His final power is that of war domain. His armies and monsters of war all share a large link that he creates to feed them instruction from no matter where he is. He can also use this power to augment a soldier or beast of his with his own strength to assume control over them and fight through them. That particular part only works for those of whom he has domain over however. To assert his domain he can twist and bend any captured prisoners of war or beast to understand the beauty of battle and the pleasure of war. Items and Equipment: His sword Omen. This powerful demonic blade is crafted from the nearly indestructible metals taken from his domain and forged in searing Hellfires that temper the blade to be a force of absolute devastation. One key feature of his blade is that he can summon and banish it at will, letting him take arms at the mere flick of a wrist. His armor is also forged in the same fashion as his sword and much like his sword he can summon and banish it letting the metal seep around him to encase him in his garb and raise him from his usual height of 6 feet to a standing height of 11 feet. Estates and Realms: His realm of Yirathlx is a land of war... Battle can always be heard echoing around the streets and fields of the realm, though instead of war and conflict it's training and practice for both current and future battles. All around are fires and pyres burning brightly into the eternal night that envelopes the sky. The obsidian and stone of the city glistens from the dancing light and glint of steel. To many this would be a picture of horror and fuel for nightmares, but for Deos it is a beauty that must be brought to the world so they too may enjoy the splendor of war. While his realm is held in a spiritual plain that is separated from the mortal world, there is a special place that connect the two worlds. The Gates of Bloodshed stand tall surrounded by the leaking Hellfires of Yirathlx and by monoliths of obsidian that are carved in various statues of guardians, warriors, and beasts. It is from this door that mortals and people of the physical realm can reach his domain to seek audience with the Sovereign of Eternal War. This gate is the only bastion that Deos holds in the mortal world, with his Royal Guards and elite warbeasts patrolling around the obsidian walls and Hell-Steel Spires that stand around the gates. Deos' home and castle in the centre of his space of battle is the great Hall of Conflict. Surging up high into the sky he has the view to watch over his entire domain and collect all of his spoils and pleasures of war. Keeping his personal quarters as well as his treasure halls filled fit to burst with gold, silver, gems, and other things he values as trophies. Inside the castle is immaculate, showing off a vain side of him that clearly depicts his love of beauty in greed as well as warm with tapestries of past battles and standing armors of countless nations and ages all lines up down the long hallways. Servants and Beasts: Among the realm and armies of Deos are hundreds of thousands of dedicated soldiers from many races that he has collected from over the ages. Many are human but some are abnormal... Some standing 8 feet tall with horns and sharp fangs, others with wings and a regal air. All of them having one thing in common, an undying loyalty to their lord of mayhem. To augment his armies of men are his beasts of war, ranging from living tanks with grafted catapults on their backs, to massive siege beasts that lay waste to walls and armies alike with their massive arms, large goring tusks, and hungry bloodlust. Yet still to take the skies he was winged creatures that range from human sized bats to large airborne monsters that threaten to lift buildings off the ground with their many rending claws and lashing tendrils. Stories are told of a man who a long time ago dedicated his life to war. Growing up as a knight who cared not for any code of honor or fair maiden to rescue. Instead he drew pleasure from slaughter and joy from carnage. Seeing his foes lay in bloody heaps before him were the only sight he wished for... Through his lust for battle he commit atrocity after atrocity and battle after battle, until he met his match. The kingdom of Mirath was glorious nation that stood against his home of Nyiara. Only it wasn't as things seemed. Nyiara's army governed by their queen, Lady Amsel grew to distrust and see the monster that Deos was. It was then they sent him away to meet his end in one final battle with an enemy he would all to happily fight. Leading his contingent into a fight that he could never win. Outnumbered beyond count and surrounded he refused to relent, fighting till his body couldn't handle it any longer and he was taken prisoner. Set to be executed the day of his defeat he was met with the axe. Though instead of admitting defeat and relenting he laughed at his accusers and spoke the fateful words, "You have not seen the last of war." Only to be stroke down with a single blow, making his head roll away from his frame. His words however spoke true as when he was cast away from the living world he found... something. A voice in the darkness that guide him, taking his soul to a long forgotten realm that he named Yirathlx. Finding a home in this desolate land away from the afterlife he fought against the clawing forces of insanity and the boring existence of a life without battle. He recovered and found his form, growing to return back to the world that cut him down and cast him out. However he was not a mortal man anymore... Bursting forth in a flush of Hellfire and black smoke the monster that Deos Risleth had become surged back from the pits of Hell to slaughter and kill once again, taking in followers, prisoners, and slaves for his own benefit and pleasure. He was unstoppable, and upon finding both Mirath and Nyiara allied after the fall of the monster, he flew into a new war against his former home and enemy, laying waste to them with his supernatural strength and power. Taking as many as he could manage prisoner to corrupt them into his loyal soldiers, bringing them back to a force that was finally directed to the truth... glorious, neverending war. Deos is the lord of conflict so it's safe to assume he enjoys the pleasure of a sword in hand, but it's not all he is of. War also generates spoils and treasures that he also embodies and enjoys. So more often than not he can be seen with slaves, women, gold, and silver within arms reach. This has given him a almost conflicting personality that changes depending on if his armor is on or not. When not garbed in plate he takes on a cocky and lighthearted air that cares more for pleasure and drink than blood and metal. However, on the other end of the spectrum he can switch to wanting nothing more than to hear the screams of tortured souls and the clang of sword on sword. Some times this can be almost bipolar in nature having him at a drop of a hat go from enjoying a drink with some of his slaves or consorts to breaking the bottle on the table and goring one. This in turn has given him a rather unstable and crazy reputation. Burning fires and screams were all that couldn't be heard from down below. Deos had found another bastion of human life, erected to show the world that they had grown to a position of power and progress. However, that wasn't a good thing. They built their world on peace and negotiation which was disgusting and a true atrocity that had to be purged from the world... In his hand was their king, Lord Bertrand, desperately clutching at the metal hand holding him on his knees, making him look out over the balcony of his own palace to see the slaughter before him, "Isn't it beautiful..." Deos started to say, letting the reverberation from his head radiate out, "All the blood, all the swords, all the warriors creating their art and preforming their dance. It's a wonder and a fleeting pleasure." Just as he finished a massive tusked war beast, trampled through a collection of Haran warriors who were desperately trying to protect a makeshift barricade. The beast used his tusks to gut and smash several of them letting their strikes glance and barely scratch it's thick hide. Nearby another barricade was holding out against the soldiers of Deos' army, slashing and thrusting at them with swords and spears. It seemed as though they were winning as no Haranian was getting hurt from behind their tipped carts and falling beams. "You will pay for this you monster!" Lord Bertrand said to the armored man behind him. However his words only brought the sword closer to his neck. "You call me a monster. I disagree. I am but a humble man, bringing joy to the lives of mortals." He said, watching as the Haranians continued to to repel his soldiers. "Look and see my work, the joy they feel for working together and fighting against their foes." He continued and just a few moments later they started to crumble. Several brutes of Deos' approached the barricade and struck at it, letting their defense start to crumble to let the soldiers advance, turning the tide in an instant. "They had the pleasure of dying happy. Won't you let yourself have the same joy?" He finished looking down to the lord. "Fuck yo..." Was all he managed before a squelching sound could be hear as Deos clenched his fist, crushing his head like an overripe grape, letting Bertrand's hot blood wash over his fingers. Watching his body slump to the ground he smiled under his helm watching the Siege of Haran come to a bloody close. It was another day in Yirathlx and particularly in the Hall of Conflict. Deos was doing nothing particularly important, merely watching his wine swirl in his ornate, golden cup. Off to each side was a consort that he had chosen for the day and before him was a series of prisoners being brought through for him to pass judgement on. For each new soul he cast out his free hand and warped them to suit his needs, giving them the gifts of war and the joys that follow. Though the process wasn't gentle the end result made each and every man or woman leave with a wicked smile on their now twisted face. The next was a young woman, tall and strong, raised right from whatever military she served in before her fateful battle against Deos' hordes. Bound in chains and forced forward at spear point by two of his Court Guard. Deos looked at her with blank eyes, gauging where she would be most useful, but seeing what she was and where she came from would make turning her into a consort of slave a waste of her talent. Instead he raised his hand to turn her into a loyal soldier, but something happened... There was a call that rang in Deos' mind, a familiar force he hadn't felt in a very long time. Pausing in his ceremony his eyes began to glaze over, entering a sort of trance that confused all present in his Burning Court. His consorts looks to him and pressed their bodies against his thinking something was wrong, while his Court Guards pressed their spears into the prisoner in the event she was the cause of their master's distress. When in his trance, he left his court mentally to peer into the void from which the call came and everything was foreign once more, but deep down it felt familiar, as though he'd been there before. Nothing was clear, save one thing. That voice. Standing before something so overwhelming was a strange feeling but one that Deos reveled in, such power, such glory, it was beautiful... Hearing the force speak brought chills to him and while the words made no sense to him, in his mind the meaning and drive was made clear. A reason, location, and time was given to his mind and upon the end of the event he returned to his Burning Court. Eyes returning and coming back filled with drive he pushed away both of the consorts and stood up quickly. "Take care of the rest of the prisoners." He said in a curt and almost excited manner. Putting his ornate cup to his lips to took one last big gulp before tossing it to the side, spilling his wine on the searing obsidian that made up the floor beneath his grand throne of Hell-Steel, gold, silver, and fire, making the liquid fizzle and steam away in moments. He was quick to leave, walking with a purpose out of the court to get ready for this meeting of minds that he was promised.
55,019	1,502	6	2,033	9,329	Aborath Mist crawled through the dark forest. It was the kind of fog wise men evaded and fools ran into with swords drawn. A bad omen in a time of darkness on the horizon. It was unnaturally thick and seemed unaffected by the small gusts of wind. Slowly it creeped up the cottage. Surrounding it completely. From the sky a few bats came down and hung themselves upside down on the branches of a few trees. These bats, however, were nothing like their smaller cousins. A fellbat could grow half the size of a man, and had a taste for blood. To see them in the human kingdom was incredibly rare. For long ago they were deemed dangerous enough to kill all of them. But some had survived. Under the dark protection of the Vampire King. Now they were his slaves. His spies. In the dark of night they flew out and on their hunt they fed their master with visions of patrols, villages and people. Even now they had spot those who came and had already entered the shack. With no screams or the clashing sound of blades, Aborath assumed that the others kept to peace for now. How dull. From the mist, he materialized. Dressed in his simple black robes, trimmed with scarlet. The only thing that could indicate to anything remarkable about him was the small circlet on his head. With the delicacy of an elf he entered the small place. Giving himself a moment to take it all in. Oh yeah, either something great would happen soon. Or they’d all lose patience and draw blades. For a moment he kept silent, trying to decide what was more likely. This ‘God of Evil’ actually appearing, or this strange band going at each other's throat. For a moment he had his doubts. But he dismissed them swiftly enough. Should they start attacking one another, he could simply pull back into the fog still surrounding the place. He observed the faceless… thing. What an ugly mass. And did that thing’s servant really all just call them insects? Aborath had heard the creature talk from outside. “I can assure you, I am not an insect.” The Vampire King said. While he himself may look the least intimidating of the brood, he liked to keep that façade just so enemies would underestimate him. But when this petty thing called him an insect too, he let the invisible façade of magic surrounding him drop. Revealing his true aura. Drenched in the blood of the innocent and surrounded by the agonizing souls of the forsaken. Before covering it all up in a glamour. “You’d do well to remember that you’re in the company of mighty creatures. So hold that tongue before I take it from you.” All threats were only aimed at Nyarlith’s servant. After which Aborath looked up at the faceless thing, touched his forehead with two fingers and then lifted them off slightly. As a manner of greeting he picked up from an old culture far down south. With the exchange done, he took his own seat at the table.	Name: Khata Nyarlith Title: The Faceless One Three-word description: Arcane Nightmare Horror Appearance: When out among other gods, mortals, or anytime else she's basically not lounging in her abode, she...it, is dressed in luxurious purple robes, complete with long flowing and imposing cloak, claws metal gauntlets and a rather...odd mask covering his-hers-its, features. All of the equipment is summonable, meaning she can summon it from anywhere should she so desire. The robe itself is fairly durable, and acts as a fairly decent suit of leather armor to naturally deflect physical attacks. Of course, it has also been heavily enchanted and fortified. If one had the misfortune of removing the mask...well, all they would see is a gaping hole where its face should be. If, one were to pay her a little visit in her not so humble abode and bow to her, they would find a much less mysterious, and much more beautiful and alluring creature. Standing roughly at five foot eight with pale skin, bright golden colored eyes dressed in fine silk clothing with pure white hair tied up, and wearing some fairly revealing clothing. She is often seen smiling, an uneasy sometimes 'unhinged' grin, one might say. Of course, this appearance is simply a magically kept facade. Her true form is...something much more terrifying. This horrific fleshy mass is...well, exactly what someone's nightmares are made out of. Cold, clammy, and somewhat slimy to the touch its not something anyone wants to meet in a dark alleyway. It stands at eight feet tall, and lacks any sort of facial features. Only a giant gaping mouth, twisted sideways where a face should be. Three strong looking arms protrude from its body, with obvious muscle one might expect from something other than a mage. Powerful legs hold it upright, ready to carry the creature with the same musculature as its legs. Several tentacles writhe and protrude from the creatures body, ready to be used as weapons for both offense and defense. Magic/Skills/Abilities: As far as skills go, Khata is what some might say, a complete master of the arcane. She has a incredible advance understanding of magic in general, which she uses to create horrific arcane creatures. Her most powerful skill, however, is the ability to summon various abominations from some unknown plane. Contact with these beings have slightly eroded her sanity over the years, but she cares not. all is for the sake of knowledge and magic...and power. Of course, summoning such creatures are somewhat difficult to do in battles, though the effect they have and the sheer potential for destruction they can cause is greatly worth it. However, such things won't help her if she's being attacked at close range. She can beckon these entities into a sort of half-existence, letting them dwell within her body and granting her a variety of effects and most importantly, physical boons and physical alterations. Aside from this, she also has various spells at her disposal that involve simply destroying things with the power of the stars and heavens. her most unique ability, however, is the ability to speak to mortals within their dreams. Such dreams, are often horrific nightmarish things, often ending with the victim being devoured by some abomination. Such people, are usually eventually driven mad and are either killed, or flee and search for her tower... Inventory/Holdings: Inventory: Enchanted Robes, to bind the flesh to a mortal form A Staff Spear, to rend flesh of foes and commune with greater powers A mask to conceal the face, to hide the true nature of things Black stones, ascending to the heavens to beckon otherworldly creatures The robes themselves are something summonable. They are enchanted to withstand physical blows, magic of all kinds, and extreme temperatures and environments. Aside from that, they are nothing special and function as typical robes do. Additionally, at her side and also summonable, is a spear designed to also function as a channel for magic. It does both jobs equally well, and while she's not as trained as some purely physical fighter would be, they would find themselves likely surprised by her skill with it to start with. And lastly, is her mask. It has the power to hide or reveal otherworldly things. Tower of Nyarlith The massive, sprawling black tower of Nyarlith is something of a legend among those who study the arcane. It is located not in this physical plane, but rather it has been summarily removed from this plane of existence thanks to pacts struck with eldritch beings. It was once located in what is today a vast desert, with nothing but sands and ruins as far as the eye can see. The desert was once home to a thriving civilization, but it has long sense fallen. Where the tower once stood, is nothing but a massive hole filled with water, where an eldritch guardian sleeps and watches over the seal that keeps the tower concealed from this reality. The hole, is said to be where the base of the tower once stood. Around it are the ruins of the city that have fallen into disrepair, and some have even sunken into the massive basin of water. Indoctrinated, Abominations, and the Enlightened What does Khata enjoy more than anything else? Dominating others, and her precious little slaves who have lost all form of what one might call 'free will'. They have been broken mentally, but their physical abilities are kept intact for obvious reasons. Surprisingly, slaves are treated well as long as they of course, behave. They make up the main cannon fodder of her forces within the tower, catering to her every whim and fighting for her on the front lines as slave warriors. Often times, their equipment is pretty heavily enchanted with magic, and some make use of magic themselves. Additionally, eldritch abominations which stalk the hallways and are always in the process of being made. These mindless creatures have no mind, and only serve to serve their masters. Mindless beasts, with no way to really control them. Set them loose upon enemy ranks, and watch the chaos unfold. The faithful, are the few insane humans who make their way to the tower after being affected by her dreams. They for the most part, are normal humans who have taken up tutelage under her. Masters of the arcane and summoning eldritch beings and contacting them for boons. Myth: Once, in the Vastness of the now desolate Great Desert, there existed a kingdom by the name of Azair. It was a prosperous, powerful kingdom that had been around for ages and had no equal in power. It was unified, a veritable utopia of wealth, civil stability and culture. Wars were said to have been a distant thing of the past, and power struggles were nonexistent for these people. Many people came to this utopia, lived there, and built lives. Of course, Utopias aren't exactly a realistic thing, and there is no such thing as a civilization without conflict... The high priest of Azair used to be a friendly, kinder, older human. However, they had a fascination with things of the arcane nature that would eventually be his downfall. She skirted too close to the truth. Came into contact with eldritch beings who showed him visions of what the future might hold for him and the kingdom. War. Famine. Destruction. POWER. All he had to do...was let the creature in. Let it in his head. So he did. What happens next should be of no mystery. The old priest was devoured by his desire for arcane knowledge, drove him insane. Power hungry. Eventually, this led him to wrenching power from the king, constructing the Tower of Nyarlith out of the finest obsidian stone that could be mined. After that...he sentenced everyone to death, letting eldritch creatures roam the streets and have their way with the humans in return for locking away the tower in another plane of existence. Of course, that's all history. Slightly embellished, or so the story goes. What is the actual truth of it? No one knows. For centuries, the tower had been dormant. Hiding away in its sealed off realm where its owner indulged their magic curiosities, eventually transforming even their own body into something horrific and inhuman. And then, came Kil'threx, speaking to them in a dream. An eldritch creature had a task for them. And they would agree wholeheartedly for a chance to serve a higher calling. Creating a portal between the realm of the waking, and the realm of the Nightmare Tower, she set foot on the world once again in such, a long, long time. Personality: Really...not all there in the head. Talks to herself, makes odd comments, and otherwise is just generally unhinged. She takes great pride in her abilities, and loves showing people just how destructive and awe inspiring they can be. She has an insatiable lust for knowledge, magic trinkets, and loves them to no end, actively seeking them out and will always accept items of a magical nature as payment for services rendered. That said, she treats her slaves and subjects rather well as mentioned previously. She subscribes that a loyal slave who loves you, will always be more effective than a fearful slave that is similar to a feral dog. She'll even go out of her way to save slave units and soldiers, should she have too. Of course, disobedience and failure is dealt with harshly...but punishment is always acceptable when a slave has failed their duties. Oh, and well, remember she's a complete sadist and often goes out of her way to inflict pain and suffering upon others that aren't her loyal slaves, faithful, or abominations. Sample post (put this in a hider please): "How lovely of you all to join us!" The voice cackled as the doors to the tower opened, a clock chiming somewhere above. "Wohoho, how lovely indeed! Majestic even! Welcome to my humble abode, little adventurers! I'm curious as to how you lovely little things found all of your way here! Entertain my curiosity some, maybe? Please? It's been oh so very long since I saw the outside world, being all trapped here in my castle~" The pale woman upon the throne giggled in an unsettling fashion. "Do not listen to the creatures words or be...seduced by its form! That is what we are here to kill!" The white clad paladin drew his sword, the doors to the throne room slamming shut behind him. "It's not even a woman!" The other party of adventurers drew their weapons. One with a rather nasty looking axe, dressed in some black robes. Another with a large hammer engraved with various holy symbols. Khata simply laughed from her throne. "Majestic! Heroes are heroes, even in a dream!" her smile turned into an unsettling grin as she looked down upon the adventurers in her throne room. And then she was in front of the Paladin. "Calling me an it...how rude. Typical hero! And here I am a damsel in distress, locked away in a tower. Are these not 'real' enough for you? Is that it?~" She said, pressing her chest against the paladins armor. The holy warrior reacted almost instinctively, aiming a sword right for the creatures heart...or where it was supposed to be. The blade pierced the creatures soft flesh, but instead of hitting the creatures heart and incapacitating it, she seemed wholly unaffected by it. There was a sickening crunch as the paladins armor was pierced instead. The creatures arm had turned into a a mass of writhing tentacles that slowly enveloped the paladin, crushing his bones and slipping into the cracks through his armor. The other two shook off their shock quickly enough, and proceeded to counter attack, trying to save their companion. The axe was brought down in an attempt to strike her head. The hammer attacked her from the side, in an attempt to prevent her from running. However, she dropped the paladin...and was suddenly ten feet away back in front of her throne. The heroes looked absolutely confused. "Ah, ah, so adorable. So adorable! You funny little humans, so adorable! Saving him, when you should be saving yourselves! Surprised? This is my tower! You think you can defeat me here? My gods won't let me die so easily, ahahaha~ Lemme show you again." Suddenly, she was once again in front of the heroes in the blink of an eye...with her spear slammed right into his heart. She swung the spear around, slamming it into the remaining hero. "Hehe...one left. I wonder...how much fun I can have with you?~" Night falls on the sands, Starlight beckoning towards Nyarlith. It is said the sands were once more hospitable, but after the fall of Azair the water in the desert dried up, filling a giant pool in the center of the once great metropolis where the Palace of the old King once stood. The dried earth split, great fissures forming leading to the depths of the earth... Existing on the southern edge of the continent, The Drazir wastes are, well, as one might expect from the name; A vast, endless ocean of sand, ancient stone ruins and fissures that lead far into the earth, swallowing travelers who lose their footing close to their edge. The desert is incredibly hot, the harsh sun beating down upon the sands making it reach temperatures that would make most men stay as far away as possible throughout the day. The clear, cloudless skies don't help, letting the sun fall unfiltered through. One should keep in mind, the desert is not lifeless during the day. A variety of beasts roam the sands that call the place home, waiting to prey upon those who would brave the desert. They tend to take refuge within desert ruins or the sandy caves that have been carved into the walls of the crags that litter the region. Some of these beasts, are some of the horrid experiments that have found their way out of Nyarlith, and should not be taken lightly. However, at night the desert takes a much more...peaceful looking form. It cools to a much more reasonable temperature, the large moon illuminating the desert in its pale light. Starlight shines from above, twinkling like little gems embedded in the sky. It is probably the time someone would wish to travel through the desert as the cooler temperatures make it much more tolerable to travel through. However, some nocturnal creatures come out at night, beckoned by the moonlight. It is by no means completely safer to travel. The various ruins that dot the sands, are always of interest to scholars and wizards, hoping to stumble upon some artifact of great power. A way to commune with the same gods that the old kingdom Azair possibly had contact with before their fall. One should be careful though, quite a few of Nyarlith's faithful call these ruins home. Stumbling upon them will often not go well for the unprepared... A few sparse oasis exist through the region which are safe enough, but for the most part it is completely devoid of flowing water, save for underground springs. The gates of Azair still stand watch over the ancient city, time only adding to their wondrous splendor and beckoning the curious inwards with promise of treasure and knowledge. Some say on the night of the Pale Moon, you can still hear the frantic calls of the citizens, pleading for their gods to same them from the monstrosities that were unleashed upon them. The ruins of the once great civilization still stand to this day, a defiant opponent to both sands and time. The ancient monolithic stone walls of the city have eroded with time, but not faltered in their tasks of keeping out sands and invaders. The city itself is a surprisingly...green place. An ancient waterway runs from under the central gate into the giant pool in the center of town where the Palace once stood. Plants seem to have flocked to this source of water, and have taken root within the city. The ruins themselves hold many magical and arcane secrets, should one be brave enough to find and brave them. And of course, make it past the plethora of creatures living here. Most, are discarded remnants from Nyarlith. Failed experiments, guards, or even some indoctrinated humans seeking for a way to enter the tower. All manner of obscene, abhorrent experiments that only one as mad as Nyarlith could come up with take place within its halls. Many a foolish wizard seek the tower and the ruined land of Azair, if only for some insight into the arcane mastery of the realms master. The master is a fickle thing, and if you entertain them you may be granted a boon of insight. People who manage to leave the tower, often go on to become powerful wizards until the end of their life draws near, and they are beckoned to return to Nyarlith. Erected so long again, the tower has remained in pristine condition thanks to otherworldly influences and magic. It currently exists on an otherworldly plane, in a realm caught eternally between sunrise and sunset, with the sun setting in the east, and the moon rising in the west. Clouds fill the sky, moving at an unnaturally swift rate as an unseen wind carries them to their destination. In this realm, the tower does not exist in a sea of sand as one might expect...but an actual sea. It stretches as far as the eye can see. An endless abyss, where all manner of eldritch creatures have taken refuge and live. The tower extends far into the heavens, all the way past the swift moving clouds above, and into a cool crisp night air where the silver, pale moon shines brightly and illuminates the roof of the tower, where all manner of obscene rituals take place under the amused gaze of Nyarlith. The only way into the tower is to beckon the Blood Moon, and step through the revealed portal that has been revealed. Pray the guardian doesn't awaken, however. It is a ravenous beast, that will let no trespassers through without its masters permission. The contents of the tower are vast and seemingly endless. Indeed, the tower almost seems to be bigger on the inside at times. A few notable locations within: -The Study Halls located on the upper floors, where scholarly pursuits are shared between the Enlightened -The Archives, located at the second highest place in the tower where all manner of magical tomes and research documents are kept -The Labs situated in the middle, where magical experiments are conducted. -The Communal room, located just below the archives, where one can attempt to commune with the elder gods. -The Lower halls, where abominations and experiments lurk. -Above the lower halls, are where the Indoctrinated rest. -The Beckoning platform, where rituals to beckon the gods to this realm are performed. -The throne Room, where Nyarlith grants audience to those who wish it. -Many, many, more unnamed rooms exist, their purposes many. The indoctrinated of Nyarlith have lost all sense of free will, unable to disobey orders from the creature that calls themselves their master. To be certain, they retain their desires, wants, former personalities from before but they can not do anything against the will of Nyarlith. I had the...opportunity to meet one once. I expected a mindless husk, but was surprised. They appear just as you or I. Completely normal. I wouldn't have even known, had they not told me. Its frightening. It makes you wonder just how many have been lost to that creatures influence and we have no way of telling. Slaves, or the 'Indoctrinated' as some call them, make up most of the population within and outside Nyarlith. Those who have had their minds dominated by Nyarlith and have lost all sense of what one might call 'free will'. Not that many would ever wish to do anything other than what their master tells them too. Such thoughts have all been wiped from their minds. These creatures come from all number of races that have existed. They are fairly easy to tell, as most will be dressed in simple robes or armor, depending on their own chosen specialty. They are as numerous as stars in the sky, and it is difficult to gauge the actual number of them. They are currently led by a general, a powerful man who was once a part of a group of paladins that sought to bring an end to Nyarlith, but who was instead given insight into the arcane knowledge, who then pledged loyalty to the creature. Those outside the tower, carry out special tasks. Reconnaissance, bring back information about the state of the world, bring back useful materials for experiments, etc. Those inside the tower, often cater to the wants and desires of their master. It is no secret they take great pleasure in indulging in mortal sins with their indoctrinated or Enlightened. The lower halls of Nyarlith are home to all manner of creatures. Experiments conducted by Nyarlith in order to achieve some greater purpose...or simply to sate the creatures sadistic pleasures. The experiments conducted at Nyarlith produce all kinds of abominations and creatures. There is no set explanation or classification for these monstrosities. Most cannot be controlled, tamed,or spoken too, even their masters have trouble with it. Most are kept within the lowest parts of the tower as insurance and guards. Some though, manage to slip through the veil and into the desert. Most, used to be human of some sort. Some though, appear to be chimeras. Animals fused with other things, most often things that seem to come from beyond the veil or other aquatic creatures. Slugs, octopi, fish, etc. Not all who seek Nyarlith are those indoctrinated. Not all of them are mages either. Simply someone the creature has taken an interest in, and have given them a choice. Come to Nyarlith and gain their own insight into the world without his aid, or go on living as ignorant, sightless beings. Those who accept, are whisked away to the tower where they may commune with the great ones themselves, find their own path of Enlightenment. Differing from the Indoctrinated, since they still retain all forms of free will, thought, and in fact, some in the past have actively worked against Nyarlith at times. They are easy to recognize, all wear masks similar to Nyarlith in reverence to the one who granted them such insight into otherworldly knowledge. Not all of them are mages, in fact some do not have the ability to cast magic at all. Some are simply special warriors or those born with a natural talent for seeing things. These Enlightened few, make up the higher ranks of Nyarlith's people. Whereas the indoctrinated are simple servants, guards, keepers, and general soldiers, the Enlightened are able to conduct their own experiments and travel between the tower and the waking realm. They are often the leaders, generals, and otherwise those of power within the tower. Dreams. All men have them, but few are able to master and understand what they truly are. Dreams are a time when human minds are open to the most insight. Able to hear the eldritch mutterings of those greater than them. Dreams, is an Area Nyarlith is quite well acquainted with. Often times, they will find a mortal they've taken an interest in and show them a nightmare. Such nightmares often will end with those afflicted seeking the tower and her. Depending on how they handled the nightmares and how much of the eldritch things they can see, they will either be turned into one of the Enlightened or one of the Indoctrinated. One of her lesser known abilities, however, is the ability to create peaceful seeming, lucid dreams for a few. A rarely used skill, but it allows communication, sharing of ideas and for him to see into a persons psyche. Often times, their form in this dream is vastly different than what the legends and myths state. Most often, the dreams take place under the bright light of the moon on a balcony, overlooking the sea.
55,020	1,502	7	1,278	8,075	The night had long since fell when Iona and her master, Aesir, arrived at the place were their meeting with none other than Kil'Threx, the God of Evil and Iona's creator, would be held. Naturally, Iona didn't expected to be faced to face with her former master, given that his presence probably couldn't be made physical just yet. Furthermore, they wouldn't be the only ones called to the Conqueror's presence, a slew of the world's most powerful beings, by either might or influence, were called by the Dark One as well. Knowing her creator like no one else, Iona was certain of what that meant. It was time for the darkness to rise again. The God of Evil had slumbered for too long, now was time for the Children of Light to quake in their heels and Iona would once more serve as the testament that not even light would save them. However, there was a difference this time. The former Ahwaan was dead, in her place only Iona remained and Iona would fight only for Aesir even if it meant to go against Kil'Threx's own words. * * * It wouldn't be long before the two of them reached the cottage where their meeting was supposed to take place. Iona was asking herself why this place of all have been chosen, perhaps only because it was close enough to Melaron, which meant that Kil'Threx wished to begin his campaign anew, starting from the site of their fall, eons ago. Actually, the battle had happened so long ago that the God of Evil and his armies, led by the Chaos Archangel Ahwaan, were nothing but myth even to the most long lived of mortal beings. Secretly, Iona wondered if any of those assembled by her creator would even recognize her? Not that i would be important, but it could lead to a good guess of their opinions about Kil'Threx. Iona remained silent, beside her master as the other guests filtered in, only ever sparing the time to nod in acknowledgement of their presence as she felt no use for further pleasantry exchanges. The dichotomy of the presence of a being so pure and untarnished as Iona within a hive of evil such as this was such that the angel expected the less savvy between them to turn their blades and spells against her at any moment, thinking that a servant of the heavens had somehow wound up between them. It would be a foolish move, but an understandable one. The Angel of Chaos remained quiet even as the Faceless being berated Aesir, seeing no need to retaliate to such a childish provocation but, sending a death glare to the creature and its master(?) as a reminder that no further offenses would be tolerated. When Deos came asking all sorts of improper questions and generally being an annoying chatterbox, Iona gave him the cold shoulder, hoping that he would get the message that she wasn't interested in wasting words before the meeting even began. When Aboreth came in, Iona acknowledged his presence in the same manner as the others, nodding in agreement to his words to Nyalith. Well now, was it all of them, or there was someone else yet to arrive? The night was young, but when so many spots of darkness pooled together in a single place, one could ask "Will it ever end?"	⛓ Iona, Ahwaan's Ash ⛓ "The true tragedy of war are not the bleeding gashes it opens, but the scars it leaves behind." ⛓ Height: 174 cm.\| ⛓ Weight: Unknown.\| ⛓ Age: Over 10,000. ⛓ Name: Iona. ⛓ Title: Ahwaan's Ash. ⛓ Three-word description: Angel of Chaos. ⛓ Appearance: The first impression of Iona is that of a woman of stunning beauty with a tall and well defined physique, not unlike a marble statue chiseled by the hands of master of yore. Her body and curves are well proportioned, with a medium shapely bust and worked out muscles that only add to her womanly charm, further enhanced by her swaying, waist-long, blonde hair and eyes that share the color of rich red wine. The features that call for most attention on Iona, are her huge, black-feathered wings that she can summon or dismiss at-will, as well as her stoic gaze that can cause any men to his heels with nothing but the sheer intensity of her stare. ⛓ Magic/Skills/Abilities: First and foremost, Iona is a fighter, being able to effortlessly wield any weapon ever conceived by mankind, but favoring her own arms, with dexterity that goes far above that of even the most seasoned mortal warrior. Iona's also a spellcaster far more experienced and able than any mortal, even the mightiest spells a mortal can ever hope to master are no problem for her however, Iona's true power lies in the holy element. As an angel it's only natural that Iona can wield a vast arsenal of holy magic. Smiting any who dares stand in her way without any form of mercy or remorse, Iona's the ultimate testament that light isn't necessarily good, much less nice. Furthermore, Iona's also nearly immortal, being unaging, requiring no sustenance of any form to exist and possessing a healing factor that guarantees that she'll overcome even the most grievous of wounds, her ability to regenerate can be suppressed if she's sealed but the only thing that's said to be able to permanently kill Iona is whoever she recognizes her master, through a contract. As long as her master keeps on living, Iona will always come back and only him can end her life permanently. ⛓ Inventory/Holdings: Iona's most praised possessions are her armor, which can be made to look like any sort of garment (though she favors a lightly armored dress that only ever enhances her feminine charm), yet will always protect Iona in their integrity as well as her swords. Dies Irae, Iona's dual blades, forged by a divine artisan from an unknown black metal that can only be damaged by weapons of equal quality, like the great hammer Mjolnir. Aside from both of them being blessed with holy powers, allowing the blades to strike true even against being that have no form or shape, like ghosts and spirits, they can also be joined by their hilts, changing shapes to become a black bow inlaid with golden runes. In bow form, Dies Irae can shoot powerful bolts of explosive holy light, instead of normal arrows. Lastly, Iona is in possession of a pair of matched silver rings. She can give one to a being she wants to form a contract to and will always know where and how well the recipient she chose is. Conversely, the recipient can use ring to summon Iona to their side no matter the distance taking them apart, unless Iona is sealed. Both share a telepathic bond, being allowed to converse and share their emotional states without anyone infringing on their privacy. ⛓ Myth: A long time ago, before mankind and the other children of light rose to prominence, the world was a sea of shapeless chaos onto which the Gods breathed life, ushering shape and beauty to their Creation. All of them, except for Him, the Dark One, Bane of Life, Destroyer, Conqueror, by many names He was but only one only which He recognized as His, Kil'threx, the God of Evil. He sought to usurp Heavens and douse the world of the light in darkness, taking all the Creation to Himself. The God of Evil's strongest weapon in His crusade for conquest, was also his Opus Magnum, the biggest mockery to the power of the other Gods, His own archangel, Ahwaan. Stealing the secrets of the other gods, Kil'threx, created a being of peerless beauty, wielding His enemies' own weapons against them as a testament that even the light would provide them no solace. However, time would come when the Conqueror's army would fall, His might crushed and Ahwaan broken and sealed in an old temple, deep within a valley where no mortal dared to thread. Chained with links of pure silver, heart and stomach transfixed by her own blades, abandoned in the darkness from with she came, forever. The Archangel Ahwaan was no more. Deep in her millenia long sleep, Ahwaan would have a vision, a dream of her master so handsome in His dark glory, seeking once more to free His ultimate tool upon the world of the light. When she woke up from her dream, Ahwaan found herself laying upon a bed she had never seen before, free from her binds, sitting on a chair beside her was him, the one who gave Ahwaan's freedom back, tho one who came seeking the power to conquer all, even the Heavens themselves, her new master, who had been ushered to find Ahwaan by none but her Creator. "From this day forward, you are Ahwaan no longer. Like the Phoenix, you have been reborn from the ashes of your former self. I name you Iona, the island upon which my eternal kingdom shall be built; you shall be my sword from now and forever more." The man who named himself Aesir said before the Archangel could even utter a single question. Nodding, Ahwaan no, Iona rose from the bed, taking the covers to preserve her modesty, and gazed upon the lands of her new master. There was a war to be won and Iona would once more be a spear of light, crushing down all those who were foolish enough to challenge her Master. ⛓ Personality: Iona is usually a stoic woman, only ever speaking, in her deep contralto, when it's important, or if prompted by her Master. She's not one to hold secrets and will always be true to her beliefs, no matter. Despite holding no pity for anyone, Iona despises those who abuse of their victims for petty sadistic reasons. In fact, it's not unknown of Iona to put down soldiers of their army that demonstrate psychopathic behavior. If Iona ever needs to eliminate a being that can't defend itself, she'll do so without hesitation, but in an apologetic way as she feels no pleasure from killing those who can't defend themselves. Perhaps it's a quirk of her angelic, or feminine, nature but Iona really feels sympathy for women and children and will only raise her blade against hem if ordered by her master, or if they try to fight back in any way. In fact, Iona has requested to take the custody of any children orphaned and woman widowed by their wars and for those she cannot spare, Iona will raise a grave. Thanks to her mercy for the weak, Iona, is revered as a sort of saint, by those she brought under her wings, though Iona never let them place her above Aesir in their prayers. After all, it's only his mercy that allowed them to live. Iona will never overstep her bounds and try to usurp her Master however, it's not unknown of their followers to see Iona and Aesir as a couple. The truth of this statement is left to each of their imaginations, though. ⛓ Sample post: “War never changes. You humans only think it changes merely because you witness something that forces your mind to reconsider the variables. To recount, to rethink, to do away with strategies and plans. War may have many faces, with new weapons and ever developing powers…but I assure you my friend. War never changes.” Those were the words of her Master as he sat upon his throne, victorious once more. Iona stood beside him, with blades readied, in case any of their foes had a trick up his sleeve. The angel didn't face the enemies of her Master with pity, nor did she show contempt, she was indifferent, just staring at their dying forms through it all but remaining silent. It was not Iona's place to speak while her Master did so, after all. “You’ve done well to reach my doorstep, but alas, like any pawn, you were destined to fall... To think you’d sacrifice yourselves in the efforts of slaying Aesir of the Court among your own bodily shells… a bold move. But ultimately useless against me...” And such was the truth. While Iona respected their efforts, facing her Master was a sure death sentence to anyone, Iona's blades would not waver or show remorse when taking down those who chose to stand and fight however, they knew honor and respect such as the dead are meant to be treated with. “Come Iona. We have much to do. The humans have made my blood boil with ecstasy by forcing me to make a new army. My favorite pastime...” "As you wish, Master." Iona said before setting her feet on the trail of Aesir, only ever stopping when one of the still surviving humans clutched her left ankle. "P-please, have mercy! I have a wif-wife and a child... newbo-" The man tried to say, before feeling the cold bite of Iona's sword piercing his heart from behind. "They'll know you died thinking of them. Now, you may rest..." The light of life left the human's eyes just as Iona pulled her weapon from his body and followed her Master once more. "May I ask, for a new orphanage as well, Master? Our war is sure to make even more victims and I'd like them to not suffer more than necessary." ⛓ Theme ⛓
55,021	1,502	8	2,487	9,775	♛ The Apotheosis of the Court ♛ Much like Aesir had predicted, many numerous beings of power had appeared within this small cottage space. Most, if not all of them, quite frankly bored him and did nothing more to pique his interest further. The sole exceptions were a woman who also wore a mask, the resident bringer of war aptly named Deos that he had found an ally in, and of course his own servant in the form of Iona, the Chaos Angel. Though Iona’s reactions were something not all surprising by this point. Surely the duo had seen much stranger beings in their presence, though they kept that fact, if any truth was brought up for it, to themselves only. Indeed, the being that had truly caught his attention was the Faceless One, a woman who bore a crest and symbol much similar to his own. And while Iona sought to defend her master’s namesake, Aesir merely nodded, as if to confirm Nyarlith’s curiosities. “You bear a mask yet you are not one as am I of the Court. How very interesting,” Aesir said for the first time since his appearance. “Seeing as you are a creature of knowledge, surely then you must know already of my namesake and title. I am Aesir, the Apotheosis of the Court.” To what the Court actually was, he did not say though that was perhaps the point of it. Sensing more than seeing Iona’s growing irritation, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand to quell her troubles. A summoning of this caliber would not end in them fighting on another. Or at least, if it was then this so called dark god was doing a poor job of assembling them together. “And how are you doing Deos?” the masked man asked, turning his featureless gaze upon the fellow denizen of war. It was no secret they had some sort of pact between them given the drive that defined their very existences. Still, Aesir was calm and collective so far, merely bring up chat to pass the time as they awaited their long overdue host. , ,	♛ The Apotheosis of the Court ♛ "Do you have a premonition in you? Do you have a desire for war in you? That is the proof of those who will go on with me." ✧Name: Aesir. ✧Title: The The Apotheosis of the Court. ✧Description: Immortal World Conqueror. ✧Appearance: A man of great build who is almost never seen without his armor of war. Aesir chooses to style his hair into that of a single braid, weaving it in the distinct pattern of the great snakes and dragons of old. Rumor has it that he has done this in acknowledgement of the goddess Apophis. His armor takes on hues of red, black and orange while his eyes are a dull gray in coloration; whether this is a sign of age or magical influence, no one knows. Those that perhaps did are no longer among the living. Lastly, he wears a cape that parts into two down the middle, resembling more of a scarf than anything else. ✧Magic/Skills/Abilities: Despite trusting his blade above all else, Aesir still recognizes the usage of magic in this world. Apart from being a masterful swordsman, his focus in magic leans towards the defensive type, able to generate barriers of many kinds and specialties to both himself and his allies. Sometimes they can even be used to trap the enemy, utilizing one of those specialties mentioned such as causing the barrier to explode upon itself for example. Though Aesier’s most grandiose skill is not any sort of active ability, but rather lies passive. Aesir has obtained complete immortality in his mortal life and thus can never be truly killed; as such, the only method to defeat him is to seal his body and soul away. Or be some sick sadist and just keep killing him until one gets bored. ✧Inventory/Holdings: Aesir is usually never seen without his fully-adorned set of armor that does well in protecting him against not only physical attacks, but also magic as well, allowing him to focus all of his efforts through weaponry and brute strength. Furthermore, he possesses a pair of double-sided great swords named Omnia that can be split apart if needed. It is said that when these mighty weapons are swung, they are able to summon forth powerful creatures both wild and strange to assure Aesir of victory. Lastly, he holds a mask that does little in battle apart from protecting his face and adding some truth to his myth as the “Masked Berserker”. Contrary to popular belief, Aesir is not currently possessing the body of a servant; he is instead in full control of his original body through which his immortality keeps him sustained at the physical appearance of youth. His kingdom is said to be be coated in a field of concealment that only fools dare to uplift, his forces stretched far and wide within his land. Those under his rule consist of many non-human creatures and those who praise his name and the glory of war. Alongside his rule is his most trusted servant, the Chaos Angel known as Iona. His personal fortress, which lies in the heart of his kingdom, is said to be a mighty tower that reaches so high it scrapes away the boundary of the heavens and the mortal world below. A constant stream of energy is pulsed out of the tower and aimed upward. In this way, the kingdom is forever protected and concealed, though some hold question that the constant stream of power is perhaps Aesir's attempt to wage war with the divine. ✧Myth: Legends tell of a boy reared by man but cursed by the gods who would breathe among the living. A boy whose ambition and thirst for control and power were thought to be signs of ill omen from the divine. Yet man is blind and ignorant as time has proven again and again; before long, the boy was no longer a boy and his desire to conquer had been fully realized in the form of massive armies assembled to his beck and call. But all things born of this world are destined to end, faded to die, and soon enough, the man was brought before Death’s door. Yet in the twilight of his passing, a god, or a trickster, or a devil of a Court long since forgotten in time, offered unto him the powers with which to cheat Death. Driven by his consumption of power, the man soon took upon his newfound partner’s deal to which he was assured there would be no consequence. There is always a consequence however, be it manifested through physical, mental, or even spiritual means. The man, now dubbing himself as Aesir in mockery of the gods who failed to end his mortal life, became a being cursed to walk the earth, whose sole purpose was to cause conflict wherever he moved. Neither love nor forgiveness could save him. Now he bathes in the blood of his enemies alone, in a fortress and kingdom thought to be hidden away in a land that lives only in myth. Or so the stories go. Be it by fate or choice or chance, the Apotheosis of the Court was rustled from his state of dormancy by a being of bitter tidings. A servant of Kil'threx had approached the conquering king in his own throne room, promising a new purpose with the prospect of spreading war in the name of the dark god. With the taste of strife fresh upon his breath, the “Masked Berserker” set off once more to do his duty in causing chaos upon the land. ✧Personality: It is no secret that the man named Aesir has an intimate relationship with war and conflict. So much so that many wonder if he is perhaps driven by some goal or pursuit to justify his ways. Yet despite his thirst for battle and strife, there is an air of chivalry surrounding the man. He will not raise a weapon against those without arms; whether it is because he holds pity or sees staining his hand as a waste of time is unknown. Furthermore, Aesir has no qualms in either watching battle take place or directly joining the front lines himself as he acknowledges the need for both tactics in war. However, if he does take blade in hand, he will fight to the very last and treats every soldier like a son of his own. A father to his men on the battlefield and a king to his subjects in the throne room. “War never changes. You humans only think it changes merely because you witness something that forces your mind to reconsider the variables. To recount, to rethink, to do away with strategies and plans. War may have many faces, with new weapons and ever developing powers…but I assure you my friend. War never changes.” The patron of conflict and battle himself sat highly upon his throne while the world burned all around him. Literally. The latest army of adventurers had traversed through hell and back to make it this far. To that he had to commend them in their willingness to be slaughtered. A great battle had taken place here, ending in conclusion with the bombardment of his castle with spells meant to tear apart the very skies themselves. But here he still sat, unfazed and unconcerned, but no less proud that despite the eons passing by, mankind was still prevalent in their ability to enact war upon each other. “You’ve done well to reach my doorstep, but alas, like any pawn, you were destined to fall,” the immortal continued to monologue to the mound of charred corpses that lay beside his booted feet. “To think you’d sacrifice yourselves in the efforts of slaying Aesir of the Court among your own bodily shells….a bold move. But ultimately useless against me,” he said, rising from his now crumbling throne and walking among the living inferno that was his home. “Come Iona. We have much to do. The humans have made my blood boil with ecstasy by forcing me to make a new army. My favorite pastime,” he called out to the ruins of his fortress before melting away into the darkness and smoke. “Hmm…we’re going to need a new castle. Something resistant to fire this time,” he muttered to himself. ♛ Theme ♛
55,022	1,502	9	2,424	1,745	You have brought him in with you, For he dwells within you waiting, Both the first to come and the last. Can you hear the music? The faint whispers of the desert wind? The tambour of the drums? Hear the taught skin rumble, hear it drone forever to the rhythms of eternity. The plucking of strings pulling at the soul, weaving the melody into the will of fate. And then the desert awakens, the sandswept skies rising the cloud to blot out the starlight night. The desert wind blows to the entrancing legato of the spindle. Become mesmerized, feel the music in your very chest. Each grain and note brushed across your skin to strip it to the bone, your blood runs dry, and your organs shift like the sand. Bursting, wanting, clawing itself out ask it seeks to be freed, unleashed upon the world. So listen, and you may hear the call of the desert. From the skies they came. Bearing their music. The droning sounds of millions of wings vibrating at once, the chorus of the desert for this was their song. And though the dark storm clouds brooded and brewed, it was not their thundering rumbles which shook the air but those of the swarm. It was the swarm which veiled the stars, swallowing up the light as a darker darkness overtook the skies. A living darkness, a breathing blackness, a hungry void. What dared to stand before them? For the might of millions upon millions upon million and more would devour all who resisted the will of the world. For hunger ran the world in many ways, and those sated are deluded or empty, far too empty. And where there was once a forest and mists, food and drink, now stands nothing more than a cobblestone path to a rotting shack. Could they, the others, hear it? The symphony of cacophony just outside their secret sanctum, roaring with the might of the living sandstorm? So many seated, so many called, but none so far collected. The Evil Eye had assembled quite the team, but what reason did they answer the summons? Why have they all come? Each a powerful lord or master in their own accord, why would they gather to kneel before something? Perhaps it was an intrigue which motivated them, to simply sate their curiosity and move on. Or perhaps it was ennui which plagues the immortals quite commonly, so much so that they would stoop so low. Or better yet, and perhaps most accurately, it was a hunger which compelled them all. A drive which kept the universe flowing towards the end, whatever end it may be, it is hunger which chases down the need. Or is there no end at all, for it may never end and all that is left is for the universe to consume itself. So to feast upon hunger, that is why He came. Bursting into room, through the cracks in the walls, the door, the roof, and whatever space there was to assemble the myriad. Thousands of jaws making swift work of the chair until nothing was left of the last seat which marked the place of the which had yet to come, but had already came, and just came now. There it was, the writhing mass of insects, desert locusts which devoured the chair as their wriggling bodies climbed over each other again and again. Crawling upon their brethren and forming a wretched lump that began to resemble a chair. Then, the rest from rose, hopping forth and revealing themselves into an emerging mass that formed from the seat of the chair. Slowly an arm, made of skittering locusts, shaped itself from the mass, a head crafted itself next from the swarm. Another arm, legs, a humanoid body which sat upon the infesting throne. "My old friend, what is it you desire?" The buzzing sounds made from the many, reverberated through the throne as this thing, whatever it was to those unfamiliar, and curious to those who knew better. It spoke to no one in particular, directed at none of the others as a few of its number fell and rose to crawl again upon its form. Of all those who attend only Zhystkrexas had not physically manifested himself, merely deciding to send an avatar, or in this case a vestige of himself to this dark meeting place. It was not out of fear, but rather of courtesy. For if indeed Kil'threx had wanted to gather an army for his cause, Zhystkrexas' presence, and what it caused, would not be needed. Only a scroll need be signed by all parties involved. And once the pact was made, what force of good may stand before them?	Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria Titles The Corruptor He Who Hungers Desert Demon of Desire The Dark Dream of the Devouring King of Lost Paradise Descriptions Three-Word-Description Insatiable Hunger Incarnate. Long Description What is it you desire most? Your deepest wishes, pulled from your wildest dream, harvested from your innermost secrets. The innocent fantasies you play with in the back of your mind, in the pit of your heart, the very nature of your soul. That which gnaws at you, your unsated want, a need restrained by reasoning, modesty, virtue. Like a caged beast, you drool hungrily at your temptations, but barely lick your lips when given but a taste of it when in a drought and famine. Now culminate all those years of unrequited starving. That is Zhystkrexas. Appearance He appears to those who are unaware of the true nature of the beast as a living idol. A perfect human being as they believe it, often seeing him as a man befitting the role of a chief of the desert tribes. The aspects they value most exemplified within him, a paragon of their own hopes and dreams to what they desire to be. For it is not his power to change himself, no rather it is his power to change how others see him. Dressed in finery of gold with a body of a worthy of worship, regally moving with the power and awe, the splendor of a true god-king to be envied and admired. But to those who wish to see him for what desire truly is, for those who desire truth, they shall see him for what he is. A smiling devil with twisting horns which flow like hair around him. Sharp teeth and fangs, a gaunt face like a skull and hollow eyes with which he eats your very being. Though dressed in his robes and finery, he is nothing more but a skeletal terror as his ribs are visible against his open robe. That is the true nature of desire. The insatiable hunger that consumes you, and though you may eat, there is nothing to show for it. Life becomes meaningless, and you are nothing more than a walking corpse: Empty. Personality Zhystkrexas, the corrupting influence of it all, that which dwells with the deepest reaches of the mind. Patient, devious, and cunning, an immortal who uses immortality best of all to sow the seeds of his grand design for the harvest. How many seasons shall he wait until his bounty becomes full and rich? But starve yourself completely waiting for the harvest to come? Why not feast on the spoils of another? Oh yes reap what is yours, but also devour the yields of others. let them savour their small victories, their piecemeal battles, let them dine upon their riches and let their praises be pleasing to their ears. Let all their plans align and designs unfold to their whim, but in the end it matters not. For when the crops are ready to be harvested, the locusts shall come to eat it all. And so this is why perhaps of all the evils in the world, Zhystkrexas is most despised, for he leeches off the work of others, and dares to manipulate even his peers as he would mortals. Such is he who hungers. A façade of benevolence over a pit of pure malice, a voice so tempting, so pleasing to hear from a true cosmopolite, and yet beneath the veil a ravenous fiend. It is his hand that feeds, and also he that bites the hands that feed, and those that he fattens to feast upon. Nothing can sate him for he is hunger, and he shall lead you to consume yourself before he consumes you, both physically and spiritually as he devours your flesh and captures your soul. And once he has led you down the path, he shall take deepest pleasure in devouring your envious eyes, your lustful heart, your prideful tongue, your wrathful limbs, your greedy mind, your gluttonous gut, and your weary head. And why does Zhystkrexas do this? For it is his nature. He hungers. He is hunger. Though his kingdom is plenty, he is the starving lord who eyes upon the kingdoms of others. In time, he shall consume them, and then when there is nothing left to be consumed, he shall be forced to consume himself. Powers and Possessions The Devouring King exemplifies not a strong physical force nor magical one amongst his peers, but do not mistake this for weakness for his powers lie elsewhere. While he is merely slightly stronger than the average paragon mortal, and commands arcana within reach of the most learned of mortal magi, His unique power lies in his ability to bring out the worse in things. His presence is toxic, changing the very essence of beings and non-beings. It is his hand which cultivates the seed of desire, the primal shard preexisting, tending it to become an overgrowth that bursts through the nature of a thing. His work is to accelerate the inner hunger, the rest comes naturally as torment ends with feeding and overfeeding. Yet satiation never happens, and so indulgence becomes wickedness, carnal desires feasting upon morality, and moral desires feasting upon carnal needs. No one is safe from his abilities, to woo and tease out the hopes and dreams of a person, then taint them into a twisted reality. Where the pleasure may never end, but all meaning to it is lost. While it is with this psychic force that the Dark Dream eats away at the will. Appearing as he would to mortals in a form they find desirable by dulling their beliefs in anything but to conceal the truth of his horror. But this illusionary self-delusion is merely a front for the true abilities he possess in the form of his magical contracts that taint reality with unyielding fantasy. It is his contracts which create kings out of men who lust for power, and scholars out of men who long for knowledge. Those who crave wealth find their coffers filled by the connections the Corruptor creates, and those who seek the pleasures of flesh shall find it so. By the magic of his magical contracts innocently offered to drag them deeper into their obsession, the shrewd negotiator can make those fantasies come true at a price. Already they have had their freedoms taken from them by his invisible chains, to sign a pact with him was undeniable. And with these contracts, he may tap into the power of those poor souls, sealed away in their personal heavens but bound to be squeezed and abused at his pleasure. They who are trapped in an endless dream, but tormented in the same nightmare, used to lull another unsuspecting victim. He may channel the powers to seemingly warp reality to his desires, but ever moreso to twist the wishes of others. Take for example a man who wishes to be a king, but to do so would need to raise an army to raise a coupe. An army would be offered, perhaps summoned by the magic-users eternally bound by his contract or even comprising of fallen warriors who have sealed their future in the past. And the price for a regicidal army would be the future king's own soul. A bargain that the wise would be so wary, but the cunning would attempt to outwit. Nevertheless, when under the influence of desire, both wisdom and cunning become a hubris. And by the Corrupter's whim and will, that was so easily gained becomes so easily lost. So a collection of lost souls the Desert Demon gains, each trapped in their own prisons of eternal paradise. Such is his title, for he rules his subjects within their own kingdoms. A legendary metropolis which sits brilliantly in the desert like a radiant gem to scatter the sunlight for miles. It is a city built by the Jaria Clan, a desert people who serve and view Zhystkrexas as their God-King. Zhystkrexas himself rarely manifests his presence in the public eye, and thus the city itself is ran by its elite citizens, governing itself with its false-utopia to mask the corruption which has taken the very city. Every sort of pleasure and vice can be found within the polished stone walls, but the city itself has loose regulations, and developed magical defenses which essentially maintain a semblance of order. The entire city is self-sustaining, and requires no outside support, yet invites visitors from afar to experience what it has to offer. Most travelers stay however and become permanent additions to the city. Either willingly or worse. I'Zhystana also holds two secrets: the two sources of Zhystkrexas' powers. The Forgotten Desert was and forever will be a desert. It goes by many names, for it borders many nations like a dried patch of land, in Ancient Elven it is called Qualmanfauglir, in Dwarven Kurz-Gazan, Humans have called it more names throughout the ages than other races, but the common name is the Forgotten Desert. For as long as anyone could remember it was a forsaken place upon the world, a cursed boundary where the kingdoms of old would draw the borders of their nations. There was no value to claim the desert, for it was an inhospitable place, and nothing of value was ever found. Who would send legions to defend a sorry claim? Only a foolish ruler would gaze upon the tides of unforgiving sand and see any potential. Only outcasts live there. Herding and scavenging on the picking the harsh climate offered. Though the sun shone brilliantly upon the sands, and the beautiful sunrises broke through the plateaus of stone, no plants grew and no life survived without water. And as the ancestors knew, the Forgotten Desert had no water to give. Rain never came upon the empty dunes, nor did waters ever rise from the sands, no river it had to claim and locked in by land from all sides. Only by living on the fringe did anyone survive, and yet to push on into the heart of the desert as a journey of discovery. For despite the warm days and cool nights, those who drive on, past the storming sands and chaffing winds, into the heart of this barren place, they may see the splendor that is I'zhystana. Only the well prepared can venture forth in the great city, or anyone who wishes to make the journey by more practical means than traversing a great desert should consider chartering a passage either by magic or caravan into the city. There are even desert-ships which sail through sand like water, catching the winds upon their sails and rolling upon the dunes with their great wheels. But with its crown jewel of I'zhystana, and vessels which travel to and from it like this the Forgotten Desert is no longer quite Forgotten is it? I'Zhystana is built in a labyrinthine arrangement of walls circumscribed into walls with the Palace of the God-King in the middle beside the Oasis of Acrid. The sectors between the three walls serve as districts which tend to offer a particular set of indulgences that dominates the particular area of the metropolis. The Rim, the Rise, and the Royal Districts are named rather aptly for what they offer. The First district, The Rim, welcomes travelers into a taste of carnal delights. Things which can please the senses between brothels and bazaars, if it is to be touched and felt, it can be found in the Rim for the most basic needs of all. The various attractions which are highlights of this district afford the great wealth generated by the city. A series of bazaars which never seems to end, save for when it does at the edge of the second wall. Each tent and stall offers wares ranging from far-flung exotic goods imported from the reaches of the world to local artisanal crafts made by some of the best artificers in the world. And though many hotels and hostels, villas and inns are offered for rent, the marketplace never sleeps in I'Zhystana as coins always trade hands. Common currency is accepted here, however the God-King's benevolence allocates a portion of the city's tax money as a welcome package to new arrivals to encourage economic exchange, along with various other incentives for new merchants to set up shop... Those who which to taste the good life may dine at the various eateries which offer a selection of food and drink as complete as the wares sold in the markets. Exotic delights and compounds strange offered to sample and try, spirits flowing in chalices such that they may never be empty, and plates constantly replaced with more portions of food. It is said that one can tour the entire cuisine of the world in a single plate, or at least by merely walking from one diner into the next in a single city block, and even the dogs may eat as kings here. Ah the fragrant houses for the pleasure of flesh. What lusts can be slaked off here? Man, women, anything really. Whatever the traveler wishes to try and is willing to do. There are even some darker dens which lace their acts with magic to perform unnatural things. But one will find in a place like I'zhystana, there is no such thing as taboo. Such public knowledge of these intimate things are common in city that is said to be everyman's paradise. The second district, The Rise, caters towards those seeking self-improvement and things which cannot be held by mere arms of flesh. In the second district scholars find libraries to dwell in, warriors find arenas to test themselves, artists find gardens of meditation and inspiration. It serves to channel the productivity of the city, and thus the various attractions of this district afford the great people and status of the city. Libraries, polytechnics, and institutions of learning dot the sector. Museums and records for those who love the past, books and auditoriums for those who care for the present, and laboratories and guilds for those who look to the future. For those who seek knowledge and wisdom, a day is not enough to take in all the resources available and so many stay to rejoice in the halls as scholars of their own field to ever-increase the reputation of I'zhystana. Where once life did not grow, now it thrives in the city of the desert. Green and lush with beauty in nature, tended carefully by the unnatural hand to appear as natural as can be. It is a tamed beauty to look wild, a source of paradoxes and intrigue for philosophers and artists alike. For it is beauty captured and experienced, but far more beautiful than anything that could be captured. To walk in the growth and stroll lazily through the park, to sleep perchance to dream. The gardens offer tranquility and serenity, a place to lose oneself and to find yourself. And for those who care not for understanding or peace, the arenas shall win their hearts. The blood and battle, the sweat and grime. All of it to entertain the masses of others who wish for sport. Races, fights, and displays of skill, every form of competition to claim victory in exists here. For fame to be renown and sung through the desert winds as the best in I'Zhystana. Who shall claim the title and honor? The Glory is yours to take, to take from the other man unworthy of your mercy. Win and you shall be the subject those painters shall paint and those students shall learn of! The Third and final district, the Royal district, serves as the residence of the God-King as well as the administrators of the city. It is also within this district that temples are made to the God-king, and of course is home to the sacred Oasis of Acrid and the Palace of the God-King. It is the very heart of the city, from which all forms of regulations and bureaucracy arise. Thus the seat of power of the Forgotten Desert. The estates of the important citizens of I'Zhystana. Luxury beyond luxury, only those who are chosen by the God-king himself may live in the inner circle. Of course this position is a precarious place to be as others seek to acquire the very same post. Those who live in these villas are often duplicitous sociopaths who are both paranoid to lose their position, and seek to enjoy their elevate status in the public eye. Forming a court of backstabbing bourgeoisie and fiendish friends as part of the elite of I'zhystana. The holy of holies. The God-King's faithful come to worship and praise him throughout the lesser temples built in his glory, but it is the Grand Temple which the God-King himself is said to attend. Inside the sanctum the devout may genuflect and beech the statue of their God-king to fulfill their desires. And if the clergy allow it, hearing the whispers of their Lord, the faithful may ensign themselves and their wish upon a blank scroll that shall serve as a new contract. The main administrative building for the city of I'Zhystana. New laws are adopted, written, discussed made, regulations, policies, and more. The final process is democratic and each seated member may cast their votes to decide the fate of I'zhystana symbolized by dropping their council rings into the set of scales behind the three seats before them. Though often the Great Seat is empty for the God-King hardly appears to rule on such trivial manners, the Lesser Seats are for the Hands of the God-King who are those who have achieved the highest status of power beneath the God-king. An interesting pair who keep the city within the God-king's grip. The seated man and the dancing woman depicted are The General and the High-Priestess respectively. Both of the Jaria Clan, the General heads the military enforcement and decrees of the God-King, while the High-Priestess tends to the spiritual adherence and teachings of the God-King. And both are just as twisted as their ruler, for the General seeks to take control of the city from beneath the God-King by careful undermining, and the Priestesss is solely devoted to the worship of the God-King as the greatest fanatic obsession she bears. As such They by in large tend to cancel each other out, with one being rooted in betrayal and the other in devotion. Something which the pleases the God-king as he sits upon his true solitary throne. Here upon the Golden Throne the God-king Sits surrounded by a few guards and consorts as he dines upon his awaiting prey. Named after an ancient Jaria Chief, this sacred water source created the entire city through its powers, and is guarded by the Jaria Clan as their protected wellspring. The Oasis of Desire is a product of Zhystkrexas' power, as a vast amount of the entity's essence was invested into the creation of the black pool. It is said those who wish to harm Zhystkrexas must first drain or corrupt the pool, a task impossible as the temptations of the waters seem to affected the mind of all those who seek to destroy it. For unless one only has a desire to destroy the Oasis itself and only that one singular desire in all the world, then it shall rise up once more to fulfill the desires of those who thought the sought to destroy it. Deep Beneath his Grand Palace, Zhystkrexas hides his legendary collection of bits and baubles under the desert sands locked away behind an curious door. The Vault is warded against forms of magic and hardened against physical attempts to destroy it, as the only guaranteed way to enter is through the Smiling Door. Called so as it features an usual bust of Zhystkrexas' monstrous head which claims the contents of the vault as his possession. The jaws open ever so slightly as to admit a trembling hand to twist and pull the handle unlock the doorway. But beware, for just as the pool was guarded by one's desire, so too is the vault as the Smiling Door bites off any hand which fails to prove its worthiness to enter Zhystkrexas' true horde. And the smiling bust shall serve as a remind that only a Heart as twisted and wicked as Zhystkrexas may enter. For within his well-guarded secret is the other source of his power: all his magical contracts. The only way to undo a deal and release the soul bound to it is to either negotiate with Zhystkrexas himself, or to steal the original document from his possession and then destroy the contract. The former is usually unwise, and the latter is generally impossible. Yet for the hundred upon thousands of souls empowering him, what would one soul be? The blessed servitors of Zhystkrexas. They serve him out of birthright as his mortal agents. Some serve to protect their God-King or his assets, others serve to expand his influence as merchants or skilled mercenaries. Some are 'entrusted' with positions of false power, but turn paranoid and scheme to retain such a precarious position and to earn the pleasure of their Lord. They are decent fighters and craftsman, but most of all shrewd negotiators and bureaucrats. As such the Jaria are a part of the City and Zhystkrexas himself, they are his numerous armies, his devoted acolytes, his awaiting swarm. Gregarial, The Scepter of Satiation Once a magical vessel which served to bring forth prosperity to the land, the nature of Zhystkrexas' power has long since corrupted it into this form. Melted down into its formerly pure gold, and its four diamonds and single ruby jewels recut and refitted to resemble the teeth and eyes of the dragon-like head that tops his personal weapon. The monstrous motif-bears a partial resemblance to Zhystkrexas' true form, especially in that its hinged jaw can be snapped open or shut with a twist of the its head. It is the cane which he uses to support his position, not physically as he feigns physical weakness, but symbolically. For it is his antithesis in a way, such that any non-sentient object that should be placed into its small jaws shall be duplicated, and that duplication itself shall continue to replicate endlessly until the original object is no longer within the rod's jaws. It is the weapon only befitting of one who causes an equally endless hunger, and perhaps the only thing that can weaken his grip on his world, as such he keeps a tight grip upon it. The Myth I approached him upon his golden throne, and he was far more handsome than I had heard. I found my eyes fixating upon the seat of his throne, wondering what monster was beneath his attire. He sat so regally, a presence so commanding that I had no shame in kneeling before him. I took to one knee and bowed my head, catching a glimpse of his charming smile. There my mind could only imagine those lips of his moving to the sound of his alluring voice asking if I wanted him. Every word dripping out of his mouth like golden honey, drizzled upon his chest. yes, how my tongue quivered inside as it brushed against my teeth, how I wanted to lick that sweetness off his glorious body. I lusted for him, and oh my heart leapt for joy when he placed the collar around my neck with that glorious smile, and wrapped the chain around his hand. He had made me his consort, another to join his court, his entourage, his harem. Yes, I am your servant, your slave, your lover. I surrender myself to you, oh great lord of the Jaria! I looked up at him from my lowly place, having begged him for a single coin. What did he see in me? A mere tramp with nothing, no home, no family, no money. How great was his wealth and generosity that he would invite me to share bread with him? As the guest of honor? But oh he raised me from the poor beggar I was and dressed me in finery, silken robes trimmed with silver and inlaid with gold. He bought me jewels and fitted them upon my wretched hands, and his servants washed by feet with fragrant oils. What luxury did he have? What wealth to be able to do so to a nobody like me? And then he asked me if I dreamt of riches, far more than I could carry with my arms. I told him yes, I dreamt of a sea of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, all the treasures as far as the eye could see, and that all of it be mine. Then he showed me his vaults, which were all that I had imagined and more. For mountains of treasures like the grains of sand in the desert surrounded me as he smiled, throwing me forward into the vast piles of wealth with his hand and telling me to take all that I could carry. How my eyes widened in disbelief in awe as I praised him, oh great lord of the Jaria! I serve him for he has granted me peace. He consoled me when I had lost her, with his gentle hand placed upon my head as I grieved into his shoulder. When I thought I was abandoned, he strengthened my resolve. He had given me the means to my vengeance. A spear which he offered before my feet. He asked if sought justice for her death, and gave me the means to do so. He smiled as I picked up the weapon, rising and steadying myself with the shaft as my mind dwelt upon the deaths of her killers. He applauded as I came back, drenched in blood with only my sweat to wash the stains away. Justice has been served, and for this I owe him my life. This blessed spear with which I had carried back the impaled trophies of my enemies heads, now will become his. I shall fight for him, I am his spear that shall pierce all those that would stand before him. May I die for your name, Oh great lord of the Jaria! I was invited to his feast, a banquet thrown at one of his lavish parties. I thought I had tasted everything there was in life, but he proved me wrong. There was a smorgasbord of dishes upon his table, all smelling of exotically pleasing to the nose as I licked my lips in anticipation. The drinks he offered, the wines poured which filled the cups of all those gathered around him, and me sitting to his right as the dishes were being passed around. And as I ate my fill of rare delicacies from around the world, he smiled while asking if I had saved room for the main course. The main course? What was this to him then? Merely an appetizer? And what was it that he would bring to top off these scrumptious delights we had just experienced? Then there it was, a small boy dressed in a white tunic, perhaps a serving boy, approached us. My eyes could hardly believe the horrors which happened, but as the succulent smell wafted into my nose, I could not resist lifting my fork up to bring the tender flesh to my lips. I thank you for a most excellent dinner, oh great lord of the Jaria! I sought to test his power, and to know his limits. There I wished to know more than anyone mortal had, I challenged him to tell me the secrets to immortality. For long did I spend hours over ancient text regarding his kin, and years I had devoted of my life to the study of the Children. I had studied sorceries beyond the scope of many men, and perfected my spellcraft to rival the lesser gods. Yet I was still mortal, as poweful as I was, death would end it all. So I had traveled to his kingdom to see if I could deceive him into telling me how to become a god. And so through my flattery, did he feign his impressions, praising my skills to entertain his court as he asked what I wished to be rewarded with. My request was what I had longed for, knowledge forbidden to a mortal man: transcendence. So he smiled, as he offered me a scroll. Now the torments never end as my flesh burns and bones melt, my mortality being purged by the eternal flames as my soul fuels your power. You have won, oh great lord of the Jaria! I had trembled at his arrival, kneeling before me at my bedside. For three moons had I reigned over as chief. What have I done to displease him? Why so now was I stricken with this malady? This accursed illness which leaves me here too sick to enjoy the fruits of my conquests? Even now my own advisors and family plot against me and each other. To take up that which is rightfully mine. Why have you abandoned me? I asked him in disbelief, coughing blood and hacking phlegm. Did he not promise me the power to rule over them? But what cruel irony that it was that I should be confined to dying on this bed while another sits in my throne. Ignoring my questions, he rose to lift my head to meet his eyes. Then he smiled and asked me if I was ready. Please have mercy, oh great lord of the Jaria! I scoffed at the depravity of his kingdom when he approached me. I had rebuked him for the vast hedonism that bleeds out from his den of sin. I being virtuous detested all that he offered me. I wanted nothing that he could ever bring. So I bade him to leave, and left his presence. I sought refuge in the wilderness, away from his corrupting shadow. There I suffered in the heat of the sun, the cold of the night, the hunger of an empty stomach and thirst of a parched throat. But he would never taint me, I would be pure, and untouched. I would become a paragon of resisting the corrupting demon, the vile one who seeks to twist us all. And foolishly I thought I had rid of his influence at last, but he waited. He was patient, as I squandered away my time, living in moderation, living simply on the verge of death for fear of his return. How I wasted it all away, in pursuit of my enlightenment, a chance at family and friends, a chance to pursue a hobby and skilled art, a chance at a full life to experience it all. By attempting to resist him, I had fallen to the desire to resist him. And so he came to me once more in my old age, though I could not see his smile, as he asked me once more if he could grant me anything I desired now. Grant me rest, oh great lord of the Jaria! These are some of the tales you will hear from the other voices of I'zhystana, but I see you seek more than a short recollection. You want the truth, and I can offer you more insight into our Lord. All that this old storyteller asks in return is one favour for the knowledge offered in my story. Promise me this oh Hero, and I shall tell your tale with the rest of my old life so that they will know the truth of your victory Efendi. And of course, if it is not so much to ask, perhaps you can buy the rounds of drink to keep our lips moist as I speak and you listen hmm? Ah, our tale begins not in the distant past, but only a few miles in that direction from this humble watering hole for vagrant thieves, vagabonds and scoundrels, for it is there in that path lies the city of I'zhystana. I'zhystana. Behold the jewel of the desert, the most splendorous city anywhere. While some say the City-State-Kingdom of Melaron is greater, let me assure you Efendi, once you have spent a single night in I'zhystana, no place in the world in this life shall be as glorious. For how can it be that for hundreds of miles of sand and more sand, that such a thriving metropolis can exist? The answer is quite simple Efendi, it is called I'zhystana for a reason. For beyond her walls of endless pleasures beyond the imagination lies her secret. The bewildered travelers and visitors may find their hearts torn between the exotic brothels, the grand arenas, or indulgent spas. The sages can find refuge in their towering libraries and while the nobility chatter in their high-rising parlors. Vast world-class bazars for those hearts set on riches or dining upon the flavour of this world all in one night, lush gardens holding viewing galas for those who amuse themselves in the arts. Some may call it paradise, but for whose who consider it a den of debauchery should consider the great holy temples to their God-King. The worship of one being, the Lord of the Jaria. It was he who gave life to this place, where once only sand and sun existed, now thrives life. For long ago, upon a blessed moon, did he come to them. They who had once which once roamed nomadically through the deserts, enduring the harsh lands to scavenge for their sustenance, as all who lived in the desert once did in the old days. Dozens of clans roamed the endless desert, pushed to survive this way as the other kingdoms encroached upon their lands more and more. And since no Kingdom lay claim to the barren desert, it was natural that it became a sanctum for those who had nothing left to lose but clung to the hope of life however meager. It was here in the land of nothing, in the hour of desperation, in the face of death, that the last chief of the Jaria clan signed his tribe into the service of a handsome stranger who appeared in his tent. What happened that night no one truly knows, there are stories that claim the chief consummated the agreement, some who say that the chief was forced into signing, and other yet say there was no such stranger and the chief himself cried out to the desert for a miracle. Whatever happened that forgotten night, it was said that very morning the sunlight revealed the waters had sprung from beneath the sand. They say he was a divine being, heretics claim he was a demon that crawled out from the desert sands, but are they not one in the same? Others say he is no god, but merely a powerful sorcerer with a penchant for business, but I say who else can create all this from nothing but a god? There was the gift provided, and now the Jaria clan alone may lay claim to abundance through their ancient dealings with their new Lord. In return for a single oasis, such that they may survive the desert, they had committed their entire surviving lineage to the God-King. Was it a fair trade? I would say any man who would help you cheat death itself was a man of great benevolence. He came to them with an offer of life, but they would in turn serve him. Brokers of his dealings, the middle man to spread his influence across the land, the example of what he could grant: a life of luxury in the barrens of the sunlit wasteland. It is this life that some say is wrong, but to a people who lived on the edge and had nothing, was it so wrong Efendi? Hedonistic epicureans, the members of the infamous Jaria clan have an indescribable amount of wealth, knowledge and power throughout the lands. So much accumulated over the years by using their oasis as their capital asset, offering quenching water to the other wandering bedouins of the desert. A small price to pay for water was cheaper than blood. It was indeed a fine water supply, with cool, clean, and crisp water, waters which made everything seem better, food eaten with it was far more delicious. Sand became fertile to bear crops and crops water with it produced in overabundance. Wounds washed with it healed faster, skin more supple, and bodies more fragrant as libidos raised. It was indeed the miraculous water, the Oasis of Jaria. And yet they who drank it would find the same water no longer capable of sating their thirst. Food without it became bland, and all others became putrid without it, wounds festered and skin aged, clothing chaffed and crops died. They became locked in a dream, a dream which turned to a nightmare when the water ran dry. So the addiction began, and they who partook in the Oasis became enslaved to it, enslaved to the deals of the Jaria who smiled as their wealth bounded upwards with every transaction. It was not merely water which their patron had given them, but far more, for from the desires of others they had their own filled. Power, fame, wealth, everything came in overabundance to the Jaria clan by the sacred oasis. The pool which to this day remains protected by the clan as they have built their empire around the holy waters. No longer have they need to use its miraculous abilities, but blessing of stranger is to be forever revered. And there he sits upon his gold throne within his marble palace. Clad in gold rules the God-king Zhystkrexas. Praise be to you, oh Great Lord of the Jaria! There, I have told you all that I know of our story Efendi, now I hope you will not have forgotten our agreement, there is a always a price in the city of I'zhystana, you must find a way to release me from my deal with my Lord... A Story Allow me to take a moment's rest in recounting my tale. Forgive this old storyteller's lips for being parched, but a brief respite to catch my wind and drink. Ah that reminds me of another tale of which I could tell regarding drinking, but that is not the story you asked for now is it? You travel to I'Zhystana seeking audience with my Lord? Who is this Kil-threx of whom you serve? Ah nevermind, perhaps you would have asked for another tale if you had the time. Now, where was I? ...And there Our warrior stood, bathed in the blood of the guards as he threw their lifeless bodies before the God-King's court. The crimson ebbs of battle mixed in with his panting breath and running sweat. The gallant Knight-Paladin had sought to slay the monster which had taken many of his order. Felling the eight Jaria guards within the throne room had taken a great deal of effort, let alone the dozens he had to vanquish to get this far. But it mattered, not for now the demon before him would die. It was over, he declared, through all this he, he was finally going to kill that thing that sat upon the golden throne. The moment he had been waiting for, to thrust his blade into the wretched heart of all sin and kill the beast at last. But ah the God-King Zhystkrexas merely smiled, and beckoned the knight closer. And with the courage of a lionheart, the Knight charged his sword aimed at the Lord of the Jaria's chest. It was then that the good knight found his arm held, a force clutching at his wrist and a powerful hand gripping tight to prevent his blade from sinking into the boney flesh of the great beast. There in those precious moments he would wrestle for control over his own blade against the God-king, but found himself in a deadlock. And how he wanted to pierce its dark heart and more than anything at this moment, kill it. But the God-King knew his desires, as it knows all desires and the evils which lay dormant in the hearts of men. So the Devouring One asked him the question, that if he would so easily trade his life away to kill it. And our knight in the heat of the battle of wills screamed yes as he felt the grip of the fiend loosen. Blade penetrated the God-king's chest and skewered its body to the very throne it had not arose from. Gazing at the lifeless body of the demon, our knight was victorious at last. Or was he? For it was an hollow victory, just as he was a hollow man. His hand dropped his sword of its own vocation, moving to hold his face of its own accord. There in horror he realized what had happened, and his own hand betrayed him. A horrific scream and gruesome tearing, the terrified slayer began to rip off his own face. And there beneath his visage was seen... the Face of Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria. It is a tragic tale, but I have kept my promise to an old friend. Many thanks to you for the drink Efendi.
55,023	1,502	10	2,489	654	Trenton Baker The pirate captain did not rise from his seat, merely eyeing each new arrival in turn, feigning the same kind of wise, knowing air that the others greeted each newcomer with. In truth, he didn't know shit about any of these people - not the dragon, not the mist-man, not the masked man or the masked... whatever. He observed with bored interest as tempers flared amongst the motley lot - the pale mist-man had something to say to the thing in the mask, and he made his point with a fairly banal show of force. "Oooh, scary," the pirate called out at the Vampire Lord's aura filled the room with the stench and the feel of blood and fear. "That must really get all the old women and little girls wherever you're from, yeah? Bet it knocks 'em dead." Trenton guffawed loudly and put his boots up on the table. "I'm sure we're all above fancy magic tricks here, though." For all his talk, though, it would be a lie to say Trenton didn't jerk back a bit when the locusts started pouring in, more from shock than anything. The writhing swarm slowly formed together, took the shape of a throne, a man, and Trenton relaxed. This one, at least, he knew. "Zyrthrexas!" he shouted, a broad grin forming on his face. "Just the horrific beast I was hoping to see here. I swear I was just thinking, 'If only this was fuckin' weirder,' but now here you..." The pirate's words were interrupted by the loudest rumbling he had ever heard. Kil'threx, God of Evil Slowly, tendrils of black smoke began to worm their way into the cottage from underneath the walls. The trickle turned into a flow, and then a flood, as gouts of the wispy substance poured forth and swirled through the air with a will of their own, encircling each one of the assembled company in turn. The rumbling from the floor changed in pitch and rhythm, became a steady, beating sound; laughter. But this was not the giggle of a madwoman, the chuckle of banal evil, or the mocking pitch of the conqueror. This laughter was low, and slow, and almost... grandfatherly. "My friends," the laughing voice spoke, booming from every direction. "My family. When your father calls you, you come. You... honor me." The smoke swirled into the center of the room, forming a long column equidistant from each of the assembled company. "My sweet children, I have come home to you. Father is here, father has returned, and I aim to set right this blasted world and remake it as it always should have been. For I am Kil'threx, Father of Evil. It was my hand that seeded the edges of the world with spirits and demons, who placed the fire of war and greed in men's hearts and filled the black seas with unknowable terrors. It was under my banner that the mightiest army ever known was raised, a legion of the foul and corrupted that was toppled only narrowly, and will not be toppled again. But... I cannot yet manifest my true glory. Not unaided." "Ten thousand years ago, my army was shattered, my power sealed away by holy magics. My might was too great for any conventional binding and so the Children of the Light locked it away in a great black statue of mine own image, and sealed it deep in a dungeon. They raised a great city atop of it to better keep me jailed... a city known as Melaron. You may know it." "This is my charge to you - in seven day's time, the loathsomely 'good' denizens of this city will hold a festival; they know it not, but this celebration marks the ten-thousandth anniversary of my defeat. The nine of you will destroy the city, slaughter its forces, recover the statue and destroy it. Only then will I be free to manifest... and you shall be rewarded as my most trusted servants. The instruments of my vengeance. My Harbingers." The smoke coalesced, forming into a dense orb in the center of the room. From this ball three tendrils emerged, shifting their hue between black as night and red as fire. They extended, gradually, towards the Blackscale Tyrant, the man who was no man. "Niddhogg..." the voice rumbled again. "My mighty son, the breaker of kingdoms and devourer of heroes, who has carved his kingdom from fire and mayhem. I can offer you more. All the glinting treasures of heaven and earth, the power to take and to rule and to dominate this land. Take the offer. Become my Harbinger of Dominion, and I will make you a force that none could oppose." Then the tendrils snaked away and shifted their color again - a dark blue dotted with points of gleaming light, like the night sky, as they wrapped around He of Whisper and Shadow, the Spiritbinder. "Vortigern, oh clever child! Long have I watched you, and admired the skill and the knowledge with which you assail the spirit and dominate the will. You who has learned to call the young spirits of this world and win them to your power. What is it you desire, my son? Do you wish to unravel all the mysteries of this world, of all worlds? Do you crave power, greater power, the power to take vengeance for every slight, every wrong ever dealt you? Recognition - worship, even? I could make you a god-king, Vortigern, lord of a million loyal subjects, the object of their adoration, their praise, the vessel of the true god as his Harbinger of Magic." Once more the tendrils shifted - becoming the color of burnt bronze, reaching towards the masked man, the Apotheosis of the Court. "Aesir, who has won the day on a thousand fields, the warrior who will never feel the sting of death. To you I offer the chance to lead the greatest army this world will ever seen - a host of villains and monsters, a single battle line miles long marching ceaselessly across the world. I would make you the general who conquered the world, whose soldiers overthrew every castle and bloodied every battlefield. My Harbinger of Conquest." Then, slowly, haltingly, and almost shyly, the orange tendrils turned to the woman by Aesir's side, reaching forward as though they might stroke her cheek before pulling back. "Ahwaan..." the voice spoke, seeming almost heavy with emotion, "My most beautiful daughter. Who sang my praises and slaughtered my foes on a dozen battlefields, my perfect creation, my Angel of Chaos. But you are no longer my Ahwaan, are you, Iona? The Children of the Light have... taken this from you. You serve a new master now - but serve me too, Iona, the memory of my daughter. Take up your blades once more in my name and regain the glory and the power that was yours... and be my angel again. My Harbinger of Chaos. The tendrils retreated back into the ball, and now the entire mass of smoke moved, sinuous and rope like, slithering through the air towards the Sovereign of War. "Deos Risleth, the burning beast of the battlefield. You have slain numbers beyond counting, made brave men rout in terror of your blood-soaked might. Turn your power to my cause, and fight in the greatest battles this world will ever seen, that all may bear witness to your fury and the joy of bloodshed. Do this, and when this world is mine you may build a new Yirthalx, in this world, where you may sit on a throne of a million skulls while all the finest warriors in the world spill each other's blood in your name. Become my death dealer, Deos Risleth - my Harbinger of Battle." "And you, my brother..." Kil'threx rumbled as the smoke swirled and mingled with the swarm of locusts, passing in and out of their humanoid shape freely. "Zyrthrexas, my first friend, who walked by my side in a young world. Time has been far kinder to you than me - but still, your appetite is nowhere near sated, is it? I know what you are, Zyrthrexas - inevitable. It is into your great maw that all things will one day pass, a truth greater and deeper than any other. Aid me, brother - bend your cunning and your power to my cause, and in return I will open the very heavens to your desire. No deal will be too great, nothing beyond your reach - my Harbinger of Hunger, to whom my world shall someday pass." The smoke coalesced once again, shimmering and rolling in an almost liquid like state as it curled towards the pirate, regarding him coolly. "Trenton Baker, the mad dog of the seas, the only man who ever heard the sweet music I taught to the things of the next world. You have mastered life and death as no other has, and I have need of your talents. Serve me, baker. Conquer the seas in my name and raise an army from the bones of my enemies, and in return you shall be granted everything you might hunger for - all that is needed to whet your every appetite. I will make you strong, unconquerable, beholden to none save me; my Harbinger of Death." The gaze of the coiling material moved again, circling around the Grave Knight and lunging for his neck before halting. "Aborath, the bloodsoaked. Heir of the power granted to Cain, the lord of the night, the bloodsoaked king who slaughtered dozens of the light's children and lapped the blood that ran through the streets. I offer you power, prestige, but most of all a new world - where the children of Cain, your children, shall be worshipped like the gods they are from one corner of the world to the other, where not even the smallest fledgling of the blood will fear the rising sun or the torches of his cattle. In return I need only your power, and your wickedness - to destroy all who would oppose me, openly or not, and paint this blighted world red with their gore. My Harbinger of Slaughter." Finally, the gel-like substance that floated through the air budded, splitting into a thousand lashing tendrils that stormed and raged aroung the masked thing. "Khata Nyarlith, my strangest child. You have heard the sweet whispers and the wracking cries of the things that claw at this world, and you have turned them to glorious wickedness. Serve me, child - reveal the hidden horrors to this world and you will be granted power, insight, and the chance to raze this world of walls and laws and wretched order. You will be beautiful, Harbinger of the Unknown." Finally the substance began to dissipate, whispy tendrils flying out in every direction as the whole became more and more translucent. "Reflect on the gifts I offer, children," the voice of Kil'threx purred, "And know that it is best to serve. I am Kil'threx, the Eldest Evil, and I will reward loyalty just as soon as I will punish any wayward child. Slay the humans - turn their city to rubble and their gods to ash. Set me free, my Harbingers. Set me free." And just like that, the cottage was silent again.	Name: Trenton Baker Title: The Lord of Black Seas Three-word description: Mystical Necromancer Pirate. Trenton is a man of average height and muscular build, with the strong arms and weathered skin of an experienced seaman. At all times his eyes glow with a dull green light the color of sea-foam, an effect that becomes more pronounced when he uses his powers. He wears his matted black hair down on his shoulders, and no matter where he is or what he's doing, it is always damp with sea foam. His face wears a goatee and often a cocky grin or an outright snarl, and his body has only ever been witnessed wearing one thing - a tattered overcoat over a grey tunic and trousers, with a cutlass sheathed at his belt and all manner of belts slung around his waist. The air around him is heady with the stench of the sea - salt water and seaweed and dead fish and brine. There is no warmth in his flesh - his chest can never be seen to rise or fall with a breath, and where the beating of his heart should be there is only silence. Any mortal who looks upon him comprehends his nature almost immediately, instinctively. Trenton is not a corpse, but nor is he a living man; he is a man who stopped living one day without ever dying. Trenton has enormous power over souls - living, dead, and everything in between. He can call the souls of the living back into their bodies and force them to serve him, but this is no resurrection - this is undeath, because the existence of one soul is one of tortured unlife. He can feed on souls to sustain himself, and has to if he wants to make constant use of his powers. Most frighteningly, however, he is even able to rip particularly weak souls straight out of his victim's bodies, killing them instantly and binding them forever to his will. Oh, he's also an exceptional swordfighter and sailor, but that all seems a bit less important when you can create undead armies en masse whenever you want. Finally, he is capable of traveling very, very quickly wherever there is the ocean, for he is intimately familiar with the strange seas of the next world, and often dips in and out of them to speed his travel. Trenton's most prized possession is, of course, his ship - The Hangman. This massive warship is thoroughly haunted, crewed by spirits enslaved by its Captain and boasting a hold full of plunder from this world and the next, some of it living and screaming to be set free. She sails all across the outskirts of the world, for she is far faster than any natural ship and needs no wind to glide across the waters. The effects Trenton keeps on his person are more limited - his cutlass, an old blade forged in bygone times, bears a powerful enchantment - the power to rip the soul from any man slain by it. This is, of course, entirely superfluous, as Trenton is more than capable of doing so on his own, but he wields it anyway (mainly because he is fond of it). In his pocket he keeps a chunk of black obsidian about the size of a knife blade, which he categorically refuses to answer any questions about. There are many stories about what lays beyond the edge of the world. Some say that off the far corners of the map there is only an endless sea, a vast expanse of rolling waves that extends forever. Some speak of a strange land where the sun never rises, where the stars burn with green and black fire and the sea churns with all manner of serpents and stranger, fouler things. Still others claim that this is the land of the dead, where the souls of saint and sinner alike languish in eternity, staining the water like blood. The stories all agree about one thing, at least - only one man has ever sailed those waters and returned. His name has been lost to time, but every sailor in the world knows his tale by heart. He was a humble sailor, a deckhand who always did as he was told. His ship was off on an expedition of exploration, a noble quest to discover what lay beyond the western edges of the map; a fool's errand, of course. They sailed for months, through driving rain and baking sun alike. The crew all begged the captain to turn from this course, return home before they all starved, but he had gone mad with his hunger for glory, and could not be swayed. The crew began to talk of mutiny, but by then it was too late. The tales all differ as to what happened next - perhaps they found the edge of the world and sailed straight off it, or maybe a storm came upon them and blew them into the next world. Maybe they came upon some stranger passageway still. Whatever happened, the sailors had found what they sought, but it brought them no joy. Time left them; sanity left them. They might have drifted in those black seas for a hundred years or maybe just for a day - they breathed the air of this land, they counted its stars, they wept in fear of the things that swam in its waters. At long last the ship struck land - a towering mountain of black obsidian that stretched up to rend the heavens. It was here that the sailors heard the song of the next world, and it was here that they were unmade by it. All except one, that is. It is unknown if this sailor was an evil man before he touched the shores of the dead, or if the unholy powers that possessed him made him so - either way he had gone mad with hatred and cruelty, and refused to die. The vessel that had borne him to this place was unworthy of him, so he raised a mighty warship from the black seas and sailed away with a crew of dead men. It is said that he still haunts the seas of both worlds, preying on any vessel unlucky enough to run afoul of him, feasting on their souls and enslaving their corpses to become fuel for his dark desires. Or so the stories say. Trenton is more than a terrifyingly powerful necromancer and scourge of the seven seas; he's also a sneering, petulant jerk. He lives only for amusement and the fulfillment of his every whim, and will happily kill or enslave anyone who opposes him on any level (as well as a lot of people who don't). He is deeply sadistic and hedonistic, and enjoys tormenting people and keeping them as his 'playthings'. Easily bored, he'll almost always throw his toys out the second they stop amusing him; the plunder in his ship's hull exists only to please him, as he'd much sooner take what he wants than pay for it. Trenton, unlike many of his villainous contemporaries, has no delusions of eloquence. He is a coarse talker, a childish bully, and a generally wholly unpleasant man. He treats the lives of his minions, his slaves, and pretty much everyone as being wholly disposable, worth only what they can provide to him in the immediate short term. It is very difficult, if not impossible, to find anything to like about him whatsoever. The moon was full as the battle raged across the decks of the two ships that had pulled up alongside each other. One was a resplendent warship that bore the orange colors of the port city of Geldren; the other was ragged, and sailed under no banner. The night air rang with the sound of flying spells and crashing steel as the two forces engaged each other - one made of warm flesh and iron will, and the other of bone and meat and foul magic. Trenton Baker, Captain of The Hangman, kicked open the door to his quarters and strode out on the deck to see what all this commotion was about, his blade in one hand and a half-empty bottle of Melaronian wine that was, it had to be said, fairly disappointing. A sailor armed with a trident and undue bravery roared a war cry and charged the captain, aiming to run him through. Trenton tossed the bottle off the side of the ship and stuck his hand out, eyes pulsing green, and his attacker stopped in his tracks, twitching and sputtering at the mouth. A green mist leaked out of his eyes and floated towards the captain, who grinned as he inhaled the feeble soul. The man fell to the deck, convulsing, and a moment later was still. "Thought you could take me in the dead of night?" Trenton roared at nobody in particular. "I am the feckin' dead of night!" On his right a rotted zombie tackled a sailor and began to tear at his flesh, filling the sea air with screams. Trenton's eyes pulsed again as the corpse found the man's throat, and the mangled body rose a moment later, sword still clutched in its hand, and immediately rounded on its former allies. Trenton dove into the fray, hacking and slashing with his blade, cutting his enemies limb from limb and soul from body. The battle had been going poorly for the would-be heroes when it was just living against undead - with Trenton himself involved, it quickly turned into a slaughter. It wasn't long before those remaining alive threw their weapons on the deck, and Trenton ordered them all lined up on their knees. The pirate captain strode up and down the deck, reviewing each of his captives silently. A mass of dead flesh walled the men in on every side, all perfectly still, their dead eyes radiating with his power. At length, Trenton paused in front of one man, more of a boy, really, who was shaking and almost mewling in terror. "What's your name, lad?" He asked, bending over so his visage was a mere inch away from the boy's face. The youth recoiled and gagged with fright, bringing his hands over his eyes as though that would make the world go away. "I said," Trenton repeated slowly, "What's your name?!" He grabbed the boy by the collar and threw him to the deck, kicking wildly at his head in a sudden fury. "I asked you what your name was! Not gonna look at me, not gonna talk to me, huh? Gonna cut you up and feed you to your friends, snotty little..." His rant trailed off into indistinct yelling, the blows still raining on the lad's head and neck as he rolled and begged and tried to swap away the kicks, until at last he fell still. Trenton strode away, and the boy rose to his feet a moment later, stepping back to join the mass of the dead. "Where's your captain? I didn't already kill him, did I?" Trenton asked the captives, and with a quivering hand one of them pointed down the line. "H-he's over there, sir," the pointer said and Trenton strode in that direction, stopping only to shove over a random prisoner with his foot and let out a laugh as he did so. He stopped in front of the man who looked like the captain, a grizzled old seaman clad in an officer of Geldren's dress uniform. The pirate crouched down to look at him face to face, and to his credit the other man showed no signs of fear. "Hi," Trenton offered, and cocked his head as he stroked his prisoner's weathered cheek. "So. Who the shit are you?" "I am Captain John Feldrich of the Royal Geldren Navy-" was all the man got out before Trenton struck him across the chin, a sneer on his face. "Blah, blah, Captain Arsehole. Let me guess, sent to kill me by your king or your queen or some big shit because something that 'belonged' to them belongs to me now, yeah? Well," he spread his arms around the scene, "That didn't go too well, did it? Laugh with me!" Trenton tilted his head back and howled with a deep belly laugh, and around him dozens of dead jaws sagged open and emitted a groaning, clattering sound that was something like laughter. The prisoner's head stayed high. "I do not fear you, creature. I am an honest man and I say my prayers each night, and your unholiness holds no terror -" Trenton giggled at that, rising to his feet and patting the man on the head. "Oh, you're a fun one. I think I'll keep you," he announced as he turned his back on the prisoners. "Throw him in the brig with the others. Kill and eat the rest." The sound of screams and curses rose in the night air behind him as Trenton strode back to his quarters and slammed the door behind him.
55,024	1,502	11	682	1,490	Niddhogg, The Blackscale Tyrant Few of these associatiates caught the dragon's attention, aside from one who spoke to him directly "I don't know what you are, but I want one. Actually... fuck it, I want like three. I don't mean any offense. Just... I must have one of you in my collection of soldiers." Niddhogg stared at the stranger, his single eye glowing like beams of a crimson crosshair from beneath the helmet, parting some darkness away from his concealed face, the dragon could see right away the demonic aura that followed him, as if the man was the very essence of war and hellfire. Even seeing this though, the dragon's pride was not so much as impressed, rather it was more of acknowledgement that at best the demon could be near his strength. However the fact that the demon could reckognize his greatness, and desired his servitude, gave some flattery to the dragon. "Your words please me, however suffice to say that I am no one's tool." The dragon spoke calmly and matter-of-fact like, though in a way of tone were it would be almost as if he was spreading 'great' wisdom to a child. "Unfortunately, there is only one of me, I made sure of it." Niddhogg emphasized one as if to make a crucial point, either that he had slain his equals or that he is far too unique for a second. The conversation changed when the very entity that orchestrated this little 'get together' appeared in a sudden display of his godhoodly powers. As he began speaking, he began to understand more of his father's motives. His eye narrowed, questioning this philosophy. He dared not interrupt his speech, but the though ran through his head. What happens when we live in a world where there is no 'good', Our sins will have us turn on each other. He remembered the very day that his father was defeated, he was there, of course, he was born even before that war, though that was also the last day he served the very god that created him until perhaps now. his thoughts were broken when the God spoke to him. Kil'threx, God of Evil "My mighty son, the breaker of kingdoms and devourer of heroes, who has carved his kingdom from fire and mayhem. I can offer you more. All the glinting treasures of heaven and earth, the power to take and to rule and to dominate this land. Take the offer. Become my Harbinger of Dominion, and I will make you a force that none could oppose." His choice of words seemed to have been very carefully crafted to dig right into the dragon's pride and stroke his ego. The prized son of the god so was suggested, any oppositions he had to the idea faded. The god promised power and riches, riches beyond the mortal world and power that supposedly none could rival. It was an upgrade to the say least, and could be perhaps the very goal he wishes to achieve. And besides, if this little plan his father had was successful, there would be few gods to compete with anyway. This little 'team' needed the legendary power of a great and ancient dragon, one blessed by evil. Harbinger of Dominion, yes, he would deliver his destruction and ire upon the light, and those that stand by it As the God moved to each individual, the dragon started to think back to his original question to this little orchestrated event. What will happen indeed, if these creatures of darkness have no light to challenge them and their sin. The balance would crumble and soon they will turn onto each other to satisfy their own personal sins. At least, that is what the dragon thought for a prediction. He did not share this idea, instead he had a solution. When that happens, He will be sure that none will oppose him. He started to plan ahead, particularly towards his fellow Harbingers, and study them closer. For now little information could be harvested other then the god's speech for the moment. But of course, there was plenty of time to prepare for this situation that takes place after they destroy all that is light and reshape the world as their father wants it.	Niddhog Blackscale Tyrant Ancient Psychic Dragon A massive dragon of Black scales, with a total length of 175 feet from head to tail, and a height of 80 standing on all four legs. His scales are black and plate-like, and are as hard as steel, except for his soft underbelly which serves as a weak spot to his natural armor. An assortment of horns along his head, with three rows of sharp, spike-like scutes running down from the back of his neck to the tip of the tail, which also has a triangle-shaped barb. He has a wingspan of 230 feet, and he has four fingered claws on both his hind and forelimbs. The hands on his wings however, are smaller and have an additional 'thumb'. The wings are a bit more flexible then they appear. Instead of having a set of eyes, he has a single, giant reptilian eye at the center of his head. This eye provides both excellent vision and additional magical abilities aside from what would be expecting of a dragon. As a large dragon, you could expect the beast to have enormous strength and durability, but he also can be fairly fast for his size, especially in flight. Being a dragon his forked tongue also has a great sense of smell. His saliva is toxic, as it has a blood thinner that prevents blood from clotting, and can be slightly corrosive to non-dragonic organic material, and weak earthen materials like stone and certain metals. His saliva as a result is a translucent green color, and often steams when exposed to air. As expected, dragons have a natural affinity with fire, not only can he not be burned by any means (or directly negatively effected by heat alone), but he can breathe flames as well. However his fire is a bit more unusual then most dragons, as the flames are a gold-black color. Thought nothing else is remarkable about the fire. The fire can be produced and manipulated from almost any point of his exterior body, such as the mouth, wings, or claws. Manipulation can involve it being shot out as spheres, steady streams, etc. It can also determine the concentration of force and chemicals to make a much more explosive blast instead of a lingering fire. His eye grants near-perfect vision, even through pitch darkness or smoke-screen effects. It can see through almost any sort of illusion and protects him from such magic. Additionally, the eye can activate several 'spells'. Once it casts a spell, the eye glows a red, laser-like light before it takes effect. Telekinesis: Takes hold of an object, or multiple objects, with a limit of being able to carry up to 500 lbs in total weight, within sight and in a range of 10 meters. Alternatively, it can be used to send kinetic force or blasts towards wherever the eye is looking at as a powerful projectile of solid force, or directly around him. has a minute cool down between casting of this ability. Telepathy: Preferred method of communication with others, allows the dragon to speak in the minds of others and vice versa, however this can also be used to peer into the surface of the conscience of others, to validate if they are being truthful or if they are holding any secrets. Note that this isn't necessarily mind reading as it can only detect the mind thinking allowed. Shield: Creates a sort of shield or wall made of kinetic energy wherever he is looking at, usually directly in front of him. Pyrokinesis: This allows him to control fire directly, note that this isn't connected to his naturally ability to produce his green flames from his body, but this can allow him to control that fire after it has already left his original control. Uses of this ability can be to control where the fire spreads, fire tentacles, redirecting a fire projectile, or causing a spontaneous combustion on a target object or area within the same range as his telekinesis that can vary between some small sparks to a grenade-sized explosion. This can be used on any other form of fire as well, so long as that fire isn't directly in control of someone else. Electrokinesis: Limited to only shooting bolts of lightning from his eye, redirecting or neutralizing electricity, or imbuing a part of his body with electricity. Has a 4 minute cool-down. Transformation: He uses this only to turn into a human form, and to change back. However if the source of the spell is broken while he transformed as a human (I.E. Something destroys his eye) then he is forced back into his original form. Also his wings often stay in this state as well. Also he only has one eye in his human transformation, but the position of the eye is normal, with one and a right and an empty socket on the left. His human form, while has some dragonic properties such as being unable to burn, and his eye is still enchanted, it is his weaker form. While his physical stats are above human level it is dwarfed from his true form, the only advantages are being much faster and being able to use equipment. Summon: He uses this only to summon certain equipment that he uses, or to un-summon them to send them back to his lair. Within his lair he has amassed a vast sea of fortune, mostly of gold and other valuable treasures and artifacts, which was either stolen when he took over the lair, or what he added after some pillages or raids later. He has many magical equipment within this treasured horde as well, though he only uses a few of them, the rest he merely admires. It is difficult to use equipment without using his transformation anyway. So these are the only items of note. Human Form adorning his enchanted armor, and using Gilfried Gilfried: As seen in the picture, The lance is made of an enchanted steel that grants the weapon a power of electricity. As such, it can be used to evoke destructive flows of electricity with each blow, or fired range electrical attacks such a bolt of lightning. The blade is enchanted to be indestructible by physical means as well Armor of Salgberd: The same knight who wielded Gilfried adorned this armor, it is enchanted by the same methods, and made of the same material of the lance, however the electricity is mostly offered as resistance to electricity. His lair lies within a massive volcano, the mouth of the cave being large and wide enough for his size. Inside is a city of dwarven design, ruined by time and his own destruction. The cieling is very high, with a large opening that leads to the summit of the volcano and has full view of the sun in midday. Volcanic vents and pools of lava run through this city, carving through it molten streams. Beyond that is a massive lake of magma that serves as his resting area, and past that is an even larger cavern though not built by dwarves, a large natural cave instead. This cave houses his treasure hoard, which floods the cavern near the brim of it. A kingdom of dwarves, the name of which lost in history, were infamous for much of their great wealth and being blacksmiths of magical items. This one day, attracting the attention of a great dragon, whos origins itself varies between legend to legend. Some say that he was born by the god of evil himself as a last effort to destroy the world, others say that he was the very incarnation of the god of dragons himself, or others say that it was a dragon who was cursed by a god for a previous sin to loose his eye, though many stories tell of a connection with Kil'threx himself, either has a dragon corrupted by his power, an egg cursed with his wickedness, or a straight up creation of his own powers directly. regardless, all legends point to his claim over this dwarving kingdom. The few that survived such a calamity would go on to tell of his great might and horrible nature. Some say he was a wild beast, others say he was an intelligent devil. Regardless, the once great dwarven kingdom fell to ruin under the tyranny of the dragon. Afterwards the myth varies once more. Some peasants will tell you that he seeks his territory for children that got lost in the woods, others say that he is amassing a brood of dragons. His activities are the most told; Grazing over farms to feast on their cattle, destroying villages for the sake of destruction itself, or tyrannizing kingdoms with fear if they do not pay tribute to him. Many times does he seek to be revered as a god, and kingdoms that fail to acknowledge his might are swiftly destroyed. Many have tried to slay him, but none have made it back from the treacherous volcanic city he lays claim to. He is a great dragon that embodies the sins of Pride, Wrath, And Greed. He loves valuable treasures, rare items, and lost artifacts. A harmless hobby one would think, if not for his lust to steal these treasures from others, guarding his accumalated hoard jealously, the very reason he exterminated the dwarves of what is now his lair was for greed alone. His avarice has lead him to be paranoid, thinking of thieves or knights that wish to steal his treasure hoard, and because of that he rarely leaves his lair unless prompted too for one reason or another. Though he is ancient, he has a very short patience with those that poke a whole in his ego, or are simply too much of an annoyance to toy with. When he shows his wrath, it is often short, going on a destructive rampage or simply swiftly burning a mortal alive. However if someone does him a great wrong or injustice, he will seek vengeance, and his revenge will be brutal. He will often scheme how the revenge will be played in decades of time spans, setting pieces in too place and inspiring rumors and scapegoating all for the one man that decided to steal his golden goblet or made that one joke of him across an entire city of him being a gecko. Ultimately these revenge schemes will consist of a slow psychological torment and leading into a brutal murder, and every now and then throwing in perhaps some dirt to tarnish the target's reputation, working in the shadows as a sort of social puppet master. That being said, he loves deception. He is good at it, though of course, why deceive everyone when you can just burn it? He uses his deception solely for the purpose of his amusement rather then tying it in to anything more important, such as a mission, which he uses his brute force for. Revenge or toying with an arrogant paladin are the two favorites of his. As for his pride, perhaps a sin bigger then his avarice, as he sees himself as a God. A God worthy of praise, a God that even the other gods (yes, even Kil'threx, though he isn't stupid enough to say that too his face) Should fear and respect him. He does not work for anyone but himself, but he will work with someone should he see it too his advantage, or how he likes to put it "using a pawn". His pride tends to be his biggest weakness, both being as something he is easily angered by, and the fact that it is easy to please him, or to keep him from killing you. Stroking his ego is very effective against him, and doing so may persuade him. Though there is a very small limit in what you can get him to do with flattery alone. Territorial, he is. So much so that you will not find a single dragon 100 miles away from his lair in any direction, that is because he has killed every single one within that radius, and has kept a damn good job at making sure no new neighbors make their home. He cares not for those of evil alignment for the most part, just as he cares none for the good alignment. To him, his 'coworkers' are prey that are merely being used as pawns for now. He is wise, yes, and intelligent, as one would expect for such an ancient creature. However his wisdom is corrupted, tainted by his ego and avarice. His jealousy keeps his 'prized' knowledge to himself, though may give advice if he is pleased enough. His wisdom is poor in judgement, as he sees himself as the greatest in most if not all aspects, being above the gods and all. One thing is certain though, he is a crafty schemer for only his amusement. Heat was the first thing that fell over the knight's face. His blue eyes staring at the inferno before him. The cave entrance had been cold and damp but further in, and the entrance to the old dwarf city, the heat even unattended remained great. Volcanic pools of lava acted as lakes and rivers as they cut through crumbled buildings and structures of dwarven make. He stepped forward, slowly, electricity briefly escaping his lance. As he past through the cities, surprised to see no demons or hellspawn, or lesser dragons attack him, he eventually came across a massive lake of lava, and past that, a stalagmite cavern that looked even bigger and deeper then the city's cavern, filled with riches beyond his wildest dreams. "Dragon!" The knight shouted. "My name is Salgberd, knight of blue thunder!" He would smash the ground before him with the end of his lance, electricity flowed in the ground and great force shook the cavern. "I have come to slay thee and bring your head to justice!" For a moment after, all was quiet, until the magma began to bubble. A black mass slowly rose from the molten rock, rising, bigger then the knight imagined. Before him was the head and some of the neck of the beast, looming over him while the rest of his body was presumed to be beneath the molten liquid. He heard a booming voice in his mind. "You dare awaken me?!" the voice pounded in his head so loud that the knight staggered back and held his ears. He geared up his lance, ready to attack after recovering from the voice. "Sleep is the last thing you should worry about! demon!" He shouted as he would throw the lance directly into the eye of the dragon with great force and speed, however to his surprise, the lance stopped in mid air. "wha-" Before he could finish, the lance swiftly turned around as if by magic, and was then volleyed back towards him with the same force. He would catch it with great dexterity and strength, absorbing the electricity that came off of the weapon, though he would have to skid back a few feet. The massive eye at the center of the dragon glowed, a crosshair of red light illuminating off of it before a bolt of lightning connected between the pupil of the dragon and the chestplate of the knight. He would be blasted back by the bolt, but the electricity didn't hurt him. "That is some fine quality equipment you have..." The dragon seemed to vex in the head of the knight as he recovered again. The knight was tired of the dragon, and he charged again, leaping into the air with inhuman speed and strength as he went to impale the beast from above. The dragon watched him, clearly the man wasn't bright, as the beast simply moved its head and neck out of the way. As he did, the knight's eyes went wide, as he was now heading into the pool of lava. He screamed as he plummeted into the liquid. He surfaced, his armor keeping him alive but barely his skin was burning off of his bones in a gruesome matter. The dragon watched the fly be burned by the lamp, as it were, as the knight struggled to stay afloat in the burning liquid. He was pleased to see the equipment was unharmed by the heat due to its magical properties. Before the knight burned away completely, a voice ringed into his head. "Thank you for your donation." The following day, The village raised the alarms. Their hero has returned. All matter of men, women, and children gathered at the gates, and an expecting king to give the Salgberg his reward. The knight entered, fully clad in his armor. Cheering spread throughout the kingdom and the king along with his trusty guards approached the heroic figure. He offered the knight a golden relic of his family's keepsake. It was a fancy thing. The knight snatched it, aggressively so, to everyone's shock. He then turned back to face the king. "I am tired of pretending to be the good guy, I, Salgberg, am a knight only for riches and praise!" he exclaimed to the horrified faces of many. He then unsheathed his lance, and followed to stab the king. "I always hated you.." The knight said, the guards undrew their weapons and the knight ran through the crowd that was still shocked in cowardice. His only family tried to stop him, but the knight merely trampled over them, even slashing his father across the way, and escaping to the gates. The guards never did find him. The knight returned to the mouth of the dragon's lair, unmasking his helmet to reveal not Salgberg, but a different man altogether underneath the armor. The man laughed as he carefully placed the golden object down and morphed into his true form. The great black dragon that the knight tried to slay. The Great Dragon Niddhog had awoken from his chambers, laying ontop of his treasure hoard as if it were a bed or nest. Appearing before him, an apparition of the God of evil himself. Niddhog saw his 'master' as a roadblock to his true glory. He was greater then him, for now at least, that much was certain to the dragon. However eventually he will surpass his creator. The beast was silent as the manifestation of the Dark God spoke. "It is time to put your destruction for greater use, Níðhöggr." The god spoke, speaking of the Dragon's official name in perfect pronunciation. "You should know by now that I am not a henchma-" the God held his hand up, cutting the dragon off. Normally if one were to do this the dragon would inflict great wrath. However he wasn't about to loose his cool in front of a god, and besides it wasn't the actual god, just an apparition. He would stand back, and show him images of even grander treasure, legendary items, and above all, a small glimpse of the dragon's own reflection, ascending like a god. "I know what you seek, I know your ambitions, you cannot hide your true nature Níðhöggr, I designed it after all." The dragon's attention was now fully brought upon the god as he continued. "Aid in me, and with the others I will recruit, in the destruction of the world. You will be paid in more then just physical value in your efforts, perhaps even the power you seek.." Before the dragon could question him further the apparition faded. The dragon was deep in thought, he doubted that if he knew his true intentions then he wouldn't grant him godhood, it was likely just empty promises. Still, he doubted that his efforts wouldn't go unrewarded, and there is always the chance that his creator is more foolish then he thought. So the dragon rose from his gold hoard. There wasn't much of a cost for doing this either, any risks at first glance. Destruction was what he loved, though it seemed he had to help others as well. The dragon would fly out above the city, through the large opening in the summit, and land upon a cliff. His talons digging into stone as he oversaw the landscape before him. If he had to tolerate these other nuisances, so be it.
55,025	1,502	12	2,778	353	Whisper and Shadow Vortigern was caught off guard by Kil'threx's arrival. It fit the mode by which one might expect the God of Evil to make their appearance, but at the time, he had been observing the brewing tensions amongst his future associates—both to learn more about them, and for some measure of amusement. The rumbling that announced Kil'threx's presence knocked him from that stupor. And what a presence it was. Every person that had gathered there was powerful, of that there could be no doubt, but Kil'threx was on another level. Beyond what he knew, beyond what he could see, he could feel the power radiating from even this simple manifestation of the Father of all Evil, and he knew that Kil'Threx was in another class entirely. And then there were the promises he had made. Vortigern precisely what it was that Kil'threx foretold; Vortigern's future was one of servitude, however it had been smothered in fine words. Yet, would the servitude not also be then smothered in something fine? Even accomplishing one of the things that he promised would be nigh impossible for me to accomplish on my own. If we free him, then, absent complication, it would mean that he would give me everything. And all Kil'threx promised was sorely tempting. He had made his peace with servitude before his arrival, as he had no delusions about contesting the God of Evil, but now, he thought, servitude may not be so horrible a fate. Of course, before that could come to pass, they had a task to accomplish. Vortigern smiled from deep inside his hood. "I am not truly familiar with any of you, not beyond what stories have reached my corner of the world—pale imitations of reality that they may happen to be—but I would say that between the nine of us, we have more than enough power to destroy Melaron. I would dare to say the only possibility of failure is if we get in each others' way." There was an audible tremor of excitement in his voice. "I propose, thus, that we make some measure of a plan for our assault."	Name: Vortigern Titles: He of Whisper and Shadow The Spiritbinder Grand Magus (honorary, “postmortem”) Three-word description: Dark Magic Spymaster Appearance: He of Whisper and Shadow, contrary to what most of those who truly know of his existence believe, is not a formless spirit, jumping from one host body to the next. Vortigern, in fact, does possess a body. As a matter of fact, aside from its remarkably pale skin, Vortigern’s body is in good shape. Its eyes are dark, its hair is long and healthy, and its skin is actually quite smooth. To the more magically sensitive, he would appear surrounded by a thick pale mist. This is part of Vortigern’s true essence, which has transcended his mortal flesh, but still animates it. On those rare occasions where Vortigern chooses to go out, he usually wears an old set of robes, well-maintained from his magic, of a style used by the Order of the Stars about a thousand years ago. They are largely black, but trimmed and patterned with gold thread, and belted with leather and steel. His hands and feet are covered by thick leather boots, dyed black. The palms of each glove are adorned with heavily stylized circles. He wears a hood and cowl, styled in the same vein as his robes, which obscures his face and hides his hair. In addition, he wears a similarly styled cloak for more decorative purposes. Magic/Skills/Abilities: Active Spellcasting: While never his specialty, Vortigern knows how to invoke more direct methods of using magic to inflict harm: fire, lighting, ice, kinetic force, clouds of toxic gas, and so on. Illusionary Design: Technically a form of Active Spellcasting, but different in function than the rest. Vortigern can bend light to create false images, and distort the air to create false sounds and scents. Summoning: Easily Vortigern’s greatest ability is to call upon spirits already in his service. Calling them requires very little effort, considering they are already bound to him, and is facilitated by the stylized circles inscribed into his gloves. In a fight, all but the weakest of the spirits under his command can disorient his opponents, and the strongest are capable of inflicting some serious mental harm. He prefers to use spirits over fighting directly. Spirit Assault: How Vortigern prefers to go about fighting enemies directly. Using his knowledge of the human spirit and mind, he can seriously curtail a person’s ability to use their body. When attempted at a distance, this cannot be directed at a specific individual, and results in moderate sluggishness at worst. Direct physical contact allows for attacks that are far more devastating, including up to total paralysis and unconsciousness. To affect internal organs Vortigern must physically strike a part of the body that lines up with that organ—for example, to stop the heart Vortigern must strike in the middle of the chest. If a person survives being attacked in this method, they will recover from these attacks fully with sufficient time. Domination: A specific technique related to spirit assault, Vortigern is able to twist a person’s body and mind to serve him. An unwilling subject is hollowed out entirely, rendered nothing more than an obedient husk. A complacent—willing or unconscious—subject retains their mental faculties and personality, but is unable to disobey Vortigern’s commands. Vortigern receives willing subjects either through coercion or through his cult (more on that in a bit). Vortigern can employ this technique to alter the mind and memory of a person who hasn’t been hollowed out. Transcendence: Approximately eight hundred fifty years ago, Vortigern performed a ritual that altered the nature of his spirit, becoming He of Whisper and Shadow. As a result, his body does not physically age, and nothing short of total destruction will break his spirit’s connection to it. Even still, it is more likely that he will become a powerful spirit after that occurs, like those he controls now but far greater in scope, than it is that he will pass on. Inventory/Holdings: Objects: The Staff of the Spiritbinder. Vortigern’s staff from before he became He of Whisper and Shadow. It is a long piece of an uncertain dark wood, crowned by a crow perched inside of a circle. As per instructions he gave to close associates before his transcendence, it was buried on the grounds of the Order of the Stars eight hundred fifty years ago. Some fifty years ago, it was disturbed and dug up. The leader of the Order took to using it as a symbol of his office. When Vortigern learned of this, he snuck in to the transgressor’s bedchambers, turned the man into a drooling husk in his sleep, and took a number of magical artifacts, including the staff. The staff serves as a means to amplify his control over spirits, but the main reason he created was to serve a function during his transcendence. Alkor’s Amulet. An amulet created by Alkor the Spellweaver, a founding member of the Order of the Stars, which Vortigern stole while retrieving his staff. It’s consists only of a sphere of brass threaded on a course string. The amulet amplifies the wearer’s magical ability. Darkblood. A ceremonial dagger of unknown origin, which Vortigern stole while retrieving his staff. Its blade is an unknown black metal, and its hilt, handle, and pommel are made of gold. Purportedly, it alerts the bearer to the presence of demons, but precisely how has been forgotten. It is kept in an unadorned leather scabbard. Followers: Spirits. Vortigern has bound a veritable army of spirits into his service. The vast majorities of these are not particularly strong, but are eminently useful for matters of morale. A weak spirit can slip into an enemy encampment, and make all sorts of merry hell to ruin someone’s day—spoiling food, causing nightmares, whispering something in someone else’s voice to start a fight, and so on. Some of the more powerful spirits can whisper dark secrets into a sleeping person’s ear to drive them mad, or false secrets to cause mistakes, or even get a person to divulge their own secrets in their sleep. Some of the stronger spirits are capable of actually fighting, undergoing ethereal manifestation to fight someone as a gfigure identical to a risen ghost. All sorts of spirits are ideal scouts, being invisible. Spirits also serve as capable messengers. Whispers. About three centuries ago, Vortigern used a handful of individuals he had coerced into letting him Dominate them to found a cult in his honor. Its membership includes every person to join the eight-person High Council that has governed the Republic of the Carnelian Coast for the past eight hundred fifty years, as well as several key figures of governance and trade throughout the Republic. In addition to the more mundane options of having the Republic declare war wherever he wishes—a gross misuse of it as a resource—he can alter the flow of goods as he, and has access to what passes for the Carnelian espionage network. His cult also acts, in part, as his own intelligence network, giving him eyes and ears in places that the Carnelian Coast cannot reach. Shadows. An loose organization of assassins, thieves, and spies. Spread throughout the land, they provide information and blood to the highest bidder—but only if it is in Vortigern’s interest. Vortigern founded it personally three hundred years ago, and it is run through Vortigern has Dominated, who he taught to summon spirits He bound to himself, through which the servant communicates with their proxies, who distribute orders. Members of the Whispers are not permitted entry. All information its spies gather is recorded, and sometimes Vortigern will send them out on a personal mission (and simultaneously several dummy missions) of different types to achieve a personally desired end. Personal Army. To top it all off, Vortigern has a vast number of trained soldiers under his employ. They man his hidden fortress (more on that in a second), and are led directly by officers who have willingly submitted to Domination. The only soldiers permitted to interact with Vortigern, namely as his personal guard must first willingly submit to Domination. Holdings: Mountain Fortress-Complex. Starting from the long-defunct gem-mines for which the Carnelian Coast was named for long ago, Vortigern has developed massive fortress under the earth, hidden from view. Going down several stories, manned by Vortigern’s personal army, this serves as the nerve center for all of his operations. Myth: There are many tales the destitute of the Carnelian Coast tell themselves. For the pleasure of scaring each other at night. To explain the world to themselves. And, sometimes, just for its own sake. One of these stories is of a young mage named Vortigern. Vortigern was the youngest son of Vallirand, then the most powerful and influential merchant of the Carnelian Coast. To oppose him, and take his profits for themselves, a cadre of individually lesser merchants banded together to found the Carnelian Consortium, a body of dozens of merchants that banded together to regulate trade on the Coast—being one of the most prominent centers of trade in the known world. Vallirand was not permitted entry. Vortigern had no care for business, only for his studies, and one day moving west and joining the Order of Stars. But as his father’s business was undercut by the Consortium, so was the funding for Vortigern’s endeavors. And so, Vortigern had an idea: populism. If enough of the people of the Carnelian Coast could be rallied against the Consortium, and be convinced to not do business with the it, then it was guaranteed to collapse. So Vallirand and all of Vortigern’s brothers and uncles and cousins traveled the length of the Carnelian Coast, saying that the Consortium was taking away the power of individuals and states to do business as they pleased. There was a furor, and Vortigern’s plan almost succeeded, but for a brilliant response from the Consortium: the founding of a republic in the Carnelian Coast. Many of the people of the Coast were swayed, but many were not, and it looked like the region was to tear itself apart. And that was bad for business. Vallirand was admitted to the Consortium, and took up the cause of the Republic. Now there was only the matter of the extant states of the region. All were city-states, and most armed only militias and city guards, which had now, effectively, defected. There were a few holdouts, but they surrendered quickly. One unfortunate casualty of the fighting, however, was Vortigern’s eldest brother, the only of his siblings he cared for, and the heir to Vallirand’s many enterprises. When all was done, the Consortium sat down to do business in their new capital, and one quarter of them promptly keeled over. This number was Vallirand, and all of his supporters. Only some of the deaths were due to means one could call assassination, not including Vallirand’s, but it was plain to see what had happened. But instead of marshalling their resources to oppose the monstrous injustice done against them, all of Vortigern’s brothers and cousins and uncles squabbled over who got what of their late kinsman’s bounty. All the family was gathered for this in a lavish palace-home than Vallirand had owned. It caught fire. When the fire had been put out, it was discovered that the body-count was one short, and the vast fortune that Vallirand had kept there was gone. The only member of the family who could have escaped the fire and spirited away the wealth was the one mage: Vortigern. And there was no trace of him. Those living who knew the family said that Vortigern had no interest in business, and so it was concluded that he had taken what was technically his inheritance and gone to join the Order of Stars. Many were sad to see the wealth go—they had hoped to poach it from Vallirand’s successors—but they at least had his many enterprises to divide amongst themselves. While it is true that Vortigern had no interest in business, he had every interest in revenge. In addition to escaping the blaze with his father’s fortune, he had used his magic to set the fire, and ensure that his family could not escape. He saw his family’s actions after Vallirand’s death as a betrayal of his father, and so he punished them. However, he was not, on his own, even with his magic and the wealth and resources of his father, a match for the remainder of the Consortium. So he left the Carnelian Coast, swearing there, in the darkness of that night, to return. He journeyed west, as all had suspected, and became an apprentice to a member of the Order of the Stars. Vortigern proved to be an exceptional pupil, and was promoted to a full membership To this day, the name of Vortigern is still spoken, lauded for the advances made by his study of spirits leagues beyond what any one person was believed to be capable of accomplishing. For most, all of this achievement would have made life satisfying. And it might have done so for Vortigern as well, had his father not been betrayed. His anger remained, and his rage festered like an open wound. It was not enough. He grew ever more detached from his friends and associates, eventually shutting them out entirely. One day, he vanished, never to return. Some years after, the members of the Carnelian Consortium—which had been integrated into the leadership of the Republic of the Carnelian Coast—began to disappear as well. It began with the oldest members, who had been alive during the founding of the Republic, but once they were gone no person was safe. Soon, people were refusing appointments to the Consortium’s leadership, then the entirety of the Consortium. Then people began quitting their posts. Understaffed and overloaded, the Consortium collapsed, and nearly brought the Republic with it. Once the Consortium was gone, efforts of the Carnelian government ceased. Still, Vortigern was not satisfied. Wells were poisoned. Fortunes were stolen. Mansions burned. One-by-one, the entirety of the merchant class of the Carnelian Coast was unmade. Few died. Most were left to suffer. As the region had always been a center of trade, the economic collapse of the Carnelian Coast rippled throughout the known world, causing the first great economic disaster in recorded history: the Carnelian Collapse. It was clear that it had been precipitated by some driving will, so efforts were made to find and eliminate it. It was a party of two that eventually found Vortigern: a great warrior, and a powerful mage. They battled. In the end, Vortigern cast them out of his domain, but was gravely wounded in the process. But he did not die. To this very day, he lurks up and down the coast, growing in power, his hunger for revenge unsated. He prepares to lash out against the very world, and tear it asunder. There have been many great mages to pass in and out of the world. Most of them are known only to those mages who come after them. Being scholars by nature, those heirs remember them well—assuming the memories were true to begin with. This is the story, according to the Order of the Stars, of one mage who held some renown in his day, and for a short while after his untimely demise: Vortigern the Spiritbinder. One day, some ninehundred years ago, in the pale light before dawn, a young man came to the city of Melaron driving a cart covered with thick, course cloth. When he came up to the gates, the posted guards asked him what was in the cart. ”My inheritance” This was Vortigern. They lifted the canvas covering the cart to find something they had not been expecting: gold and jewels. Vortigern had such a mass of wealth with him that the guards were utterly stunned. Had he arrived at any other time of day, when the entry to the city was thronged with merchants, farmers, pilgrims, and so forth, much of the fortune would have been lost to thieves before he could get inside the city gates. As it stood, he only lost two jewels and to pouches of coins, as gifts to the guards on duty to pre-emptively thank them for not spreading any rumors. Vortigern made his way through the city and to hi8s destination: the Order of Stars. Some small handful of mages there were awake, and he was asked his business there. ”To join you.” Naturally, his ability needed to be tested, and that done the matter of purchasing supplies—both for magic and general living. He proved more than able enough to become the apprentice of one of the Order’s members, and his vast fortune covered any expense he faced. Ultimately, he was taken under the wing of one Calor Talloman, a mage of no especial ability for a member of the Order, but a skilled teacher. Vortigern thrived under his tutelage. Over the next fiveyears, he fostered a friendship with the apprentice of one of Calor’s associates, one Crutius Vallorn. Crutius would prove to be Vortigern’s dearest friend. Vortigern was hesitant to speak of his past, but opened up to these two. He told them of his father’s war, of his father’s murder, and of his family’s death. ”They were just… they wouldn’t stop fighting. Someone had just murdered my father, and they were arguing over money! I was so, so angry. And I hadn’t been trained yet, not yet—books don’t really count. I wouldn’t have chosen to do it, but I don’t miss them.” Vortigern had, in a fit of rage, accidentally set fire to his family’s large home. He managed to escape. When the flames had died down, he snuck back in and spirited his father’s wealth out of the city before his father’s rivals could get their hands on it. Crutius would comment, years after Vortigern’s death, that he had struggled with anger over his father’s betrayal all of his life. Those years spent, Vortigern found himself elevated from his apprenticeship. In truth, this came to pass sooner than was ordinary, but ability was of greater concern than age, and he was not so young as to raise eyebrows. With his apprenticeship complete, Vortigern chose to study spirits, a subject of stark difference from his former master, and of deep concern to the Order. While the subject was not itself anathema, many people—mages included—connected it to necromancy. Their concerns, however, were unfounded. Some considerable oversight, to which Vortigern consented, showed that he did not stray towards the souls of the dead. If anything, the reports that were compiled showed that Vortigern actively disdained those practices. After about a decade, he had gained notoriety within the Order. He knew more about the ways of spirits than anyone, and had been able to refine his methods somewhat since the day he banished the spirit summoning the horde. Offers of funding arose and steadily increased—wholly unnecessary, as his inheritance was still plentiful, but still appreciated. By all accounts, time was a far less plentiful resource. As such, why exactly he chose this point to take on an apprentice is unclear. Maybe he thought they would be a useful assistant with his research, or perhaps he was feeling the pangs of his mortality and wanted some piece of himself to live on. Perhaps it was something else. Whatever was the case, he found an apprentice in an applicant by the name of Saida, a young elven girl who had recently been orphaned. Precisely what made her an orphan is in no surviving record. Saida was Vortigern’s apprentice for eight years—slightly longer than normal—and remained involved in his work for seven years afterwards. During this time, Vortigern revolutionized how mages work with spirits. He rewrote how mages classify spirits, pinpointed the attributes that cause demonic manifestation—the ability of demons to create a physical body when summoned, long recognized as a key difference between them and ordinary spirits—and developed countless methods by which spirits could be summoned, bound, and banished. While some considerable advancement has been made since his death, the vast majority of modern methods are grounded largely in his developments, discoveries, and even some ideas he wrote down but never tested. However, he eventually drifted into another subject of study: the human spirit. Once again, this caused concerns about necromancy to arise, but Vortigern’s reputation eased the minds of his superiors. After another handful of years, it seemed that his research into the human spirit had come reached a breakthrough. But for it to continue, he would need to leave the city on a long journey. He left very specific instructions with Crutius and Saida. “I need to do an experiment, and I cannot allow myself to perform that experiment on any person but myself. I need to go out into the wilds. There is a very specific cave, far to the east of Melaron. Two years from now—you see this journal? There’s a map in here, as well as the ritual. I need the both of you—and it needs to be two people, and I trust you both more than anyone else alive—to go out to that cave in about two years time. The exact date you need to check inside the cave is in the journal. Don’t look inside the cave before that—details are in the journal. If I’m just, you know, sitting there, it all worked out. If my dead body is there, then it didn’t, and I’ll need a burial. If you find my staff there—just my staff—that’s the worst case scenario. You need to seal off the cave with the ritual in the journal. Then, you need to come back here—and it has to be here—and bury the staff on the grounds, then seal it with the same ritual. Honestly, it isn’t something I even really want to think about, so just read the journal after I leave, okay?” When Crutius and Saida checked the cave on the appointed date, they found Vortigern’s staff, buried on quarter of its length into solid stone. There was nothing else. Whatever the truth of Vortigern’s life, whoever knows the truth, he proves a difficult individual to find. Yet the agent of Kil’threx found its way to him, hidden deep beneath crag and valley. And so, Vortigern shall answer the summons of the God of Evil. Personality: Vortigern is pre-occupied with loyalty—those few of his personal servants who are not mindless husks are either physically incapable of betraying him (a group that includes both those he has Dominated and the spirits bound to his employ) or hysterical sycophants. Somewhat predictably, if someone in his organization betrays him, he responds swiftly and harshly, even when it might not be in his best interest to do so; he is preoccupied with revenge. By the same token, while he may be a distant master, he returns loyalty with loyalty. He will stand by his servants, however low they may be on the rung, as best he can without revealing his existence to the wider world. And when he enters into an agreement with someone, he keeps it, even if he could renege it with little to no consequence. That is not to say Vortigern is kind. He habitually treats the people of the world poorly, with his actions ranging from distant hostility to outright cruelty. Despite this, he usually maintains an air of amicability. He could easily order someone dragged into the darkness, their screams muffled by cloth and leather, while sounding like he was just recommending a good book to a friend. Not that he has friends, of course; that time has passed. When not scheming, deceiving, or otherwise active, Vortigern is given to pondering. On such occasions, he enters into a deep melancholy, and often waxes poetic. There was no light here. He knew every inch of smooth, unbroken stone, and as such did not require torch or spell to make his way, nor did any of the guards or spirits monsters that lurked this far down. The same could not be said of his uninvited guests. Yes. Soon. At the far end of this long hall. That was where he stood. At first, it was designed as a trap for those intruders who made it this far down. Briefly, he used it to experiment with his old studies, and had been considering doing so again. More recently, he had been using it for storage, and it was lined with crates and barrels of fine food for his body, and fine crafts for his work. There wasn’t much he couldn’t take for himself, after all. There was the telltale sound of stone grinding on stone. Yes, that was it. That was them. The sound of crashing metal. A warrior had jumped down ahead of their compatriots. Leather scaping stone. A softer, more nimble landing. Are knights now sleeping with thieves? Has the world changed so much? Or perhaps they always were. It wasn’t the part of the world I lived in, even then. He didn’t hear the next collision, but he did hear something else, just before: the fluttering of cloth. Someone wearing clothes, not armor, had jumped down. Could they possibly…? A shining light broke on the other side of the hall, bright and piercing. So it is. Things may yet prove interesting. “Name yourself, cretin! Tell us what you’re doing down here!” The mage is a feisty one. Vortigern said nothing. “We don’t need to know a damn thing about him, Cully,” said the Warrior, a Dwarf, “We saw his damn army. We just need to stop him.” Vortigern smiled. A hooded figure—by process of elimination, the nimble, leather-shoed one—leaned over to the mage, and spoke in low tones. “Are his eyes glowing?” “Yes.” Vortigern’s voice was soft, and but it stretched throughout the room. “They only do that on special occasions.” “Okay, he’s got good hearing. Good to know.” If only you knew, little thief. “I,” said Vortigern, “am perfect of flesh, and beyond flesh.” “Alright!” The Warrior raised his axe over his shoulder, both hands gripping its handle. “Let’s get this over with.” He charged. “Durmak! Wait!” Vortigern raised his hand, the pale light in his eyes sparking at his fingertips, and almost in no time at all—though the process did seem to linger a while to Vortigern—it had spread down between his fingers to his palm. The air shook, and the Warrior fell forward, collapsing onto his knees, his axe sliding along the floor to Vortigern’s feet. Arrows flew through the air. Most missed. One planted itself firmly in Vortigern’s neck. He did not falter. “Ancull, why isn’t he falling over? I hit him.” The thief who shot the arrows asked the mage. “I don’t think I know, Misha.” The mage looked up to Vortigern, her face slowly twisting in anexpression of horror. Vortigern reached up to the arrow in his throat with his other hand. Slowly, he pulled on it. When it was free of his flesh, blood began to pour down from the hole, staining his robes. The thief began to shake. “I think we may have stepped in it this time, Ancull.” Vortigern’s smile grew. The light in his eyes and hand darkened, turning a violent purple. A light shined from the back of the hall. The mage, Ancull, turned her head to see it. The light was creeping along the walls, the roof, the floor. Creeper to her. Past her. Past Misha. Past Durmak, the Warrior. Past Vortigern, onto the wall behind him. The light flowed into a complex pattern of circles, glyphs and spirals, eventually meeting in the center. Vortigern’s soft voice echoed through the hall again. “Yes, children, you have.” Pale clouds flowed out of the circle’s center. They floated around Vortigern. He heard them whisper to him, but he already knew their secrets. He curled the fingers of his outstretched hand into a fist, save one, pointing in the intruders’ direction. The spirits responded to the command. They rushed down the hall, taking the shapes of beasts and gaunt men, as the flow from the circle grew to a river of pale light. As the came upon Durmak, his armor began to glow; runes etched into his plates hummed with golden light, and the spirits flowed over him. The mage Ancull erected a barrier, a pale blue sphere, and the spirits flowed over it as well. They teared and the barrier, and gnawed upon it, but it held. Feisty, and of some considerable ability. Who taught her? Durmak stood. The symbols on his armor hummed with power, and the spirits jumped away from him. Vortigern lowered his hand. “So, you children know the game.” Vortigern kicked the axe at his feet over to Durmak. “Come, Warrior. Entertain me.” Taking his axe into his hands, Durmak charged. Vortigern sidestepped his down-swing and took hold of his arm. Half a second later, Durmak held his axe in his off hand, and his other hung limply at his side. Another strike, this time a side-swipe. Foolish, but determined. This time, Vortigern aimed lower, and Durmak found one of his legs giving out under him. “Damn.” Vortigern walked around him, slowly. “Is this how you imagined dying, Dwarf? A casualty of your own foolish design?” “Go suck a thousand cocks.” Vortigern kicked him in the side, rolling him over onto his back. “Durmak!” Vortigern looked up. The pale blue light of the mage Ancull’s shield could still be seen under the growing onslaught of spirits. It suddenly flashed. The room was filled with shrieking and keening as the spirits recoiled, recoiling from the shield. Ancull came running, with the thief Misha close behind her. Vortigern placed his boot on Durmak’s chest and faced them. “You three would have been better off not coming here.” The blood flowing from the hole in his neck began fall onto Durmak’s armor, where it sizzled and flashed in his golden runes. “I know what you are. My Mistress told me about it. The ritual designed by the Spiritbinder himself.” For the first time since the fight began, Vortigern’s smile faltered, then vanished utterly. “Who are you, child?” The fell light in his eyes and hand flickered. “I am Ancull of Ardanos.” “I’ve never heard of Ardanos. Is it some village in the middle of nowhere?” “It is my home. My Mistress found me there.” Mistress. That’s the second time she said it. And she knew about the ritual. “Saida.” Ancull growled at him. “That means nothing. You are not strong enough to defeat me.” Vortigern smiled. “Especially since she never taught you to watch your back.” The spirits surged over them from behind. Shieldless, Ancull and Misha were torn away, back into the vengeful cloud of angry spirits. Vortigern knelt down next to Durmak, whose head was turned away, towards where his friends had gone. Vortigern placed his hand, still glowing, on Durmak’s chest. “Worry not, child. You will not be away from them for long.” Vortigern slid his hand down to the felled Warrior’s stomach, and removed it. “There. If you’re lungs somehow start working, your heart or liver will see you dead. You’ll be with them again soon, child.”
55,026	1,502	13	2,033	9,329	Aborath Aborath remained silent through the entire speech of the god of Evil. His offer was certainly tempting. The world free from the tyranny of the sun. With his children unafraid of their own cattle. The Vampiric Kingdom, but then everywhere. His children worshipped as gods and free to choose from their cattle. Without having to cling to the shadows or hunt their pathetic prey. If Kil’threx would have offered anything less, Aborath would have left. But the promised rewards were plenty. For sure, the one who actually managed to free the Dark Lord would receive the favor of their new Master. Maybe even a boon. Bloody greed filled Aborath. If he was going to join in on this insane task, he would be the one freeing the God of Evil. But then Vortigern, the former human mage and now apparition of shadows spoke. With truth, if one would ask Aborath. The only way they’d fail was when they’d get in each other’s way. And how, with the nine of them, could that not happen? He watched the many heads within the room. So much wickedness, but obviously greed too. He saw it in their eyes, the hunger for power like he hungered for blood. If anything, he knew many of them would deliberately sabotage one another just so they could get a shot at freeing Kil’threx. He couldn’t allow some other fool to stand in his way. “Truth. We should set up a battle plan. We are with nine, so I’d suggest we split up in groups of 2 each and attack from a direction on the compass. One would be left to support whatever side would require it.” Aborath stretched out his hand over the central table. Blood pulled up from the ground and crawled up on the legs of the table. Once on the table, it began to make a crude map of Melaron. There it remained, the blood getting pumped around as if the lines were veins. With the central keep and palace as the heart. “So gentlemen. I suggest we get to work.” Aborath had, in fact, no desire what so ever to join up with any of the individuals sitting at the table. He’d send out word this very night yet. His main army of vampires would start marching. Covens spread throughout the world heed his call. But most importantly, the Mistwalkers of Lake Hysrine would arrive earlier. In four days at the most. The Mistwalkers were a dreaded coven of vampires specialized in deception and stealth. Since their creation, many elven cities had fallen in old Lothorian. They’d infiltrate the city under the cover of night. When the siege would start, they’d plunge whole districts in a confusing thick mist and commence their search for the dungeon entrance. Yes, Aborath would be the first to march down and shatter the statue. This he vowed. All under the guise of looking ready to cooperate with the ramble that stood before him.	Name: Khata Nyarlith Title: The Faceless One Three-word description: Arcane Nightmare Horror Appearance: When out among other gods, mortals, or anytime else she's basically not lounging in her abode, she...it, is dressed in luxurious purple robes, complete with long flowing and imposing cloak, claws metal gauntlets and a rather...odd mask covering his-hers-its, features. All of the equipment is summonable, meaning she can summon it from anywhere should she so desire. The robe itself is fairly durable, and acts as a fairly decent suit of leather armor to naturally deflect physical attacks. Of course, it has also been heavily enchanted and fortified. If one had the misfortune of removing the mask...well, all they would see is a gaping hole where its face should be. If, one were to pay her a little visit in her not so humble abode and bow to her, they would find a much less mysterious, and much more beautiful and alluring creature. Standing roughly at five foot eight with pale skin, bright golden colored eyes dressed in fine silk clothing with pure white hair tied up, and wearing some fairly revealing clothing. She is often seen smiling, an uneasy sometimes 'unhinged' grin, one might say. Of course, this appearance is simply a magically kept facade. Her true form is...something much more terrifying. This horrific fleshy mass is...well, exactly what someone's nightmares are made out of. Cold, clammy, and somewhat slimy to the touch its not something anyone wants to meet in a dark alleyway. It stands at eight feet tall, and lacks any sort of facial features. Only a giant gaping mouth, twisted sideways where a face should be. Three strong looking arms protrude from its body, with obvious muscle one might expect from something other than a mage. Powerful legs hold it upright, ready to carry the creature with the same musculature as its legs. Several tentacles writhe and protrude from the creatures body, ready to be used as weapons for both offense and defense. Magic/Skills/Abilities: As far as skills go, Khata is what some might say, a complete master of the arcane. She has a incredible advance understanding of magic in general, which she uses to create horrific arcane creatures. Her most powerful skill, however, is the ability to summon various abominations from some unknown plane. Contact with these beings have slightly eroded her sanity over the years, but she cares not. all is for the sake of knowledge and magic...and power. Of course, summoning such creatures are somewhat difficult to do in battles, though the effect they have and the sheer potential for destruction they can cause is greatly worth it. However, such things won't help her if she's being attacked at close range. She can beckon these entities into a sort of half-existence, letting them dwell within her body and granting her a variety of effects and most importantly, physical boons and physical alterations. Aside from this, she also has various spells at her disposal that involve simply destroying things with the power of the stars and heavens. her most unique ability, however, is the ability to speak to mortals within their dreams. Such dreams, are often horrific nightmarish things, often ending with the victim being devoured by some abomination. Such people, are usually eventually driven mad and are either killed, or flee and search for her tower... Inventory/Holdings: Inventory: Enchanted Robes, to bind the flesh to a mortal form A Staff Spear, to rend flesh of foes and commune with greater powers A mask to conceal the face, to hide the true nature of things Black stones, ascending to the heavens to beckon otherworldly creatures The robes themselves are something summonable. They are enchanted to withstand physical blows, magic of all kinds, and extreme temperatures and environments. Aside from that, they are nothing special and function as typical robes do. Additionally, at her side and also summonable, is a spear designed to also function as a channel for magic. It does both jobs equally well, and while she's not as trained as some purely physical fighter would be, they would find themselves likely surprised by her skill with it to start with. And lastly, is her mask. It has the power to hide or reveal otherworldly things. Tower of Nyarlith The massive, sprawling black tower of Nyarlith is something of a legend among those who study the arcane. It is located not in this physical plane, but rather it has been summarily removed from this plane of existence thanks to pacts struck with eldritch beings. It was once located in what is today a vast desert, with nothing but sands and ruins as far as the eye can see. The desert was once home to a thriving civilization, but it has long sense fallen. Where the tower once stood, is nothing but a massive hole filled with water, where an eldritch guardian sleeps and watches over the seal that keeps the tower concealed from this reality. The hole, is said to be where the base of the tower once stood. Around it are the ruins of the city that have fallen into disrepair, and some have even sunken into the massive basin of water. Indoctrinated, Abominations, and the Enlightened What does Khata enjoy more than anything else? Dominating others, and her precious little slaves who have lost all form of what one might call 'free will'. They have been broken mentally, but their physical abilities are kept intact for obvious reasons. Surprisingly, slaves are treated well as long as they of course, behave. They make up the main cannon fodder of her forces within the tower, catering to her every whim and fighting for her on the front lines as slave warriors. Often times, their equipment is pretty heavily enchanted with magic, and some make use of magic themselves. Additionally, eldritch abominations which stalk the hallways and are always in the process of being made. These mindless creatures have no mind, and only serve to serve their masters. Mindless beasts, with no way to really control them. Set them loose upon enemy ranks, and watch the chaos unfold. The faithful, are the few insane humans who make their way to the tower after being affected by her dreams. They for the most part, are normal humans who have taken up tutelage under her. Masters of the arcane and summoning eldritch beings and contacting them for boons. Myth: Once, in the Vastness of the now desolate Great Desert, there existed a kingdom by the name of Azair. It was a prosperous, powerful kingdom that had been around for ages and had no equal in power. It was unified, a veritable utopia of wealth, civil stability and culture. Wars were said to have been a distant thing of the past, and power struggles were nonexistent for these people. Many people came to this utopia, lived there, and built lives. Of course, Utopias aren't exactly a realistic thing, and there is no such thing as a civilization without conflict... The high priest of Azair used to be a friendly, kinder, older human. However, they had a fascination with things of the arcane nature that would eventually be his downfall. She skirted too close to the truth. Came into contact with eldritch beings who showed him visions of what the future might hold for him and the kingdom. War. Famine. Destruction. POWER. All he had to do...was let the creature in. Let it in his head. So he did. What happens next should be of no mystery. The old priest was devoured by his desire for arcane knowledge, drove him insane. Power hungry. Eventually, this led him to wrenching power from the king, constructing the Tower of Nyarlith out of the finest obsidian stone that could be mined. After that...he sentenced everyone to death, letting eldritch creatures roam the streets and have their way with the humans in return for locking away the tower in another plane of existence. Of course, that's all history. Slightly embellished, or so the story goes. What is the actual truth of it? No one knows. For centuries, the tower had been dormant. Hiding away in its sealed off realm where its owner indulged their magic curiosities, eventually transforming even their own body into something horrific and inhuman. And then, came Kil'threx, speaking to them in a dream. An eldritch creature had a task for them. And they would agree wholeheartedly for a chance to serve a higher calling. Creating a portal between the realm of the waking, and the realm of the Nightmare Tower, she set foot on the world once again in such, a long, long time. Personality: Really...not all there in the head. Talks to herself, makes odd comments, and otherwise is just generally unhinged. She takes great pride in her abilities, and loves showing people just how destructive and awe inspiring they can be. She has an insatiable lust for knowledge, magic trinkets, and loves them to no end, actively seeking them out and will always accept items of a magical nature as payment for services rendered. That said, she treats her slaves and subjects rather well as mentioned previously. She subscribes that a loyal slave who loves you, will always be more effective than a fearful slave that is similar to a feral dog. She'll even go out of her way to save slave units and soldiers, should she have too. Of course, disobedience and failure is dealt with harshly...but punishment is always acceptable when a slave has failed their duties. Oh, and well, remember she's a complete sadist and often goes out of her way to inflict pain and suffering upon others that aren't her loyal slaves, faithful, or abominations. Sample post (put this in a hider please): "How lovely of you all to join us!" The voice cackled as the doors to the tower opened, a clock chiming somewhere above. "Wohoho, how lovely indeed! Majestic even! Welcome to my humble abode, little adventurers! I'm curious as to how you lovely little things found all of your way here! Entertain my curiosity some, maybe? Please? It's been oh so very long since I saw the outside world, being all trapped here in my castle~" The pale woman upon the throne giggled in an unsettling fashion. "Do not listen to the creatures words or be...seduced by its form! That is what we are here to kill!" The white clad paladin drew his sword, the doors to the throne room slamming shut behind him. "It's not even a woman!" The other party of adventurers drew their weapons. One with a rather nasty looking axe, dressed in some black robes. Another with a large hammer engraved with various holy symbols. Khata simply laughed from her throne. "Majestic! Heroes are heroes, even in a dream!" her smile turned into an unsettling grin as she looked down upon the adventurers in her throne room. And then she was in front of the Paladin. "Calling me an it...how rude. Typical hero! And here I am a damsel in distress, locked away in a tower. Are these not 'real' enough for you? Is that it?~" She said, pressing her chest against the paladins armor. The holy warrior reacted almost instinctively, aiming a sword right for the creatures heart...or where it was supposed to be. The blade pierced the creatures soft flesh, but instead of hitting the creatures heart and incapacitating it, she seemed wholly unaffected by it. There was a sickening crunch as the paladins armor was pierced instead. The creatures arm had turned into a a mass of writhing tentacles that slowly enveloped the paladin, crushing his bones and slipping into the cracks through his armor. The other two shook off their shock quickly enough, and proceeded to counter attack, trying to save their companion. The axe was brought down in an attempt to strike her head. The hammer attacked her from the side, in an attempt to prevent her from running. However, she dropped the paladin...and was suddenly ten feet away back in front of her throne. The heroes looked absolutely confused. "Ah, ah, so adorable. So adorable! You funny little humans, so adorable! Saving him, when you should be saving yourselves! Surprised? This is my tower! You think you can defeat me here? My gods won't let me die so easily, ahahaha~ Lemme show you again." Suddenly, she was once again in front of the heroes in the blink of an eye...with her spear slammed right into his heart. She swung the spear around, slamming it into the remaining hero. "Hehe...one left. I wonder...how much fun I can have with you?~" Night falls on the sands, Starlight beckoning towards Nyarlith. It is said the sands were once more hospitable, but after the fall of Azair the water in the desert dried up, filling a giant pool in the center of the once great metropolis where the Palace of the old King once stood. The dried earth split, great fissures forming leading to the depths of the earth... Existing on the southern edge of the continent, The Drazir wastes are, well, as one might expect from the name; A vast, endless ocean of sand, ancient stone ruins and fissures that lead far into the earth, swallowing travelers who lose their footing close to their edge. The desert is incredibly hot, the harsh sun beating down upon the sands making it reach temperatures that would make most men stay as far away as possible throughout the day. The clear, cloudless skies don't help, letting the sun fall unfiltered through. One should keep in mind, the desert is not lifeless during the day. A variety of beasts roam the sands that call the place home, waiting to prey upon those who would brave the desert. They tend to take refuge within desert ruins or the sandy caves that have been carved into the walls of the crags that litter the region. Some of these beasts, are some of the horrid experiments that have found their way out of Nyarlith, and should not be taken lightly. However, at night the desert takes a much more...peaceful looking form. It cools to a much more reasonable temperature, the large moon illuminating the desert in its pale light. Starlight shines from above, twinkling like little gems embedded in the sky. It is probably the time someone would wish to travel through the desert as the cooler temperatures make it much more tolerable to travel through. However, some nocturnal creatures come out at night, beckoned by the moonlight. It is by no means completely safer to travel. The various ruins that dot the sands, are always of interest to scholars and wizards, hoping to stumble upon some artifact of great power. A way to commune with the same gods that the old kingdom Azair possibly had contact with before their fall. One should be careful though, quite a few of Nyarlith's faithful call these ruins home. Stumbling upon them will often not go well for the unprepared... A few sparse oasis exist through the region which are safe enough, but for the most part it is completely devoid of flowing water, save for underground springs. The gates of Azair still stand watch over the ancient city, time only adding to their wondrous splendor and beckoning the curious inwards with promise of treasure and knowledge. Some say on the night of the Pale Moon, you can still hear the frantic calls of the citizens, pleading for their gods to same them from the monstrosities that were unleashed upon them. The ruins of the once great civilization still stand to this day, a defiant opponent to both sands and time. The ancient monolithic stone walls of the city have eroded with time, but not faltered in their tasks of keeping out sands and invaders. The city itself is a surprisingly...green place. An ancient waterway runs from under the central gate into the giant pool in the center of town where the Palace once stood. Plants seem to have flocked to this source of water, and have taken root within the city. The ruins themselves hold many magical and arcane secrets, should one be brave enough to find and brave them. And of course, make it past the plethora of creatures living here. Most, are discarded remnants from Nyarlith. Failed experiments, guards, or even some indoctrinated humans seeking for a way to enter the tower. All manner of obscene, abhorrent experiments that only one as mad as Nyarlith could come up with take place within its halls. Many a foolish wizard seek the tower and the ruined land of Azair, if only for some insight into the arcane mastery of the realms master. The master is a fickle thing, and if you entertain them you may be granted a boon of insight. People who manage to leave the tower, often go on to become powerful wizards until the end of their life draws near, and they are beckoned to return to Nyarlith. Erected so long again, the tower has remained in pristine condition thanks to otherworldly influences and magic. It currently exists on an otherworldly plane, in a realm caught eternally between sunrise and sunset, with the sun setting in the east, and the moon rising in the west. Clouds fill the sky, moving at an unnaturally swift rate as an unseen wind carries them to their destination. In this realm, the tower does not exist in a sea of sand as one might expect...but an actual sea. It stretches as far as the eye can see. An endless abyss, where all manner of eldritch creatures have taken refuge and live. The tower extends far into the heavens, all the way past the swift moving clouds above, and into a cool crisp night air where the silver, pale moon shines brightly and illuminates the roof of the tower, where all manner of obscene rituals take place under the amused gaze of Nyarlith. The only way into the tower is to beckon the Blood Moon, and step through the revealed portal that has been revealed. Pray the guardian doesn't awaken, however. It is a ravenous beast, that will let no trespassers through without its masters permission. The contents of the tower are vast and seemingly endless. Indeed, the tower almost seems to be bigger on the inside at times. A few notable locations within: -The Study Halls located on the upper floors, where scholarly pursuits are shared between the Enlightened -The Archives, located at the second highest place in the tower where all manner of magical tomes and research documents are kept -The Labs situated in the middle, where magical experiments are conducted. -The Communal room, located just below the archives, where one can attempt to commune with the elder gods. -The Lower halls, where abominations and experiments lurk. -Above the lower halls, are where the Indoctrinated rest. -The Beckoning platform, where rituals to beckon the gods to this realm are performed. -The throne Room, where Nyarlith grants audience to those who wish it. -Many, many, more unnamed rooms exist, their purposes many. The indoctrinated of Nyarlith have lost all sense of free will, unable to disobey orders from the creature that calls themselves their master. To be certain, they retain their desires, wants, former personalities from before but they can not do anything against the will of Nyarlith. I had the...opportunity to meet one once. I expected a mindless husk, but was surprised. They appear just as you or I. Completely normal. I wouldn't have even known, had they not told me. Its frightening. It makes you wonder just how many have been lost to that creatures influence and we have no way of telling. Slaves, or the 'Indoctrinated' as some call them, make up most of the population within and outside Nyarlith. Those who have had their minds dominated by Nyarlith and have lost all sense of what one might call 'free will'. Not that many would ever wish to do anything other than what their master tells them too. Such thoughts have all been wiped from their minds. These creatures come from all number of races that have existed. They are fairly easy to tell, as most will be dressed in simple robes or armor, depending on their own chosen specialty. They are as numerous as stars in the sky, and it is difficult to gauge the actual number of them. They are currently led by a general, a powerful man who was once a part of a group of paladins that sought to bring an end to Nyarlith, but who was instead given insight into the arcane knowledge, who then pledged loyalty to the creature. Those outside the tower, carry out special tasks. Reconnaissance, bring back information about the state of the world, bring back useful materials for experiments, etc. Those inside the tower, often cater to the wants and desires of their master. It is no secret they take great pleasure in indulging in mortal sins with their indoctrinated or Enlightened. The lower halls of Nyarlith are home to all manner of creatures. Experiments conducted by Nyarlith in order to achieve some greater purpose...or simply to sate the creatures sadistic pleasures. The experiments conducted at Nyarlith produce all kinds of abominations and creatures. There is no set explanation or classification for these monstrosities. Most cannot be controlled, tamed,or spoken too, even their masters have trouble with it. Most are kept within the lowest parts of the tower as insurance and guards. Some though, manage to slip through the veil and into the desert. Most, used to be human of some sort. Some though, appear to be chimeras. Animals fused with other things, most often things that seem to come from beyond the veil or other aquatic creatures. Slugs, octopi, fish, etc. Not all who seek Nyarlith are those indoctrinated. Not all of them are mages either. Simply someone the creature has taken an interest in, and have given them a choice. Come to Nyarlith and gain their own insight into the world without his aid, or go on living as ignorant, sightless beings. Those who accept, are whisked away to the tower where they may commune with the great ones themselves, find their own path of Enlightenment. Differing from the Indoctrinated, since they still retain all forms of free will, thought, and in fact, some in the past have actively worked against Nyarlith at times. They are easy to recognize, all wear masks similar to Nyarlith in reverence to the one who granted them such insight into otherworldly knowledge. Not all of them are mages, in fact some do not have the ability to cast magic at all. Some are simply special warriors or those born with a natural talent for seeing things. These Enlightened few, make up the higher ranks of Nyarlith's people. Whereas the indoctrinated are simple servants, guards, keepers, and general soldiers, the Enlightened are able to conduct their own experiments and travel between the tower and the waking realm. They are often the leaders, generals, and otherwise those of power within the tower. Dreams. All men have them, but few are able to master and understand what they truly are. Dreams are a time when human minds are open to the most insight. Able to hear the eldritch mutterings of those greater than them. Dreams, is an Area Nyarlith is quite well acquainted with. Often times, they will find a mortal they've taken an interest in and show them a nightmare. Such nightmares often will end with those afflicted seeking the tower and her. Depending on how they handled the nightmares and how much of the eldritch things they can see, they will either be turned into one of the Enlightened or one of the Indoctrinated. One of her lesser known abilities, however, is the ability to create peaceful seeming, lucid dreams for a few. A rarely used skill, but it allows communication, sharing of ideas and for him to see into a persons psyche. Often times, their form in this dream is vastly different than what the legends and myths state. Most often, the dreams take place under the bright light of the moon on a balcony, overlooking the sea.
55,027	1,502	14	2,487	9,775	♛ The Apotheosis of the Court ♛ The last of their expected attendance manifested in the form of some eldritch abomination, a cyclone of putrid and quite literal insects buzzing their way into the cottage before settling in one place. Aesir, like the others no doubt, watched on as the creatures began to squirm and swarm over the last remaining chair before soon taking physical shape before them. And with that shape came the overarching presence of hunger that was Zhystkrexas. How typical. The pirate from before seemed to have welcomed the embodiment with open arms, and it could be deducted that the two entities were of acquaintance to each other. Ironic that the theme of the day seemed to be pairs, numbers of twos in all things. Aesir kept to himself as there was no need for further greetings among his fellow black hearts; that, and because something new was being stirred. The air began to shift with power and an overtly dramatic chuckle that almost made Aesir laugh in turn to how childish and unnecessary it was. Before long, all of them were shown the form of the one being who had summoned them all here. Kil'threx, the God of Evil, or so his title would advertise. As an orb of inky blackness, Aesir assumed the reason for their gathering was to bring about his physical form once more into this world. And once again he was correct, Kil'threx detailing the markings of his own tale before highlighting the tasks that needed to be done. But first, an insurance policy to keep his followers loyal to him alone. A common trick but admirable and effective all the same. As the dark one flitted to each individual, he soon appeared before Aesir himself with a dark orange coloration in his tendrils. The greatest army ever? There was irony in that statement and Aesir saw reason to smile beneath his mask. Yes, very ironic indeed…but nothing that would not dissuade him from committing to this task. After all, he cared not for spoils and riches anymore, let alone glory. Perhaps he never did. All he desired was for the euphoria that was everlasting conflict to spread throughout all things. When the dark god moved towards his servant, Iona, his tone took on a more gentle approach. Aesir listened with interest, noting the even deeper irony that ran in this scenario. To think he was under command of Kil'threx’s former ally…most interesting indeed. Just as he had spoken to Iona and himself, Kil'threx shifted onward to speak to all nine of the gathered beings before departing with whispers in the shadows. The answer was obvious, Aesir noting that Kil'threx did just promise to punish them if they rebelled. Besides, what harm would there be in going along with this little play? It would at least sate his boredom. The notion of a plan was thankfully acknowledged; good, because that meant Aesir did not have to speak himself. It would seem the others were doing all the talking for him and that prompted the masked man to continue hanging back with crossed arms and his servant by his side. Oh yes, he could tell this group was going to get along just right, the light of greed and intention of betrayal so obvious that it could cut the tension in the room in half. They were villains after all so it was to be expected. Creatures steeped in blood and darkness who sought to overturn one another. Frankly, Aesir cared not as long as he got his conflict but seeing how everyone else was on edge…. “I suppose the Harbinger of Conquest will do just that then, yes? Someone has to become the face of our allegiance and strife is all I know,” he said, sweeping his masked gaze to all in the cottage. “Perhaps then I should leave the schemes to all of you while I actively and publicly enact war on Melaron. While their forces are focused upon me, the rest of you are kept in the shadows, free to do what you will without restriction or discovery from the forces of Light.” A bold move, but certainly one that was achievable by the immortal conqueror. After all, it wasn’t like he could be killed and so the armies of Melaron would have to spend much time and many resources to combat his own. Meanwhile, that would at least give the other seven the time and preparation they needed to enact their grand plan against the capital city. “In any case, perhaps we should also address the elephant in the room, yes? Can we all assume that each of us harbors the desire to betray the other?” he asked smoothly, waiting for the response to his simple question. , , , , , , ,	♛ The Apotheosis of the Court ♛ "Do you have a premonition in you? Do you have a desire for war in you? That is the proof of those who will go on with me." ✧Name: Aesir. ✧Title: The The Apotheosis of the Court. ✧Description: Immortal World Conqueror. ✧Appearance: A man of great build who is almost never seen without his armor of war. Aesir chooses to style his hair into that of a single braid, weaving it in the distinct pattern of the great snakes and dragons of old. Rumor has it that he has done this in acknowledgement of the goddess Apophis. His armor takes on hues of red, black and orange while his eyes are a dull gray in coloration; whether this is a sign of age or magical influence, no one knows. Those that perhaps did are no longer among the living. Lastly, he wears a cape that parts into two down the middle, resembling more of a scarf than anything else. ✧Magic/Skills/Abilities: Despite trusting his blade above all else, Aesir still recognizes the usage of magic in this world. Apart from being a masterful swordsman, his focus in magic leans towards the defensive type, able to generate barriers of many kinds and specialties to both himself and his allies. Sometimes they can even be used to trap the enemy, utilizing one of those specialties mentioned such as causing the barrier to explode upon itself for example. Though Aesier’s most grandiose skill is not any sort of active ability, but rather lies passive. Aesir has obtained complete immortality in his mortal life and thus can never be truly killed; as such, the only method to defeat him is to seal his body and soul away. Or be some sick sadist and just keep killing him until one gets bored. ✧Inventory/Holdings: Aesir is usually never seen without his fully-adorned set of armor that does well in protecting him against not only physical attacks, but also magic as well, allowing him to focus all of his efforts through weaponry and brute strength. Furthermore, he possesses a pair of double-sided great swords named Omnia that can be split apart if needed. It is said that when these mighty weapons are swung, they are able to summon forth powerful creatures both wild and strange to assure Aesir of victory. Lastly, he holds a mask that does little in battle apart from protecting his face and adding some truth to his myth as the “Masked Berserker”. Contrary to popular belief, Aesir is not currently possessing the body of a servant; he is instead in full control of his original body through which his immortality keeps him sustained at the physical appearance of youth. His kingdom is said to be be coated in a field of concealment that only fools dare to uplift, his forces stretched far and wide within his land. Those under his rule consist of many non-human creatures and those who praise his name and the glory of war. Alongside his rule is his most trusted servant, the Chaos Angel known as Iona. His personal fortress, which lies in the heart of his kingdom, is said to be a mighty tower that reaches so high it scrapes away the boundary of the heavens and the mortal world below. A constant stream of energy is pulsed out of the tower and aimed upward. In this way, the kingdom is forever protected and concealed, though some hold question that the constant stream of power is perhaps Aesir's attempt to wage war with the divine. ✧Myth: Legends tell of a boy reared by man but cursed by the gods who would breathe among the living. A boy whose ambition and thirst for control and power were thought to be signs of ill omen from the divine. Yet man is blind and ignorant as time has proven again and again; before long, the boy was no longer a boy and his desire to conquer had been fully realized in the form of massive armies assembled to his beck and call. But all things born of this world are destined to end, faded to die, and soon enough, the man was brought before Death’s door. Yet in the twilight of his passing, a god, or a trickster, or a devil of a Court long since forgotten in time, offered unto him the powers with which to cheat Death. Driven by his consumption of power, the man soon took upon his newfound partner’s deal to which he was assured there would be no consequence. There is always a consequence however, be it manifested through physical, mental, or even spiritual means. The man, now dubbing himself as Aesir in mockery of the gods who failed to end his mortal life, became a being cursed to walk the earth, whose sole purpose was to cause conflict wherever he moved. Neither love nor forgiveness could save him. Now he bathes in the blood of his enemies alone, in a fortress and kingdom thought to be hidden away in a land that lives only in myth. Or so the stories go. Be it by fate or choice or chance, the Apotheosis of the Court was rustled from his state of dormancy by a being of bitter tidings. A servant of Kil'threx had approached the conquering king in his own throne room, promising a new purpose with the prospect of spreading war in the name of the dark god. With the taste of strife fresh upon his breath, the “Masked Berserker” set off once more to do his duty in causing chaos upon the land. ✧Personality: It is no secret that the man named Aesir has an intimate relationship with war and conflict. So much so that many wonder if he is perhaps driven by some goal or pursuit to justify his ways. Yet despite his thirst for battle and strife, there is an air of chivalry surrounding the man. He will not raise a weapon against those without arms; whether it is because he holds pity or sees staining his hand as a waste of time is unknown. Furthermore, Aesir has no qualms in either watching battle take place or directly joining the front lines himself as he acknowledges the need for both tactics in war. However, if he does take blade in hand, he will fight to the very last and treats every soldier like a son of his own. A father to his men on the battlefield and a king to his subjects in the throne room. “War never changes. You humans only think it changes merely because you witness something that forces your mind to reconsider the variables. To recount, to rethink, to do away with strategies and plans. War may have many faces, with new weapons and ever developing powers…but I assure you my friend. War never changes.” The patron of conflict and battle himself sat highly upon his throne while the world burned all around him. Literally. The latest army of adventurers had traversed through hell and back to make it this far. To that he had to commend them in their willingness to be slaughtered. A great battle had taken place here, ending in conclusion with the bombardment of his castle with spells meant to tear apart the very skies themselves. But here he still sat, unfazed and unconcerned, but no less proud that despite the eons passing by, mankind was still prevalent in their ability to enact war upon each other. “You’ve done well to reach my doorstep, but alas, like any pawn, you were destined to fall,” the immortal continued to monologue to the mound of charred corpses that lay beside his booted feet. “To think you’d sacrifice yourselves in the efforts of slaying Aesir of the Court among your own bodily shells….a bold move. But ultimately useless against me,” he said, rising from his now crumbling throne and walking among the living inferno that was his home. “Come Iona. We have much to do. The humans have made my blood boil with ecstasy by forcing me to make a new army. My favorite pastime,” he called out to the ruins of his fortress before melting away into the darkness and smoke. “Hmm…we’re going to need a new castle. Something resistant to fire this time,” he muttered to himself. ♛ Theme ♛
55,028	1,502	15	2,778	353	To say that Vortigern had been caught off guard by the latter statement would be an understatement. He had been organizing the resources they had before them—limited as his knowledge of that may be—into the skeleton of a workable plan. That said, the words rung with truth. He himself did not presently harbor such intentions, but such conflict was bound to fester amongst this group. And yet... "While we can be certain that those in this room will be at odds with each other at some point, we would do well to remember that our... Father is unlikely to take well to us causing too great an upset to his desires. It would be wise to refrain from doing such things until Kil'threx's wishes can be more accurately understood." Vortigern himself had no desire to stab anyone in the back, I shall have those memories forevermore. Now I must work towards the future. "I have personally infiltrated the Order of the Stars in the past, and shall be able to do so again." Any defenses they might put up around themselves, Vortigern's flesh was of their Order, as was the cloth that flesh bore. More like as not, they would recognize him as one of their own. "While I and my spirits could hold them in place, and ultimately destroy them, it would tie me up for a considerable length of time—even after the more competent of the Order is dealt with, the entire complex would need to be searched. Some form of backup may be desirable. Or at least something to corral them inside." He glanced over at Khata Nyarlith. "Some sport of barrier over their own defenses, erected once I was inside." He did not address the other former-mage by name, but the implicated request of her—or perhaps her servants—was definitely there. Looking back to the map, he continued. "The mages receiving some form of aid would be... inconvenient, if not detrimental to that particular attack. As much of Melaron's ordinary forces would be tied down with the siege, and with keeping the peace, it would likely fall to the Order of the Sun." Bright red light, identical to that marking the Order of the Stars, wound its way into the pillar marking the Order of the Sun. "As such, a simultaneous assault on their facilities to tie them down might also be in order. Yes, there interference in any of our operations could prove most vexing." He leaned back in his chair. "Any one of us—or probably two, as Aboreth suggested—could likely handle them. Those whom their powers affect the least could be the most effective." He looked to the roof, reaching one hand to his chin. "Iona's presence alone could seriously demoralize them, if she isn't otherwise occupied." At this point, he had near enough forgotten that he was not alone in the room. It was a wonder that he hadn't just moved his tactical analysis into his thoughts. "It would likely also be effective if we attacked the Palace at the same time as well, to add to the confusion. In fact, capturing it, or else turning that which is above ground to rubble, would be quite useful in demoralizing the enemy, making battle even easier. Yes, three simultaneous attacks could be the way to go." He leaned forward again, placing both hands on the map. "Even still, once we find the statue, it is unlikely that it will be unguarded. Whoever stowed it underground is likely to have left some form of arcane defense behind. And enchanted it such that destroying it will be more difficult than smacking it about with a mace. And they may well have left some unknown contingency behind that will trigger in the case of Kil'threx's release." Vortigern let out a sound resembled a cross between a hum and a growl as he stared at the map, discontented with the presence of uncertain variables. Leaning back again, he caught sight of his compatriots, and realized that he had been the only one talking for some time. "Ah, yes, I'm sure that some of you have thoughts on our mission."	Name: Vortigern Titles: He of Whisper and Shadow The Spiritbinder Grand Magus (honorary, “postmortem”) Three-word description: Dark Magic Spymaster Appearance: He of Whisper and Shadow, contrary to what most of those who truly know of his existence believe, is not a formless spirit, jumping from one host body to the next. Vortigern, in fact, does possess a body. As a matter of fact, aside from its remarkably pale skin, Vortigern’s body is in good shape. Its eyes are dark, its hair is long and healthy, and its skin is actually quite smooth. To the more magically sensitive, he would appear surrounded by a thick pale mist. This is part of Vortigern’s true essence, which has transcended his mortal flesh, but still animates it. On those rare occasions where Vortigern chooses to go out, he usually wears an old set of robes, well-maintained from his magic, of a style used by the Order of the Stars about a thousand years ago. They are largely black, but trimmed and patterned with gold thread, and belted with leather and steel. His hands and feet are covered by thick leather boots, dyed black. The palms of each glove are adorned with heavily stylized circles. He wears a hood and cowl, styled in the same vein as his robes, which obscures his face and hides his hair. In addition, he wears a similarly styled cloak for more decorative purposes. Magic/Skills/Abilities: Active Spellcasting: While never his specialty, Vortigern knows how to invoke more direct methods of using magic to inflict harm: fire, lighting, ice, kinetic force, clouds of toxic gas, and so on. Illusionary Design: Technically a form of Active Spellcasting, but different in function than the rest. Vortigern can bend light to create false images, and distort the air to create false sounds and scents. Summoning: Easily Vortigern’s greatest ability is to call upon spirits already in his service. Calling them requires very little effort, considering they are already bound to him, and is facilitated by the stylized circles inscribed into his gloves. In a fight, all but the weakest of the spirits under his command can disorient his opponents, and the strongest are capable of inflicting some serious mental harm. He prefers to use spirits over fighting directly. Spirit Assault: How Vortigern prefers to go about fighting enemies directly. Using his knowledge of the human spirit and mind, he can seriously curtail a person’s ability to use their body. When attempted at a distance, this cannot be directed at a specific individual, and results in moderate sluggishness at worst. Direct physical contact allows for attacks that are far more devastating, including up to total paralysis and unconsciousness. To affect internal organs Vortigern must physically strike a part of the body that lines up with that organ—for example, to stop the heart Vortigern must strike in the middle of the chest. If a person survives being attacked in this method, they will recover from these attacks fully with sufficient time. Domination: A specific technique related to spirit assault, Vortigern is able to twist a person’s body and mind to serve him. An unwilling subject is hollowed out entirely, rendered nothing more than an obedient husk. A complacent—willing or unconscious—subject retains their mental faculties and personality, but is unable to disobey Vortigern’s commands. Vortigern receives willing subjects either through coercion or through his cult (more on that in a bit). Vortigern can employ this technique to alter the mind and memory of a person who hasn’t been hollowed out. Transcendence: Approximately eight hundred fifty years ago, Vortigern performed a ritual that altered the nature of his spirit, becoming He of Whisper and Shadow. As a result, his body does not physically age, and nothing short of total destruction will break his spirit’s connection to it. Even still, it is more likely that he will become a powerful spirit after that occurs, like those he controls now but far greater in scope, than it is that he will pass on. Inventory/Holdings: Objects: The Staff of the Spiritbinder. Vortigern’s staff from before he became He of Whisper and Shadow. It is a long piece of an uncertain dark wood, crowned by a crow perched inside of a circle. As per instructions he gave to close associates before his transcendence, it was buried on the grounds of the Order of the Stars eight hundred fifty years ago. Some fifty years ago, it was disturbed and dug up. The leader of the Order took to using it as a symbol of his office. When Vortigern learned of this, he snuck in to the transgressor’s bedchambers, turned the man into a drooling husk in his sleep, and took a number of magical artifacts, including the staff. The staff serves as a means to amplify his control over spirits, but the main reason he created was to serve a function during his transcendence. Alkor’s Amulet. An amulet created by Alkor the Spellweaver, a founding member of the Order of the Stars, which Vortigern stole while retrieving his staff. It’s consists only of a sphere of brass threaded on a course string. The amulet amplifies the wearer’s magical ability. Darkblood. A ceremonial dagger of unknown origin, which Vortigern stole while retrieving his staff. Its blade is an unknown black metal, and its hilt, handle, and pommel are made of gold. Purportedly, it alerts the bearer to the presence of demons, but precisely how has been forgotten. It is kept in an unadorned leather scabbard. Followers: Spirits. Vortigern has bound a veritable army of spirits into his service. The vast majorities of these are not particularly strong, but are eminently useful for matters of morale. A weak spirit can slip into an enemy encampment, and make all sorts of merry hell to ruin someone’s day—spoiling food, causing nightmares, whispering something in someone else’s voice to start a fight, and so on. Some of the more powerful spirits can whisper dark secrets into a sleeping person’s ear to drive them mad, or false secrets to cause mistakes, or even get a person to divulge their own secrets in their sleep. Some of the stronger spirits are capable of actually fighting, undergoing ethereal manifestation to fight someone as a gfigure identical to a risen ghost. All sorts of spirits are ideal scouts, being invisible. Spirits also serve as capable messengers. Whispers. About three centuries ago, Vortigern used a handful of individuals he had coerced into letting him Dominate them to found a cult in his honor. Its membership includes every person to join the eight-person High Council that has governed the Republic of the Carnelian Coast for the past eight hundred fifty years, as well as several key figures of governance and trade throughout the Republic. In addition to the more mundane options of having the Republic declare war wherever he wishes—a gross misuse of it as a resource—he can alter the flow of goods as he, and has access to what passes for the Carnelian espionage network. His cult also acts, in part, as his own intelligence network, giving him eyes and ears in places that the Carnelian Coast cannot reach. Shadows. An loose organization of assassins, thieves, and spies. Spread throughout the land, they provide information and blood to the highest bidder—but only if it is in Vortigern’s interest. Vortigern founded it personally three hundred years ago, and it is run through Vortigern has Dominated, who he taught to summon spirits He bound to himself, through which the servant communicates with their proxies, who distribute orders. Members of the Whispers are not permitted entry. All information its spies gather is recorded, and sometimes Vortigern will send them out on a personal mission (and simultaneously several dummy missions) of different types to achieve a personally desired end. Personal Army. To top it all off, Vortigern has a vast number of trained soldiers under his employ. They man his hidden fortress (more on that in a second), and are led directly by officers who have willingly submitted to Domination. The only soldiers permitted to interact with Vortigern, namely as his personal guard must first willingly submit to Domination. Holdings: Mountain Fortress-Complex. Starting from the long-defunct gem-mines for which the Carnelian Coast was named for long ago, Vortigern has developed massive fortress under the earth, hidden from view. Going down several stories, manned by Vortigern’s personal army, this serves as the nerve center for all of his operations. Myth: There are many tales the destitute of the Carnelian Coast tell themselves. For the pleasure of scaring each other at night. To explain the world to themselves. And, sometimes, just for its own sake. One of these stories is of a young mage named Vortigern. Vortigern was the youngest son of Vallirand, then the most powerful and influential merchant of the Carnelian Coast. To oppose him, and take his profits for themselves, a cadre of individually lesser merchants banded together to found the Carnelian Consortium, a body of dozens of merchants that banded together to regulate trade on the Coast—being one of the most prominent centers of trade in the known world. Vallirand was not permitted entry. Vortigern had no care for business, only for his studies, and one day moving west and joining the Order of Stars. But as his father’s business was undercut by the Consortium, so was the funding for Vortigern’s endeavors. And so, Vortigern had an idea: populism. If enough of the people of the Carnelian Coast could be rallied against the Consortium, and be convinced to not do business with the it, then it was guaranteed to collapse. So Vallirand and all of Vortigern’s brothers and uncles and cousins traveled the length of the Carnelian Coast, saying that the Consortium was taking away the power of individuals and states to do business as they pleased. There was a furor, and Vortigern’s plan almost succeeded, but for a brilliant response from the Consortium: the founding of a republic in the Carnelian Coast. Many of the people of the Coast were swayed, but many were not, and it looked like the region was to tear itself apart. And that was bad for business. Vallirand was admitted to the Consortium, and took up the cause of the Republic. Now there was only the matter of the extant states of the region. All were city-states, and most armed only militias and city guards, which had now, effectively, defected. There were a few holdouts, but they surrendered quickly. One unfortunate casualty of the fighting, however, was Vortigern’s eldest brother, the only of his siblings he cared for, and the heir to Vallirand’s many enterprises. When all was done, the Consortium sat down to do business in their new capital, and one quarter of them promptly keeled over. This number was Vallirand, and all of his supporters. Only some of the deaths were due to means one could call assassination, not including Vallirand’s, but it was plain to see what had happened. But instead of marshalling their resources to oppose the monstrous injustice done against them, all of Vortigern’s brothers and cousins and uncles squabbled over who got what of their late kinsman’s bounty. All the family was gathered for this in a lavish palace-home than Vallirand had owned. It caught fire. When the fire had been put out, it was discovered that the body-count was one short, and the vast fortune that Vallirand had kept there was gone. The only member of the family who could have escaped the fire and spirited away the wealth was the one mage: Vortigern. And there was no trace of him. Those living who knew the family said that Vortigern had no interest in business, and so it was concluded that he had taken what was technically his inheritance and gone to join the Order of Stars. Many were sad to see the wealth go—they had hoped to poach it from Vallirand’s successors—but they at least had his many enterprises to divide amongst themselves. While it is true that Vortigern had no interest in business, he had every interest in revenge. In addition to escaping the blaze with his father’s fortune, he had used his magic to set the fire, and ensure that his family could not escape. He saw his family’s actions after Vallirand’s death as a betrayal of his father, and so he punished them. However, he was not, on his own, even with his magic and the wealth and resources of his father, a match for the remainder of the Consortium. So he left the Carnelian Coast, swearing there, in the darkness of that night, to return. He journeyed west, as all had suspected, and became an apprentice to a member of the Order of the Stars. Vortigern proved to be an exceptional pupil, and was promoted to a full membership To this day, the name of Vortigern is still spoken, lauded for the advances made by his study of spirits leagues beyond what any one person was believed to be capable of accomplishing. For most, all of this achievement would have made life satisfying. And it might have done so for Vortigern as well, had his father not been betrayed. His anger remained, and his rage festered like an open wound. It was not enough. He grew ever more detached from his friends and associates, eventually shutting them out entirely. One day, he vanished, never to return. Some years after, the members of the Carnelian Consortium—which had been integrated into the leadership of the Republic of the Carnelian Coast—began to disappear as well. It began with the oldest members, who had been alive during the founding of the Republic, but once they were gone no person was safe. Soon, people were refusing appointments to the Consortium’s leadership, then the entirety of the Consortium. Then people began quitting their posts. Understaffed and overloaded, the Consortium collapsed, and nearly brought the Republic with it. Once the Consortium was gone, efforts of the Carnelian government ceased. Still, Vortigern was not satisfied. Wells were poisoned. Fortunes were stolen. Mansions burned. One-by-one, the entirety of the merchant class of the Carnelian Coast was unmade. Few died. Most were left to suffer. As the region had always been a center of trade, the economic collapse of the Carnelian Coast rippled throughout the known world, causing the first great economic disaster in recorded history: the Carnelian Collapse. It was clear that it had been precipitated by some driving will, so efforts were made to find and eliminate it. It was a party of two that eventually found Vortigern: a great warrior, and a powerful mage. They battled. In the end, Vortigern cast them out of his domain, but was gravely wounded in the process. But he did not die. To this very day, he lurks up and down the coast, growing in power, his hunger for revenge unsated. He prepares to lash out against the very world, and tear it asunder. There have been many great mages to pass in and out of the world. Most of them are known only to those mages who come after them. Being scholars by nature, those heirs remember them well—assuming the memories were true to begin with. This is the story, according to the Order of the Stars, of one mage who held some renown in his day, and for a short while after his untimely demise: Vortigern the Spiritbinder. One day, some ninehundred years ago, in the pale light before dawn, a young man came to the city of Melaron driving a cart covered with thick, course cloth. When he came up to the gates, the posted guards asked him what was in the cart. ”My inheritance” This was Vortigern. They lifted the canvas covering the cart to find something they had not been expecting: gold and jewels. Vortigern had such a mass of wealth with him that the guards were utterly stunned. Had he arrived at any other time of day, when the entry to the city was thronged with merchants, farmers, pilgrims, and so forth, much of the fortune would have been lost to thieves before he could get inside the city gates. As it stood, he only lost two jewels and to pouches of coins, as gifts to the guards on duty to pre-emptively thank them for not spreading any rumors. Vortigern made his way through the city and to hi8s destination: the Order of Stars. Some small handful of mages there were awake, and he was asked his business there. ”To join you.” Naturally, his ability needed to be tested, and that done the matter of purchasing supplies—both for magic and general living. He proved more than able enough to become the apprentice of one of the Order’s members, and his vast fortune covered any expense he faced. Ultimately, he was taken under the wing of one Calor Talloman, a mage of no especial ability for a member of the Order, but a skilled teacher. Vortigern thrived under his tutelage. Over the next fiveyears, he fostered a friendship with the apprentice of one of Calor’s associates, one Crutius Vallorn. Crutius would prove to be Vortigern’s dearest friend. Vortigern was hesitant to speak of his past, but opened up to these two. He told them of his father’s war, of his father’s murder, and of his family’s death. ”They were just… they wouldn’t stop fighting. Someone had just murdered my father, and they were arguing over money! I was so, so angry. And I hadn’t been trained yet, not yet—books don’t really count. I wouldn’t have chosen to do it, but I don’t miss them.” Vortigern had, in a fit of rage, accidentally set fire to his family’s large home. He managed to escape. When the flames had died down, he snuck back in and spirited his father’s wealth out of the city before his father’s rivals could get their hands on it. Crutius would comment, years after Vortigern’s death, that he had struggled with anger over his father’s betrayal all of his life. Those years spent, Vortigern found himself elevated from his apprenticeship. In truth, this came to pass sooner than was ordinary, but ability was of greater concern than age, and he was not so young as to raise eyebrows. With his apprenticeship complete, Vortigern chose to study spirits, a subject of stark difference from his former master, and of deep concern to the Order. While the subject was not itself anathema, many people—mages included—connected it to necromancy. Their concerns, however, were unfounded. Some considerable oversight, to which Vortigern consented, showed that he did not stray towards the souls of the dead. If anything, the reports that were compiled showed that Vortigern actively disdained those practices. After about a decade, he had gained notoriety within the Order. He knew more about the ways of spirits than anyone, and had been able to refine his methods somewhat since the day he banished the spirit summoning the horde. Offers of funding arose and steadily increased—wholly unnecessary, as his inheritance was still plentiful, but still appreciated. By all accounts, time was a far less plentiful resource. As such, why exactly he chose this point to take on an apprentice is unclear. Maybe he thought they would be a useful assistant with his research, or perhaps he was feeling the pangs of his mortality and wanted some piece of himself to live on. Perhaps it was something else. Whatever was the case, he found an apprentice in an applicant by the name of Saida, a young elven girl who had recently been orphaned. Precisely what made her an orphan is in no surviving record. Saida was Vortigern’s apprentice for eight years—slightly longer than normal—and remained involved in his work for seven years afterwards. During this time, Vortigern revolutionized how mages work with spirits. He rewrote how mages classify spirits, pinpointed the attributes that cause demonic manifestation—the ability of demons to create a physical body when summoned, long recognized as a key difference between them and ordinary spirits—and developed countless methods by which spirits could be summoned, bound, and banished. While some considerable advancement has been made since his death, the vast majority of modern methods are grounded largely in his developments, discoveries, and even some ideas he wrote down but never tested. However, he eventually drifted into another subject of study: the human spirit. Once again, this caused concerns about necromancy to arise, but Vortigern’s reputation eased the minds of his superiors. After another handful of years, it seemed that his research into the human spirit had come reached a breakthrough. But for it to continue, he would need to leave the city on a long journey. He left very specific instructions with Crutius and Saida. “I need to do an experiment, and I cannot allow myself to perform that experiment on any person but myself. I need to go out into the wilds. There is a very specific cave, far to the east of Melaron. Two years from now—you see this journal? There’s a map in here, as well as the ritual. I need the both of you—and it needs to be two people, and I trust you both more than anyone else alive—to go out to that cave in about two years time. The exact date you need to check inside the cave is in the journal. Don’t look inside the cave before that—details are in the journal. If I’m just, you know, sitting there, it all worked out. If my dead body is there, then it didn’t, and I’ll need a burial. If you find my staff there—just my staff—that’s the worst case scenario. You need to seal off the cave with the ritual in the journal. Then, you need to come back here—and it has to be here—and bury the staff on the grounds, then seal it with the same ritual. Honestly, it isn’t something I even really want to think about, so just read the journal after I leave, okay?” When Crutius and Saida checked the cave on the appointed date, they found Vortigern’s staff, buried on quarter of its length into solid stone. There was nothing else. Whatever the truth of Vortigern’s life, whoever knows the truth, he proves a difficult individual to find. Yet the agent of Kil’threx found its way to him, hidden deep beneath crag and valley. And so, Vortigern shall answer the summons of the God of Evil. Personality: Vortigern is pre-occupied with loyalty—those few of his personal servants who are not mindless husks are either physically incapable of betraying him (a group that includes both those he has Dominated and the spirits bound to his employ) or hysterical sycophants. Somewhat predictably, if someone in his organization betrays him, he responds swiftly and harshly, even when it might not be in his best interest to do so; he is preoccupied with revenge. By the same token, while he may be a distant master, he returns loyalty with loyalty. He will stand by his servants, however low they may be on the rung, as best he can without revealing his existence to the wider world. And when he enters into an agreement with someone, he keeps it, even if he could renege it with little to no consequence. That is not to say Vortigern is kind. He habitually treats the people of the world poorly, with his actions ranging from distant hostility to outright cruelty. Despite this, he usually maintains an air of amicability. He could easily order someone dragged into the darkness, their screams muffled by cloth and leather, while sounding like he was just recommending a good book to a friend. Not that he has friends, of course; that time has passed. When not scheming, deceiving, or otherwise active, Vortigern is given to pondering. On such occasions, he enters into a deep melancholy, and often waxes poetic. There was no light here. He knew every inch of smooth, unbroken stone, and as such did not require torch or spell to make his way, nor did any of the guards or spirits monsters that lurked this far down. The same could not be said of his uninvited guests. Yes. Soon. At the far end of this long hall. That was where he stood. At first, it was designed as a trap for those intruders who made it this far down. Briefly, he used it to experiment with his old studies, and had been considering doing so again. More recently, he had been using it for storage, and it was lined with crates and barrels of fine food for his body, and fine crafts for his work. There wasn’t much he couldn’t take for himself, after all. There was the telltale sound of stone grinding on stone. Yes, that was it. That was them. The sound of crashing metal. A warrior had jumped down ahead of their compatriots. Leather scaping stone. A softer, more nimble landing. Are knights now sleeping with thieves? Has the world changed so much? Or perhaps they always were. It wasn’t the part of the world I lived in, even then. He didn’t hear the next collision, but he did hear something else, just before: the fluttering of cloth. Someone wearing clothes, not armor, had jumped down. Could they possibly…? A shining light broke on the other side of the hall, bright and piercing. So it is. Things may yet prove interesting. “Name yourself, cretin! Tell us what you’re doing down here!” The mage is a feisty one. Vortigern said nothing. “We don’t need to know a damn thing about him, Cully,” said the Warrior, a Dwarf, “We saw his damn army. We just need to stop him.” Vortigern smiled. A hooded figure—by process of elimination, the nimble, leather-shoed one—leaned over to the mage, and spoke in low tones. “Are his eyes glowing?” “Yes.” Vortigern’s voice was soft, and but it stretched throughout the room. “They only do that on special occasions.” “Okay, he’s got good hearing. Good to know.” If only you knew, little thief. “I,” said Vortigern, “am perfect of flesh, and beyond flesh.” “Alright!” The Warrior raised his axe over his shoulder, both hands gripping its handle. “Let’s get this over with.” He charged. “Durmak! Wait!” Vortigern raised his hand, the pale light in his eyes sparking at his fingertips, and almost in no time at all—though the process did seem to linger a while to Vortigern—it had spread down between his fingers to his palm. The air shook, and the Warrior fell forward, collapsing onto his knees, his axe sliding along the floor to Vortigern’s feet. Arrows flew through the air. Most missed. One planted itself firmly in Vortigern’s neck. He did not falter. “Ancull, why isn’t he falling over? I hit him.” The thief who shot the arrows asked the mage. “I don’t think I know, Misha.” The mage looked up to Vortigern, her face slowly twisting in anexpression of horror. Vortigern reached up to the arrow in his throat with his other hand. Slowly, he pulled on it. When it was free of his flesh, blood began to pour down from the hole, staining his robes. The thief began to shake. “I think we may have stepped in it this time, Ancull.” Vortigern’s smile grew. The light in his eyes and hand darkened, turning a violent purple. A light shined from the back of the hall. The mage, Ancull, turned her head to see it. The light was creeping along the walls, the roof, the floor. Creeper to her. Past her. Past Misha. Past Durmak, the Warrior. Past Vortigern, onto the wall behind him. The light flowed into a complex pattern of circles, glyphs and spirals, eventually meeting in the center. Vortigern’s soft voice echoed through the hall again. “Yes, children, you have.” Pale clouds flowed out of the circle’s center. They floated around Vortigern. He heard them whisper to him, but he already knew their secrets. He curled the fingers of his outstretched hand into a fist, save one, pointing in the intruders’ direction. The spirits responded to the command. They rushed down the hall, taking the shapes of beasts and gaunt men, as the flow from the circle grew to a river of pale light. As the came upon Durmak, his armor began to glow; runes etched into his plates hummed with golden light, and the spirits flowed over him. The mage Ancull erected a barrier, a pale blue sphere, and the spirits flowed over it as well. They teared and the barrier, and gnawed upon it, but it held. Feisty, and of some considerable ability. Who taught her? Durmak stood. The symbols on his armor hummed with power, and the spirits jumped away from him. Vortigern lowered his hand. “So, you children know the game.” Vortigern kicked the axe at his feet over to Durmak. “Come, Warrior. Entertain me.” Taking his axe into his hands, Durmak charged. Vortigern sidestepped his down-swing and took hold of his arm. Half a second later, Durmak held his axe in his off hand, and his other hung limply at his side. Another strike, this time a side-swipe. Foolish, but determined. This time, Vortigern aimed lower, and Durmak found one of his legs giving out under him. “Damn.” Vortigern walked around him, slowly. “Is this how you imagined dying, Dwarf? A casualty of your own foolish design?” “Go suck a thousand cocks.” Vortigern kicked him in the side, rolling him over onto his back. “Durmak!” Vortigern looked up. The pale blue light of the mage Ancull’s shield could still be seen under the growing onslaught of spirits. It suddenly flashed. The room was filled with shrieking and keening as the spirits recoiled, recoiling from the shield. Ancull came running, with the thief Misha close behind her. Vortigern placed his boot on Durmak’s chest and faced them. “You three would have been better off not coming here.” The blood flowing from the hole in his neck began fall onto Durmak’s armor, where it sizzled and flashed in his golden runes. “I know what you are. My Mistress told me about it. The ritual designed by the Spiritbinder himself.” For the first time since the fight began, Vortigern’s smile faltered, then vanished utterly. “Who are you, child?” The fell light in his eyes and hand flickered. “I am Ancull of Ardanos.” “I’ve never heard of Ardanos. Is it some village in the middle of nowhere?” “It is my home. My Mistress found me there.” Mistress. That’s the second time she said it. And she knew about the ritual. “Saida.” Ancull growled at him. “That means nothing. You are not strong enough to defeat me.” Vortigern smiled. “Especially since she never taught you to watch your back.” The spirits surged over them from behind. Shieldless, Ancull and Misha were torn away, back into the vengeful cloud of angry spirits. Vortigern knelt down next to Durmak, whose head was turned away, towards where his friends had gone. Vortigern placed his hand, still glowing, on Durmak’s chest. “Worry not, child. You will not be away from them for long.” Vortigern slid his hand down to the felled Warrior’s stomach, and removed it. “There. If you’re lungs somehow start working, your heart or liver will see you dead. You’ll be with them again soon, child.”
55,029	1,502	16	2,489	654	Trenton Baker For a long while after the 'God of Evil' finished talking, Trenton Baker was uncharacteristically silent, mulling over what he had been told. He was acutely aware of the fact that Kil'threx seemed to respect him far less than everyone else present - 'mad dog' indeed. Baker had sworn long ago that he would never again serve anyone but himself, but... the offer was tempting. He preferred to win what was his rather than have it granted to him, but a victory over Melaron? There would almost certainly be some plunder worth taking, even aside from whatever bone Kil'threx deigned to throw him. And if any of the other 'Harbingers' wished to betray him... well, they could certainly try. After listening for a while to the others' plans, Trenton spoke up. "Now then," the dread pirate rumbled, "Let's not lose sight of the issues here. If you in the dress think you can handle all the wizards in the Star tower, be my guest, but we still've got to deal with the sunfucks, as well as the knifey blighters from the Moon Order or whatever they fuckin' call it." A notion popped into his mind, clear and perfect and wicked, and Trenton grinned. "Now... the sunfucks, they'll be a bitch to bring down no matter how it's done, especially if they can form up. Now, maybe the angel or the demon or the dragon can take them all down, or maybe not - but if we can keep them all scattered, that would be even better, yeah? Chaos, whoever said that may not be as dumb as they look. Chaos is the way. Now..." The pirate leaned back and kicked his boots onto the magical map the others were studying. "Me and a few of me best boys, we go in quiet-like, through the river," the pirate chuckled, referencing the huge, winding waterway that crossed through the center of the city. "We stay in there till we're good and ready, and then when you guys do... whatever it is you do, we spring out in the middle of the city. There'll be all sorts of folks out, yeah, 'cus of the festival... and, well, when one of you lot makes something dramatic happen, I suppose that a lot of them'll up and croak. Now they're mine, and we've got an army in the middle of the city, and it's only getting bigger - it goes street to street, house to house, tearin' the poor assholes apart and making more of them, till' suddenly it's like a rogue wave o' dead flesh, all sweepin' through the city. At the same time we've got the man in the dress killin' all the mages, the crazy bitch wreaking havoc among the guards, half of the bastards rushing to hold off Masky here, Bloody-boy doing whatever it is he does... I'd like to see the sunfucks get their shit together in the middle of that. They'll be easy pickings for one of you big fellas, and when that's wrapped up I can meet you at the palace to finish things." The pirate spread his hands wide, looking around the room. "Fuck, am I smart or am I smart?"	Name: Trenton Baker Title: The Lord of Black Seas Three-word description: Mystical Necromancer Pirate. Trenton is a man of average height and muscular build, with the strong arms and weathered skin of an experienced seaman. At all times his eyes glow with a dull green light the color of sea-foam, an effect that becomes more pronounced when he uses his powers. He wears his matted black hair down on his shoulders, and no matter where he is or what he's doing, it is always damp with sea foam. His face wears a goatee and often a cocky grin or an outright snarl, and his body has only ever been witnessed wearing one thing - a tattered overcoat over a grey tunic and trousers, with a cutlass sheathed at his belt and all manner of belts slung around his waist. The air around him is heady with the stench of the sea - salt water and seaweed and dead fish and brine. There is no warmth in his flesh - his chest can never be seen to rise or fall with a breath, and where the beating of his heart should be there is only silence. Any mortal who looks upon him comprehends his nature almost immediately, instinctively. Trenton is not a corpse, but nor is he a living man; he is a man who stopped living one day without ever dying. Trenton has enormous power over souls - living, dead, and everything in between. He can call the souls of the living back into their bodies and force them to serve him, but this is no resurrection - this is undeath, because the existence of one soul is one of tortured unlife. He can feed on souls to sustain himself, and has to if he wants to make constant use of his powers. Most frighteningly, however, he is even able to rip particularly weak souls straight out of his victim's bodies, killing them instantly and binding them forever to his will. Oh, he's also an exceptional swordfighter and sailor, but that all seems a bit less important when you can create undead armies en masse whenever you want. Finally, he is capable of traveling very, very quickly wherever there is the ocean, for he is intimately familiar with the strange seas of the next world, and often dips in and out of them to speed his travel. Trenton's most prized possession is, of course, his ship - The Hangman. This massive warship is thoroughly haunted, crewed by spirits enslaved by its Captain and boasting a hold full of plunder from this world and the next, some of it living and screaming to be set free. She sails all across the outskirts of the world, for she is far faster than any natural ship and needs no wind to glide across the waters. The effects Trenton keeps on his person are more limited - his cutlass, an old blade forged in bygone times, bears a powerful enchantment - the power to rip the soul from any man slain by it. This is, of course, entirely superfluous, as Trenton is more than capable of doing so on his own, but he wields it anyway (mainly because he is fond of it). In his pocket he keeps a chunk of black obsidian about the size of a knife blade, which he categorically refuses to answer any questions about. There are many stories about what lays beyond the edge of the world. Some say that off the far corners of the map there is only an endless sea, a vast expanse of rolling waves that extends forever. Some speak of a strange land where the sun never rises, where the stars burn with green and black fire and the sea churns with all manner of serpents and stranger, fouler things. Still others claim that this is the land of the dead, where the souls of saint and sinner alike languish in eternity, staining the water like blood. The stories all agree about one thing, at least - only one man has ever sailed those waters and returned. His name has been lost to time, but every sailor in the world knows his tale by heart. He was a humble sailor, a deckhand who always did as he was told. His ship was off on an expedition of exploration, a noble quest to discover what lay beyond the western edges of the map; a fool's errand, of course. They sailed for months, through driving rain and baking sun alike. The crew all begged the captain to turn from this course, return home before they all starved, but he had gone mad with his hunger for glory, and could not be swayed. The crew began to talk of mutiny, but by then it was too late. The tales all differ as to what happened next - perhaps they found the edge of the world and sailed straight off it, or maybe a storm came upon them and blew them into the next world. Maybe they came upon some stranger passageway still. Whatever happened, the sailors had found what they sought, but it brought them no joy. Time left them; sanity left them. They might have drifted in those black seas for a hundred years or maybe just for a day - they breathed the air of this land, they counted its stars, they wept in fear of the things that swam in its waters. At long last the ship struck land - a towering mountain of black obsidian that stretched up to rend the heavens. It was here that the sailors heard the song of the next world, and it was here that they were unmade by it. All except one, that is. It is unknown if this sailor was an evil man before he touched the shores of the dead, or if the unholy powers that possessed him made him so - either way he had gone mad with hatred and cruelty, and refused to die. The vessel that had borne him to this place was unworthy of him, so he raised a mighty warship from the black seas and sailed away with a crew of dead men. It is said that he still haunts the seas of both worlds, preying on any vessel unlucky enough to run afoul of him, feasting on their souls and enslaving their corpses to become fuel for his dark desires. Or so the stories say. Trenton is more than a terrifyingly powerful necromancer and scourge of the seven seas; he's also a sneering, petulant jerk. He lives only for amusement and the fulfillment of his every whim, and will happily kill or enslave anyone who opposes him on any level (as well as a lot of people who don't). He is deeply sadistic and hedonistic, and enjoys tormenting people and keeping them as his 'playthings'. Easily bored, he'll almost always throw his toys out the second they stop amusing him; the plunder in his ship's hull exists only to please him, as he'd much sooner take what he wants than pay for it. Trenton, unlike many of his villainous contemporaries, has no delusions of eloquence. He is a coarse talker, a childish bully, and a generally wholly unpleasant man. He treats the lives of his minions, his slaves, and pretty much everyone as being wholly disposable, worth only what they can provide to him in the immediate short term. It is very difficult, if not impossible, to find anything to like about him whatsoever. The moon was full as the battle raged across the decks of the two ships that had pulled up alongside each other. One was a resplendent warship that bore the orange colors of the port city of Geldren; the other was ragged, and sailed under no banner. The night air rang with the sound of flying spells and crashing steel as the two forces engaged each other - one made of warm flesh and iron will, and the other of bone and meat and foul magic. Trenton Baker, Captain of The Hangman, kicked open the door to his quarters and strode out on the deck to see what all this commotion was about, his blade in one hand and a half-empty bottle of Melaronian wine that was, it had to be said, fairly disappointing. A sailor armed with a trident and undue bravery roared a war cry and charged the captain, aiming to run him through. Trenton tossed the bottle off the side of the ship and stuck his hand out, eyes pulsing green, and his attacker stopped in his tracks, twitching and sputtering at the mouth. A green mist leaked out of his eyes and floated towards the captain, who grinned as he inhaled the feeble soul. The man fell to the deck, convulsing, and a moment later was still. "Thought you could take me in the dead of night?" Trenton roared at nobody in particular. "I am the feckin' dead of night!" On his right a rotted zombie tackled a sailor and began to tear at his flesh, filling the sea air with screams. Trenton's eyes pulsed again as the corpse found the man's throat, and the mangled body rose a moment later, sword still clutched in its hand, and immediately rounded on its former allies. Trenton dove into the fray, hacking and slashing with his blade, cutting his enemies limb from limb and soul from body. The battle had been going poorly for the would-be heroes when it was just living against undead - with Trenton himself involved, it quickly turned into a slaughter. It wasn't long before those remaining alive threw their weapons on the deck, and Trenton ordered them all lined up on their knees. The pirate captain strode up and down the deck, reviewing each of his captives silently. A mass of dead flesh walled the men in on every side, all perfectly still, their dead eyes radiating with his power. At length, Trenton paused in front of one man, more of a boy, really, who was shaking and almost mewling in terror. "What's your name, lad?" He asked, bending over so his visage was a mere inch away from the boy's face. The youth recoiled and gagged with fright, bringing his hands over his eyes as though that would make the world go away. "I said," Trenton repeated slowly, "What's your name?!" He grabbed the boy by the collar and threw him to the deck, kicking wildly at his head in a sudden fury. "I asked you what your name was! Not gonna look at me, not gonna talk to me, huh? Gonna cut you up and feed you to your friends, snotty little..." His rant trailed off into indistinct yelling, the blows still raining on the lad's head and neck as he rolled and begged and tried to swap away the kicks, until at last he fell still. Trenton strode away, and the boy rose to his feet a moment later, stepping back to join the mass of the dead. "Where's your captain? I didn't already kill him, did I?" Trenton asked the captives, and with a quivering hand one of them pointed down the line. "H-he's over there, sir," the pointer said and Trenton strode in that direction, stopping only to shove over a random prisoner with his foot and let out a laugh as he did so. He stopped in front of the man who looked like the captain, a grizzled old seaman clad in an officer of Geldren's dress uniform. The pirate crouched down to look at him face to face, and to his credit the other man showed no signs of fear. "Hi," Trenton offered, and cocked his head as he stroked his prisoner's weathered cheek. "So. Who the shit are you?" "I am Captain John Feldrich of the Royal Geldren Navy-" was all the man got out before Trenton struck him across the chin, a sneer on his face. "Blah, blah, Captain Arsehole. Let me guess, sent to kill me by your king or your queen or some big shit because something that 'belonged' to them belongs to me now, yeah? Well," he spread his arms around the scene, "That didn't go too well, did it? Laugh with me!" Trenton tilted his head back and howled with a deep belly laugh, and around him dozens of dead jaws sagged open and emitted a groaning, clattering sound that was something like laughter. The prisoner's head stayed high. "I do not fear you, creature. I am an honest man and I say my prayers each night, and your unholiness holds no terror -" Trenton giggled at that, rising to his feet and patting the man on the head. "Oh, you're a fun one. I think I'll keep you," he announced as he turned his back on the prisoners. "Throw him in the brig with the others. Kill and eat the rest." The sound of screams and curses rose in the night air behind him as Trenton strode back to his quarters and slammed the door behind him.
55,030	1,502	17	863	380	Does watched as those he spoke to respond in sequence, though mostly to his dismay. But it didn't really matter too much as their gracious host had shown up, though not particularly in the flesh. He shifted on his heels watching as Kil'threx spoke to each person in particular. When his turn came and the single rope of energy came towards him he perked up, taking a half step forward to listen to what he would be offered and what he was told made him quiet literally giddy. To have his realm grow and spread across all of the known mortal world. Letting everybody enjoy the satisfaction of war and to see what it is like to feel red, hot blood flowing through your fingers... Perfect... As he continued and eventually left, Deos spoke up once more but unlike his fellows his mind did not stray to betrayal and deceit but instead was damn near blinded by the thrill and idea of battle, "Fuck sake, this prospect of war has got me harder than Hell-Plate. Who cares about all this sneaking and conniving. Let's just fucking kill them! I say that we start far away and close in on them, trapping them in their owns walls." He commented, though his words were less focused on actually helping and more towards getting to the bloodshed. Which in a sense was a good thing as his bloodthirsty armies could do wonders for distractions, assaults, and supply disruptions. Perhaps even taking out Meloran's neighboring allies to separate them from getting reinforcements. And for Deos as long as swords are drawn he'd happily partake in the events there... Many of his new 'allies' in this little quest had already voiced their opinions about betrayal and sabotage which was a disgrace regardless as actions such as that were just... pathetic. If you can't beat your foe in combat you have no right to try and sneak behind them anyway. Though at the same time he didn't share the goals as they did. He existed to bring war to teh world, once that was done he would be a happy man reveling in the constant conflict. He had his goal and his drive, which may not particularly be said for some of his fellows. Regardless it didn't leave him much of care as what he had, stood to gain, and wanted could be reached easily by just participating in this little adventure... Patting his beasts on the head they both reared and started to walk towards the blood map with their master leading the way, looking to see what madness could be discovered from their collective minds looking at the situation.	Name: Deos “Johnny” Risleth Title: The Sovereign of Eternal War Three-Word Description: Burning Demonic Warlord When not adorned with his spectral armor Deos often takes the appearance of a human, clad often in dark colored dress clothes, favoring blacks and reds above all else. His hair is often unkempt and generally messy with the color changing between black and red depending on what shade he feels like wearing. His eyes are one very curious part about him that shows the world he is no human as they are pure black with nothing but a red iris to denote any change in color. That however is not the strangest thing that sets him apart from mortal men. The strangest is the cut on his neck from when he was beheaded ages ago, healed by foul magic and wicked ways, but still containing the black stitching that once held the two together. For his frame he holds a rather lithe and toned body, despite his supernatural strength. His skin is a rather tan hue and with a well-kept complexion again despite his rather dark or aggressive life. Particularly interesting about that same bit of information is that his body is near devoid of scars or blemishes despite his beheading mark, again despite his incredibly violent life. Not because he doesn’t take injury but because he heals himself from any harm his foes deal him, even going so far as to take away the scarring as he doesn’t particularly like the blemishing of his body. The only reason he keeps the neck scar is because he believes it gives him some character and wears it almost as a morbid necklace. Finally are his oversized demon wings that stretch out of his back. Bat wings with black bone structure with red internal membranes they clearly show that he is no angel. Even with their size he has incredible control over them, allowing him to almost use them as hands herding and wrapping his large wingspan around things or people. When dressed in his “normal” clothing his entire look drastically changes. Clad in dark armored plates that envelope his entire frame with skulls, chains, and horns placed all around the set. His visage of burning armor that spills forth Hellfire from joints, eyes, and creases spins a daunting image for any foe to face. Spaces in the back make room for his massive wings to unfurl and grow to allow him to move swiftly as well as take to the skies despite the armor. His armor is equipped with long claws at the end of each finger that he uses to rend and tear at foes as well as claw and break apart obstacles. Being the Sovereign of battle, bloodshed, and war Deos ‘ powers revolve around fire and strength. His body is capable of withstanding incredible amounts of trauma having his frame be naturally durable under his magical and powerful armor. His strength is something to be feared, striking with a force though cleaves through bodies and fortifications much as a siege engine would. Letting him lay waste to man, defense, and ground before him. His magic is incredible powerful but just as powerful as it is, it is also focused. His repertoire of spells is low leaving him with the domain of casting powerful blasts and rays of fire that surge from his body. Similarly for his destructive fire he has to ability to make a vicious transformation into a malicious and incredible powerful Demon Lord. Taking the shape of a burning beast that sheds his wings for another pair of arms, augmenting his strength and magical power in exchange for his speed and ability to fly. He also contains within him the power of rapid regeneration allowing him to survive and continue to wage war despite taking on grieves wounds and savage injuries. On the topic of healing he is also immortal having very little that can keep him down. Whenever he takes enough damage that would warrant him to “die” he is taken back to his realm of Hell to recover over a span of time. To reach his realm he has to ability to strike the air before him to rip open portals to and from his lands to not only get himself home, but also take others and bring forth his armies to lay siege. The range of scale of these portals require more time depending on the size, making small single person portals have an instantaneous cast, while large army sized ones can take up to several hours to bring forth. The portals can only connect to his realm though. So while they offer a quick way for him to leave his realm and head back home, he can't use them to just jump from place to place outside of his realm. They must always link back to his realm before heading off to another place. For a portal bigger than a small group of people he must be on site to stabilize it, meaning he must focus on the portal to make one big enough to let an entire army through. While being made, the portals are vulnerable to dispelling magics making it so that if a anti-magic field of a portal disrupting force is present he can't successfully stabilize a portal. Once they are set up however an enemy mage of sufficient power must go to the portal's site to focus and channel dispelling magic to close it. His final power is that of war domain. His armies and monsters of war all share a large link that he creates to feed them instruction from no matter where he is. He can also use this power to augment a soldier or beast of his with his own strength to assume control over them and fight through them. That particular part only works for those of whom he has domain over however. To assert his domain he can twist and bend any captured prisoners of war or beast to understand the beauty of battle and the pleasure of war. Items and Equipment: His sword Omen. This powerful demonic blade is crafted from the nearly indestructible metals taken from his domain and forged in searing Hellfires that temper the blade to be a force of absolute devastation. One key feature of his blade is that he can summon and banish it at will, letting him take arms at the mere flick of a wrist. His armor is also forged in the same fashion as his sword and much like his sword he can summon and banish it letting the metal seep around him to encase him in his garb and raise him from his usual height of 6 feet to a standing height of 11 feet. Estates and Realms: His realm of Yirathlx is a land of war... Battle can always be heard echoing around the streets and fields of the realm, though instead of war and conflict it's training and practice for both current and future battles. All around are fires and pyres burning brightly into the eternal night that envelopes the sky. The obsidian and stone of the city glistens from the dancing light and glint of steel. To many this would be a picture of horror and fuel for nightmares, but for Deos it is a beauty that must be brought to the world so they too may enjoy the splendor of war. While his realm is held in a spiritual plain that is separated from the mortal world, there is a special place that connect the two worlds. The Gates of Bloodshed stand tall surrounded by the leaking Hellfires of Yirathlx and by monoliths of obsidian that are carved in various statues of guardians, warriors, and beasts. It is from this door that mortals and people of the physical realm can reach his domain to seek audience with the Sovereign of Eternal War. This gate is the only bastion that Deos holds in the mortal world, with his Royal Guards and elite warbeasts patrolling around the obsidian walls and Hell-Steel Spires that stand around the gates. Deos' home and castle in the centre of his space of battle is the great Hall of Conflict. Surging up high into the sky he has the view to watch over his entire domain and collect all of his spoils and pleasures of war. Keeping his personal quarters as well as his treasure halls filled fit to burst with gold, silver, gems, and other things he values as trophies. Inside the castle is immaculate, showing off a vain side of him that clearly depicts his love of beauty in greed as well as warm with tapestries of past battles and standing armors of countless nations and ages all lines up down the long hallways. Servants and Beasts: Among the realm and armies of Deos are hundreds of thousands of dedicated soldiers from many races that he has collected from over the ages. Many are human but some are abnormal... Some standing 8 feet tall with horns and sharp fangs, others with wings and a regal air. All of them having one thing in common, an undying loyalty to their lord of mayhem. To augment his armies of men are his beasts of war, ranging from living tanks with grafted catapults on their backs, to massive siege beasts that lay waste to walls and armies alike with their massive arms, large goring tusks, and hungry bloodlust. Yet still to take the skies he was winged creatures that range from human sized bats to large airborne monsters that threaten to lift buildings off the ground with their many rending claws and lashing tendrils. Stories are told of a man who a long time ago dedicated his life to war. Growing up as a knight who cared not for any code of honor or fair maiden to rescue. Instead he drew pleasure from slaughter and joy from carnage. Seeing his foes lay in bloody heaps before him were the only sight he wished for... Through his lust for battle he commit atrocity after atrocity and battle after battle, until he met his match. The kingdom of Mirath was glorious nation that stood against his home of Nyiara. Only it wasn't as things seemed. Nyiara's army governed by their queen, Lady Amsel grew to distrust and see the monster that Deos was. It was then they sent him away to meet his end in one final battle with an enemy he would all to happily fight. Leading his contingent into a fight that he could never win. Outnumbered beyond count and surrounded he refused to relent, fighting till his body couldn't handle it any longer and he was taken prisoner. Set to be executed the day of his defeat he was met with the axe. Though instead of admitting defeat and relenting he laughed at his accusers and spoke the fateful words, "You have not seen the last of war." Only to be stroke down with a single blow, making his head roll away from his frame. His words however spoke true as when he was cast away from the living world he found... something. A voice in the darkness that guide him, taking his soul to a long forgotten realm that he named Yirathlx. Finding a home in this desolate land away from the afterlife he fought against the clawing forces of insanity and the boring existence of a life without battle. He recovered and found his form, growing to return back to the world that cut him down and cast him out. However he was not a mortal man anymore... Bursting forth in a flush of Hellfire and black smoke the monster that Deos Risleth had become surged back from the pits of Hell to slaughter and kill once again, taking in followers, prisoners, and slaves for his own benefit and pleasure. He was unstoppable, and upon finding both Mirath and Nyiara allied after the fall of the monster, he flew into a new war against his former home and enemy, laying waste to them with his supernatural strength and power. Taking as many as he could manage prisoner to corrupt them into his loyal soldiers, bringing them back to a force that was finally directed to the truth... glorious, neverending war. Deos is the lord of conflict so it's safe to assume he enjoys the pleasure of a sword in hand, but it's not all he is of. War also generates spoils and treasures that he also embodies and enjoys. So more often than not he can be seen with slaves, women, gold, and silver within arms reach. This has given him a almost conflicting personality that changes depending on if his armor is on or not. When not garbed in plate he takes on a cocky and lighthearted air that cares more for pleasure and drink than blood and metal. However, on the other end of the spectrum he can switch to wanting nothing more than to hear the screams of tortured souls and the clang of sword on sword. Some times this can be almost bipolar in nature having him at a drop of a hat go from enjoying a drink with some of his slaves or consorts to breaking the bottle on the table and goring one. This in turn has given him a rather unstable and crazy reputation. Burning fires and screams were all that couldn't be heard from down below. Deos had found another bastion of human life, erected to show the world that they had grown to a position of power and progress. However, that wasn't a good thing. They built their world on peace and negotiation which was disgusting and a true atrocity that had to be purged from the world... In his hand was their king, Lord Bertrand, desperately clutching at the metal hand holding him on his knees, making him look out over the balcony of his own palace to see the slaughter before him, "Isn't it beautiful..." Deos started to say, letting the reverberation from his head radiate out, "All the blood, all the swords, all the warriors creating their art and preforming their dance. It's a wonder and a fleeting pleasure." Just as he finished a massive tusked war beast, trampled through a collection of Haran warriors who were desperately trying to protect a makeshift barricade. The beast used his tusks to gut and smash several of them letting their strikes glance and barely scratch it's thick hide. Nearby another barricade was holding out against the soldiers of Deos' army, slashing and thrusting at them with swords and spears. It seemed as though they were winning as no Haranian was getting hurt from behind their tipped carts and falling beams. "You will pay for this you monster!" Lord Bertrand said to the armored man behind him. However his words only brought the sword closer to his neck. "You call me a monster. I disagree. I am but a humble man, bringing joy to the lives of mortals." He said, watching as the Haranians continued to to repel his soldiers. "Look and see my work, the joy they feel for working together and fighting against their foes." He continued and just a few moments later they started to crumble. Several brutes of Deos' approached the barricade and struck at it, letting their defense start to crumble to let the soldiers advance, turning the tide in an instant. "They had the pleasure of dying happy. Won't you let yourself have the same joy?" He finished looking down to the lord. "Fuck yo..." Was all he managed before a squelching sound could be hear as Deos clenched his fist, crushing his head like an overripe grape, letting Bertrand's hot blood wash over his fingers. Watching his body slump to the ground he smiled under his helm watching the Siege of Haran come to a bloody close. It was another day in Yirathlx and particularly in the Hall of Conflict. Deos was doing nothing particularly important, merely watching his wine swirl in his ornate, golden cup. Off to each side was a consort that he had chosen for the day and before him was a series of prisoners being brought through for him to pass judgement on. For each new soul he cast out his free hand and warped them to suit his needs, giving them the gifts of war and the joys that follow. Though the process wasn't gentle the end result made each and every man or woman leave with a wicked smile on their now twisted face. The next was a young woman, tall and strong, raised right from whatever military she served in before her fateful battle against Deos' hordes. Bound in chains and forced forward at spear point by two of his Court Guard. Deos looked at her with blank eyes, gauging where she would be most useful, but seeing what she was and where she came from would make turning her into a consort of slave a waste of her talent. Instead he raised his hand to turn her into a loyal soldier, but something happened... There was a call that rang in Deos' mind, a familiar force he hadn't felt in a very long time. Pausing in his ceremony his eyes began to glaze over, entering a sort of trance that confused all present in his Burning Court. His consorts looks to him and pressed their bodies against his thinking something was wrong, while his Court Guards pressed their spears into the prisoner in the event she was the cause of their master's distress. When in his trance, he left his court mentally to peer into the void from which the call came and everything was foreign once more, but deep down it felt familiar, as though he'd been there before. Nothing was clear, save one thing. That voice. Standing before something so overwhelming was a strange feeling but one that Deos reveled in, such power, such glory, it was beautiful... Hearing the force speak brought chills to him and while the words made no sense to him, in his mind the meaning and drive was made clear. A reason, location, and time was given to his mind and upon the end of the event he returned to his Burning Court. Eyes returning and coming back filled with drive he pushed away both of the consorts and stood up quickly. "Take care of the rest of the prisoners." He said in a curt and almost excited manner. Putting his ornate cup to his lips to took one last big gulp before tossing it to the side, spilling his wine on the searing obsidian that made up the floor beneath his grand throne of Hell-Steel, gold, silver, and fire, making the liquid fizzle and steam away in moments. He was quick to leave, walking with a purpose out of the court to get ready for this meeting of minds that he was promised.
55,031	1,502	18	2,033	9,329	~The Faceless, Nyarlith~ Nyarlith laughed at Aesir's question. The answer to that question was obvious. For one so suited to war and conquest, it shouldn't have been all that hard for him to wrap his head around. That mask really wasn't suited for him. Khata almost wanted to rip it off his face...but they restrained themselves. Instead, they simply laughed. "But of course! Betrayal is in most of our blood, after all." The creature gesticulated as they spoke, pacing back and forth slightly. "I can't say I know the feeling though. Servitude has been in my nature from the beginning! I serve, that is my role in the Cosmos." They stopped their pacing, bowing slightly and pointing towards the Apotheosis of the Court with an open palm. "But as long as all of us do what we do best...the chaos we bring shall be the most delightful, and as long as the statue gets destroyed then what does it matter? As long as we do not get in each others way, it doesn't!" They laughed in an uneasy manner, standing up straight and focusing on Vortigern and his and Trenton Baker's proposed plan. A strategist! How delightful. Certainly something they needed. Cosmos knew Khata wasn't the most strategic of people. Certainly they knew how to best use their abilities and the abilities of their servants, when it came to everyone else they were not all that good. The orders would be easy enough to deal with. A barrier around the order of the Stars while they and Vortigern destroyed them. Of course, that left the order of Moon and Sun. "A barrier is certainly doable! Though...heh, it shall not be quite what you should expect." They walked over to the table, placing a hand on it, observing the pale light over the Order of the Stars. "I can have the Enlightened and my Servants work on it immediately once we leave. It will require a bit of preparation...but, it shall certainly be worth it. Seven days, seven days...yes that is plenty full nights of preparation to bring the Cosmos closer." They muttered that last bit as if deep in thought about something but fell silent, masked visage falling on the pirate as he voiced his plan. Sneak in the waterway, wait for the festival, then wreak havoc. Certainly a plan that they could get behind. Even the little comment about them -'Crazy Bitch' amused them. A false statement on both accounts of 'crazy' and 'bitch' but amusing. "Ahaha, Crazy? No no, I simply see more than others. You all simply see less. But," They gesticulated once again as the spoke. "I like The way you think One of the Sea, I approve." Khata was liking the Pirate more than the others. Vortigern was also there, as well, though it was obvious they had always been fond of mages and scholarly types. They often tended to be the easier ones to...indoctrinate, as it were. "The ones of the Sun will not know what has hit them, will they? With someone else picking them off while chaos unfolds, they won't know what is even happening. A delightful feast for those of the Outer Reaches of the world..." that still left the order of the moon, though, did it not?	Name: Khata Nyarlith Title: The Faceless One Three-word description: Arcane Nightmare Horror Appearance: When out among other gods, mortals, or anytime else she's basically not lounging in her abode, she...it, is dressed in luxurious purple robes, complete with long flowing and imposing cloak, claws metal gauntlets and a rather...odd mask covering his-hers-its, features. All of the equipment is summonable, meaning she can summon it from anywhere should she so desire. The robe itself is fairly durable, and acts as a fairly decent suit of leather armor to naturally deflect physical attacks. Of course, it has also been heavily enchanted and fortified. If one had the misfortune of removing the mask...well, all they would see is a gaping hole where its face should be. If, one were to pay her a little visit in her not so humble abode and bow to her, they would find a much less mysterious, and much more beautiful and alluring creature. Standing roughly at five foot eight with pale skin, bright golden colored eyes dressed in fine silk clothing with pure white hair tied up, and wearing some fairly revealing clothing. She is often seen smiling, an uneasy sometimes 'unhinged' grin, one might say. Of course, this appearance is simply a magically kept facade. Her true form is...something much more terrifying. This horrific fleshy mass is...well, exactly what someone's nightmares are made out of. Cold, clammy, and somewhat slimy to the touch its not something anyone wants to meet in a dark alleyway. It stands at eight feet tall, and lacks any sort of facial features. Only a giant gaping mouth, twisted sideways where a face should be. Three strong looking arms protrude from its body, with obvious muscle one might expect from something other than a mage. Powerful legs hold it upright, ready to carry the creature with the same musculature as its legs. Several tentacles writhe and protrude from the creatures body, ready to be used as weapons for both offense and defense. Magic/Skills/Abilities: As far as skills go, Khata is what some might say, a complete master of the arcane. She has a incredible advance understanding of magic in general, which she uses to create horrific arcane creatures. Her most powerful skill, however, is the ability to summon various abominations from some unknown plane. Contact with these beings have slightly eroded her sanity over the years, but she cares not. all is for the sake of knowledge and magic...and power. Of course, summoning such creatures are somewhat difficult to do in battles, though the effect they have and the sheer potential for destruction they can cause is greatly worth it. However, such things won't help her if she's being attacked at close range. She can beckon these entities into a sort of half-existence, letting them dwell within her body and granting her a variety of effects and most importantly, physical boons and physical alterations. Aside from this, she also has various spells at her disposal that involve simply destroying things with the power of the stars and heavens. her most unique ability, however, is the ability to speak to mortals within their dreams. Such dreams, are often horrific nightmarish things, often ending with the victim being devoured by some abomination. Such people, are usually eventually driven mad and are either killed, or flee and search for her tower... Inventory/Holdings: Inventory: Enchanted Robes, to bind the flesh to a mortal form A Staff Spear, to rend flesh of foes and commune with greater powers A mask to conceal the face, to hide the true nature of things Black stones, ascending to the heavens to beckon otherworldly creatures The robes themselves are something summonable. They are enchanted to withstand physical blows, magic of all kinds, and extreme temperatures and environments. Aside from that, they are nothing special and function as typical robes do. Additionally, at her side and also summonable, is a spear designed to also function as a channel for magic. It does both jobs equally well, and while she's not as trained as some purely physical fighter would be, they would find themselves likely surprised by her skill with it to start with. And lastly, is her mask. It has the power to hide or reveal otherworldly things. Tower of Nyarlith The massive, sprawling black tower of Nyarlith is something of a legend among those who study the arcane. It is located not in this physical plane, but rather it has been summarily removed from this plane of existence thanks to pacts struck with eldritch beings. It was once located in what is today a vast desert, with nothing but sands and ruins as far as the eye can see. The desert was once home to a thriving civilization, but it has long sense fallen. Where the tower once stood, is nothing but a massive hole filled with water, where an eldritch guardian sleeps and watches over the seal that keeps the tower concealed from this reality. The hole, is said to be where the base of the tower once stood. Around it are the ruins of the city that have fallen into disrepair, and some have even sunken into the massive basin of water. Indoctrinated, Abominations, and the Enlightened What does Khata enjoy more than anything else? Dominating others, and her precious little slaves who have lost all form of what one might call 'free will'. They have been broken mentally, but their physical abilities are kept intact for obvious reasons. Surprisingly, slaves are treated well as long as they of course, behave. They make up the main cannon fodder of her forces within the tower, catering to her every whim and fighting for her on the front lines as slave warriors. Often times, their equipment is pretty heavily enchanted with magic, and some make use of magic themselves. Additionally, eldritch abominations which stalk the hallways and are always in the process of being made. These mindless creatures have no mind, and only serve to serve their masters. Mindless beasts, with no way to really control them. Set them loose upon enemy ranks, and watch the chaos unfold. The faithful, are the few insane humans who make their way to the tower after being affected by her dreams. They for the most part, are normal humans who have taken up tutelage under her. Masters of the arcane and summoning eldritch beings and contacting them for boons. Myth: Once, in the Vastness of the now desolate Great Desert, there existed a kingdom by the name of Azair. It was a prosperous, powerful kingdom that had been around for ages and had no equal in power. It was unified, a veritable utopia of wealth, civil stability and culture. Wars were said to have been a distant thing of the past, and power struggles were nonexistent for these people. Many people came to this utopia, lived there, and built lives. Of course, Utopias aren't exactly a realistic thing, and there is no such thing as a civilization without conflict... The high priest of Azair used to be a friendly, kinder, older human. However, they had a fascination with things of the arcane nature that would eventually be his downfall. She skirted too close to the truth. Came into contact with eldritch beings who showed him visions of what the future might hold for him and the kingdom. War. Famine. Destruction. POWER. All he had to do...was let the creature in. Let it in his head. So he did. What happens next should be of no mystery. The old priest was devoured by his desire for arcane knowledge, drove him insane. Power hungry. Eventually, this led him to wrenching power from the king, constructing the Tower of Nyarlith out of the finest obsidian stone that could be mined. After that...he sentenced everyone to death, letting eldritch creatures roam the streets and have their way with the humans in return for locking away the tower in another plane of existence. Of course, that's all history. Slightly embellished, or so the story goes. What is the actual truth of it? No one knows. For centuries, the tower had been dormant. Hiding away in its sealed off realm where its owner indulged their magic curiosities, eventually transforming even their own body into something horrific and inhuman. And then, came Kil'threx, speaking to them in a dream. An eldritch creature had a task for them. And they would agree wholeheartedly for a chance to serve a higher calling. Creating a portal between the realm of the waking, and the realm of the Nightmare Tower, she set foot on the world once again in such, a long, long time. Personality: Really...not all there in the head. Talks to herself, makes odd comments, and otherwise is just generally unhinged. She takes great pride in her abilities, and loves showing people just how destructive and awe inspiring they can be. She has an insatiable lust for knowledge, magic trinkets, and loves them to no end, actively seeking them out and will always accept items of a magical nature as payment for services rendered. That said, she treats her slaves and subjects rather well as mentioned previously. She subscribes that a loyal slave who loves you, will always be more effective than a fearful slave that is similar to a feral dog. She'll even go out of her way to save slave units and soldiers, should she have too. Of course, disobedience and failure is dealt with harshly...but punishment is always acceptable when a slave has failed their duties. Oh, and well, remember she's a complete sadist and often goes out of her way to inflict pain and suffering upon others that aren't her loyal slaves, faithful, or abominations. Sample post (put this in a hider please): "How lovely of you all to join us!" The voice cackled as the doors to the tower opened, a clock chiming somewhere above. "Wohoho, how lovely indeed! Majestic even! Welcome to my humble abode, little adventurers! I'm curious as to how you lovely little things found all of your way here! Entertain my curiosity some, maybe? Please? It's been oh so very long since I saw the outside world, being all trapped here in my castle~" The pale woman upon the throne giggled in an unsettling fashion. "Do not listen to the creatures words or be...seduced by its form! That is what we are here to kill!" The white clad paladin drew his sword, the doors to the throne room slamming shut behind him. "It's not even a woman!" The other party of adventurers drew their weapons. One with a rather nasty looking axe, dressed in some black robes. Another with a large hammer engraved with various holy symbols. Khata simply laughed from her throne. "Majestic! Heroes are heroes, even in a dream!" her smile turned into an unsettling grin as she looked down upon the adventurers in her throne room. And then she was in front of the Paladin. "Calling me an it...how rude. Typical hero! And here I am a damsel in distress, locked away in a tower. Are these not 'real' enough for you? Is that it?~" She said, pressing her chest against the paladins armor. The holy warrior reacted almost instinctively, aiming a sword right for the creatures heart...or where it was supposed to be. The blade pierced the creatures soft flesh, but instead of hitting the creatures heart and incapacitating it, she seemed wholly unaffected by it. There was a sickening crunch as the paladins armor was pierced instead. The creatures arm had turned into a a mass of writhing tentacles that slowly enveloped the paladin, crushing his bones and slipping into the cracks through his armor. The other two shook off their shock quickly enough, and proceeded to counter attack, trying to save their companion. The axe was brought down in an attempt to strike her head. The hammer attacked her from the side, in an attempt to prevent her from running. However, she dropped the paladin...and was suddenly ten feet away back in front of her throne. The heroes looked absolutely confused. "Ah, ah, so adorable. So adorable! You funny little humans, so adorable! Saving him, when you should be saving yourselves! Surprised? This is my tower! You think you can defeat me here? My gods won't let me die so easily, ahahaha~ Lemme show you again." Suddenly, she was once again in front of the heroes in the blink of an eye...with her spear slammed right into his heart. She swung the spear around, slamming it into the remaining hero. "Hehe...one left. I wonder...how much fun I can have with you?~" Night falls on the sands, Starlight beckoning towards Nyarlith. It is said the sands were once more hospitable, but after the fall of Azair the water in the desert dried up, filling a giant pool in the center of the once great metropolis where the Palace of the old King once stood. The dried earth split, great fissures forming leading to the depths of the earth... Existing on the southern edge of the continent, The Drazir wastes are, well, as one might expect from the name; A vast, endless ocean of sand, ancient stone ruins and fissures that lead far into the earth, swallowing travelers who lose their footing close to their edge. The desert is incredibly hot, the harsh sun beating down upon the sands making it reach temperatures that would make most men stay as far away as possible throughout the day. The clear, cloudless skies don't help, letting the sun fall unfiltered through. One should keep in mind, the desert is not lifeless during the day. A variety of beasts roam the sands that call the place home, waiting to prey upon those who would brave the desert. They tend to take refuge within desert ruins or the sandy caves that have been carved into the walls of the crags that litter the region. Some of these beasts, are some of the horrid experiments that have found their way out of Nyarlith, and should not be taken lightly. However, at night the desert takes a much more...peaceful looking form. It cools to a much more reasonable temperature, the large moon illuminating the desert in its pale light. Starlight shines from above, twinkling like little gems embedded in the sky. It is probably the time someone would wish to travel through the desert as the cooler temperatures make it much more tolerable to travel through. However, some nocturnal creatures come out at night, beckoned by the moonlight. It is by no means completely safer to travel. The various ruins that dot the sands, are always of interest to scholars and wizards, hoping to stumble upon some artifact of great power. A way to commune with the same gods that the old kingdom Azair possibly had contact with before their fall. One should be careful though, quite a few of Nyarlith's faithful call these ruins home. Stumbling upon them will often not go well for the unprepared... A few sparse oasis exist through the region which are safe enough, but for the most part it is completely devoid of flowing water, save for underground springs. The gates of Azair still stand watch over the ancient city, time only adding to their wondrous splendor and beckoning the curious inwards with promise of treasure and knowledge. Some say on the night of the Pale Moon, you can still hear the frantic calls of the citizens, pleading for their gods to same them from the monstrosities that were unleashed upon them. The ruins of the once great civilization still stand to this day, a defiant opponent to both sands and time. The ancient monolithic stone walls of the city have eroded with time, but not faltered in their tasks of keeping out sands and invaders. The city itself is a surprisingly...green place. An ancient waterway runs from under the central gate into the giant pool in the center of town where the Palace once stood. Plants seem to have flocked to this source of water, and have taken root within the city. The ruins themselves hold many magical and arcane secrets, should one be brave enough to find and brave them. And of course, make it past the plethora of creatures living here. Most, are discarded remnants from Nyarlith. Failed experiments, guards, or even some indoctrinated humans seeking for a way to enter the tower. All manner of obscene, abhorrent experiments that only one as mad as Nyarlith could come up with take place within its halls. Many a foolish wizard seek the tower and the ruined land of Azair, if only for some insight into the arcane mastery of the realms master. The master is a fickle thing, and if you entertain them you may be granted a boon of insight. People who manage to leave the tower, often go on to become powerful wizards until the end of their life draws near, and they are beckoned to return to Nyarlith. Erected so long again, the tower has remained in pristine condition thanks to otherworldly influences and magic. It currently exists on an otherworldly plane, in a realm caught eternally between sunrise and sunset, with the sun setting in the east, and the moon rising in the west. Clouds fill the sky, moving at an unnaturally swift rate as an unseen wind carries them to their destination. In this realm, the tower does not exist in a sea of sand as one might expect...but an actual sea. It stretches as far as the eye can see. An endless abyss, where all manner of eldritch creatures have taken refuge and live. The tower extends far into the heavens, all the way past the swift moving clouds above, and into a cool crisp night air where the silver, pale moon shines brightly and illuminates the roof of the tower, where all manner of obscene rituals take place under the amused gaze of Nyarlith. The only way into the tower is to beckon the Blood Moon, and step through the revealed portal that has been revealed. Pray the guardian doesn't awaken, however. It is a ravenous beast, that will let no trespassers through without its masters permission. The contents of the tower are vast and seemingly endless. Indeed, the tower almost seems to be bigger on the inside at times. A few notable locations within: -The Study Halls located on the upper floors, where scholarly pursuits are shared between the Enlightened -The Archives, located at the second highest place in the tower where all manner of magical tomes and research documents are kept -The Labs situated in the middle, where magical experiments are conducted. -The Communal room, located just below the archives, where one can attempt to commune with the elder gods. -The Lower halls, where abominations and experiments lurk. -Above the lower halls, are where the Indoctrinated rest. -The Beckoning platform, where rituals to beckon the gods to this realm are performed. -The throne Room, where Nyarlith grants audience to those who wish it. -Many, many, more unnamed rooms exist, their purposes many. The indoctrinated of Nyarlith have lost all sense of free will, unable to disobey orders from the creature that calls themselves their master. To be certain, they retain their desires, wants, former personalities from before but they can not do anything against the will of Nyarlith. I had the...opportunity to meet one once. I expected a mindless husk, but was surprised. They appear just as you or I. Completely normal. I wouldn't have even known, had they not told me. Its frightening. It makes you wonder just how many have been lost to that creatures influence and we have no way of telling. Slaves, or the 'Indoctrinated' as some call them, make up most of the population within and outside Nyarlith. Those who have had their minds dominated by Nyarlith and have lost all sense of what one might call 'free will'. Not that many would ever wish to do anything other than what their master tells them too. Such thoughts have all been wiped from their minds. These creatures come from all number of races that have existed. They are fairly easy to tell, as most will be dressed in simple robes or armor, depending on their own chosen specialty. They are as numerous as stars in the sky, and it is difficult to gauge the actual number of them. They are currently led by a general, a powerful man who was once a part of a group of paladins that sought to bring an end to Nyarlith, but who was instead given insight into the arcane knowledge, who then pledged loyalty to the creature. Those outside the tower, carry out special tasks. Reconnaissance, bring back information about the state of the world, bring back useful materials for experiments, etc. Those inside the tower, often cater to the wants and desires of their master. It is no secret they take great pleasure in indulging in mortal sins with their indoctrinated or Enlightened. The lower halls of Nyarlith are home to all manner of creatures. Experiments conducted by Nyarlith in order to achieve some greater purpose...or simply to sate the creatures sadistic pleasures. The experiments conducted at Nyarlith produce all kinds of abominations and creatures. There is no set explanation or classification for these monstrosities. Most cannot be controlled, tamed,or spoken too, even their masters have trouble with it. Most are kept within the lowest parts of the tower as insurance and guards. Some though, manage to slip through the veil and into the desert. Most, used to be human of some sort. Some though, appear to be chimeras. Animals fused with other things, most often things that seem to come from beyond the veil or other aquatic creatures. Slugs, octopi, fish, etc. Not all who seek Nyarlith are those indoctrinated. Not all of them are mages either. Simply someone the creature has taken an interest in, and have given them a choice. Come to Nyarlith and gain their own insight into the world without his aid, or go on living as ignorant, sightless beings. Those who accept, are whisked away to the tower where they may commune with the great ones themselves, find their own path of Enlightenment. Differing from the Indoctrinated, since they still retain all forms of free will, thought, and in fact, some in the past have actively worked against Nyarlith at times. They are easy to recognize, all wear masks similar to Nyarlith in reverence to the one who granted them such insight into otherworldly knowledge. Not all of them are mages, in fact some do not have the ability to cast magic at all. Some are simply special warriors or those born with a natural talent for seeing things. These Enlightened few, make up the higher ranks of Nyarlith's people. Whereas the indoctrinated are simple servants, guards, keepers, and general soldiers, the Enlightened are able to conduct their own experiments and travel between the tower and the waking realm. They are often the leaders, generals, and otherwise those of power within the tower. Dreams. All men have them, but few are able to master and understand what they truly are. Dreams are a time when human minds are open to the most insight. Able to hear the eldritch mutterings of those greater than them. Dreams, is an Area Nyarlith is quite well acquainted with. Often times, they will find a mortal they've taken an interest in and show them a nightmare. Such nightmares often will end with those afflicted seeking the tower and her. Depending on how they handled the nightmares and how much of the eldritch things they can see, they will either be turned into one of the Enlightened or one of the Indoctrinated. One of her lesser known abilities, however, is the ability to create peaceful seeming, lucid dreams for a few. A rarely used skill, but it allows communication, sharing of ideas and for him to see into a persons psyche. Often times, their form in this dream is vastly different than what the legends and myths state. Most often, the dreams take place under the bright light of the moon on a balcony, overlooking the sea.
55,032	1,502	19	1,278	8,076	Iona remained silent as the others exchanged words, at least until they began to form something with the semblance of a plan, despite being one that was mostly futile. Of course, strategy and tactics were vital for success, but those born of subterfuge only caused Iona's stomach to twist in disgust. When she found an entry point into the discussion, Iona said, "I don't understand why you must rely on such tactics, instead of doing just as my Master and... Deos proposed, even the Necromancer's suggestion is sound enough. A simple direct attack. We have in our hands enough might to put Melaron to its knees several times over, even without accounting that we have the God of Hunger among us, between just the Venerable Wyrm and I, all the city's armies could be destroyed at least trice over. Even their mages cannot hope to bring the two of us down, given that ancient beings like us are innately resistant to any magic a mortal of these days can hope to master." "I do understand it however, beings used to hide and skulk in the shadows and yet call themselves lords and masters of something, only to cower when a ray of light is cast on their dwellings, can only behave like this. If my Master allows, I'll lead the charge as is my role and, once more, show them that their light is a force as destructive as any other one." Iona's voice was low, and had matter of fact tone as she exposed the truth none of these before her ever acknowledged. Beings used to wall themselves in ancient towers and dark cities, and sinister tombs, may think they have the right to rule over something but the truth is that they only seek refuge from the light. Given that Iona's light burned brighter than any other, despite the fact that she was a daughter of the God of Evil, this kind of behavior was only good to disgust her. "As for the location of the seal holding my Father imprisoned? I can sense it even from here given that I was born of the flesh and blood of the God of All Evil, locating his prison will be no problem. Once the time of the festival comes, my Father will be free to walk this earth once more. There's no way we can fail, unless you let betrayal cloud your vision as was addressed already." Once she said all she had to, Iona stepped back to Aesir's side and exchanged a quickly glance as a voiceless apology for speaking out of her turn, but she had to say what needed to be said.	⛓ Iona, Ahwaan's Ash ⛓ "The true tragedy of war are not the bleeding gashes it opens, but the scars it leaves behind." ⛓ Height: 174 cm.\| ⛓ Weight: Unknown.\| ⛓ Age: Over 10,000. ⛓ Name: Iona. ⛓ Title: Ahwaan's Ash. ⛓ Three-word description: Angel of Chaos. ⛓ Appearance: The first impression of Iona is that of a woman of stunning beauty with a tall and well defined physique, not unlike a marble statue chiseled by the hands of master of yore. Her body and curves are well proportioned, with a medium shapely bust and worked out muscles that only add to her womanly charm, further enhanced by her swaying, waist-long, blonde hair and eyes that share the color of rich red wine. The features that call for most attention on Iona, are her huge, black-feathered wings that she can summon or dismiss at-will, as well as her stoic gaze that can cause any men to his heels with nothing but the sheer intensity of her stare. ⛓ Magic/Skills/Abilities: First and foremost, Iona is a fighter, being able to effortlessly wield any weapon ever conceived by mankind, but favoring her own arms, with dexterity that goes far above that of even the most seasoned mortal warrior. Iona's also a spellcaster far more experienced and able than any mortal, even the mightiest spells a mortal can ever hope to master are no problem for her however, Iona's true power lies in the holy element. As an angel it's only natural that Iona can wield a vast arsenal of holy magic. Smiting any who dares stand in her way without any form of mercy or remorse, Iona's the ultimate testament that light isn't necessarily good, much less nice. Furthermore, Iona's also nearly immortal, being unaging, requiring no sustenance of any form to exist and possessing a healing factor that guarantees that she'll overcome even the most grievous of wounds, her ability to regenerate can be suppressed if she's sealed but the only thing that's said to be able to permanently kill Iona is whoever she recognizes her master, through a contract. As long as her master keeps on living, Iona will always come back and only him can end her life permanently. ⛓ Inventory/Holdings: Iona's most praised possessions are her armor, which can be made to look like any sort of garment (though she favors a lightly armored dress that only ever enhances her feminine charm), yet will always protect Iona in their integrity as well as her swords. Dies Irae, Iona's dual blades, forged by a divine artisan from an unknown black metal that can only be damaged by weapons of equal quality, like the great hammer Mjolnir. Aside from both of them being blessed with holy powers, allowing the blades to strike true even against being that have no form or shape, like ghosts and spirits, they can also be joined by their hilts, changing shapes to become a black bow inlaid with golden runes. In bow form, Dies Irae can shoot powerful bolts of explosive holy light, instead of normal arrows. Lastly, Iona is in possession of a pair of matched silver rings. She can give one to a being she wants to form a contract to and will always know where and how well the recipient she chose is. Conversely, the recipient can use ring to summon Iona to their side no matter the distance taking them apart, unless Iona is sealed. Both share a telepathic bond, being allowed to converse and share their emotional states without anyone infringing on their privacy. ⛓ Myth: A long time ago, before mankind and the other children of light rose to prominence, the world was a sea of shapeless chaos onto which the Gods breathed life, ushering shape and beauty to their Creation. All of them, except for Him, the Dark One, Bane of Life, Destroyer, Conqueror, by many names He was but only one only which He recognized as His, Kil'threx, the God of Evil. He sought to usurp Heavens and douse the world of the light in darkness, taking all the Creation to Himself. The God of Evil's strongest weapon in His crusade for conquest, was also his Opus Magnum, the biggest mockery to the power of the other Gods, His own archangel, Ahwaan. Stealing the secrets of the other gods, Kil'threx, created a being of peerless beauty, wielding His enemies' own weapons against them as a testament that even the light would provide them no solace. However, time would come when the Conqueror's army would fall, His might crushed and Ahwaan broken and sealed in an old temple, deep within a valley where no mortal dared to thread. Chained with links of pure silver, heart and stomach transfixed by her own blades, abandoned in the darkness from with she came, forever. The Archangel Ahwaan was no more. Deep in her millenia long sleep, Ahwaan would have a vision, a dream of her master so handsome in His dark glory, seeking once more to free His ultimate tool upon the world of the light. When she woke up from her dream, Ahwaan found herself laying upon a bed she had never seen before, free from her binds, sitting on a chair beside her was him, the one who gave Ahwaan's freedom back, tho one who came seeking the power to conquer all, even the Heavens themselves, her new master, who had been ushered to find Ahwaan by none but her Creator. "From this day forward, you are Ahwaan no longer. Like the Phoenix, you have been reborn from the ashes of your former self. I name you Iona, the island upon which my eternal kingdom shall be built; you shall be my sword from now and forever more." The man who named himself Aesir said before the Archangel could even utter a single question. Nodding, Ahwaan no, Iona rose from the bed, taking the covers to preserve her modesty, and gazed upon the lands of her new master. There was a war to be won and Iona would once more be a spear of light, crushing down all those who were foolish enough to challenge her Master. ⛓ Personality: Iona is usually a stoic woman, only ever speaking, in her deep contralto, when it's important, or if prompted by her Master. She's not one to hold secrets and will always be true to her beliefs, no matter. Despite holding no pity for anyone, Iona despises those who abuse of their victims for petty sadistic reasons. In fact, it's not unknown of Iona to put down soldiers of their army that demonstrate psychopathic behavior. If Iona ever needs to eliminate a being that can't defend itself, she'll do so without hesitation, but in an apologetic way as she feels no pleasure from killing those who can't defend themselves. Perhaps it's a quirk of her angelic, or feminine, nature but Iona really feels sympathy for women and children and will only raise her blade against hem if ordered by her master, or if they try to fight back in any way. In fact, Iona has requested to take the custody of any children orphaned and woman widowed by their wars and for those she cannot spare, Iona will raise a grave. Thanks to her mercy for the weak, Iona, is revered as a sort of saint, by those she brought under her wings, though Iona never let them place her above Aesir in their prayers. After all, it's only his mercy that allowed them to live. Iona will never overstep her bounds and try to usurp her Master however, it's not unknown of their followers to see Iona and Aesir as a couple. The truth of this statement is left to each of their imaginations, though. ⛓ Sample post: “War never changes. You humans only think it changes merely because you witness something that forces your mind to reconsider the variables. To recount, to rethink, to do away with strategies and plans. War may have many faces, with new weapons and ever developing powers…but I assure you my friend. War never changes.” Those were the words of her Master as he sat upon his throne, victorious once more. Iona stood beside him, with blades readied, in case any of their foes had a trick up his sleeve. The angel didn't face the enemies of her Master with pity, nor did she show contempt, she was indifferent, just staring at their dying forms through it all but remaining silent. It was not Iona's place to speak while her Master did so, after all. “You’ve done well to reach my doorstep, but alas, like any pawn, you were destined to fall... To think you’d sacrifice yourselves in the efforts of slaying Aesir of the Court among your own bodily shells… a bold move. But ultimately useless against me...” And such was the truth. While Iona respected their efforts, facing her Master was a sure death sentence to anyone, Iona's blades would not waver or show remorse when taking down those who chose to stand and fight however, they knew honor and respect such as the dead are meant to be treated with. “Come Iona. We have much to do. The humans have made my blood boil with ecstasy by forcing me to make a new army. My favorite pastime...” "As you wish, Master." Iona said before setting her feet on the trail of Aesir, only ever stopping when one of the still surviving humans clutched her left ankle. "P-please, have mercy! I have a wif-wife and a child... newbo-" The man tried to say, before feeling the cold bite of Iona's sword piercing his heart from behind. "They'll know you died thinking of them. Now, you may rest..." The light of life left the human's eyes just as Iona pulled her weapon from his body and followed her Master once more. "May I ask, for a new orphanage as well, Master? Our war is sure to make even more victims and I'd like them to not suffer more than necessary." ⛓ Theme ⛓
55,033	1,502	20	2,424	1,745	The deals offered made of the darkest pact, Agreements sworn and signed the dark contract, But the devil shall lead the first attack, For your dark hearts are best stabbed from the back. Empty. All of it empty. False promises and hollow pacts. How interesting that he of all things be visited and tempted with an offer. Teased with words just as empty as his heart, did Kil'threx truly believe that hunger itself could be so easily tempted? Like the beckoning steam of a pie laid out to cool on an open windowsill, Kil'threx wafted through the air in his presence. Shifting ever shifting, and yet the essence of it all was still the same, leading them all to evil. Had it not been their age-old friendship, it was almost insulting to He Who Hungers that his counterpart thought it needed to bait him with such flattery. To stoke the flames of hubris with one hand and to quench the thirst of vanity with the other. Amusing as it were to know of these others, although the irate pirate was one he had not expect to see so far away from sea. Aborath, Aesir, Niddhog, Khata Nyarlith, Vortigern, Iona, Deos Risleth, names of which he has heard of, but never quite so desired to acquire. For too filled where they, far too filled and they may never accept his offerings, as the Pirate may. For Captain Baker was a man after his own dark heart, a hedonist who lives an unlife for the luxuries of this world, a true despot and hellish rake. And the pirate would be a fine middleman to have to extend his reach from the desert to the seas. But for now it seems, so it seems, they have been gathered by their father. But to him alone did Kil'Threx refer to Zhystkrexas as brother for indeed long since had they walked the world together, immortals who embodied the forces, primordial beings which shaped the very cosmos as they manifested themselves into being. For what was evil without intent? Without motivation and without desire, could an action be truly evil? Perhaps it was wrong, but wrong itself was not evil, a mere child does wrong, but what does evil? Now explains why Zhystkrexas did not himself appear amongst them, for if he did it would only be that much easier for Kil'Threx to sway them to his cause. Words gnawing from one end as desire ate away from the other. And worse, their individual desires would destroy any loyalities Kil'Threx may have desired to seed. See? Inevitable indeed, but not only that, but inescapable, not even a god was beyond thirst or hunger. For his old friend has answered the question with his grandiose and long-winded promises: freedom. The bound fool desired to return, to return and seek vengeance upon the world that had shunned him so. That subtle hint of envy, jealousy even, that twinged his brother's voice as he spoke of their contrasting status. The pride it had in subjugating all of them, believing itself one to which Zhystkrexas would bend his powers for. Lend perhaps, as often the Demon of Desire did to sate his prey, but bend? No, Hunger would never kneel. But it was only fitting that the God of Evil fall for the very things Zhystkrexas leads his victims too was it not? For they were farmers of the same field, tending the very crop, but it was Zhystkrexas that feasts upon what Kil'Threx harvests. So then, at the crux of it all, eight and one discussing their tacks and tactics. Young ones talked of strategy, but the Old ones speak of logistics. For an army marches not on an empty stomach, and a city which starves can hold no festival. But the reverse was also true was it not? For an army cannot march upon a stomach bursting at the seams, and for a city showered in excess everyday itself as a festival. Either way one tips the scales, Zhystkrexas wins, and that is why famine is given scales as the greatest imbalancer. So plot, scheme, and think of every plan they may have, ruminate on the thoughts of betraying each other you may have, tip the scales. And they would send your heart closer and closer into the jaws of the devourer. Sitting upon his golden throne, far away in in his glorious city of I'Zhystana, there the True Zhystkrexas sat pondering over what these children thought of. The locusts his eyes, his voice, his ears, controlled by his will as they clambered atop themselves in writhing masses. Like him they hungered, and like him they shall feed. His servants too blinded by their devotion to see, and the other eight too concerned with their own devices to understand. There upon the platters offered by a kneeling seriving girl, a meal worthy of the Dark King. For it was a dog-eat-dog world out there, why should it be any different in here? Taking his time to reach for the sweetmeats and savour the taste upon his lips. He had hungered for eons, why rush into so quickly? A ravenous swarm of locusts would devour anything within minutes, but the Lord of the Jaria was no swarm of Locusts. It was settled then, as he called for his covetous general to assemble his forces, and more so take the coffers, the fakirs and the bakers, the porters and chefs, the musicians and dancers, the servants and all. It was time to let Meloran know the pleasures of I'Zhystana. Prepare the Grand Caravan. "Enough talk. You have all spoken well." The swarm buzzed as Zhystkrexas' attention returned to the assembled group of dark servitors, they who would willingly enslave themselves to their own desires. They who thought themselves gods and yet, crumbled from within. "But now perhaps it is your turn to listen." The chorus of tens of thousands of beating wings, rising from the whispers as they droned on in a voice as consuming as their master. A voice which commanded with suggestion, crawling into the ear, and nibbling at the mind. "Though some amongst you are born of war and conflict, and others of shadows and secrets, the conquest Meloran is no simple task. Those who plan to put it to the blae are fools to believe in the delusion that force is enough to make Meloran kneel. And those of you who plan to come in like a thief in the night are fools who believe their skills are enough to make a city which has kept evil itself imprisoned bow. So I ask, which among you children would do as you expect of the city before me? Which of you would subjugate themselves when struck with sword or spell? By the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars it shall not be for within your dark hearts you would never desire to serve one who has enslaved you..." "But now I ask, would you not bend your wills to the promises given to you? Bear this in mind as you assault the city, for the strength of the will is stronger than you all." With the cryptic piece of advice, or rather ad vice did the swarm disintegrate itself. Taking flight once more as each insect was released from the grip that held them into form, and they ate away at the walls of the shack, table and all until nothing remained. A storm was coming to Meloran. And a plague of Locusts was merely the first of things to come...	Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria Titles The Corruptor He Who Hungers Desert Demon of Desire The Dark Dream of the Devouring King of Lost Paradise Descriptions Three-Word-Description Insatiable Hunger Incarnate. Long Description What is it you desire most? Your deepest wishes, pulled from your wildest dream, harvested from your innermost secrets. The innocent fantasies you play with in the back of your mind, in the pit of your heart, the very nature of your soul. That which gnaws at you, your unsated want, a need restrained by reasoning, modesty, virtue. Like a caged beast, you drool hungrily at your temptations, but barely lick your lips when given but a taste of it when in a drought and famine. Now culminate all those years of unrequited starving. That is Zhystkrexas. Appearance He appears to those who are unaware of the true nature of the beast as a living idol. A perfect human being as they believe it, often seeing him as a man befitting the role of a chief of the desert tribes. The aspects they value most exemplified within him, a paragon of their own hopes and dreams to what they desire to be. For it is not his power to change himself, no rather it is his power to change how others see him. Dressed in finery of gold with a body of a worthy of worship, regally moving with the power and awe, the splendor of a true god-king to be envied and admired. But to those who wish to see him for what desire truly is, for those who desire truth, they shall see him for what he is. A smiling devil with twisting horns which flow like hair around him. Sharp teeth and fangs, a gaunt face like a skull and hollow eyes with which he eats your very being. Though dressed in his robes and finery, he is nothing more but a skeletal terror as his ribs are visible against his open robe. That is the true nature of desire. The insatiable hunger that consumes you, and though you may eat, there is nothing to show for it. Life becomes meaningless, and you are nothing more than a walking corpse: Empty. Personality Zhystkrexas, the corrupting influence of it all, that which dwells with the deepest reaches of the mind. Patient, devious, and cunning, an immortal who uses immortality best of all to sow the seeds of his grand design for the harvest. How many seasons shall he wait until his bounty becomes full and rich? But starve yourself completely waiting for the harvest to come? Why not feast on the spoils of another? Oh yes reap what is yours, but also devour the yields of others. let them savour their small victories, their piecemeal battles, let them dine upon their riches and let their praises be pleasing to their ears. Let all their plans align and designs unfold to their whim, but in the end it matters not. For when the crops are ready to be harvested, the locusts shall come to eat it all. And so this is why perhaps of all the evils in the world, Zhystkrexas is most despised, for he leeches off the work of others, and dares to manipulate even his peers as he would mortals. Such is he who hungers. A façade of benevolence over a pit of pure malice, a voice so tempting, so pleasing to hear from a true cosmopolite, and yet beneath the veil a ravenous fiend. It is his hand that feeds, and also he that bites the hands that feed, and those that he fattens to feast upon. Nothing can sate him for he is hunger, and he shall lead you to consume yourself before he consumes you, both physically and spiritually as he devours your flesh and captures your soul. And once he has led you down the path, he shall take deepest pleasure in devouring your envious eyes, your lustful heart, your prideful tongue, your wrathful limbs, your greedy mind, your gluttonous gut, and your weary head. And why does Zhystkrexas do this? For it is his nature. He hungers. He is hunger. Though his kingdom is plenty, he is the starving lord who eyes upon the kingdoms of others. In time, he shall consume them, and then when there is nothing left to be consumed, he shall be forced to consume himself. Powers and Possessions The Devouring King exemplifies not a strong physical force nor magical one amongst his peers, but do not mistake this for weakness for his powers lie elsewhere. While he is merely slightly stronger than the average paragon mortal, and commands arcana within reach of the most learned of mortal magi, His unique power lies in his ability to bring out the worse in things. His presence is toxic, changing the very essence of beings and non-beings. It is his hand which cultivates the seed of desire, the primal shard preexisting, tending it to become an overgrowth that bursts through the nature of a thing. His work is to accelerate the inner hunger, the rest comes naturally as torment ends with feeding and overfeeding. Yet satiation never happens, and so indulgence becomes wickedness, carnal desires feasting upon morality, and moral desires feasting upon carnal needs. No one is safe from his abilities, to woo and tease out the hopes and dreams of a person, then taint them into a twisted reality. Where the pleasure may never end, but all meaning to it is lost. While it is with this psychic force that the Dark Dream eats away at the will. Appearing as he would to mortals in a form they find desirable by dulling their beliefs in anything but to conceal the truth of his horror. But this illusionary self-delusion is merely a front for the true abilities he possess in the form of his magical contracts that taint reality with unyielding fantasy. It is his contracts which create kings out of men who lust for power, and scholars out of men who long for knowledge. Those who crave wealth find their coffers filled by the connections the Corruptor creates, and those who seek the pleasures of flesh shall find it so. By the magic of his magical contracts innocently offered to drag them deeper into their obsession, the shrewd negotiator can make those fantasies come true at a price. Already they have had their freedoms taken from them by his invisible chains, to sign a pact with him was undeniable. And with these contracts, he may tap into the power of those poor souls, sealed away in their personal heavens but bound to be squeezed and abused at his pleasure. They who are trapped in an endless dream, but tormented in the same nightmare, used to lull another unsuspecting victim. He may channel the powers to seemingly warp reality to his desires, but ever moreso to twist the wishes of others. Take for example a man who wishes to be a king, but to do so would need to raise an army to raise a coupe. An army would be offered, perhaps summoned by the magic-users eternally bound by his contract or even comprising of fallen warriors who have sealed their future in the past. And the price for a regicidal army would be the future king's own soul. A bargain that the wise would be so wary, but the cunning would attempt to outwit. Nevertheless, when under the influence of desire, both wisdom and cunning become a hubris. And by the Corrupter's whim and will, that was so easily gained becomes so easily lost. So a collection of lost souls the Desert Demon gains, each trapped in their own prisons of eternal paradise. Such is his title, for he rules his subjects within their own kingdoms. A legendary metropolis which sits brilliantly in the desert like a radiant gem to scatter the sunlight for miles. It is a city built by the Jaria Clan, a desert people who serve and view Zhystkrexas as their God-King. Zhystkrexas himself rarely manifests his presence in the public eye, and thus the city itself is ran by its elite citizens, governing itself with its false-utopia to mask the corruption which has taken the very city. Every sort of pleasure and vice can be found within the polished stone walls, but the city itself has loose regulations, and developed magical defenses which essentially maintain a semblance of order. The entire city is self-sustaining, and requires no outside support, yet invites visitors from afar to experience what it has to offer. Most travelers stay however and become permanent additions to the city. Either willingly or worse. I'Zhystana also holds two secrets: the two sources of Zhystkrexas' powers. The Forgotten Desert was and forever will be a desert. It goes by many names, for it borders many nations like a dried patch of land, in Ancient Elven it is called Qualmanfauglir, in Dwarven Kurz-Gazan, Humans have called it more names throughout the ages than other races, but the common name is the Forgotten Desert. For as long as anyone could remember it was a forsaken place upon the world, a cursed boundary where the kingdoms of old would draw the borders of their nations. There was no value to claim the desert, for it was an inhospitable place, and nothing of value was ever found. Who would send legions to defend a sorry claim? Only a foolish ruler would gaze upon the tides of unforgiving sand and see any potential. Only outcasts live there. Herding and scavenging on the picking the harsh climate offered. Though the sun shone brilliantly upon the sands, and the beautiful sunrises broke through the plateaus of stone, no plants grew and no life survived without water. And as the ancestors knew, the Forgotten Desert had no water to give. Rain never came upon the empty dunes, nor did waters ever rise from the sands, no river it had to claim and locked in by land from all sides. Only by living on the fringe did anyone survive, and yet to push on into the heart of the desert as a journey of discovery. For despite the warm days and cool nights, those who drive on, past the storming sands and chaffing winds, into the heart of this barren place, they may see the splendor that is I'zhystana. Only the well prepared can venture forth in the great city, or anyone who wishes to make the journey by more practical means than traversing a great desert should consider chartering a passage either by magic or caravan into the city. There are even desert-ships which sail through sand like water, catching the winds upon their sails and rolling upon the dunes with their great wheels. But with its crown jewel of I'zhystana, and vessels which travel to and from it like this the Forgotten Desert is no longer quite Forgotten is it? I'Zhystana is built in a labyrinthine arrangement of walls circumscribed into walls with the Palace of the God-King in the middle beside the Oasis of Acrid. The sectors between the three walls serve as districts which tend to offer a particular set of indulgences that dominates the particular area of the metropolis. The Rim, the Rise, and the Royal Districts are named rather aptly for what they offer. The First district, The Rim, welcomes travelers into a taste of carnal delights. Things which can please the senses between brothels and bazaars, if it is to be touched and felt, it can be found in the Rim for the most basic needs of all. The various attractions which are highlights of this district afford the great wealth generated by the city. A series of bazaars which never seems to end, save for when it does at the edge of the second wall. Each tent and stall offers wares ranging from far-flung exotic goods imported from the reaches of the world to local artisanal crafts made by some of the best artificers in the world. And though many hotels and hostels, villas and inns are offered for rent, the marketplace never sleeps in I'Zhystana as coins always trade hands. Common currency is accepted here, however the God-King's benevolence allocates a portion of the city's tax money as a welcome package to new arrivals to encourage economic exchange, along with various other incentives for new merchants to set up shop... Those who which to taste the good life may dine at the various eateries which offer a selection of food and drink as complete as the wares sold in the markets. Exotic delights and compounds strange offered to sample and try, spirits flowing in chalices such that they may never be empty, and plates constantly replaced with more portions of food. It is said that one can tour the entire cuisine of the world in a single plate, or at least by merely walking from one diner into the next in a single city block, and even the dogs may eat as kings here. Ah the fragrant houses for the pleasure of flesh. What lusts can be slaked off here? Man, women, anything really. Whatever the traveler wishes to try and is willing to do. There are even some darker dens which lace their acts with magic to perform unnatural things. But one will find in a place like I'zhystana, there is no such thing as taboo. Such public knowledge of these intimate things are common in city that is said to be everyman's paradise. The second district, The Rise, caters towards those seeking self-improvement and things which cannot be held by mere arms of flesh. In the second district scholars find libraries to dwell in, warriors find arenas to test themselves, artists find gardens of meditation and inspiration. It serves to channel the productivity of the city, and thus the various attractions of this district afford the great people and status of the city. Libraries, polytechnics, and institutions of learning dot the sector. Museums and records for those who love the past, books and auditoriums for those who care for the present, and laboratories and guilds for those who look to the future. For those who seek knowledge and wisdom, a day is not enough to take in all the resources available and so many stay to rejoice in the halls as scholars of their own field to ever-increase the reputation of I'zhystana. Where once life did not grow, now it thrives in the city of the desert. Green and lush with beauty in nature, tended carefully by the unnatural hand to appear as natural as can be. It is a tamed beauty to look wild, a source of paradoxes and intrigue for philosophers and artists alike. For it is beauty captured and experienced, but far more beautiful than anything that could be captured. To walk in the growth and stroll lazily through the park, to sleep perchance to dream. The gardens offer tranquility and serenity, a place to lose oneself and to find yourself. And for those who care not for understanding or peace, the arenas shall win their hearts. The blood and battle, the sweat and grime. All of it to entertain the masses of others who wish for sport. Races, fights, and displays of skill, every form of competition to claim victory in exists here. For fame to be renown and sung through the desert winds as the best in I'Zhystana. Who shall claim the title and honor? The Glory is yours to take, to take from the other man unworthy of your mercy. Win and you shall be the subject those painters shall paint and those students shall learn of! The Third and final district, the Royal district, serves as the residence of the God-King as well as the administrators of the city. It is also within this district that temples are made to the God-king, and of course is home to the sacred Oasis of Acrid and the Palace of the God-King. It is the very heart of the city, from which all forms of regulations and bureaucracy arise. Thus the seat of power of the Forgotten Desert. The estates of the important citizens of I'Zhystana. Luxury beyond luxury, only those who are chosen by the God-king himself may live in the inner circle. Of course this position is a precarious place to be as others seek to acquire the very same post. Those who live in these villas are often duplicitous sociopaths who are both paranoid to lose their position, and seek to enjoy their elevate status in the public eye. Forming a court of backstabbing bourgeoisie and fiendish friends as part of the elite of I'zhystana. The holy of holies. The God-King's faithful come to worship and praise him throughout the lesser temples built in his glory, but it is the Grand Temple which the God-King himself is said to attend. Inside the sanctum the devout may genuflect and beech the statue of their God-king to fulfill their desires. And if the clergy allow it, hearing the whispers of their Lord, the faithful may ensign themselves and their wish upon a blank scroll that shall serve as a new contract. The main administrative building for the city of I'Zhystana. New laws are adopted, written, discussed made, regulations, policies, and more. The final process is democratic and each seated member may cast their votes to decide the fate of I'zhystana symbolized by dropping their council rings into the set of scales behind the three seats before them. Though often the Great Seat is empty for the God-King hardly appears to rule on such trivial manners, the Lesser Seats are for the Hands of the God-King who are those who have achieved the highest status of power beneath the God-king. An interesting pair who keep the city within the God-king's grip. The seated man and the dancing woman depicted are The General and the High-Priestess respectively. Both of the Jaria Clan, the General heads the military enforcement and decrees of the God-King, while the High-Priestess tends to the spiritual adherence and teachings of the God-King. And both are just as twisted as their ruler, for the General seeks to take control of the city from beneath the God-King by careful undermining, and the Priestesss is solely devoted to the worship of the God-King as the greatest fanatic obsession she bears. As such They by in large tend to cancel each other out, with one being rooted in betrayal and the other in devotion. Something which the pleases the God-king as he sits upon his true solitary throne. Here upon the Golden Throne the God-king Sits surrounded by a few guards and consorts as he dines upon his awaiting prey. Named after an ancient Jaria Chief, this sacred water source created the entire city through its powers, and is guarded by the Jaria Clan as their protected wellspring. The Oasis of Desire is a product of Zhystkrexas' power, as a vast amount of the entity's essence was invested into the creation of the black pool. It is said those who wish to harm Zhystkrexas must first drain or corrupt the pool, a task impossible as the temptations of the waters seem to affected the mind of all those who seek to destroy it. For unless one only has a desire to destroy the Oasis itself and only that one singular desire in all the world, then it shall rise up once more to fulfill the desires of those who thought the sought to destroy it. Deep Beneath his Grand Palace, Zhystkrexas hides his legendary collection of bits and baubles under the desert sands locked away behind an curious door. The Vault is warded against forms of magic and hardened against physical attempts to destroy it, as the only guaranteed way to enter is through the Smiling Door. Called so as it features an usual bust of Zhystkrexas' monstrous head which claims the contents of the vault as his possession. The jaws open ever so slightly as to admit a trembling hand to twist and pull the handle unlock the doorway. But beware, for just as the pool was guarded by one's desire, so too is the vault as the Smiling Door bites off any hand which fails to prove its worthiness to enter Zhystkrexas' true horde. And the smiling bust shall serve as a remind that only a Heart as twisted and wicked as Zhystkrexas may enter. For within his well-guarded secret is the other source of his power: all his magical contracts. The only way to undo a deal and release the soul bound to it is to either negotiate with Zhystkrexas himself, or to steal the original document from his possession and then destroy the contract. The former is usually unwise, and the latter is generally impossible. Yet for the hundred upon thousands of souls empowering him, what would one soul be? The blessed servitors of Zhystkrexas. They serve him out of birthright as his mortal agents. Some serve to protect their God-King or his assets, others serve to expand his influence as merchants or skilled mercenaries. Some are 'entrusted' with positions of false power, but turn paranoid and scheme to retain such a precarious position and to earn the pleasure of their Lord. They are decent fighters and craftsman, but most of all shrewd negotiators and bureaucrats. As such the Jaria are a part of the City and Zhystkrexas himself, they are his numerous armies, his devoted acolytes, his awaiting swarm. Gregarial, The Scepter of Satiation Once a magical vessel which served to bring forth prosperity to the land, the nature of Zhystkrexas' power has long since corrupted it into this form. Melted down into its formerly pure gold, and its four diamonds and single ruby jewels recut and refitted to resemble the teeth and eyes of the dragon-like head that tops his personal weapon. The monstrous motif-bears a partial resemblance to Zhystkrexas' true form, especially in that its hinged jaw can be snapped open or shut with a twist of the its head. It is the cane which he uses to support his position, not physically as he feigns physical weakness, but symbolically. For it is his antithesis in a way, such that any non-sentient object that should be placed into its small jaws shall be duplicated, and that duplication itself shall continue to replicate endlessly until the original object is no longer within the rod's jaws. It is the weapon only befitting of one who causes an equally endless hunger, and perhaps the only thing that can weaken his grip on his world, as such he keeps a tight grip upon it. The Myth I approached him upon his golden throne, and he was far more handsome than I had heard. I found my eyes fixating upon the seat of his throne, wondering what monster was beneath his attire. He sat so regally, a presence so commanding that I had no shame in kneeling before him. I took to one knee and bowed my head, catching a glimpse of his charming smile. There my mind could only imagine those lips of his moving to the sound of his alluring voice asking if I wanted him. Every word dripping out of his mouth like golden honey, drizzled upon his chest. yes, how my tongue quivered inside as it brushed against my teeth, how I wanted to lick that sweetness off his glorious body. I lusted for him, and oh my heart leapt for joy when he placed the collar around my neck with that glorious smile, and wrapped the chain around his hand. He had made me his consort, another to join his court, his entourage, his harem. Yes, I am your servant, your slave, your lover. I surrender myself to you, oh great lord of the Jaria! I looked up at him from my lowly place, having begged him for a single coin. What did he see in me? A mere tramp with nothing, no home, no family, no money. How great was his wealth and generosity that he would invite me to share bread with him? As the guest of honor? But oh he raised me from the poor beggar I was and dressed me in finery, silken robes trimmed with silver and inlaid with gold. He bought me jewels and fitted them upon my wretched hands, and his servants washed by feet with fragrant oils. What luxury did he have? What wealth to be able to do so to a nobody like me? And then he asked me if I dreamt of riches, far more than I could carry with my arms. I told him yes, I dreamt of a sea of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, all the treasures as far as the eye could see, and that all of it be mine. Then he showed me his vaults, which were all that I had imagined and more. For mountains of treasures like the grains of sand in the desert surrounded me as he smiled, throwing me forward into the vast piles of wealth with his hand and telling me to take all that I could carry. How my eyes widened in disbelief in awe as I praised him, oh great lord of the Jaria! I serve him for he has granted me peace. He consoled me when I had lost her, with his gentle hand placed upon my head as I grieved into his shoulder. When I thought I was abandoned, he strengthened my resolve. He had given me the means to my vengeance. A spear which he offered before my feet. He asked if sought justice for her death, and gave me the means to do so. He smiled as I picked up the weapon, rising and steadying myself with the shaft as my mind dwelt upon the deaths of her killers. He applauded as I came back, drenched in blood with only my sweat to wash the stains away. Justice has been served, and for this I owe him my life. This blessed spear with which I had carried back the impaled trophies of my enemies heads, now will become his. I shall fight for him, I am his spear that shall pierce all those that would stand before him. May I die for your name, Oh great lord of the Jaria! I was invited to his feast, a banquet thrown at one of his lavish parties. I thought I had tasted everything there was in life, but he proved me wrong. There was a smorgasbord of dishes upon his table, all smelling of exotically pleasing to the nose as I licked my lips in anticipation. The drinks he offered, the wines poured which filled the cups of all those gathered around him, and me sitting to his right as the dishes were being passed around. And as I ate my fill of rare delicacies from around the world, he smiled while asking if I had saved room for the main course. The main course? What was this to him then? Merely an appetizer? And what was it that he would bring to top off these scrumptious delights we had just experienced? Then there it was, a small boy dressed in a white tunic, perhaps a serving boy, approached us. My eyes could hardly believe the horrors which happened, but as the succulent smell wafted into my nose, I could not resist lifting my fork up to bring the tender flesh to my lips. I thank you for a most excellent dinner, oh great lord of the Jaria! I sought to test his power, and to know his limits. There I wished to know more than anyone mortal had, I challenged him to tell me the secrets to immortality. For long did I spend hours over ancient text regarding his kin, and years I had devoted of my life to the study of the Children. I had studied sorceries beyond the scope of many men, and perfected my spellcraft to rival the lesser gods. Yet I was still mortal, as poweful as I was, death would end it all. So I had traveled to his kingdom to see if I could deceive him into telling me how to become a god. And so through my flattery, did he feign his impressions, praising my skills to entertain his court as he asked what I wished to be rewarded with. My request was what I had longed for, knowledge forbidden to a mortal man: transcendence. So he smiled, as he offered me a scroll. Now the torments never end as my flesh burns and bones melt, my mortality being purged by the eternal flames as my soul fuels your power. You have won, oh great lord of the Jaria! I had trembled at his arrival, kneeling before me at my bedside. For three moons had I reigned over as chief. What have I done to displease him? Why so now was I stricken with this malady? This accursed illness which leaves me here too sick to enjoy the fruits of my conquests? Even now my own advisors and family plot against me and each other. To take up that which is rightfully mine. Why have you abandoned me? I asked him in disbelief, coughing blood and hacking phlegm. Did he not promise me the power to rule over them? But what cruel irony that it was that I should be confined to dying on this bed while another sits in my throne. Ignoring my questions, he rose to lift my head to meet his eyes. Then he smiled and asked me if I was ready. Please have mercy, oh great lord of the Jaria! I scoffed at the depravity of his kingdom when he approached me. I had rebuked him for the vast hedonism that bleeds out from his den of sin. I being virtuous detested all that he offered me. I wanted nothing that he could ever bring. So I bade him to leave, and left his presence. I sought refuge in the wilderness, away from his corrupting shadow. There I suffered in the heat of the sun, the cold of the night, the hunger of an empty stomach and thirst of a parched throat. But he would never taint me, I would be pure, and untouched. I would become a paragon of resisting the corrupting demon, the vile one who seeks to twist us all. And foolishly I thought I had rid of his influence at last, but he waited. He was patient, as I squandered away my time, living in moderation, living simply on the verge of death for fear of his return. How I wasted it all away, in pursuit of my enlightenment, a chance at family and friends, a chance to pursue a hobby and skilled art, a chance at a full life to experience it all. By attempting to resist him, I had fallen to the desire to resist him. And so he came to me once more in my old age, though I could not see his smile, as he asked me once more if he could grant me anything I desired now. Grant me rest, oh great lord of the Jaria! These are some of the tales you will hear from the other voices of I'zhystana, but I see you seek more than a short recollection. You want the truth, and I can offer you more insight into our Lord. All that this old storyteller asks in return is one favour for the knowledge offered in my story. Promise me this oh Hero, and I shall tell your tale with the rest of my old life so that they will know the truth of your victory Efendi. And of course, if it is not so much to ask, perhaps you can buy the rounds of drink to keep our lips moist as I speak and you listen hmm? Ah, our tale begins not in the distant past, but only a few miles in that direction from this humble watering hole for vagrant thieves, vagabonds and scoundrels, for it is there in that path lies the city of I'zhystana. I'zhystana. Behold the jewel of the desert, the most splendorous city anywhere. While some say the City-State-Kingdom of Melaron is greater, let me assure you Efendi, once you have spent a single night in I'zhystana, no place in the world in this life shall be as glorious. For how can it be that for hundreds of miles of sand and more sand, that such a thriving metropolis can exist? The answer is quite simple Efendi, it is called I'zhystana for a reason. For beyond her walls of endless pleasures beyond the imagination lies her secret. The bewildered travelers and visitors may find their hearts torn between the exotic brothels, the grand arenas, or indulgent spas. The sages can find refuge in their towering libraries and while the nobility chatter in their high-rising parlors. Vast world-class bazars for those hearts set on riches or dining upon the flavour of this world all in one night, lush gardens holding viewing galas for those who amuse themselves in the arts. Some may call it paradise, but for whose who consider it a den of debauchery should consider the great holy temples to their God-King. The worship of one being, the Lord of the Jaria. It was he who gave life to this place, where once only sand and sun existed, now thrives life. For long ago, upon a blessed moon, did he come to them. They who had once which once roamed nomadically through the deserts, enduring the harsh lands to scavenge for their sustenance, as all who lived in the desert once did in the old days. Dozens of clans roamed the endless desert, pushed to survive this way as the other kingdoms encroached upon their lands more and more. And since no Kingdom lay claim to the barren desert, it was natural that it became a sanctum for those who had nothing left to lose but clung to the hope of life however meager. It was here in the land of nothing, in the hour of desperation, in the face of death, that the last chief of the Jaria clan signed his tribe into the service of a handsome stranger who appeared in his tent. What happened that night no one truly knows, there are stories that claim the chief consummated the agreement, some who say that the chief was forced into signing, and other yet say there was no such stranger and the chief himself cried out to the desert for a miracle. Whatever happened that forgotten night, it was said that very morning the sunlight revealed the waters had sprung from beneath the sand. They say he was a divine being, heretics claim he was a demon that crawled out from the desert sands, but are they not one in the same? Others say he is no god, but merely a powerful sorcerer with a penchant for business, but I say who else can create all this from nothing but a god? There was the gift provided, and now the Jaria clan alone may lay claim to abundance through their ancient dealings with their new Lord. In return for a single oasis, such that they may survive the desert, they had committed their entire surviving lineage to the God-King. Was it a fair trade? I would say any man who would help you cheat death itself was a man of great benevolence. He came to them with an offer of life, but they would in turn serve him. Brokers of his dealings, the middle man to spread his influence across the land, the example of what he could grant: a life of luxury in the barrens of the sunlit wasteland. It is this life that some say is wrong, but to a people who lived on the edge and had nothing, was it so wrong Efendi? Hedonistic epicureans, the members of the infamous Jaria clan have an indescribable amount of wealth, knowledge and power throughout the lands. So much accumulated over the years by using their oasis as their capital asset, offering quenching water to the other wandering bedouins of the desert. A small price to pay for water was cheaper than blood. It was indeed a fine water supply, with cool, clean, and crisp water, waters which made everything seem better, food eaten with it was far more delicious. Sand became fertile to bear crops and crops water with it produced in overabundance. Wounds washed with it healed faster, skin more supple, and bodies more fragrant as libidos raised. It was indeed the miraculous water, the Oasis of Jaria. And yet they who drank it would find the same water no longer capable of sating their thirst. Food without it became bland, and all others became putrid without it, wounds festered and skin aged, clothing chaffed and crops died. They became locked in a dream, a dream which turned to a nightmare when the water ran dry. So the addiction began, and they who partook in the Oasis became enslaved to it, enslaved to the deals of the Jaria who smiled as their wealth bounded upwards with every transaction. It was not merely water which their patron had given them, but far more, for from the desires of others they had their own filled. Power, fame, wealth, everything came in overabundance to the Jaria clan by the sacred oasis. The pool which to this day remains protected by the clan as they have built their empire around the holy waters. No longer have they need to use its miraculous abilities, but blessing of stranger is to be forever revered. And there he sits upon his gold throne within his marble palace. Clad in gold rules the God-king Zhystkrexas. Praise be to you, oh Great Lord of the Jaria! There, I have told you all that I know of our story Efendi, now I hope you will not have forgotten our agreement, there is a always a price in the city of I'zhystana, you must find a way to release me from my deal with my Lord... A Story Allow me to take a moment's rest in recounting my tale. Forgive this old storyteller's lips for being parched, but a brief respite to catch my wind and drink. Ah that reminds me of another tale of which I could tell regarding drinking, but that is not the story you asked for now is it? You travel to I'Zhystana seeking audience with my Lord? Who is this Kil-threx of whom you serve? Ah nevermind, perhaps you would have asked for another tale if you had the time. Now, where was I? ...And there Our warrior stood, bathed in the blood of the guards as he threw their lifeless bodies before the God-King's court. The crimson ebbs of battle mixed in with his panting breath and running sweat. The gallant Knight-Paladin had sought to slay the monster which had taken many of his order. Felling the eight Jaria guards within the throne room had taken a great deal of effort, let alone the dozens he had to vanquish to get this far. But it mattered, not for now the demon before him would die. It was over, he declared, through all this he, he was finally going to kill that thing that sat upon the golden throne. The moment he had been waiting for, to thrust his blade into the wretched heart of all sin and kill the beast at last. But ah the God-King Zhystkrexas merely smiled, and beckoned the knight closer. And with the courage of a lionheart, the Knight charged his sword aimed at the Lord of the Jaria's chest. It was then that the good knight found his arm held, a force clutching at his wrist and a powerful hand gripping tight to prevent his blade from sinking into the boney flesh of the great beast. There in those precious moments he would wrestle for control over his own blade against the God-king, but found himself in a deadlock. And how he wanted to pierce its dark heart and more than anything at this moment, kill it. But the God-King knew his desires, as it knows all desires and the evils which lay dormant in the hearts of men. So the Devouring One asked him the question, that if he would so easily trade his life away to kill it. And our knight in the heat of the battle of wills screamed yes as he felt the grip of the fiend loosen. Blade penetrated the God-king's chest and skewered its body to the very throne it had not arose from. Gazing at the lifeless body of the demon, our knight was victorious at last. Or was he? For it was an hollow victory, just as he was a hollow man. His hand dropped his sword of its own vocation, moving to hold his face of its own accord. There in horror he realized what had happened, and his own hand betrayed him. A horrific scream and gruesome tearing, the terrified slayer began to rip off his own face. And there beneath his visage was seen... the Face of Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria. It is a tragic tale, but I have kept my promise to an old friend. Many thanks to you for the drink Efendi.
55,034	1,503	0	2,654	2,774	Tuesday 12 AM At this very moment every single candidate for The Presence's team of teenage super villains, was getting a message and instructions on where to go for introductions. Some members would be getting phone calls, others would be getting texts and emails, and a few would have random strangers giving them instructions. Thursday 8 PM Andrew had just made it to the warehouse-looking building that he had been instructed to go to from the mysterious voice on his phone, under the threat of exposure and arrest. He didn't like being threatened and would have liked to tear into this Presence, but first he wanted to see what this whole thing was about. Andrew walked up to the door of the warehouse and found that it was locked. He thought about just braking in, but he had this feeling that it would be better to wait for his host to let him in. The Presence did tell him that there would be others coming and Andrew wondered who these people were going to be. "And now I wait for the doors to unlock" he grumbled to himself. He was in human form since he didn't want to attract attention to himself and keep a low profile. Having had several run ins with costumed heroes and the law, Andrew was experienced in battling and escaping enemies with various powers and skills.	Name: Andrew Talbot/Blood Fang Age: 15 Gender: male Appearance: Personality: bad-tempered, cold blooded, ferocious, cunning and dominant. Powers/skills: Werewolf Transformation: he can shape-shift into a humanoid wolf. Superhuman Strength: Andrew can lift up a maximum of ten tons. Superhuman Durability: He can withstand gunfire and take hits from super strong opponents. Superhuman Agility: Andrew is incredibly agile and quick. He moves like a apex predator and is hard to follow for normal humans. Wolf Communication: Andrew can speak and communicate with wolves. Equipment: none Short Bio: Bio: Andrew Talbot was born to a lower middle class family in Chicago and do to the city's dark reputation of crime, being middle class did not keep Andrew from experiencing the bad sides of Chicago. He saw all sorts of crimes happen in the streets and his home life wasn't much better. His mom was abusive to his dad and when his dad finally got the courage to try and leave her, she falsely accused him of domestic abuse and he lost his parental rights to have custody of Andrew. Do to social stigma his dad was not able to fight the system and was forced out of Andrew's life. His mom then took to abusing him and Andrew's life became total shit after that. After several years of abuse, Andrew finally snapped and his metahuman genes activated. He transformed for the first time when his mom attempted to slap him and he took sadistic pleasure in savagely tearing her to pieces. Finally free from his abusive mother, Andrew embraced his new powers and used them to commit crimes that he viewed were bringing humanity back to their natural origins, free from societal control. With the name Blood Fang, he became one of the infamous super villains in America and has left behind a blood trail of brutality. Other:
55,035	1,503	1	2,301	766	Samantha Park, Maverick Warehouse, come at 8pm. Lo Park, your father, be evicted, and expose you if you don't. There will be others. come alone A simple text with poor grammar and even more poorly worded. To anyone else, it would have been kind of pathetically intimidating. For Samantha Park, however, it instilled a deep sense of dread. It was an anonymous text, blocked from her seeing the identity of the caller or even calling back. The text knew everything about her, her real name, her alias, her father. Whoever it was, she had to investigate. She couldn't risk her only family to be evicted. As the sun sunk down behind the abandoned buildings, Samantha could see the warehouse from down the street. There was already a figure standing there, short. Looked a little young. Probably not who sent the text; if it was, she could probably beat him up. She pulled up her face mask and her hoodie, concealing her face excluding her eyes and eyebrows. She approached the figure casually. "Did you get contacted, too?" She asked the boy, voice slightly muffled by the mask.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,036	1,503	2	787	153	12:00 AM, Tuesday, Washington Park. "G'day, Mister Love, my employer would very much like you to show up in a location specified in this letter tomorrow, at exactly 8 PM, on pain of lifelong incarceration or possibly even death. I trust your sound judgement and... excuse me, why are you looking at me like tha~"	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,037	1,503	3	2,773	50	Wednesday 1:00PM Somewhere in Maine Tereska rolled out of bed and rubbed her eyes as her phone kept beeping. Not last night had she gotten settled in the stolen apartment and already people were bothering her. What little friends she had would have known not to text her at this time unless it was an emergency, she was a girl who liked a long lie in. She ran a hand through her long black hair and looked at the text. A badly worded mess of jumbled letters informed her that someone did, in fact, know her secret identity and wanted them to meet up with various other villains to make up a sort of team to do whoever sent the text's bidding. She sighed, she hated being ordered around, but she couldn't risk someone coming to clip her wings. She grabbed a rucksack and began packing, it would be a long flight. Thursday 8:05 PM Tereska made her way towards the small group forming outside of the warehouse. She wasn't in her harpy form, to her a secret identity among these people was just as useful as it was to whoever sent the text. Her long dark hair was tied into messy pigtails, with hair still falling over he face at the front. She wore denim shorts, and a pair of slightly tattered tights on top of a pair of boots. A harrington jacket partially covered a T-shirt bearing the faces and name of the popular English band 'The Cure'. Black eyeshadow added to the generally tryhard 'edgy' look she had inadvertently went for. On her arm she had slung a black sports bag, in case she had to transform at any point. "Hello, I am Harpy." She spoke, joining the group. "Did you all get contacted by whoeve-" She was cut herself off from finishing her sentence when she noticed the small, naked child standing next to her. "Is there a reason why you're naked?"	Name: Tereska Kowalczyk Age: 17 Gender: Female Appearance: Tereska stands at a short 5 foot 5 and has a thin physique. Her hair is long and naturally black and her eyes are an icy blue. Her style of clothing consists of band t-shirts and rather boyish clothes. Her transformed self is obviously very different. She grows to 5 foot 9, and her skin grows pale white, covered by feathers everywhere but her face and neck. A large red mark grows on her lips and nose, and her eyes change to the same colour. Her hair also changes to a bright white, with the ends dying to a blood red. Of course, she also grows more bird like, with large wings growing on the back of her arms. Personality: Hopeful, easily-angered, vindictive, protective, adaptable Powers/skills: Tereska's most obvious power is her ability to change into a harpy. Her strength is increased in this form, and sharp talons grow on her hands and feet. She is also, of course, able to fly. She is also able to transform any percent of her into the harpy. For example, she could transform solely her arms or her hands into the harpy form, enabling her to use her wings or hands without fully transforming. Although this, of course, does not grant her the extra strength or speed boost she gains from the full form. Equipment: Tereska doesn't carry anything on her when doing villainous deeds. She loses her clothes and equipment when transformed so bringing anything seems just dumb. Short Bio: Tereska was born to a farming family just outside of Częstochowa, Poland. Her life was relatively normal up until the age of 13, which was when she developed her powers. They appeared while she was at school, and, of course, the horror of her transformation scared and alienated her classmates and even her teacher. After she returned she was made a mockery of, being teased day in and day out. This was, of course, what changed her from your average girl into a villain. She began picking off her classmates one by one. Eventually she was the only person left in the class and it didn't take a huge amount of investigation to determine that all of the corpses washing up with signs of large bird attacks were from her. She was to be sent to jail, she escaped of course and flew for new pastures. For America. There she made a name for herself as a villain, before being contacted by some strange electrical force and being assembled to a team. Other: -Will only transform when out of sight, she aint that kind of gal.
55,038	1,503	4	1,791	426	(Nah)	Name: Ed Rosario Age: 19 Gender: Male Personality: Loyal(ish), Funny, Team player, Adaptable, and Has-a-self-code. Powers/skills: Ed has nothing special about him... Well except that he's... A crack shot with almost any gun you put in his hands. Meaning he is an all around marksman and plans to hit his shot if the conditions are ideal of course. Knows the basics of most common and uncommon fighting styles ranging from the simple stuff kids ask their parents to sign them up for to the almost dead style of Okichitaw. Plus he can make explosives which may or may not self destruct within a couple seconds of completion. Equipment: He carries a handgun, a magnum revolver, three grenades, spare ammo, and sometimes a combat knife. Short Bio: Ed grew up in good old Detroit where crime was just always across the street, at the stop sign, or even right behind you. His family wasn't in the best of position as for money so that didn't help his situation nor did it affect him much. He knew his family was poor for a reason and his father made him know almost every second of his life that the reason his family was poor was because of him. It also really didn't strike Ed that much his mother died what was he suppose to do somehow get half a fortune to afford fancy medicine no that would just be unreal. His father from that point on basically had this idea that he would rob this transit from the bank and frame his son. Months of planning and preparing were put in motion, and by the end Ed had a basic knowledge of how to point a gun, shoot, and make something go boom. When time came and a huge money deposit was coming in for Detroit to try and get out of dept the two jumped into action. Everything went off without a hitch but when it was time for the frame game Ed had a counter plan to this and left his father to take the downfall. With so much money in his pocket Ed traveled learning new ways to improve his ways. Ed would always take what he learned and apply it to what he knew best... Stealing, killing, robbing, and just all things regular villains would do. Ed actually got caught when in France trying to rob a museum and sell some art to other countries. On his escort to a highly secured prison Ed took over the armored van he was in and drove off course into a a river. From France he a took a plane back to America deciding to stay off radar for a while, but while he was trying to... Well it was just too much fun to do what he usually does. Other:While Ed can is loyal his Self-Code makes him mostly look after himself mostly. Hence the (ish) after loyal.
55,039	1,503	5	1,828	2,004	‘...’ Metallia stared at the email she had received. She was sitting in front of her computer inside a hidden lab which she had designed underneath the building where she lived her normal life as Angelica Wilder. In the background, multiple injured robots were being repaired by her android. She had recently suffered another loss against heroes of the world. Meanwhile, the contents of this email… … Oh, okay. She wasn’t any longer her own commander. Should she fail to comply, the consequences would be… unacceptable. It would appear that she had been taken command of. Not the most comfortable of thoughts, but eh. It did fine. It wasn’t as if she was making much progress on her own, anyway. ‘Tia. Continue work on the robots while I’m out.’ Metallia stood up and walked to her chair, which was currently in its charging station. ‘Yes.’ Tia acknowledged in a robotic fashion with a feminine voice, continuing to weld together pieces of metal and circuitry while Metallia got seated and flew out of a hatch and into the world using her magnetism. She went only by herself, this time. Her robots were in no condition to get there in time, after all. Now, she just had a long journey to make, and a conversation to join...	Name: Angelica Wilder Age: 15 Gender: Female Personality: Apathetic, she floats along life, showing little emotion even to the deeply disturbing. She does not mind doing disturbing things herself, either. Arrogant, she believes she’s better than you, even if the opposite is proven. She looks down on any petty act that has no purpose, as well. Irritable, things that annoy her annoy her a lot, and is about to explode. She’s very likely to hold a grudge, which is why she’s here. Graceful, the way she moves and talks would make you think she’s royalty. This is her at her best, disturbingly graceful. At her worst… Childish, that ice-cream looks delicious. I want it. Hey, pay attention to me. Heeeeeeeeeey. … I can’t have it? … ice-cream stand explodes Hmpf. Serves you right. Powers/skills: Her one capability is her understanding of technology way out of her league and capability to construct such. However, if confronted without her toys, Metallia will be but a 15 year old girl in terms of combat prowess. Equipment: On herself. Her headset, those two things on her head, contains extremely powerful transmitters and receivers, allowing her to make use of public satellites to communicate with her robots wherever they might be. They also send back any information they have to update them on what they’re doing right now. Using this, Metallia can directly control her robots as if they were her own limbs, should she wish it. Oh, and that dress is bullet-proof highest grade combat-armor. There’s also metal in it, to allow her to control herself with the next machine if needed. Her chair. She has her own chair which is called the R5. This machine is equipped with two very powerful magnetic controllers (one in each black box by her hips in the image). These allow Metallia to fly, carry around those two giant metal arms to do her bidding and generally harass enemies with any metallic things nearby. Her magnetic control with this can be pretty powerful, though she cannot deform metal objects with it and there’s a limit to how fast she can accelerate things depending on their weight. She probably can’t affect a car all that much. It is also outfitted with machine-guns, capability of launching multiple kinds of rockets or explosives, supreme impact-power in close combat, emergency thrusters and it is also rather customizable depending on what Metallia needs on her newest trip. Robots. Tia in the middle. Usual robots to the left and right. First there’s Tia. She’s an android that Metallia felt like building because she was bored one day. Tia does not have the capability to display any emotions, but through an AI Metallia considers “rudimentary” she emulates human intelligence to a frightening level, though has no capacity to do anything but follow instructions and answer to her mistress’s commands. That is, except for destroying enemies with robot strength and utilizing the rockets/machine guns in her arms. Metallia spent more time on Tia than her usual robots and she should be considered more powerful. The usual robots are big humanoid shapes that are bulky but quite strong. In their shoulders they can carry weapons from blades, guns, explosives, whatever Metallia felt like putting in it. Metallia can control them directly or she can allow their AI to do the maneuvering based on her instructions. Though, while the AI in them is supposedly very advanced because Metallia made it, they mostly suck in combat and most heroes make short work of them. Their inability to be competent should never be underestimated. However, Metallia can make a lot of them in a relatively short amount of time. If The Presence needs an army, she can provide it. Of course, in the future, Metallia is able to invent new robots to cause trouble for her enemies. When she does, I’ll most likely delve into this link, where I found her image. Short Bio: Metallia does not know her own backstory. But, if you wish to know, then feel free to open the hider. Metallia is a drone from a super-villain of galactic proportions. She is, to say, a biological android, having been designed rather than born but yet still have organs and function like a normal human would. Her “father” created her and sent her to Earth in a shuttle that would germinate her on the way so she’d be born upon arrival. She was supposed to gain further orders upon arrival. However, when Metallia was arrived on Earth and was born, no orders came. Be this because the super-villain was defeated before she arrived or for another reason entirely, the information that was supposed to spur her on her way never came. And then… she was stuck there. … However. Her mind still has information which her father considered “vital for survival”, which just happened to include information on superior technology from space. Metallia started her existence as 14 years old in England. She simply opened her eyes and there she was. Nobody knew who she was, not even herself. That said, she managed to quickly find lodging with a nice old grandma who took pity on her. The police could not find any record of her existence, and when she was sent to the hospital for a check on her mind. In the hospital, however, something odd happened. She… became extremely annoyed at the technology they used to examine her. Because, it could be so much more efficient, so much more thorough. As it was, they could miss whatever the issue was! She lashed out in anger, and then she was down at the police again, who believed themselves to have a problem child on their hands. They had no idea. Encouraged to do something about humanity’s inferior technology, she started working. Under the name Angelica Wilder, a name she took out of nowhere, she took the job as a maid to a prevalent technological doctor while she worked tirelessly on new technology on the side. She invented something ground-breaking in the field of robotics, and she expected to be praised. Sure enough, she WAS praised by the doctor… … Then he took patent on her invention and received all the credit. Nobody would believe a young maid like her had developed such a piece of technology. Enraged, Angelica decided to forcefully punish the doctor who took her things by building robots that would do her bidding. Taking the name “Metallia”, she attacked the doctor’s university. … That’s when she found out she stood no chance against the heroes of today. Managing to escape, Metallia turned her attention to these… “heroes”. They had defended the doctor. They had to pay. She’d develop better robots, better weapons. She’d find out their secret identities and who their loved ones were. It became clear to her that the only way she could be allowed to make humanity better… was if she took over it all herself, first…! … That said, she never had much luck as a super-villain. Her robots were often easily destroyed by heroes she confronted. … That’s when The Presence contacted her… … … Other: … If bored someday, you might find her aimlessly browsing the internet and/or playing a video game. She can be easily distracted if she doesn’t feel like doing what she should be doing. Beware her knowledge of the internet. She can fairly easily get and invent what she desires by selling things she made/fixed on the internet while buying, which is how she gained all the items she needs to make her contraptions. The things she buy look innocent on paper, but become significant when she starts working on them. Money has never been her goal.
55,040	1,503	6	893	1,251	8:00 PM, Thursday. The helmet sharply clicked into place with a press and a twist, the cool metal feeling nice against her skin despite everything. She listened to the comforting hum of the cooling system before the screen snapped on in front of her, giving her a view of the dingy alleyway she'd slipped into to change. She moved her head from side to side, the world orienting itself nicely and the neck of the helmet moving fluidly. Despite everything, she felt good having an excuse to wear a mask again after four months of near constant research and development. It made her feel at home. It was a cold comfort, though. Mostly, she felt like a wooden limb. Stiff, ineffectual, not in control of her own actions, and liable the catch fire and burn someone to death. She slipped her shirt into her bag, pulling on a figure concealing grey sweater that honestly didn't have much hard work ahead of it. A long blue coat went on over that, and from one of its many pockets she pulled a pair of glove which she slipped on. She caught her reflection in the busted remains of a window, noting with satisfaction that none of her skin was visible under the ensemble. No one had any idea who Phone Freak was. If she played her cards right and danced like a good little wood puppet, it might stay that way. She kicked the bag she'd carried her costume in under a garbage bin, buttoned her coat, and went on her way toward this meeting.	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,041	1,503	7	2,301	766	Joe sat with his back against the warehouse wall. He had come to the meeting place early for no particular reason. Waiting wasn't as big of an issue to him as it seemed to most humans. "Hi," the newcomer spoke, in a thin, somewhat high-pitched voice of a boy who might be yet to go through puberty, "I'm Loud Love. Are we going to kill them?" He nodded at the barred door, obviously referring the person who brought them here. Maverick pretended not to be startled by the naked teenager who suddenly appeared in front of her very eyes. She decided to keep her eyes on everyone's faces for now. "Is there a reason why you're naked?" "Yes, there is," The naked person replied, staring at the newcomer quite unemotionally. "Does it trouble you?" "Not me, your future girlfriend maybe." Tereska retorted, seemingly happy at her response. She crossed her arms, it was cold and she was getting antsy. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her bag, lit a cigarette that she held in her mouth and tossed the packet back in. "It is actually quite chilly, yes." The boy smiled. "I'd be glad to wear something, but fashion just can't keep up with me. You on the other hand look very pretty." Tereska sort of cocked her head back after the compliment. At a meeting of villains one thing she didn't expect to get hit on by was a naked 14 year old. She was about to open her mouth, when thankfully another female hero saved her the awkwardness. "Anyway..." said Maverick pointedly, drawing out the 'way', "I think we should get back to the task at hand. You can call me Maverick." "Pleased to meet you. I'm Loud Love." "Oh wait, I already said that. Sorry." Maverick thought to herself. Loud Love. A teleporting kid- looked like in his early or mid teens. Who's naked. A thought clicked in her brain. He was the poor kid a while ago who killed all those people by accident. A twinge of sympathy plucked at Samantha, but she wasn't sure if she could trust anyone here yet. She decided not to say anything. "Loud Love?" She asked, rhetorically. "Did you choose that name, or is it some sort of 80s prog rock band?" "Oh my, you know them too?" LL was obviously pleasantly surprised. "You must've been around for a very long time! It seemed to me you're much younger." Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, enough..." She tried to think of the word. Roving through her metaphorical databanks, unable to find the right word. "Roasting?" LL suggested. "Idiocy?" Maverick proposed. "Let's go with banter." She finalised. "Let's." The boy nodded. "Does anyone has a watch? It seems to me it's already past 8. What are we waiting for? Or maybe it's 'Who'?" Maverick pulled back a sleeve and scoffed, glancing down at a wrist watch. "Yeah, whoever this asshole is, he seemed pretty set on getting us here at eight. It's been like ten minutes." The crude word sounded genuinely aggressive. "Well we are 'villains' after all, what's more villainous than showing up 10 minutes late to the evil boy scout meeting?" Harpy asked, sarcasm evident through her accent. Maverick could think of a lot of things. Threatening someone's family, for example. She grinded her teeth under her mask. Love chuckled. He too, could think of some worse things, but found the reply amusing anyways. "Can it be presumed that we all were called here by a single person? Does the name 'Presence' tell you of anything?" Maverick shook her head to LL's questions. She had no idea if everyone was called here by one person, and had no clue who this alleged 'Presence' was. What a pretentious name, too. "I get the feeling we were, although the message I got sent was rather sparse." Tereska explained, pulling out her phone and swiping to the text. "Harpy - know your identity- Częstochowa - Teres" She quickly cut her explanation off, realizing she was reading her own identity off to a group of strangers who identified as villains. "I've got a letter. Actual, on paper and with seal and everything." LL said, absent-mindedly scraping a bit of old gore from his chest. "It was signed like that - 'Presence'." "I'm jealous" Replied Tereska. "I didn't think people still sent letters anymore, I suppose that says something either about myself, or our age group" She half joked. Maverick was inwardly laughing at the fact that this "Harpy" almost read off her identity to her to remark about the 'actual paper' letter that Loud Love recieved. "I think it's because i don't have a phone. The guy who brought it didn't look like a mailman, though." "What sort of backwoods yokel dosen't have a portable phone in the year of our lord 2000 and 16?" Came a deep, electroic batritone from Phone Freak as she wandered up. Then she looked down and got a good look at Loud Love. A really good look. The helmet snapped back up and gave the distinct impression that it would stay at eye level for the forseable future. Oh, she though, surveying the faces around her. That sort. "Oh this is just perfect." Phone freak groaned. Looking from Loud love and Talbot and back, a disparaging grumble could be heard rumbling through the helmets voice distorter. She looked over at the people here who's reputation didn't precede them. She tried to optimistic, but it was always the ones you didn't expect that were the real freaks. "I certainly hope you two don't eat babies or anything." She said, that unpleasant sinking feeling setting in. "I'm Phone Freak." She said after a moment. Her professional pride demanded at least a token effort. "I'm looking forward to a, Omnissiah willing, short and profitable endeavor with all of you." Andrew looked at the newcomers who had arrived with a serious stare. Phone Freak's comment made him raise his eyebrow. "What makes you think that we are going to work together? This all could be a setup and we all could simply just get taken down right here and now," he replied to the girl's comment. "He speaks," Maverick said sarcastically, referring to the boy she saw first when she entered. "And no, at least I don't eat babies. Not sure about the rest of them." Said Maverick to the newcomer who called itself Phone Freak. Maverick wasn't quite sure on Phone Freak's gender, but Maverick supposed it didn't really matter. As the group of people seemed to settle into conversation Nergal sighed and muttered to himself, “Guess that means this whole thing is legit, or at least not a bloody trap”. He had half hoped the group might end up turning on each other and it all ended in a bloody brawl so he could just walk away but given he had already stalled for quite a while, he left the cover of darkness and began to make his way over to the rest of them, lest he try the patience of his new ‘employer’. As he reached the group he simply gave them a curt nod and asked “I’m just going to guess we’re all here for the same reason, and instead ask if anyone got instructions of what to do after meeting here?” "I was under the impression that we just supposed to wait here." Maverick rsponded to yet another visitor. This 'Presence' has amassed quite a group here, it seemed. The new arrival seemed to be quiet for a while. "We could get seen." Phone Freak said, and check pulled on the door as if no one had already tried that. Metallia would simply drift down slowly from the sky eventually. Her white hair strangely visible in the evening, her expression devoid of impression, her posture straight and head held high, her dress fitting gracefully on her body. And then, of course, she was sitting on a robotic chair that was seemingly flying with no apparent means to do so, and then there were those two large robot arms on the back of it that had not detached yet. She’d land a little further away than talking distance from the others, turned towards them, just gazing at them without much of a word. Before she engaged in any kind of communication, she wanted to know what kind of people she was dealing with. The young and naked person known as Loud Love to the rest of the gathering regarded the girl from the sky with a curious glare: "Hi. You've got a very pretty dress. What's your name? ‘...’ Metallia briefly inspected the naked individual. Her expression twitched, looking mildly appalled for a moment, but kept her gaze on his face. ‘You may call me Metallia.’ She eventually settled for, her gaze leaving him and looking for the other present individuals. Maverick couldn't help but follow Loud Love's gaze to the person floating in the sky. She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked back at the people standing with her on the ground. Phone Freak turned from her inefectual yanking on the door to see what newcomer had arrived. As she laid eyes on the newcomer and interesting combination of emotions vied for dominance. Her visibilty caused worry, the way the dress clung to her figure elicited white hot jealousy, and the flying chair caused a sharp little emotion that can best be described as Robots!!! She couln't help but stare. "Metallica?" Loud Love asked, "Like the band?" "Metallia" Interjected Tereska. ‘...’ Metallia looked back at the naked boy with mild confusion in her expression. ‘... Band? ... My name is Metallia. No "k"-sound...’ "I'm Maverick,". She said, calling to the person who called herself Metallia above. "Harpy." She repeated, introducing herself once more. "Did she fly that all the way here?" Called Phone Freak from the background. "Big deal." Loud Love scoffed. "I'm more bothered by that 'k'-sound." "I mean, she missed a GREAT opportunity there." ‘Maverick. Harpy. ...’ She nodded at those who introduced themselves first. Then she frowned a little at the naked one. ‘... I fail to see what opportunity was missed.’ She blankly stated, a shadow of annoyance on her brow. "Oh, don't mind it then. I'm Loud Love, by the way. Pleased to meet you, Metallia." "Because someone would have noticed that." Phone Freak called again. She jiggled the door again, because maybe this time it would open. "Freak, we should probably wait. I think breaking down the door might upset whoever this megalomaniac 'Presence' is. Hopefully it'll open soon," She said to Phone Freak, who has tried to the door what, twice now? Metallia's expression lost the annoyed undertones as he dropped the matter.‘Very well. Pleased to meet you, as well.’ She raise her head a little as she said that to those present. ... Her eyes drifted to the one calling from by the door. Just staring at that one for a bit. "I'm not the patient sort. There are other things I could be doing right now." Phone Freak replied, but nevertheless turned away from the door. Then she noticed Metallia staring at her. Phone Freak froze, staring back. "If we're having a contest I think I have a slight advantage." she said to her. Things like what?" Loud Love asked. "Robbing a bank?" "Jewelery is easier to get rid of." Phone Freak replied, not taking her eyes off Metallia. Even if this staring contest was only in her head she intended to win it. "But mostly I have important research to get back too." ‘... I don't believe we're having a competition.’ Metallia said. ‘... But just in case, what kind of competition would we be having?’ Metallia's slightly competitive mind forced her to inquire about that. Especially since Freak here claimed to have an advantage. "We look at one another, and the first one to blink loses." Phone Freak replied. Maverick slowly facepalmed. ‘...’ Metallia's gaze grew weary. She then closed her eyes, ran a hand through her hair with utmost grace, and spoke. ‘Hmpf. How childish.’ There was mild annoyance in her voice. ... It was also because she realized she had no special skill in keeping her eyes open, so she waved off the encounter instead of facing it. "You started it." Phone Freak said in a huff. Was this robot princess making fun of her!? Who did she think she was, with her good looks and cool robot chair? Thule was running somewhat late to the meeting, but as far as he was concerned that was perfectly alright with him. Considering how he had been forced to change his staying arrangements in order to be able to get to this meeting at a reasonable time with only a few days notice he felt that he was going pretty good all things considered. He had what was quite clearly a cheap cup of coffee in his hand, nothing special just something he had brought from McDonald's on the way over; Truth be told he wasn't actually sure if it was doing anything for him as he sipped it, but just the motion seemed to help put him somewhat at ease. Arriving at the place that this meeting was meant to take place at, the pale man couldn't help but notice that there was already something of a crowd gathered there, no doubt for much the same reason as he was. Letting out a sigh, he sipped his coffee as he approached the group... before noticing that there was a teenager younger then him not wearing any clothes. With a completely deadpan expression, he looked the guy over before tilting his head as he looked down at his groin area before admitting without a sense of shame "You're very confident, I'll say that... but you shouldn't be." "I can understand that you are lashing out at me due to your own obvious mediocrity in the trouser department, but I won't concentrate attention on that fact." Such was LL's joyous and polite retort. "Well, forgive me for doing such novel things as wearing clothing... and bathing from the looks of it." Thule admitted before sipping from his cup of bland coffee once again before looking around to see whom else was there. "Evening, ladies and gentlemen." "Hello," Maverick said to yet another somebody, who looked a little pale. "I'm Maverick," Ed dragged his feet as he had finally gotten to this 'super important club meeting.' He was already in a pissed mood from having to leave his hideout which he just unpacked everything. There was already a bunch of odd ones there some might actually be good to talk to, and others might just need a doctor most likely that naked boy. There was this one guy who was just a little to fancy for Ed's taste. He spotted the guy was holding a coffee, so Ed took out his handgun and shot the bottom of the cup. Draining it of what was left inside. "Yeah evening." "Are you serious right now!?" Maverick yelled, referring to the man who just fired his pistol. Maverick secretly hoped that the pale person had lazer eyes and could just instantly kill the cocky son of a bitch who shot out his coffee cup. ‘...’ With the gun being fired, Metallia would reposition herself, backing off several meters, her chair floating up into the air backing off before landing again. Just in case. She's then going to remain there for now, staring silently from a distance. Phone Freak also jumped, looking over at the huy and the spilled coffee all over the ground. "Nice shot." She said. She was supried this hadn't happened earlier. Archibald had said that most villain meets began with someone trying to establish a pecking order. Unfortunately, if a fight broke out they were defintely getting caught. Thule blinked a little as he witnessed what had to be the dumbest thing he had ever seen a human do; Shoot out the bottom of his coffee cup because he said hello. Looking at the cup for a moment, Thule dropped it onto the ground before turning his attention towards the human with the gun, glaring at him. Taking a step towards the man, he made damn sure to be watching his trigger finger and where the barrel was pointed so that he could not be there when he fired again while he closed the distance. This challenge would not go unanswered! Ed stood by mildly satisfied with what he had done. He had seen everyone just either back away or stare at him, and he especially noticed the guy who's coffee he shot turn and slowly walk towards him. "Okay so Mr. Fancy Pants here wants to fight over spilled cofee?" Ed chuckled a little to himself. "Well I hope under all that fancy clothing you got a bullet proof vest. he then proceeded to fire another shot aiming square in the middle of the fancy guy's chest. Nobody had noticed Joe yet, although he'd been there the entire time. This wasn't because they weren't observant, just that he had remained hidden. In plain sight. He wasn't invisible, but he was as close to it one can get without bending the properties of light. Well, I suppose it's time I introduced myself. Joe thought, watching the shenanigans with little interest. "Alright boys, that's enough childrens play." Joe said casually, standing up and walking towards them, no longer cloaked in whatever magic allowed him to stay unnoticed. "We wouldn't any blood on our hands, would we? At least not yet." Maverick eyed the strange man for a second, observing him. What is that, a skin tight suit? Eitherway, her eyes were immediately attracted back to the fight by yet another gunshot. As the man's finger twitched on the trigger, Thule noticed it and moved a hell of a lot faster then he had suggested before, jumping to the right to dodge the bullet before it fired before rushing the gunman with an intense glare. Reaching into his jacket, Thule removed a short, sharp piece of metal that looked like a sword as he charged, fueled by pride and bloodthrist as he ignored those who tried to stop this now. The first target for a slash? That damn hand holding the gun. Alright, enough of this shit. Suddenly, Maverick lunged forward. Extending her arm outward, she grabbed the sword wielding man by the elbow and attempted to reverse his kinetic energy. She grunted with the effort as she yanked him backwards and attempted to place herself between the two pride-filled men. "For fucks sake!" Was all she shouted. Thule felt someone try and grab him, restain him with a lot more force then he was used to for a normal human being. Turning his attention towards the source of this interferance, he snarled a little before he redireacted the blade towards the woman's exposed chest for interfering in a matter of pride. Joe saw this was going in a very poor direction, and quickly darted out his arm, grasping the blade with his bare hand. Except, it wasn't bare anymore, it was covered in a leather glove of sorts. Obviously not enough to completely negate all damage from blunt force stopping a blade, but at least it would help a little bit. Besides, he wasn't some man with thin, stringy flesh. It was the thick hide of a demon. Not that they knew that yet. "I think that's enough fun for now." Joe said calmly. Maverick glanced down at the blade that was hovering just a few inches in front of her chest. She followed it up to the gloved hand of the stranger she saw earlier, and then to the face of the man who literally just tried to kill her. She glared at him, raised her hands and backed off, saying nothing. "He came, he sipped coffee, he attacked an uninvolved woman who was just trying to help." Loud Love cackled. "A true knight. Historically accurate, even." Thule growled deeply as yet another person interfered, but as his blade met glove he managed to reign himself in before he managed to do any lasting harm to anyone. Glaring at the man who mocked him for being a 'true knight', Thule merely said in response "She interfered in a matter of honor. I do not take kindly to people interfering with a duel in progress... even against one as pathtic as our gunslinging friend over there..." Without another word, he returned the blade to its place in his jacket, stepping back and ignoring several of those gathered for now... "Honor, always a good reason it seems." Joe said. No tone of mocking could be heard, but one can never tell. He turned his back and walked back to his comfy rock-and-hard-earth spot, his leather glove changing into a bandage. He plopped down, getting nice and comfortable. Maverick eyed the faceless stranger. She'd be sure to thank him later. Phone Freak sighed in relief, closed her phone, and slipped it back into her pocket before walking over, putting her near the mystery man and, more pointedly, between the gunslinger and the...whatever that swordsman was. "Nice work big guy." She said. "Okay, okay. Let's just... not escalate things further." LL interfered. "We all have our weaknesses. His is honor, Metallia's are puns, mine's eating people." "And lets not forget that each and every one one of us is bent over the barrel right now." Phone Freak called out to everyone. She turned her attention to the gunslinger in particular. "So if you want to try and pick fights to discover who the biggest dog in the kennel is, don't bother. None of us are the big dog." Then she looked back over her shoulder at Talbot. "Well," she ammended, "Except him."	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,042	1,503	8	2,654	2,774	While the group is conversing with one another and getting to each other a bit, the main door to the warehouse slowing begins to open and a creep and ominous voice is heard over speakers. "Welcome, please com in, it's not like you really have a choice in the matter anyway" the voice spoke in a growl like manner. Once the metal door lifted open, lights on the inside began to turn on one by one and they illuminated a hall that led past several other closed doors and turned away down another hallway. "Follow the hallway all the way to the end and do not wander or open any of those doors, we have many things to discuss. Remember I'm watching all of you" the voice said. Andrew rolled his eyes at all of the chitchat going on the with other people brought here by this strange unknown person or thing. He almost jumped when the door started to open and the voice of their host was heard giving specific instructions. Well it looked like it was time to see what this was all about. "It looks like we're about to find out what the hell we were all brought here for" he said to the others as he entered into the hall.	Name: Andrew Talbot/Blood Fang Age: 15 Gender: male Appearance: Personality: bad-tempered, cold blooded, ferocious, cunning and dominant. Powers/skills: Werewolf Transformation: he can shape-shift into a humanoid wolf. Superhuman Strength: Andrew can lift up a maximum of ten tons. Superhuman Durability: He can withstand gunfire and take hits from super strong opponents. Superhuman Agility: Andrew is incredibly agile and quick. He moves like a apex predator and is hard to follow for normal humans. Wolf Communication: Andrew can speak and communicate with wolves. Equipment: none Short Bio: Bio: Andrew Talbot was born to a lower middle class family in Chicago and do to the city's dark reputation of crime, being middle class did not keep Andrew from experiencing the bad sides of Chicago. He saw all sorts of crimes happen in the streets and his home life wasn't much better. His mom was abusive to his dad and when his dad finally got the courage to try and leave her, she falsely accused him of domestic abuse and he lost his parental rights to have custody of Andrew. Do to social stigma his dad was not able to fight the system and was forced out of Andrew's life. His mom then took to abusing him and Andrew's life became total shit after that. After several years of abuse, Andrew finally snapped and his metahuman genes activated. He transformed for the first time when his mom attempted to slap him and he took sadistic pleasure in savagely tearing her to pieces. Finally free from his abusive mother, Andrew embraced his new powers and used them to commit crimes that he viewed were bringing humanity back to their natural origins, free from societal control. With the name Blood Fang, he became one of the infamous super villains in America and has left behind a blood trail of brutality. Other:
55,043	1,503	9	2,773	50	Tereska pulled the cigarette from her mouth in two slender fingers and let the smoke escape her mouth as the warehouse doors opened. She crossed one arm, holding the forearm she held the cigarette in as Andrew finally spoke. "Teen wolf finally speaks." She jested, stepping into the warehouse and taking a momentary glance down the hallway and at all the doors. She sighed, raising the cigarette back to her mouth, before dropping it and crushing it underfoot. "I suppose we'd better get moving then." She spoke, starting down the hallway.	Name: Tereska Kowalczyk Age: 17 Gender: Female Appearance: Tereska stands at a short 5 foot 5 and has a thin physique. Her hair is long and naturally black and her eyes are an icy blue. Her style of clothing consists of band t-shirts and rather boyish clothes. Her transformed self is obviously very different. She grows to 5 foot 9, and her skin grows pale white, covered by feathers everywhere but her face and neck. A large red mark grows on her lips and nose, and her eyes change to the same colour. Her hair also changes to a bright white, with the ends dying to a blood red. Of course, she also grows more bird like, with large wings growing on the back of her arms. Personality: Hopeful, easily-angered, vindictive, protective, adaptable Powers/skills: Tereska's most obvious power is her ability to change into a harpy. Her strength is increased in this form, and sharp talons grow on her hands and feet. She is also, of course, able to fly. She is also able to transform any percent of her into the harpy. For example, she could transform solely her arms or her hands into the harpy form, enabling her to use her wings or hands without fully transforming. Although this, of course, does not grant her the extra strength or speed boost she gains from the full form. Equipment: Tereska doesn't carry anything on her when doing villainous deeds. She loses her clothes and equipment when transformed so bringing anything seems just dumb. Short Bio: Tereska was born to a farming family just outside of Częstochowa, Poland. Her life was relatively normal up until the age of 13, which was when she developed her powers. They appeared while she was at school, and, of course, the horror of her transformation scared and alienated her classmates and even her teacher. After she returned she was made a mockery of, being teased day in and day out. This was, of course, what changed her from your average girl into a villain. She began picking off her classmates one by one. Eventually she was the only person left in the class and it didn't take a huge amount of investigation to determine that all of the corpses washing up with signs of large bird attacks were from her. She was to be sent to jail, she escaped of course and flew for new pastures. For America. There she made a name for herself as a villain, before being contacted by some strange electrical force and being assembled to a team. Other: -Will only transform when out of sight, she aint that kind of gal.
55,044	1,503	10	893	1,251	At least he's straightforward. Phone Freak said. Straightforward and dangerous. She thrown every resource she had at trying to discover something about the strange voice on the phone. Sent out every trace, called in every favor, spent days listening to the lines trying to get something, anything, any sort of clue. Nothing. She'd spent a long time trying to keep everything about herself concealed, but this guy made her look like a rank amateur. "Thank you for your punctuality." She called up at the ceiling as she entered the warehouse, trying her best to ignore how much it felt like stepping into a mouth, and followed Talbot and Tereska down the hallway. At least she wouldn't be eaten first.	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,045	1,503	11	2,301	766	Maverick removed her hands from her pockets and readjusted her face mask, bringing it a little higher up. She drew her attention away from the honorable jackass and stared down the frankly ominous hallway. There's no way this so called 'Presence' would reveal itself. He'd be torn apart; and Maverick wasn't sure she wouldn't be a part of the crowd beating. The coward would probably be hiding behind a TV or some sort of vocal projection. Still, as the voice said, she didn't really have much a choice in the matter. Inwardly, she wondered what sort of dirt she had on the other members of this little shit show. Especially someone like Loud Love. Of course it didn't matter, they were all in this together for now. She cracked her knuckles quietly and followed Harpy, Phonefreak, and "Teen Wolf" (as she would from now own refer to the grumpy teenage boy), eyes scanning both walls of the hallway. It was much warmer in here than outside, and under normal circumstance she'd take her hoodie off. Obviously, these were not normal circumstance.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,046	1,503	12	787	153	Loud Love shrugged a bit, quietly sneezed and proceeded right by Maverick's side - for now, using his feet instead of teleporting about. Those who followed behind could behold the enticing sight of a 14 year old's swaying hips. You sick fucks.	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,047	1,503	13	2,190	126	Nergal watched the exchange of the group in equal parts amusement and horror, amusement from the prospect of seeing this dysfunctional group turn on each other and start a blood bath and horror with the sinking realisation there was a real chance he would have to work with them. Still, if they had been singled out much like he had, they likely had some kind of abilities of talents that could be put to use. As the warehouse opened and the group began to funnel inside, Nergal became curious as to the mention of the other doors, wondering what secrets the voice was hiding behind them. Following the rest of them he glanced at Phone Freak’s after her comment about the Presence “You call this situation straightforward? Guess I’m just not used to meetings held in middle of nowhere with company that seems one step away from killing each other” he replied, still not thrilled at the prospect of taking orders, and having to watch a young naked boy stroll in front of him did not seem to be improving his mood	Name: Andrew/ Alias - Nergal Age: 19 Gender: Male Appearance: Andrew wears simple and rough clothing, consisting of torn jeans and a sleeveless shirt, having learnt quickly that good looking clothing makes one a target on the street. His soft features from his pampered lifestyle have given way to a much rougher features including a number of scars from the brawls he has gotten himself into. His blonde hair has become rather messy and unkempt though he keeps it cut short so it stays out of the way. His eyes are a dark brown/green color and seem dull and without the spark of life at most times, though when he succeeds in a crime or venture they momentarily regain that spark. His overall body structure is toned but not muscular, his focus being on agility and dexterity rather than strength Personality:Sadistic, Rageful, Selfish, Arrogant, Bad with Authority Powers/skills: Corrosive Touch, Toxic Fluids, Poison Resistance Corrosive Touch: The chemicals that splashed Andrew caused a side-effect in his biological makeup, granting him the ability to change the chemical compounds of the skin of his body. By focusing his mind on a part of his body, Andrew can make the skin of that area become corrosive enough that his very touch begins to break down the object he comes into contact with. The longer he concentrates and the longer he maintains physical contact with the area, the stronger this effect becomes. This effect is most pronounced when contact is made using the palms of his hands, however it can still be used by the rest of skin, though to a much weaker degree. When this is used on a person, it will initial cause a burning of the skin with longer contact beginning to melt the skin and work on the underlying structure of the unfortunate victim. Wounds caused by this resemble chemical burns and can result in poisoning in some cases Toxic Fluids: Any of the liquids from Andrew’s body, such as blood or saliva, can become toxic with concentration. With some mental effort, he can make the blood from a wound, or saliva he gathers it in his mouth change its chemical structure to be either poisonous or corrosive to the general human. Unlike his touch, the toxins produced are specifically designed for a biological reaction. The poisons produced can mimic most poisons found naturally in the world (Mild Paralysis, muscle spasming, blood thinning, blood thickening, flesh melting, etc.). The toxins become more potent if they manage to enter the targets bloodstream and with repeated doses Non-living substances will have minimal effect from any toxins produced through these methods Poison Resistance: Due to his ability to create poisons and toxins, Andrew has an initiate resistance to being poisoned himself. This does not make him completely immune to the effects but greatly diminishes their effect and renders them non-lethal to himself. Equipment: The main tools he carries around a set of throwing knives and a sickle. He has no problem picking up any other bladed weapons he comes across as he can lace them with his poisons, allowing him to increase the lethality of what would otherwise be glancing blows Short Bio: Andrew lived a life that many would have envied, having a well renowned father and mother for scientists ensured that he was well taken care of. Wanting to ensure the best for their child, his parents made sure he was offered the best education and experiences to ensure he would follow in their footsteps and continue down the path they had. Despite being provided the means to live in the upper echelons of society by his parents however, Andrew expressed resentment at how it seemed his life had already been decided for him by his parents. Further fueling this resentment was the fact his parents research demanded their time and attention, often leaving Andrew on his own unless it was him expressing interest in the topic of research they were currently working on By the time he was finishing High-school and beginning to look at Universities, this resentment had developed into a deep-seated hatred which resulting in many arguments between the family. On one such night where his parents were on the verge of a breakthrough, when the family was planning on having a dinner together once they had finished the latest research, another argument broke out while tensions were at an all time high. Heated words were exchanged and becoming enraged by the conversation, Andrew began taking his anger out on the nearby equipment and causing it to malfunction. The end result was the equipment exploding, injuring Andrew both from the blast and the chemical burns he suffered. After being rushed to hospital and stabilized, Andrew was eventually visited by his father who promptly told him this attitude of his could go on no longer, and he either to behave himself or become disowned. Left alone to mull over this fact, Andrew eventually decided he could not live with his life being dictated by others. While he healed he slowly began to realise the accident had resulted in some positive side effects. Spending the next few days testing his abilities, he eventually disappeared from the hospital, abandoning who he and any ties to his past. The next few years he spent honing his own skills and forging his own path, not caring for those he hurt or killed as long as he got to live his own life. Other: N/A for now
55,048	1,503	14	2,720	1,306	There was a note on the door of the abandoned asylum she lived in: "Unless you want to go back to where you came from.. I suggest you follow along." Below those words was an address, date and time. At first Queenie felt a twinge of fear of being returned to where she could only assume was the place where she was tortured for years. Someone must have known her secret, her past. After the initial fear, a grin grew on the teenager's face. Maybe whoever wanted her was hot, maybe she could get something from them in return? Maybe a new body part?!! With a rather gleeful and mischievous giggle the girl turned away from her home and skipped toward her destination. It looked like there was some sort of gathering outside the warehouse. Dozens of strange looking people doing strange things, like floating in a chair for example. Queen tilted her head at the sight of the strangers and swung her mallet over her shoulder, resting it there. It was pretty obvious she was late, very much so, everyone else had already arrived. "Weeee!!" Queenie didn't care, she charged in following behind the naked boy, staring at his ass as she entered the warehouse. "HIYA WHAT'D I MISS NAKED LAD?"	Name: Lyra Nix/Queen(Queenie) Age: 18 Gender: Female Appearance: Personality: Psyho, funny, flirty, sexual, sadistic Powers/skills: Able to imbue any weapon with a power that lasts only a few minutes per use. The ability gives her weapon an energy that enables her to do more damage. It has a cool down and can only be used once every few hours due to the fact that it drains so much energy from her. Equipment: Her mallet is all she needs Short Bio: Grew up in a rural part of a town far, far away. Her family had to the move to the big city for her father’s new job. Typical life. They moved into the city only to find out how utterly horrid it was. Crime was everywhere. Somehow her family managed to survive through the chaos. However, one night her father never came home and a peculiar man came to the house. Before snatching Lyra away he killed her mother. Terrible things were done to Lyra that gave her her abilities. Her and many others were tortured and experimented on. Once one had broken out however, he released all the others and they were able to wreak havoc upon the world with their powers and twisted minds. Lyra, known by now simply as Queen(since they were all named after a card in a deck of cards), lift the horrible city and went to wreak havoc elsewhere. Which was helpful because the one who released them all hunted them all down one by one in the city and killed them so they couldn’t kill any more innocent people. No one knows what happened to this person. But Queen escaped and that was all that mattered. Now amongst her own Lyra goes by her second given name, Queen and uses her powers for evil-doing. Other: She a psycho sex deviant, with a thing for ripping off body parts.
55,049	1,503	15	2,301	766	Maverick kept walking forward, but turned to look over her shoulder. Christ. This one looked like a real nutjob. With a huge...what as that, a mallet? Samantha Park was not looking forward to working with these people. At least Harpy seemed relatively stable, and she owned that faceless guy one.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,050	1,503	16	893	1,251	She looked over at the older boy. "You haven't been to many villain meets then. You interact with enough supervillains and you come to appreciate it when they're able to get through the gloating and just tell you what they want you to do. He only reminded us he has absolute power over our fate twice in that message. That sort of restraint is admirable." She said, voice not dripping entirely with sarcasm. Then, more seriously, she said, "Honestly, I'd be put off if there wasn't at least a little gloating or theatrics. It means he's a fellow bad guy. So long as you're useful you have some wiggle room with that, maybe enough to wiggle free. If he was a good man, we'd all be in prison right now. That or dead."	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,051	1,503	17	720	1,627	Show time it is, then. Joe told nobody in particular. Getting up from his very uncomfortable spot on the ground, he dusted himself off, straightened his bow-tie (or lack thereof), and entered into the now open dark cave of doom. Rushing in next to him came a girl who reminded him somewhat of the comic book villain Harley Quinn. Unlike most of the group, she seemed like she had on problem with having a positive attitude. Always a valued trait in the coloring book void of color that is this helter skelter group. Well, maybe not valued. At least not by this group of jokers. Oops, accidentally made it sound like they had a sense of humor, better watch that more in the future. "Welcome to the party, friend. You almost missed the opening ceremony." he greeted her cheerily. "What brings a cheerful lass such as yourself to this solemn place, if I may ask? If whoever invited you mentioned free ice-cream treats, I unfortunately must tell you that they were probably pulling your leg."	Name: Joe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Personality: Joe is a very chill, light-hearted guy that never seems to take things very seriously. Nobody can really tell what's inside his head because he always speaks in a calm, smooth voice, and has no facial expression. He always has a nice word for the ladies, despite not being interested in a relationship, and everything he does, he does with class. Joe seems to really enjoy shopping, often spending on all kinds of purchases, almost all of which he never is never seen using. From monkey wrenches to cans of soup, from extravagant hats to collector's addition superhero comics. Powers/skills: Joe is a demon of deception who decided that fierce battles for control over mankind wasn't his type of lifestyle, so he left his prior residence and became an American citizen. He still retains his deception abilities, and uses them in anyway he finds useful. Inconspicuous - Joe can remain unnoticed by anyone he wishes. Human Form - Joe can take on any form he wishes, within the limit of it being human and, to an extent, clothing. Temptation - Joe can whisper into the ears of the unsuspecting, pointing them in the direction he'd like them to take. The move the victim acts on a whim with little to no self control, the easier it is to get them to do what he wants. It is much harder to tempt someone who knows him for who he is. Puppet Control - If a human consciously relinquishes control (whether they know who he is or not), Joe can take control over them. They gain much greater strength, speed, awareness, and ferocity, but are under Joe's control until he releases them. Equipment: Only the various objects he purchases during shopping sprees, though nobody actually knows where he stores all that stuff. Other: Joe's reasons for obeying the Presence will be revealed IC.
55,052	1,503	18	351	2,364	Taking the time required to let his temper cool, Thule stayed somewhat distant from the rest of the group. He noticed the arrival of a new person... who seemed like she was going to be a great deal of fun. Thankfully, the door opened before he had to interact with anyone to much and Thule simply waited until everyone else had gone in before following suit. He could already tell that they were being brought together for some kind of job by the voice without a face... through he didn't have high hopes that the group would survive itself, let along anything it was put up against.	Name: Thule Alexander Alis: Blood Knight Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: Personality: Honorable, Bloodthirsty, Disciplined, Idealist, Loyal Powers/skills: Inhuman Strength, Inhuman Reflexes, Inhuman Durability, Night Vision, Sharpened Senses, Skilled (Self taught) Swordsman Source of Thule's inhuman powers: After proving himself worthy of the 'gift' during a street fight, Thule was turned into a vampire and granted the various benefits that came with becoming a member of the undead... alongside its weaknesses. Weaknesses: Direct Sunlight, Inability to cross running water, Silver, Holy places and artifacts, Fire, Has no reflection, thirst for blood. Equipment: A rather well made looking longsword. Short Bio: Thule Alexander was raised as an only child by parents that were far to busy working themselves to death in two different jobs to keep their heads above water to properly take care of their child. Like many such children, he fell in with the local street gang in order to survive, favoring the usage of a sword that he and some friends of his stole from a pawn shop. Things changed one night when his group of friends decided to try and rob some stranger that was walking alone on their turf. Despite the five to one advantage the woman proved to be absolutely inhuman, easily slaying Thule's friends until he was the last one standing; While he only lasted seven seconds on his own, the fact that he survived that long seemed to impress the woman enough that she didn't just leave him to be a bloodless, broken corpse alongside the others. Thule never learned the name of his Sire; After informing him of the basics of what he was, what his weaknesses were and offering him a philosophy to achieve true power and possibly rid himself of his newly found weaknesses, she left him to his own devices and continued on her own path. With nothing else to go on, Thule started down his own path to either a final death or near god like power alone. At least, until he got a phone call a month later... Other: Thule believes that skill-at-arms and honor in combat are the only measures of greatness, and that in order for him to grow stronger he should feed only on the blood of skilled fighters, as only the unworthy fed upon the weak. Legend says that if one becomes strong enough they can start shedding their weaknesses until none remain. Thule is still a very young vampire having only been turned a month ago and left largely to his own devices. If he survives long enough to gain experience and proper training, his range of abilities will only raise with time.
55,053	1,503	19	1,828	2,004	... It would appear that this group had a fair share of those that would entice conflict. Metallia silently confirmed that she could be one of them. This… was a competitive bunch. All of them looked like low-lives to Metallia’s eyes. This… could be dangerous. Then again, as the voice reminded them after the doors opened, this was going to be dangerous regardless if they didn’t act as it pleased. Metallia kept seated and let her chair lift from the ground and carry her inwards along the hallway. Unless someone directly involves her, she’d completely ignore the conversations and theatrics displayed by the rest of them on the way. She did not want to expand unnecessary energy. … Her weakness was “puns”? Metallia frowned in slight annoyance, remembering those words she had heard from a distance. She was fairly sure she had ample grasp over the English language to the degree where she could understand such crude jokes. Had she missed any puns on the way? … The thought of her having missed a pun somewhere bothered her mind something awful as she ran their conversation through her head as she drifted along… It had to have been something with that “Metallica” word he had said. What was that? Metallia had no idea of the meaning of that word…	Name: Angelica Wilder Age: 15 Gender: Female Personality: Apathetic, she floats along life, showing little emotion even to the deeply disturbing. She does not mind doing disturbing things herself, either. Arrogant, she believes she’s better than you, even if the opposite is proven. She looks down on any petty act that has no purpose, as well. Irritable, things that annoy her annoy her a lot, and is about to explode. She’s very likely to hold a grudge, which is why she’s here. Graceful, the way she moves and talks would make you think she’s royalty. This is her at her best, disturbingly graceful. At her worst… Childish, that ice-cream looks delicious. I want it. Hey, pay attention to me. Heeeeeeeeeey. … I can’t have it? … ice-cream stand explodes Hmpf. Serves you right. Powers/skills: Her one capability is her understanding of technology way out of her league and capability to construct such. However, if confronted without her toys, Metallia will be but a 15 year old girl in terms of combat prowess. Equipment: On herself. Her headset, those two things on her head, contains extremely powerful transmitters and receivers, allowing her to make use of public satellites to communicate with her robots wherever they might be. They also send back any information they have to update them on what they’re doing right now. Using this, Metallia can directly control her robots as if they were her own limbs, should she wish it. Oh, and that dress is bullet-proof highest grade combat-armor. There’s also metal in it, to allow her to control herself with the next machine if needed. Her chair. She has her own chair which is called the R5. This machine is equipped with two very powerful magnetic controllers (one in each black box by her hips in the image). These allow Metallia to fly, carry around those two giant metal arms to do her bidding and generally harass enemies with any metallic things nearby. Her magnetic control with this can be pretty powerful, though she cannot deform metal objects with it and there’s a limit to how fast she can accelerate things depending on their weight. She probably can’t affect a car all that much. It is also outfitted with machine-guns, capability of launching multiple kinds of rockets or explosives, supreme impact-power in close combat, emergency thrusters and it is also rather customizable depending on what Metallia needs on her newest trip. Robots. Tia in the middle. Usual robots to the left and right. First there’s Tia. She’s an android that Metallia felt like building because she was bored one day. Tia does not have the capability to display any emotions, but through an AI Metallia considers “rudimentary” she emulates human intelligence to a frightening level, though has no capacity to do anything but follow instructions and answer to her mistress’s commands. That is, except for destroying enemies with robot strength and utilizing the rockets/machine guns in her arms. Metallia spent more time on Tia than her usual robots and she should be considered more powerful. The usual robots are big humanoid shapes that are bulky but quite strong. In their shoulders they can carry weapons from blades, guns, explosives, whatever Metallia felt like putting in it. Metallia can control them directly or she can allow their AI to do the maneuvering based on her instructions. Though, while the AI in them is supposedly very advanced because Metallia made it, they mostly suck in combat and most heroes make short work of them. Their inability to be competent should never be underestimated. However, Metallia can make a lot of them in a relatively short amount of time. If The Presence needs an army, she can provide it. Of course, in the future, Metallia is able to invent new robots to cause trouble for her enemies. When she does, I’ll most likely delve into this link, where I found her image. Short Bio: Metallia does not know her own backstory. But, if you wish to know, then feel free to open the hider. Metallia is a drone from a super-villain of galactic proportions. She is, to say, a biological android, having been designed rather than born but yet still have organs and function like a normal human would. Her “father” created her and sent her to Earth in a shuttle that would germinate her on the way so she’d be born upon arrival. She was supposed to gain further orders upon arrival. However, when Metallia was arrived on Earth and was born, no orders came. Be this because the super-villain was defeated before she arrived or for another reason entirely, the information that was supposed to spur her on her way never came. And then… she was stuck there. … However. Her mind still has information which her father considered “vital for survival”, which just happened to include information on superior technology from space. Metallia started her existence as 14 years old in England. She simply opened her eyes and there she was. Nobody knew who she was, not even herself. That said, she managed to quickly find lodging with a nice old grandma who took pity on her. The police could not find any record of her existence, and when she was sent to the hospital for a check on her mind. In the hospital, however, something odd happened. She… became extremely annoyed at the technology they used to examine her. Because, it could be so much more efficient, so much more thorough. As it was, they could miss whatever the issue was! She lashed out in anger, and then she was down at the police again, who believed themselves to have a problem child on their hands. They had no idea. Encouraged to do something about humanity’s inferior technology, she started working. Under the name Angelica Wilder, a name she took out of nowhere, she took the job as a maid to a prevalent technological doctor while she worked tirelessly on new technology on the side. She invented something ground-breaking in the field of robotics, and she expected to be praised. Sure enough, she WAS praised by the doctor… … Then he took patent on her invention and received all the credit. Nobody would believe a young maid like her had developed such a piece of technology. Enraged, Angelica decided to forcefully punish the doctor who took her things by building robots that would do her bidding. Taking the name “Metallia”, she attacked the doctor’s university. … That’s when she found out she stood no chance against the heroes of today. Managing to escape, Metallia turned her attention to these… “heroes”. They had defended the doctor. They had to pay. She’d develop better robots, better weapons. She’d find out their secret identities and who their loved ones were. It became clear to her that the only way she could be allowed to make humanity better… was if she took over it all herself, first…! … That said, she never had much luck as a super-villain. Her robots were often easily destroyed by heroes she confronted. … That’s when The Presence contacted her… … … Other: … If bored someday, you might find her aimlessly browsing the internet and/or playing a video game. She can be easily distracted if she doesn’t feel like doing what she should be doing. Beware her knowledge of the internet. She can fairly easily get and invent what she desires by selling things she made/fixed on the internet while buying, which is how she gained all the items she needs to make her contraptions. The things she buy look innocent on paper, but become significant when she starts working on them. Money has never been her goal.
55,054	1,503	20	787	153	Naked lad turned around to greet the newcomer, hip cocked and brow raised. After a brief assessment of his interlocutor's probable mental condition, Loud Love smiled warmly - crazy people were easy to speak to without a lot of awkwardness: "Oh, almost nothing," He replied, proceeding to move deeper into the warehouse. "Just some murder, but they didn't went through with it. We'll catch up on it soon, don't worry."	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,055	1,503	21	1,254	172	Mako had been partying again, the rave he was dancing at was filled with people, drugs and lots of alcohol. Mako loved it. Especially when the mosh pit started. Whoever this "Machine gun Kelly" was people seemed to get rather excited when he started rapping and Mako was already so far under the influence, jumping around knocking humans out and screaming he didn't notice the man watching him from the edge of the crowd. Pretty soon however he felt his stare and despite the crowd and music he found the source of the "somebody's watching me" feeling. The man walked outside the moment he and Mako locked eyes and with his interest peaked the young Atlantean wasn't far behind. When he did get outside the man was standing in an Alleyway across the street and with caution Mako approached, if the human attacked he would shred him into a pile of Gore but when he approached suddenly a horrible ringing sound brought him to his knees, he could barely move. The human walked closer and simply told him that "The Presence" knew exactly who he was and if he didn't go to the adress listed then the Atlantean authorities would be alerted to his living on the surface. This could not happen. If they found him alive they would imprison his parents not to mention executing Mako. After the human had giving him the full message, the ringing became so violent that Mako dropped on his back and the man disappeared into the night. As soon as he could move again pieces of alleyway went flying as the young boy let off a little steam. He knew that he had to go weather he liked it or not, but that didn't change the fact that whoever this was knew about his sonar and knew how to use it against him, that was an issue. He would just have to kill them when he got the chance. Making his way there he knew they must have waited to tell him about the meeting place till the day of, in fear he would hit the ocean and be gone if they had told him any earlier. As he walked he didn't even notice his eyes had gone black as his anger twisted and writhed within him, despite this however he was rather curious to what lay in wait for him and why they wanted him. As the meeting place came into view he caught a glimpse of someone entering the building and followed close behind, entering right behind a large group of humans one he noted was naked but that mattered little, these humans weren't who he was looking for, Mako calculated that they had to be being extorted as well. "Well if this isn't the weirdest assortment of humans I've ever seen..." He spoke with a voice that anyone with a bit of instinct would know is the voice of a predator. Whoever took the moment to look at him would see Mako standing there with his Atlantean pants on without a shirt, around his neck was a large necklace of glowsticks and on his head was a fuzzy green "pimp hat". In his hand was a small black metal cylinder and Mako's eyes were black and darting about from person to person as if deciding what to have for lunch.	Name: Kelacton "Kells" Regarius/Mako Age: 17 Gender: Male Appearance: Personality: Violent, Volatile, Childish, Uncontrolled, Temperamental. Powers/skills: The telepathic ability to communicate with marine life, which he can summon from great distances. (Mainly uses it to attract great numbers of ocean predators) Hydrokinesis, the ability to control water and change its shape and temperature. Mako has a number of other superhuman powers, most of which derive from the fact that he is adapted to live and thrive in the harshest of underwater environments. He has the ability to breathe underwater and possesses a superhuman physique strong enough for his lungs to work unaffected by the immense pressure and the cold temperature of the ocean depths, also making him tough enough to withstand attacks from superhuman opponents and machine gun fire. He also possesses superhuman strength as a result. He can swim at very high speeds, capable of reaching speeds of roughly 6,700 mph and can swim up Niagara Falls. He can see in near total darkness and has enhanced hearing granting limited sonar. Equipment: A small metal cylinder that transforms into a black Trident that can fire electrical bolts. (Think Electric Eel) Short Bio: Kells grew up in Atlantis as every single member of his race did but from a very young age it was clear he wasn't like other children, Kells loved hurting others, from other children to sea life and when his baby teeth started to fall out they were replaced by razor sharp piranha like fangs, a sign amongst his people that he was going to grow up to be a monster. At the age of 13 he killed a boy his age during a fight. The law was clear he was to be taken out into the ocean and abandoned to his fate, but his mother and father still loved the boy. As a last act of defiance his father, (a member of the royal guard.) Left him with his trident a powerful weapon he knew his son would use to survive. From then on Kells started watching the sharks and learning how to survive from them. They were harsh teachers and the way of life was unforgiving, but nonetheless Kells flourished and at the age of 15 he encountered a ship of Somali pirates and at first he was just investigating but when he was found on the ship one of the pirates shot him with an AK47, the bullets stung and instantly sent Kells into a frenzy he killed everyone aboard the ship in a matter of minutes, ripping men into pieces and sinking his teeth into their flesh, it was a horrific scene. Kells started watching these "humans" and decided that he liked their way of life and at the age of 16 he left the ocean and went on land. It didn't take him long to adjust and found that he was suited for living on land just as well, he also found that he really liked to party. Other:
55,056	1,503	22	787	153	"You haven't seen the half of it, friend." The naked, tattooed boy met Mako's gaze and stared back. After a second, Loud Love slowly opened his mouth and licked his lips, all voracious-like. "You yourself look hungry, you know? Hungry and angry. What is the matter?"	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,057	1,503	23	682	1,490	Early that morning, Jackal awoke with a start. The ruslting of cars outside was distracting enough but his keen ears detected movement at the door. It took him a moment to register what was going on, and he hoped that it wasn't the police. He got up from his bundle of rags and cloth, the building he had slept in had long been abandoned, no actual furniture existed within the confines of his makeshift 'lair', the windows were boarded up and both time and nature had started to make its work on the house's condition, patches of grass along with cracks and chips in the old construction. As he exited his self claimed room, with a small pile of stolen goods; including jewelry, gold pieces, somewhat valuable gems, and other expensive pieces all hoarded together. However as he approached the door and peeped out of it's broken frame, there was nobody there, the street was empty. However a small note was left at the doorstep. He picked up the paper and closed the door quickly, and began to read it. His eyes illuminating like dim candles in the light-lacking room. This was how it all started. Now Jackal was walking to the destination, he was late of course. Half of the time trying to find this damn place was him being lost and making the wrong turn, the other half was him slacking off. He was dressed in his typical clothes he saw fit for his mortal disguise. Fine black pants, with a buttoned up white shirt, and a blue, long-sleeved jacket left unbutton. His messy white hair covered a bit of his face and amber eyes. His oddly pale skin a contrast with his dark outer clothing. He had a sleek build as well, no muscles to see, and he carried a brown cloth bag filled with his treasure hoard. The contents were jiggling with metal pieces and gems hitting each other, making his presence more known then his loud and slow moving foot steps. His expression was rather slightly annoyed and disinterested in the group before me. I didn't have to act nice to these scum, He thought to himself. "I assume you were all dragged out here as well?" Jackal called out to the group as he drew closer. Above all else he appeared tired if anything, more so then he was annoyed at the situation.	Name: Jackal Ventmaw Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: 5'11 in height, with messy white hair and amber eyes with slit-like pupils. His eyes glow faintly in the dark like small candles. He often wears black pants with a white button up shirt under a blue jacket. 18.5 feet long. Personality: Greedy, Cocky, Prideful, Stubborn, Short-tempered. Powers/skills: His human form is weaker then his dragon form, as his human form is mostly for show. Like your typical dragon physical superiority and flight are to be expected. And like all dragons he is immune to fire, as he cannot be damaged by heat alone or be burned by any means. His greatest ability though is his fire manipulation, breathing amplified jets of flames, igniting his body on fire, or creating fireballs out of his hand. His flames are his most powerful and destructive weapons next to his natural weapons and armor-like scales. His scales are almost as durable as steel, making them hard to damage or puncture, however his underbelly instead has weaker scutes which serves as a weak spot. His tail can both function as a powerful, bone-breaking whip, or a spear due to the sharp biological spines and tip of the tail. His horns can be used for great impact damage, his claws and teeth are as effective in combat as they appear. He cannot survive in cold climates, anything lower then 40 degrees can kill him by hypothermia, he doesn't tolerate with weather well unless it is above 60 degrees F, while he can use his own fire to warm himself this drains his energy faster and he won't typically last longer then five minutes. Ice and other related forms of attacks are also especially effective against him. When enraged enough either by emotion, damage, or other such stress, he enters a berserk-like state in which he exhausts much more energy and becomes much more destructively violent. In such a state he may even consume human flesh or attack his comrades. He also looses all sense of pain, becoming almost unstoppable and relentless until either something manages to soothe his rage or he passes himself out. Due to unrestrained energy exhaustion he will last about 10 minutes in a berserk stage until he passes out, injuring him will quicken this timer. Once he exits this berserk stage he will be hit with all the pain he would have experienced during that state, as well as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Also while he is in a berserk state he doesn't necessarily think about anything else other then what has enraged him. Due to his arrogance he often underestimates opponents and overestimates his own abilities against others and obstacles. Equipment: Nothing but the clothes he wears, he has no regard for any tools or Trinkets and always assumes that his strength and ability alone is enough for any situation. He doesn't wish to use any tools or weapons, and he may insult others for relying on such. Short Bio: Jackal was born from supposedly the last dragon egg, as dragons have been extinct for thousands of years. It is unknown, even to him, his exact origins beyond this, but he takes his own race with pride. However as he grew out of a hatchling he blended in with the world, using magic for a human disguise and taught himself of basic knowledge of society until he practically blended in with the very humans his kind has terrorized long ago. However as he grew older, and having no parental guidance, he became overly greedy and started a sort of 'job' at thievery, though he attempted stealth it usually ended up with him burning away a few guards and buildings in his heists and fleeing before the cops could arrive. His arsenic nature has nearly cost him discovery by authorities several times, putting him on edge. When he received the fateful message of the mysterious entity that knew of his existence, threatening his livelihood he had built up on his own, he didn't hesitate to do what the entity had requested.
55,058	1,503	24	2,654	2,774	At the end of the hall there was a steel door that looked tough enough to withstand a bomb explosion. Once close to the door, it slid open to reveal a room that looked like government war room. The inside was full of highly advanced computer and TV screens. Their was a large table with chairs to sit on, obviously made for The Presence's guest. Off to the left side of the large room was what looked like a kitchen and inside of it was refrigerator and stove. "Please take a seat, we have much to discuss." The Presence's voice came from one of the large screens and for a quick second the screen flashed several symbols before returning to static. Andrew was noticed the symbols and wondered why The Presance had shown them. Was it some kind of hint to this entity's nature. He recognized the swastika and the pentagram, but the other two were not really known to him, maybe more weird occult symbols. Were they going to be the slaves of some Nazi computer program? The very idea sounded insane, but Andrew had seen some pretty weird shit in his lifetime. "I am very curious to hear this discussion," he said outloud as he took his seat in one of the chairs. They were rather comfortable and he relaxed as he waited for the talking to start and learn why the hell they were all blackmailed here for.	Name: Andrew Talbot/Blood Fang Age: 15 Gender: male Appearance: Personality: bad-tempered, cold blooded, ferocious, cunning and dominant. Powers/skills: Werewolf Transformation: he can shape-shift into a humanoid wolf. Superhuman Strength: Andrew can lift up a maximum of ten tons. Superhuman Durability: He can withstand gunfire and take hits from super strong opponents. Superhuman Agility: Andrew is incredibly agile and quick. He moves like a apex predator and is hard to follow for normal humans. Wolf Communication: Andrew can speak and communicate with wolves. Equipment: none Short Bio: Bio: Andrew Talbot was born to a lower middle class family in Chicago and do to the city's dark reputation of crime, being middle class did not keep Andrew from experiencing the bad sides of Chicago. He saw all sorts of crimes happen in the streets and his home life wasn't much better. His mom was abusive to his dad and when his dad finally got the courage to try and leave her, she falsely accused him of domestic abuse and he lost his parental rights to have custody of Andrew. Do to social stigma his dad was not able to fight the system and was forced out of Andrew's life. His mom then took to abusing him and Andrew's life became total shit after that. After several years of abuse, Andrew finally snapped and his metahuman genes activated. He transformed for the first time when his mom attempted to slap him and he took sadistic pleasure in savagely tearing her to pieces. Finally free from his abusive mother, Andrew embraced his new powers and used them to commit crimes that he viewed were bringing humanity back to their natural origins, free from societal control. With the name Blood Fang, he became one of the infamous super villains in America and has left behind a blood trail of brutality. Other:
55,059	1,503	25	2,330	440	The screens that made up Wise One's base were displaying messages, the electronic voice of an AI reading them all out: Report to the warehouse by 8 PM or the armed forces will be sent to your location. Your identity will be known throughout the world. Was all it repeated, blaring on and on for hours on end. Dianna couldn't even watch television, it blocked the receivers and input the message onto every screen she owned. The base was protected by magic, wards stacked upon wards, but somehow this Presence managed to break through. She wasn't necessarily worried about the world knowing her, but she didn't want the base to be destroyed. It was where her Master had taken her when he abducted her, where he had taught her everything. Where he lay buried, peaceful in a tomb in the back gardens. She couldn't let his resting place be destroyed, which would happen if a firefight took place there. She knew she was late, of course she was. There was a lot of magic that had to be prepped before she could leave. She had to make sure the defenses were still active, that the base was still invisible to outsiders. It was a lot of hard work, and Ms. Muffins II was not the greatest assistant. The poor cat had spent most of her day tucked between Dianna's legs, meowing frightfully at the screens that blared messages. Finally, she was finished packing. She had one large bag full of alchemical items and potions, and another smaller bag for clothes. She put on her small purse, tucking Ms. Muffin into the pocket. Her two bags were unsurprisingly heavy, but she lifted them with ease. After a final checkup, she left her home to work under The Presence. Traveling into town was a tricky business. Her base was far, far away. It looked like she was coming from the middle of nowhere every time she entered, but with a little bit of work, she eased herself into the everyday crowd. It was late, so not many questioned her presence. She walked confidently, and her demeanor was solid even when she entered the warehouse. She came in the middle of a brief announcement from the Presence, and as he spoke she looked over the fellow villains who had been called there. When the screen flashed, she was able to see some symbols, most of which she recognized from her teachings in the dark arts. It made her shudder, but when she walked in and set her bags down by the door, she was nothing but smiles. She set Ms. Muffins II down by her side, who had been nice and quiet during their time traveling. The kitten ran in circles around Dianna's legs, oblivious to the other villains around her. Dianna flashed smiles at all the others in the room, most of them were wearing masks, which was a real shame. She only wore a mask during slaughters, but she supposed they were all wanting to look big and bad. In fact, she probably looked like a random stranger who had strode in and decided it was her right to be a part of the meeting. It was almost funny, seeing as she was a major villain known throughout most of the world. She took a seat in a quiet corner, Ms. Muffin II sat on her lap, purring and digging her claws into her pencil skirt. Dianna stroked her fur, staring up at the screen with a sort of disinterest.	Name Dianna Lear Alias Black Magic Age 16 Gender Female Appearance Dianna has short red hair that frames her face, always parted neatly to the side of her head. She has almond eyes, an icy shade of blue making up her irises. On her pale skin, she has a smattering of freckles. Her lips are a naturally sheer shade of pink, and her cheeks appear to have a slight blush. She stands at a graceful five feet ten inches, with legs that go on for miles. She has an athletic build, strong arms and legs that show how dedicated she is to gymnastics and running. Although she does prefer athleticism, she is usually seen in business casual clothes that suit her well for a teenager. Personality Impish, Dark Sense of Humor, Loyal, Dedicated. Powers Magick- Dianna is able to use both offensive and defensive magic, though she prefers offensive. Transmutation: Through transmutation, Dianna can take something and turn it into something else. She's known for making a joke out of things: a dagger into a bouquet of fresh flowers, a bullet into a flock of doves, she made the news for a week when she turned a lizard into a tyrannosaurus rex which caused the slaughter of many police officers. She is usually seen taking her cat, Ms. Muffins, and transforming her into a menagerie of different animals and tools. The spell lasts until broken by Dianna, which isn't common. Curses: With a few empowered Latin words, Dianna can curse others. She has been seen cursing others with simple things like a weak ankle, or deadly things such as diseases. She can also use these hexes to cause mental despair and insanity. Depending on the strength of her victim, the curses can last from five minutes to a lifetime. Potions: Dianna is a skilled potion crafter. She can make anything from love potions, to potions that excrete toxic fumes. These potions usually require tricky ingredients, but she does have the necessary ones in her base. Energy Shields/Domes: The name says it all. Dianna can make energy domes around her, or flat circular shields in front of her. The larger the shield, the weaker it will be, and the more concentration it will require to uphold. If Dianna plans to take a group into her dome, she will probably end up with a hideous migraine, if she doesn't fall unconscious of course. The shields can withhold blasts from medium sized explosives, projectiles, and sharp/blunt weapons. They will strain under too much pressure though, cracking until they break. Skills Sleight of Hand- Dianna is an excellent thief, without the usage of her magic she can probably strip someone down to their knickers without them knowing any better. Stage Magic- To keep with the magician motif, Dianna has aced many card tricks. She can pull a rabbit out of a hat, throw daggers blindfolded. If you've seen it on a stage, she can recreate it. Not the most practical of skills, but it gets a good laugh. Gymnastics/Athleticism: Dianna is a skilled gymnast, she is also skilled at running. She has a tank that almost never runs empty, allowing her to outrun most of her foes. Skilled Swordsman: Dianna is a gifted swordsman, having been taught by the Wise One himself. She is also good with most blades, such as throwing knives, daggers, and anything with a pointy end. Equipment A Bandolier: instead of bullets she has small servings of all her favorite potions. Sleeping Potion: When thrown on the ground, the potion will shatter and create a gas that will knock most people out. The gas can get through most spaces, so covering one's face with a t-shirt will only work for so long. Healing Potion: Once drunk, this potion will heal minor wounds. It can also lessen the blood flow of some major wounds. Curse Removal: In case a cursed person can still be useful, Dianna carries servings of her own special concoction that removes any curses she has placed on someone. It restores them back to their original state, whatever that was. Throwing Daggers: As much as she likes to think so, magic doesn't solve every problem. At each hip she carries a sheathe of four throwing knives. Two of which are tipped with poison, for those special moments. Ms. Muffins II: Sadly, the first Ms. Muffins died in a firefight. Now, Dianna carries Ms. Muffins II. Much like her predecessor, Ms. Muffins II is used mainly as a device for Transmutation, if she doesn't have a hostage on hand. She's also used for good times and snuggles! Short Bio Dianna’s beginnings started with the Wise One. The Wise One was a hero turned villain after a few complications with the law. He hid away, only coming out to cause a horrific scene once a year on the Fourth of July. Finally, the hideous massacres ended. They just stopped one year, things ran smoothly. This was because he had found a new Apprentice. The Wise One always had a soft spot for children, and his past lover had moved on and given birth to a beautiful red haired baby. The child was the spitting image of her mother, and carried the abilities needed to be a good witch. So, her teachings began. For every spell, the Wise One planted a bit of his own essence into her. He began aging, after a while. On the day her training was completed, he finally died. Dianna was still small, a ten year old with a cat and the power to kill. She took after her Master, her first attack was on July Fourth, an homage to him before she became her own villain. Now, she's known throughout the world as a killer, a villian. She couldn't be happier. Other N/A
55,060	1,503	26	2,301	766	Maverick decided not to sit in a chair. Instead she stood a small distance behind the chairs and eyed the computer screens suspiciously. A series of symbols flash up, an Illuminati symbol, a swastika, a pentagram, and a fourth symbol probably having something to do with Satan due to the triple sixes. Was this...supposed to be intimidating? Or did the "Presence' accidentally tape over a b-roll horror film from the 80's? She caught movement out of her eye and saw a young woman enter the room and flash her- and everyone else- a smile. To say the least, Maverick couldn't believe it was genuine. She found a nice slice of wall and leaned up against it, crossing her arms. This room was full of murderous people; and for some reason she was believed that she didn't fit under that category. Still, she was amassing a list of potential allies and enemies within the group. Harpy, the faceless fella, and uh, what was it? Phone Freak? They seemed stable enough. (Strange that a shapeshifter with no face had such impeccable manners.) That honorable prick and the dumbass who shot out his coffee to begin with certainly were not attempting to make friends here. And the woman who just entered the room was giving her bad vibes too, though Maverick couldn't quite tell why. Maybe it was the black cat. The uncomfortably naked Loud Love may be the one of the most violent people here, and the youngest, too, which Samantha considered a small tragedy. What a life that kid had had. Of course, Maverick reminded herself that sociopaths are excellent at mimicking emotions, and really she had no reason to trust any of these people in the slightest. Honestly, she just wanted to get whatever this psycho wanted done and get the hell out of here... and back home.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,061	1,503	27	2,773	50	This was strange. Very strange indeed. Not only did the presence have enough cash to make the giant hallway and steel doors within the warehouse, apparently they also had the funding to make what was basically the war room from Dr. Strangelove. Harpy said nothing, but the urge to light another cigarette was coming over her, for gods sake, just a few days ago she was happily living in Maine of all places and now she was being dragged into some conspiracy. Before she could finish her thought, multiple images of various illicit groups flashed on the screen as if an edgy 13 year old had just found powerpoint. Great, this wasn't just any conspiracy, it was a Nazi, Illuminati and Satan worshiping conspiracy. "Christ." She spoke aloud. "And I thought I was edgy" She joked. In all honesty, she was sort of warming to the group. Although, she'd probably have warmed a lot quicker if Loud Love hadn't shown up butt naked. She sat down on one of the chairs and crossed her legs, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands.	Name: Tereska Kowalczyk Age: 17 Gender: Female Appearance: Tereska stands at a short 5 foot 5 and has a thin physique. Her hair is long and naturally black and her eyes are an icy blue. Her style of clothing consists of band t-shirts and rather boyish clothes. Her transformed self is obviously very different. She grows to 5 foot 9, and her skin grows pale white, covered by feathers everywhere but her face and neck. A large red mark grows on her lips and nose, and her eyes change to the same colour. Her hair also changes to a bright white, with the ends dying to a blood red. Of course, she also grows more bird like, with large wings growing on the back of her arms. Personality: Hopeful, easily-angered, vindictive, protective, adaptable Powers/skills: Tereska's most obvious power is her ability to change into a harpy. Her strength is increased in this form, and sharp talons grow on her hands and feet. She is also, of course, able to fly. She is also able to transform any percent of her into the harpy. For example, she could transform solely her arms or her hands into the harpy form, enabling her to use her wings or hands without fully transforming. Although this, of course, does not grant her the extra strength or speed boost she gains from the full form. Equipment: Tereska doesn't carry anything on her when doing villainous deeds. She loses her clothes and equipment when transformed so bringing anything seems just dumb. Short Bio: Tereska was born to a farming family just outside of Częstochowa, Poland. Her life was relatively normal up until the age of 13, which was when she developed her powers. They appeared while she was at school, and, of course, the horror of her transformation scared and alienated her classmates and even her teacher. After she returned she was made a mockery of, being teased day in and day out. This was, of course, what changed her from your average girl into a villain. She began picking off her classmates one by one. Eventually she was the only person left in the class and it didn't take a huge amount of investigation to determine that all of the corpses washing up with signs of large bird attacks were from her. She was to be sent to jail, she escaped of course and flew for new pastures. For America. There she made a name for herself as a villain, before being contacted by some strange electrical force and being assembled to a team. Other: -Will only transform when out of sight, she aint that kind of gal.
55,062	1,503	28	682	1,490	As Jackal made it into the building, not paying to much detail to its design or security, and into the main room, the first thing he would do would be to take a seat at the table. Instead of speaking to anyone, however, he stared up at the symbols displayed on the screen. He wasn't all to familiar with them, but one of them seemed demonic enough. He looked over to the stranger that had commented on the emblems. "Edgy huh?" Jackal agreed with a silent nod. He'd begin to look at the other strangers around. "We sign up for a freak show or something? I didn't come here to be apart of a circus."	Name: Jackal Ventmaw Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: 5'11 in height, with messy white hair and amber eyes with slit-like pupils. His eyes glow faintly in the dark like small candles. He often wears black pants with a white button up shirt under a blue jacket. 18.5 feet long. Personality: Greedy, Cocky, Prideful, Stubborn, Short-tempered. Powers/skills: His human form is weaker then his dragon form, as his human form is mostly for show. Like your typical dragon physical superiority and flight are to be expected. And like all dragons he is immune to fire, as he cannot be damaged by heat alone or be burned by any means. His greatest ability though is his fire manipulation, breathing amplified jets of flames, igniting his body on fire, or creating fireballs out of his hand. His flames are his most powerful and destructive weapons next to his natural weapons and armor-like scales. His scales are almost as durable as steel, making them hard to damage or puncture, however his underbelly instead has weaker scutes which serves as a weak spot. His tail can both function as a powerful, bone-breaking whip, or a spear due to the sharp biological spines and tip of the tail. His horns can be used for great impact damage, his claws and teeth are as effective in combat as they appear. He cannot survive in cold climates, anything lower then 40 degrees can kill him by hypothermia, he doesn't tolerate with weather well unless it is above 60 degrees F, while he can use his own fire to warm himself this drains his energy faster and he won't typically last longer then five minutes. Ice and other related forms of attacks are also especially effective against him. When enraged enough either by emotion, damage, or other such stress, he enters a berserk-like state in which he exhausts much more energy and becomes much more destructively violent. In such a state he may even consume human flesh or attack his comrades. He also looses all sense of pain, becoming almost unstoppable and relentless until either something manages to soothe his rage or he passes himself out. Due to unrestrained energy exhaustion he will last about 10 minutes in a berserk stage until he passes out, injuring him will quicken this timer. Once he exits this berserk stage he will be hit with all the pain he would have experienced during that state, as well as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Also while he is in a berserk state he doesn't necessarily think about anything else other then what has enraged him. Due to his arrogance he often underestimates opponents and overestimates his own abilities against others and obstacles. Equipment: Nothing but the clothes he wears, he has no regard for any tools or Trinkets and always assumes that his strength and ability alone is enough for any situation. He doesn't wish to use any tools or weapons, and he may insult others for relying on such. Short Bio: Jackal was born from supposedly the last dragon egg, as dragons have been extinct for thousands of years. It is unknown, even to him, his exact origins beyond this, but he takes his own race with pride. However as he grew out of a hatchling he blended in with the world, using magic for a human disguise and taught himself of basic knowledge of society until he practically blended in with the very humans his kind has terrorized long ago. However as he grew older, and having no parental guidance, he became overly greedy and started a sort of 'job' at thievery, though he attempted stealth it usually ended up with him burning away a few guards and buildings in his heists and fleeing before the cops could arrive. His arsenic nature has nearly cost him discovery by authorities several times, putting him on edge. When he received the fateful message of the mysterious entity that knew of his existence, threatening his livelihood he had built up on his own, he didn't hesitate to do what the entity had requested.
55,063	1,503	29	1,602	2,499	40 Miles from Cochem, Germany 1189 11:23PM Conrat trudged in the red stained snow, dragging his giant weapon behind him as if to draw a trail straight to him. His breathing was heavy, and his armour was just as bloodied as the snow. Whether it was mostly his blood he couldn't say. He fell to his knees, exhausted mentally and physically. Men he'd fought alongside had fallen by his blade. Men is pushing it. Demons he'd fought alongside had fallen by his blade. A rustle in the bushes brought him to one knee, gripping the handle of his blade as he readied for another fight. But the fight didn't come. All that came was waiting. Endless waiting for years upon years, watching the birds flutter by and the lost families discovering the mysterious stone man in the forest. Present Day Conrat stood, overlooking the warehouse from a vantage point. His armour, freshly polished, gleamed in the moonlight as he raised his scarf to cover his mouth. Truth be told, he wasn't as angry at The Presence as much as the rest of the group. Of course, he was wary, for all he knew this was a trap. But in his eyes this could go one of two ways. They'd been brought together to actually work together, and Conrat had gone without companionship for too long to pass that up, or it would end up in battle, not as good, but not bad either. His sword felt heavy on his back for the first time in centuries. Not because it had become burdensome, but for the first time in ages, Conrat actually felt anxious. Not the type of anxiety he usually got before a battle, a type he'd never felt before. Like a child on his first day of school. He watched as the warehouse doors slid open, and began making his way down towards the warehouse. By the time he'd caught up, many of the members were already seated. Noticing the lack of anonymity among much of the group, par a few here or there, he brought his scarf down, revealing his scarred, but grinning face. The grin was not one of sly knowing, nor was it one of evil scheming. It was merely one of foolish naivety. "Sorry I'm late!" He said, hardly taking a chance to look at the group before continuing. "I'm Conrat!" He said, not bothering with the alias. He took a seat, taking his extraordinarily large sword and sheath from his back and resting on the floor at his side. "Have they told us why we're here yet?" He inquired, finally taking a look at the group. They were a motley crew for sure. Opposite him sat what looked to be a normal teenager, Andrew Talbot. Of course, Andrew was far from a normal teenager, normal teenagers might have some hair growth problems, but none had the ability to talk to wolves. Conrat gave a grin to, Mako, he always did like jesters whenever he got to see one back in the day. Of course, the true extent of his power was not something to be joked about, no matter how ridiculous his outfit was. Jackal also sat at the table, another morpher unbeknownst to, Conrat. The pale white of, Jackal's hair combined with his age reminded, Conrat of his first few days after waking up from his forced sleep. The amount of colours within people's hair was astounding, he'd need to ask one of the members of the group what made people's hair such strange colours in the 21st century. Loud Love was, well Loud Love was naked. Conrat had never seen someone act so normally while in the nude. It took balls, if you'll pardon the pun. Thule, now there was something interesting. He had seen his little scuffle outside, and could tell just from the way he moved that he could handle a sword. Which kind, he couldn't tell, but he guessed something light, like a saber or a fencing sword. Phone Freak and Maverick shared a hidden face. Phone Freak, however, went the extra mile and covered their voice and the whole of their head. Conrat felt uneasy hearing the voice, it reminded him of...well let's not talk about that. Maverick, however seemed like the most level headed member of the team so far. Metallia, and to a lesser extent, Loud Love were things that concerned, Conrat. He too had gotten into the business of evil from a young age, even if he was forced into it and he bore the scars to prove it. Next up was, Dianna Lear, magician extraordinaire. Of course, all Conrat saw was a rather formally dressed young girl with a cat. If he had been witty, he'd have been sure to make a joke about Andrew when the cat was around, but that was for another time. Her outfit was a stark contrast from, Queenie and to a lesser extent, Harpy. As soon as, Conrat saw the two, who he had been trying to avoid gazing at for the entirety of his time there, he turned almost bright red. For Christs sake, back in his day you'd be lucky to see a girls ankle, let alone all Queenie was showing. If Harpy's shorts of all things were too much for him to handle without blushing, then he'd definitely be trying to avoid, Queenie. He put his hands up to cover his face, he was embarrassed to blush, but he'd be damned if he'd show it.	Name: Conrat Stoyan - Hannibal Age: In every way but chronologically he's about 19. He was born in 1170. Gender: Male Appearance: Conrat towers at a tall 6 foot 4 and has a muscular physique fit for a man who wields a sword taller than him by about a head. His hair is an ebony black, and is kept in a short and messy style. He has a strong jaw and handsome features, although some are put off by his scars. The three most notable wounds on him are all on his face. First and foremost is his left eye, which he keeps closed at all times as it was taken out around a year or two before he was frozen in time. Secondly is the scar that traces horizontally across his nose and lastly is a strangely shaped scar, tracing around the side and underside of his remaining eye. Various other scars trace his body, but none as notable as the ones on his face of course. Although he has lived in the modern world for all of 2 months, he still does not fully understand the clothing habits of the modern day. His costume consists of his black, lightweight armour and nothing but a red scarf to cover his mouth and subsequently his identity. Day-to-day he's become quite accustomed to flannels and jeans. A safe bet for sure. Personality: Dated/Loyal/Vengeful/Naive/Ruthless By all means, Conrat should be your stereotypical brutal, misogynistic, angry warlord who goes around killing for no reason and acting about as edgy as his blade. However, he's completely different. He's optimistic, ready to learn and cheerful at about all times. At first glance, you could even think he was a hero. A hero is something he isn't though, it is something he'd always liked to be however. His brutal life has raised a child born of hatred and anger. His real emotion is hidden behind a facade of joy. He's accepted that it's simply in his nature to kill and do evil. His attitude towards women is also, not what you'd expect. He isn't misogynistic at all, and could tell you tales of the women he'd met on the battlefield and fought alongside. However, he does get quite embarrassed when seeing some of the skimpier outfits worn in the present day. Even shorts can make him go all red. Powers/skills: Conrat's most obvious power is his sheer strength. His sword being the most obvious example of this. Furthermore, his speed is far beyond that of any human, without his sword he could probably run faster than your average sports care. It's not really true to say that Conrat has increased durability, it's only slightly above that of the average human. It's more like an ignorance to pain that allows him to keep on trucking through injury. A less obvious power of his is related to his curse. He is able to manipulate and create fire. He dislikes creating, and only really does so in times of dire need. Equipment: Conrat's main piece of equipment is his sword, The Black Death. It's more like a hunk of iron than anything else, and is unliftable by any normal man. Even to those with enhanced strength it can be a tricky, or damn right near impossible weapon to use. It feels imbalanced to those who haven't used it for years on end, but to Conrat it feels just as easy to use as your average long sword. Short Bio: Conrat was born in Germany, during the winter of 1170. He was the seventh son of a seventh son. Anyone who knows their mythos would know that this must mean he was born with some sort of special power, but rather than some sort of magic spell, Conrat was born with a curse. His family couldn't cope with six sons, let alone seven. They sold Conrat into slavery. For the first two years of his life he was cared for by a slave woman before he was sold off to a mercenary battalion. Now, I know what you're asking, "Why would a mercenary battalion buy a slave baby?". The simple answer is that the head of the battalions wife was baron, and attempts at suicide had been made. Conrat was raised a soldier. To think that he would have had an easy life because of his father is to think a lie. He was in every battle from the age of 5, handing weapons to soldiers and eventually even fighting on the field as a squire. As he grew older he gained an affinity for heavier weapons, and took a liking to the zweihander. His life was thrown into ruins during a fight that no one could have expected. For the first part of it they were fighting what looked to be ordinary foot soldiers, but soon enough the battalion was surrounded and were being slaughtered by the dozen. Soon enough, all that was left was Conrat and his 'father'. The beast that rode before him gave Conrat two options, kill his father and join them or die on that field. He, of course, chose to kill his father. He regretted it almost immediately after. The 'man' that had given him the options removed his helmet to reveal a charred, horned face, with teeth sticking out like a sabretooth. The entire battalion looked that way, like demons. Conrat's transformation began that day. They used various concoctions and spells to transform him, giving him unimaginable abilities and even crafting the very sword you see him with today. Things were not all beneficial though. After giving him these abilities they required a sacrifice, one of the flesh. They first took his eye, and then a part of his nose, it was only when they began to take his other eye that Conrat rebelled and escaped his former commanders. He travelled throughout his homeland for about a year after that before they found him. He took on around 200 of them before it was over. They froze him on the spot, turning him to stone and encasing him underground for presumably all eternity. It was of course, not meant to be. He woke up just 2 months ago, and has already been making headlines for his crime spree, killing those who got in his way and taking what he liked. Soon enough, he was contacted by 'The Presence' through a dove of all things. Other:
55,064	1,503	30	2,720	1,306	Free ice cream, huh??? Where?! Queenie looked around of something she quite adored. Frozen sweet treats. Mmm. "Oh. You were kidding n_n Nevermind then!" Her voice was slightly high-pitched and rather sing-songy. She skipped behind the naked boy with the tats, keeping her mallet close as to knock whack any of the walls or doors. She never answered his question about why she was there, she had either forgotten he had asked or just didn't want to respond, it was hard to tell with her. When Loud Love turned to her and spoke she smiled big at him. Oh so he was /in fact/ a boy. Flipping her multi-colored hair from side to side as they walked through the long hallway the young woman responded. "I'd LOVE to know what I missed!" At once the young woman plopped down in a chair at the end of the hallway. She had kept walking forward until she had entered the room that the metal door had led through. It was nice, lots of shiny things and BIG TV screens. Wooo TV!! Her mallet rested between her legs and against her shoulder so the large part on the end was right near her head. If she needed her weapon it was near that's what mattered, right? Sure. Queenie looked around at all her new group mates with a wide grin which could show how excited she was, had she not always kept that grin on her face almost at all times. When the weird voice spoke and the even weirder symbols were shown Queenie tilted her head. Those symbols, every one of them, were unfamiliar to her. It had been long since she was in school and had forgotten basically everything she learned except the English language. "Ooo Circus?! Where?? When?? Let's all go!" A newcomer, like herself, glanced at her and then covered her face, a reaction she got a lot. Queen turned her attention to him and spoke "Go ahead and blush, soldier boy! We're all familiars here." What she was trying to say was that he shouldn't be embarrassed.	Name: Lyra Nix/Queen(Queenie) Age: 18 Gender: Female Appearance: Personality: Psyho, funny, flirty, sexual, sadistic Powers/skills: Able to imbue any weapon with a power that lasts only a few minutes per use. The ability gives her weapon an energy that enables her to do more damage. It has a cool down and can only be used once every few hours due to the fact that it drains so much energy from her. Equipment: Her mallet is all she needs Short Bio: Grew up in a rural part of a town far, far away. Her family had to the move to the big city for her father’s new job. Typical life. They moved into the city only to find out how utterly horrid it was. Crime was everywhere. Somehow her family managed to survive through the chaos. However, one night her father never came home and a peculiar man came to the house. Before snatching Lyra away he killed her mother. Terrible things were done to Lyra that gave her her abilities. Her and many others were tortured and experimented on. Once one had broken out however, he released all the others and they were able to wreak havoc upon the world with their powers and twisted minds. Lyra, known by now simply as Queen(since they were all named after a card in a deck of cards), lift the horrible city and went to wreak havoc elsewhere. Which was helpful because the one who released them all hunted them all down one by one in the city and killed them so they couldn’t kill any more innocent people. No one knows what happened to this person. But Queen escaped and that was all that mattered. Now amongst her own Lyra goes by her second given name, Queen and uses her powers for evil-doing. Other: She a psycho sex deviant, with a thing for ripping off body parts.
55,065	1,503	31	893	1,251	Phone Freak didn't enter right away. This latest show of theatrics was even more comforting than the last, be despite that she spent some time in the doorway letting the others pass her by as she ran her fingers slowly along the door frame. Occasionally she let a tiny spark, like static electricity, leap from the tips of her fingers into the door frame as she reached out with her will. This door was obviously controlled electronically, but she wasn't trying to subvert or undermine it. Just establish contact, see if she could get a read on its...state of mind, for lack of a better word. Machines had them. Most things had them, really, especially things built my humans. Life tended to rub off on things, and usually resulted in what could be considered a very simple emotional state. Doors, for example, tended to enjoy being used and built up loyalty to those that used them often. Normally this loyalty had no bearing on whether or not the door opened for someone, but if it was new and it's master didn't frequently make use of it or wasn't around often enough to make any impressions on it that would make it more open to, well, opening up for some kind technomancer who was locked in a room slowly filling with deadly poison spiders. The little sparks were like entreaties, more effective if she could get at the wires directly, meant to establish trust in the symbolic way that the ritualistic sharing of blood often did among people. When it came to magic symbolic gestures were often the most important ones. It really was the thought that counted. No matter what she discovered about the door she would eventually do as she was told and take her seat, picking out the one nearest the computer and claiming it as her own. After all, it wasn't like she had much choice. She had to trust that, even if they were suddenly locked in, there was enough of them here that they could find a way to escape before they were waist deep in horrible hairy spiders. She looked around and could swear that their number kept growing by the minute. There must be some combination here that could save them if things went pear shaped.	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,066	1,503	32	2,190	126	“Hmmh, a fair point. Guess you must be more familiar with these large scale jobs” Nergal begrudgingly admitted, most of the work he had done had only been small scale, where a simple contract and payment was required and sometimes a body. Glancing around at the group again, the precautions taken by their new employer did seem to make sense, a bunch of those here, including himself, likely would have killed the Presence if they had tried this in person. As they reached the end of the hallway and the steel doors slid open to reveal the room inside, Nergal had to admit he was surprised. He had half expected their meeting room to look as downtrodden as the warehouse they were situated in, but instead this look rather comfortable and stylish. Not paying much attention to the voice apart from the instruction to take a seat, Nergal walked over to one of seats furthest from the entrance and gave it a closer inspection. It was the kind of quality he would have expected back in his old lifestyle and as he sat down it proved to be just as comfortable as his faded memories assured him it was. Glancing back at the group he did another take. He could have sworn he noticed everyone before he came over yet now the group had grown again and some far more ‘colourful’ individuals had joined in as well. Sitting back into his chair Nergal watched them chat idly, he found such trivial conversations beneath him, the only thing he needed to know about this group was what they could all do and whether he could trust on them to do it. Absent mindedly as he waited, he dragged a finger across the table in front of him, burning the surface of it ever so slightly.	Name: Andrew/ Alias - Nergal Age: 19 Gender: Male Appearance: Andrew wears simple and rough clothing, consisting of torn jeans and a sleeveless shirt, having learnt quickly that good looking clothing makes one a target on the street. His soft features from his pampered lifestyle have given way to a much rougher features including a number of scars from the brawls he has gotten himself into. His blonde hair has become rather messy and unkempt though he keeps it cut short so it stays out of the way. His eyes are a dark brown/green color and seem dull and without the spark of life at most times, though when he succeeds in a crime or venture they momentarily regain that spark. His overall body structure is toned but not muscular, his focus being on agility and dexterity rather than strength Personality:Sadistic, Rageful, Selfish, Arrogant, Bad with Authority Powers/skills: Corrosive Touch, Toxic Fluids, Poison Resistance Corrosive Touch: The chemicals that splashed Andrew caused a side-effect in his biological makeup, granting him the ability to change the chemical compounds of the skin of his body. By focusing his mind on a part of his body, Andrew can make the skin of that area become corrosive enough that his very touch begins to break down the object he comes into contact with. The longer he concentrates and the longer he maintains physical contact with the area, the stronger this effect becomes. This effect is most pronounced when contact is made using the palms of his hands, however it can still be used by the rest of skin, though to a much weaker degree. When this is used on a person, it will initial cause a burning of the skin with longer contact beginning to melt the skin and work on the underlying structure of the unfortunate victim. Wounds caused by this resemble chemical burns and can result in poisoning in some cases Toxic Fluids: Any of the liquids from Andrew’s body, such as blood or saliva, can become toxic with concentration. With some mental effort, he can make the blood from a wound, or saliva he gathers it in his mouth change its chemical structure to be either poisonous or corrosive to the general human. Unlike his touch, the toxins produced are specifically designed for a biological reaction. The poisons produced can mimic most poisons found naturally in the world (Mild Paralysis, muscle spasming, blood thinning, blood thickening, flesh melting, etc.). The toxins become more potent if they manage to enter the targets bloodstream and with repeated doses Non-living substances will have minimal effect from any toxins produced through these methods Poison Resistance: Due to his ability to create poisons and toxins, Andrew has an initiate resistance to being poisoned himself. This does not make him completely immune to the effects but greatly diminishes their effect and renders them non-lethal to himself. Equipment: The main tools he carries around a set of throwing knives and a sickle. He has no problem picking up any other bladed weapons he comes across as he can lace them with his poisons, allowing him to increase the lethality of what would otherwise be glancing blows Short Bio: Andrew lived a life that many would have envied, having a well renowned father and mother for scientists ensured that he was well taken care of. Wanting to ensure the best for their child, his parents made sure he was offered the best education and experiences to ensure he would follow in their footsteps and continue down the path they had. Despite being provided the means to live in the upper echelons of society by his parents however, Andrew expressed resentment at how it seemed his life had already been decided for him by his parents. Further fueling this resentment was the fact his parents research demanded their time and attention, often leaving Andrew on his own unless it was him expressing interest in the topic of research they were currently working on By the time he was finishing High-school and beginning to look at Universities, this resentment had developed into a deep-seated hatred which resulting in many arguments between the family. On one such night where his parents were on the verge of a breakthrough, when the family was planning on having a dinner together once they had finished the latest research, another argument broke out while tensions were at an all time high. Heated words were exchanged and becoming enraged by the conversation, Andrew began taking his anger out on the nearby equipment and causing it to malfunction. The end result was the equipment exploding, injuring Andrew both from the blast and the chemical burns he suffered. After being rushed to hospital and stabilized, Andrew was eventually visited by his father who promptly told him this attitude of his could go on no longer, and he either to behave himself or become disowned. Left alone to mull over this fact, Andrew eventually decided he could not live with his life being dictated by others. While he healed he slowly began to realise the accident had resulted in some positive side effects. Spending the next few days testing his abilities, he eventually disappeared from the hospital, abandoning who he and any ties to his past. The next few years he spent honing his own skills and forging his own path, not caring for those he hurt or killed as long as he got to live his own life. Other: N/A for now
55,067	1,503	33	720	1,627	- Joe - Joe entered the room, and took a quick glance around to take in his surroundings. There was a large rectangular table in the center surrounded in rather simple but comfortable chairs with no armrests. Almost everyone was taking their seats, but the Asian female who had tried to stop the fight decided to remain standing. All the more room for lounging over multiple chairs. Unfortunately now wasn't time for such a comfort, so Joe remained content with sitting sideways on a chair using the back of the chair as an armrest for his right arm and draped his right leg over his left knee. He looked up to the screen ahead of him as the screen flickered between four different symbols then back to normal. Glancing around at his party he saw most had seen the symbols, but some seemed to be rather unsure of what they meant. "Illuminati, Nazi, Pentagram, Mark of the Devil." Joe said idly to nobody in particular, but anyone who cared. "A cult, an army who attempted world domination, and two symbols of demon worship. A very warm welcome, indeed." Another boy entered the meeting room and took a seat next to Joe, laying the over-sized blade he had strapped to his back on the floor between them. "Sorry I'm late, I'm Conrat! Have they told us why we're here yet?" he asked. "Welcome friend, all you missed were some symbols of which we can fill you in later." Joe said in a friendly greeting. "Get yourself comfortable, who knows how long this will be."	Name: Joe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Personality: Joe is a very chill, light-hearted guy that never seems to take things very seriously. Nobody can really tell what's inside his head because he always speaks in a calm, smooth voice, and has no facial expression. He always has a nice word for the ladies, despite not being interested in a relationship, and everything he does, he does with class. Joe seems to really enjoy shopping, often spending on all kinds of purchases, almost all of which he never is never seen using. From monkey wrenches to cans of soup, from extravagant hats to collector's addition superhero comics. Powers/skills: Joe is a demon of deception who decided that fierce battles for control over mankind wasn't his type of lifestyle, so he left his prior residence and became an American citizen. He still retains his deception abilities, and uses them in anyway he finds useful. Inconspicuous - Joe can remain unnoticed by anyone he wishes. Human Form - Joe can take on any form he wishes, within the limit of it being human and, to an extent, clothing. Temptation - Joe can whisper into the ears of the unsuspecting, pointing them in the direction he'd like them to take. The move the victim acts on a whim with little to no self control, the easier it is to get them to do what he wants. It is much harder to tempt someone who knows him for who he is. Puppet Control - If a human consciously relinquishes control (whether they know who he is or not), Joe can take control over them. They gain much greater strength, speed, awareness, and ferocity, but are under Joe's control until he releases them. Equipment: Only the various objects he purchases during shopping sprees, though nobody actually knows where he stores all that stuff. Other: Joe's reasons for obeying the Presence will be revealed IC.
55,068	1,503	34	787	153	Loud Love disregarded the voice and the images - if Presence wanted him to listen it'd probably turn up the volume on it's speakers - and instead of taking a seat, went straight for the kitchen. Quickly locating the fridge, LL opened it, took out the milk and - yes, he fucking did it. He drank the most of it in one go, and he drank it right from the carton. A little bit spilled out and tricked down his face. He probably forgot most of the good manners while living... wherever he was living. "Tasty."	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,069	1,503	35	1,254	172	Mako looked very un-amused as the only human to speak to him was the naked one, of course it had to be the naked one, before Mako answered however they entered a room with lots of chairs and television screens, when the symbols popped up he paid them no mind, who this Presence was didn't matter when the time came he would be chum. Mako went to a chair and started taking off his "party gear", leaving it all sitting in a chair of his choosing, now he was simply a green haired, grey eyed, shirtless boy. His body was toned without being very muscular but this was deceiving, he could tear a normal man to bits with no effort. Looking into the eyes of the warrior who had smiled at him he returned the smile, showing off his rows of wicked sharp piranha like teeth. Mako was also looking over each of the Humans and others, they were each vastly different and some seemed strong, but Mako was only thinking of how different each one probably tasted. After that he made his way to the kitchen and with predatory speed got near Loud Love, almost uncomfortably close, unafraid of his nudity and whispered, "Now that you mention it...I am famished." His razor teeth curled into a smirk as he reached past the naked boy into the fridge and found himself a large tupperware dish with raw salmon in it, this "Presence" knew more than Mako liked but at least he provided some food. "And yeah I was a bit irritated...I was at a really nice party and I was rather enjoying myself..." As he spoke he started eating fish his shark-ish nature showing through as he snapped up the raw salmon with almost sickening joy.	Name: Kelacton "Kells" Regarius/Mako Age: 17 Gender: Male Appearance: Personality: Violent, Volatile, Childish, Uncontrolled, Temperamental. Powers/skills: The telepathic ability to communicate with marine life, which he can summon from great distances. (Mainly uses it to attract great numbers of ocean predators) Hydrokinesis, the ability to control water and change its shape and temperature. Mako has a number of other superhuman powers, most of which derive from the fact that he is adapted to live and thrive in the harshest of underwater environments. He has the ability to breathe underwater and possesses a superhuman physique strong enough for his lungs to work unaffected by the immense pressure and the cold temperature of the ocean depths, also making him tough enough to withstand attacks from superhuman opponents and machine gun fire. He also possesses superhuman strength as a result. He can swim at very high speeds, capable of reaching speeds of roughly 6,700 mph and can swim up Niagara Falls. He can see in near total darkness and has enhanced hearing granting limited sonar. Equipment: A small metal cylinder that transforms into a black Trident that can fire electrical bolts. (Think Electric Eel) Short Bio: Kells grew up in Atlantis as every single member of his race did but from a very young age it was clear he wasn't like other children, Kells loved hurting others, from other children to sea life and when his baby teeth started to fall out they were replaced by razor sharp piranha like fangs, a sign amongst his people that he was going to grow up to be a monster. At the age of 13 he killed a boy his age during a fight. The law was clear he was to be taken out into the ocean and abandoned to his fate, but his mother and father still loved the boy. As a last act of defiance his father, (a member of the royal guard.) Left him with his trident a powerful weapon he knew his son would use to survive. From then on Kells started watching the sharks and learning how to survive from them. They were harsh teachers and the way of life was unforgiving, but nonetheless Kells flourished and at the age of 15 he encountered a ship of Somali pirates and at first he was just investigating but when he was found on the ship one of the pirates shot him with an AK47, the bullets stung and instantly sent Kells into a frenzy he killed everyone aboard the ship in a matter of minutes, ripping men into pieces and sinking his teeth into their flesh, it was a horrific scene. Kells started watching these "humans" and decided that he liked their way of life and at the age of 16 he left the ocean and went on land. It didn't take him long to adjust and found that he was suited for living on land just as well, he also found that he really liked to party. Other:
55,070	1,503	36	2,654	2,774	When Loud Love, Maverick and Mako disregarded the Presence's instructions to sit down in one of the chairs, ceiling mounted gun appeared from above the table and fired a warning shot at the two villains. The bullet blasted a big hole in the ground a few feet away from where the two of them were standing and it was smoking. The gun then turned and fire another warning shot near Maverick. "Do not test me! Disregard my orders again and the next shot will be blasting through your small heads. These bullets can pierce through titanium and there are guns throughout this entire facility. And don't think your teleportation trick will save you Loud Love, these guns are made for tracing teleporters" The Presence growled menacingly. "Now as you all know, I am the one who made you come here under the threat of exposure. I am here to tell you that you are also here under the threat of death if you betray me or cross me very badly. I demand your obedience and in return you shall all be rewarded with riches and bloodshed. I have chosen you for your unique powers and skills as well as not being the most notorious villains. As of this moment you as a group are unknown to the world and for as long as it is necessary we will keep that way. You will be given missions of my choosing and you will not speak of this group or you will see my wrath" the voice spoke. "If you're trying to take control of the doors Phone Freak then give up, everything in this building is immune to technopathy and magical control" the Presence said with an ominous tone to its voice. Andrew wasn't expecting guns to suddenly appear and he almost completely jumped out of his seat when it fired off a warning shot at the two villains who gone to the fridge for food and another at a third one. This entity was not in the habit of playing games from the look of it and Andrew sat there and listened to what the Presence had to offer. It sounded like there were lots of rewards, but the price was being a servant to this unknown being and Andrew valued his freedom, but he had no choice otherwise the punishment would be imprisonment or death. "If there is bloodshed involved then I guess I'm in, it's not like I have much of a choice" he said to the screen.	Name: Andrew Talbot/Blood Fang Age: 15 Gender: male Appearance: Personality: bad-tempered, cold blooded, ferocious, cunning and dominant. Powers/skills: Werewolf Transformation: he can shape-shift into a humanoid wolf. Superhuman Strength: Andrew can lift up a maximum of ten tons. Superhuman Durability: He can withstand gunfire and take hits from super strong opponents. Superhuman Agility: Andrew is incredibly agile and quick. He moves like a apex predator and is hard to follow for normal humans. Wolf Communication: Andrew can speak and communicate with wolves. Equipment: none Short Bio: Bio: Andrew Talbot was born to a lower middle class family in Chicago and do to the city's dark reputation of crime, being middle class did not keep Andrew from experiencing the bad sides of Chicago. He saw all sorts of crimes happen in the streets and his home life wasn't much better. His mom was abusive to his dad and when his dad finally got the courage to try and leave her, she falsely accused him of domestic abuse and he lost his parental rights to have custody of Andrew. Do to social stigma his dad was not able to fight the system and was forced out of Andrew's life. His mom then took to abusing him and Andrew's life became total shit after that. After several years of abuse, Andrew finally snapped and his metahuman genes activated. He transformed for the first time when his mom attempted to slap him and he took sadistic pleasure in savagely tearing her to pieces. Finally free from his abusive mother, Andrew embraced his new powers and used them to commit crimes that he viewed were bringing humanity back to their natural origins, free from societal control. With the name Blood Fang, he became one of the infamous super villains in America and has left behind a blood trail of brutality. Other:
55,071	1,503	37	1,791	426	Ed just kept to himself after his little encounter earlier, and just followed everyone else when the doors opened. The room they entered honestly looks like some place he's broken into before. Most of the group took some seat and some tried out the kitchen. Ed was hungry but he didn't feel like trying to reach an arm past naked boy who stood in front of the fridge drinking milk. His choice of seat was between having to sit next to a little girl or the guy with the big sword, and after weighing his options Ed decided to grab a seat next the guy with the sword. He had noticed the guy was checking out some of the other members, but it seemed he stopped and had covered his face after seeing Queenie. Ed has definitely heard of this girl. She was the type of girl you would love to have, but she would rip your head off literally if she saw you checking out another girl. Ed actually checked out some of the other female members since he's seemed to have gotten well acquainted with a few of the male members already. In the corner was some red head with a kitty, now there are three things Ed hate that being thieves and animals. But that's besides the point this red head seemed to may either a sorcerer or someone who just likes to bring a kitty to a villain club meeting for show and tell. Ed also shot a glance at a few others who just didn't seem that interesting or he just didn't know much of them. The sound of a gun firing made Ed actually check to see if he still had all his guns on him. It seemed Mr.Screen wasn't to pleased with some people getting food over getting a seat. Ed was definitely glad he didn't give into his stomach. When he heard that the guns can shoot through titanium Ed wondered 'What if we shoot the guns?' "I demand your obedience and in return you shall all be rewarded with riches and bloodshed." the idea of being someone's lap dog didn't sound all to pleasing. But Ed did like money, and this is so far slightly better than a maximum security prison in Europe. "Well after seeing this room is armed with pretty heavy weaponry I don't think there is a no to be said." Ed said obviously knowing he was right, and the second they entered this room everyone basically already said yes.	Name: Ed Rosario Age: 19 Gender: Male Personality: Loyal(ish), Funny, Team player, Adaptable, and Has-a-self-code. Powers/skills: Ed has nothing special about him... Well except that he's... A crack shot with almost any gun you put in his hands. Meaning he is an all around marksman and plans to hit his shot if the conditions are ideal of course. Knows the basics of most common and uncommon fighting styles ranging from the simple stuff kids ask their parents to sign them up for to the almost dead style of Okichitaw. Plus he can make explosives which may or may not self destruct within a couple seconds of completion. Equipment: He carries a handgun, a magnum revolver, three grenades, spare ammo, and sometimes a combat knife. Short Bio: Ed grew up in good old Detroit where crime was just always across the street, at the stop sign, or even right behind you. His family wasn't in the best of position as for money so that didn't help his situation nor did it affect him much. He knew his family was poor for a reason and his father made him know almost every second of his life that the reason his family was poor was because of him. It also really didn't strike Ed that much his mother died what was he suppose to do somehow get half a fortune to afford fancy medicine no that would just be unreal. His father from that point on basically had this idea that he would rob this transit from the bank and frame his son. Months of planning and preparing were put in motion, and by the end Ed had a basic knowledge of how to point a gun, shoot, and make something go boom. When time came and a huge money deposit was coming in for Detroit to try and get out of dept the two jumped into action. Everything went off without a hitch but when it was time for the frame game Ed had a counter plan to this and left his father to take the downfall. With so much money in his pocket Ed traveled learning new ways to improve his ways. Ed would always take what he learned and apply it to what he knew best... Stealing, killing, robbing, and just all things regular villains would do. Ed actually got caught when in France trying to rob a museum and sell some art to other countries. On his escort to a highly secured prison Ed took over the armored van he was in and drove off course into a a river. From France he a took a plane back to America deciding to stay off radar for a while, but while he was trying to... Well it was just too much fun to do what he usually does. Other:While Ed can is loyal his Self-Code makes him mostly look after himself mostly. Hence the (ish) after loyal.
55,072	1,503	38	787	153	LL shrugged. LL flipped off the ceiling turret. LL went off to take a seat as was suggested and plopped into a chair right before the screen wall with his legs spread wide open. LL took the milk with him. "Somebody has self-esteem issues." He thought to himself, whilst faintly hoping that Presence can read minds as well as scream at the microphone.	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,073	1,503	39	682	1,490	After Ed, a man who didnt seem to have much going for him voiced his opinion, Jackal gave an audible chuckle despite the situation they were in. He already knew he liked this kid, something about his simplicity reminded Jackal why he wished to blend in with these mortals in the first place. Looking over at another new member he saw some girl holding a cat. And that was when he spoke again, this time to the man speaking through the monitor. "You let me keep and grow my treasure hoard and I can tolerate these conditions. That being said, how friendly do we all have to be with each other, what if I suddenly get hungry and decide to eat one of these other fellow villains that I'm being forced to work with?"	Name: Jackal Ventmaw Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: 5'11 in height, with messy white hair and amber eyes with slit-like pupils. His eyes glow faintly in the dark like small candles. He often wears black pants with a white button up shirt under a blue jacket. 18.5 feet long. Personality: Greedy, Cocky, Prideful, Stubborn, Short-tempered. Powers/skills: His human form is weaker then his dragon form, as his human form is mostly for show. Like your typical dragon physical superiority and flight are to be expected. And like all dragons he is immune to fire, as he cannot be damaged by heat alone or be burned by any means. His greatest ability though is his fire manipulation, breathing amplified jets of flames, igniting his body on fire, or creating fireballs out of his hand. His flames are his most powerful and destructive weapons next to his natural weapons and armor-like scales. His scales are almost as durable as steel, making them hard to damage or puncture, however his underbelly instead has weaker scutes which serves as a weak spot. His tail can both function as a powerful, bone-breaking whip, or a spear due to the sharp biological spines and tip of the tail. His horns can be used for great impact damage, his claws and teeth are as effective in combat as they appear. He cannot survive in cold climates, anything lower then 40 degrees can kill him by hypothermia, he doesn't tolerate with weather well unless it is above 60 degrees F, while he can use his own fire to warm himself this drains his energy faster and he won't typically last longer then five minutes. Ice and other related forms of attacks are also especially effective against him. When enraged enough either by emotion, damage, or other such stress, he enters a berserk-like state in which he exhausts much more energy and becomes much more destructively violent. In such a state he may even consume human flesh or attack his comrades. He also looses all sense of pain, becoming almost unstoppable and relentless until either something manages to soothe his rage or he passes himself out. Due to unrestrained energy exhaustion he will last about 10 minutes in a berserk stage until he passes out, injuring him will quicken this timer. Once he exits this berserk stage he will be hit with all the pain he would have experienced during that state, as well as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Also while he is in a berserk state he doesn't necessarily think about anything else other then what has enraged him. Due to his arrogance he often underestimates opponents and overestimates his own abilities against others and obstacles. Equipment: Nothing but the clothes he wears, he has no regard for any tools or Trinkets and always assumes that his strength and ability alone is enough for any situation. He doesn't wish to use any tools or weapons, and he may insult others for relying on such. Short Bio: Jackal was born from supposedly the last dragon egg, as dragons have been extinct for thousands of years. It is unknown, even to him, his exact origins beyond this, but he takes his own race with pride. However as he grew out of a hatchling he blended in with the world, using magic for a human disguise and taught himself of basic knowledge of society until he practically blended in with the very humans his kind has terrorized long ago. However as he grew older, and having no parental guidance, he became overly greedy and started a sort of 'job' at thievery, though he attempted stealth it usually ended up with him burning away a few guards and buildings in his heists and fleeing before the cops could arrive. His arsenic nature has nearly cost him discovery by authorities several times, putting him on edge. When he received the fateful message of the mysterious entity that knew of his existence, threatening his livelihood he had built up on his own, he didn't hesitate to do what the entity had requested.
55,074	1,503	40	2,330	440	The announcement was nothing new, villains were villains and they would always act against authority figures. The Presence would have had a hard time wrangling them in, had he not threatened their lives. Dianna didn't seem too worried about the threat though, bloodshed was simply too much of a bonus. She had been sitting patiently, no one had taken a place next to her, and that didn't bother her much. Others gave her looks, she could feel all of their eyes. The pair that interested her the most was Ed’s, he had lingered on her a bit longer than the others. She wasn't quite ready to reveal herself, but she had a sudden itch to transmute his guns into squeaky toys. She saw the amber eyes of a white haired boy peek over at her. Then the young man turned to the monitor, addressing it and asking what he was to do if he decided to get hungry and eat one of them. Dianna chuckled, holding Ms. Muffins II close. “Was that directed towards me or my cat? I don't think it would be in your best interest to try to eat either of us, silly goose.” She clicked her tongue at him, and went back to petting her kitten.	Name Dianna Lear Alias Black Magic Age 16 Gender Female Appearance Dianna has short red hair that frames her face, always parted neatly to the side of her head. She has almond eyes, an icy shade of blue making up her irises. On her pale skin, she has a smattering of freckles. Her lips are a naturally sheer shade of pink, and her cheeks appear to have a slight blush. She stands at a graceful five feet ten inches, with legs that go on for miles. She has an athletic build, strong arms and legs that show how dedicated she is to gymnastics and running. Although she does prefer athleticism, she is usually seen in business casual clothes that suit her well for a teenager. Personality Impish, Dark Sense of Humor, Loyal, Dedicated. Powers Magick- Dianna is able to use both offensive and defensive magic, though she prefers offensive. Transmutation: Through transmutation, Dianna can take something and turn it into something else. She's known for making a joke out of things: a dagger into a bouquet of fresh flowers, a bullet into a flock of doves, she made the news for a week when she turned a lizard into a tyrannosaurus rex which caused the slaughter of many police officers. She is usually seen taking her cat, Ms. Muffins, and transforming her into a menagerie of different animals and tools. The spell lasts until broken by Dianna, which isn't common. Curses: With a few empowered Latin words, Dianna can curse others. She has been seen cursing others with simple things like a weak ankle, or deadly things such as diseases. She can also use these hexes to cause mental despair and insanity. Depending on the strength of her victim, the curses can last from five minutes to a lifetime. Potions: Dianna is a skilled potion crafter. She can make anything from love potions, to potions that excrete toxic fumes. These potions usually require tricky ingredients, but she does have the necessary ones in her base. Energy Shields/Domes: The name says it all. Dianna can make energy domes around her, or flat circular shields in front of her. The larger the shield, the weaker it will be, and the more concentration it will require to uphold. If Dianna plans to take a group into her dome, she will probably end up with a hideous migraine, if she doesn't fall unconscious of course. The shields can withhold blasts from medium sized explosives, projectiles, and sharp/blunt weapons. They will strain under too much pressure though, cracking until they break. Skills Sleight of Hand- Dianna is an excellent thief, without the usage of her magic she can probably strip someone down to their knickers without them knowing any better. Stage Magic- To keep with the magician motif, Dianna has aced many card tricks. She can pull a rabbit out of a hat, throw daggers blindfolded. If you've seen it on a stage, she can recreate it. Not the most practical of skills, but it gets a good laugh. Gymnastics/Athleticism: Dianna is a skilled gymnast, she is also skilled at running. She has a tank that almost never runs empty, allowing her to outrun most of her foes. Skilled Swordsman: Dianna is a gifted swordsman, having been taught by the Wise One himself. She is also good with most blades, such as throwing knives, daggers, and anything with a pointy end. Equipment A Bandolier: instead of bullets she has small servings of all her favorite potions. Sleeping Potion: When thrown on the ground, the potion will shatter and create a gas that will knock most people out. The gas can get through most spaces, so covering one's face with a t-shirt will only work for so long. Healing Potion: Once drunk, this potion will heal minor wounds. It can also lessen the blood flow of some major wounds. Curse Removal: In case a cursed person can still be useful, Dianna carries servings of her own special concoction that removes any curses she has placed on someone. It restores them back to their original state, whatever that was. Throwing Daggers: As much as she likes to think so, magic doesn't solve every problem. At each hip she carries a sheathe of four throwing knives. Two of which are tipped with poison, for those special moments. Ms. Muffins II: Sadly, the first Ms. Muffins died in a firefight. Now, Dianna carries Ms. Muffins II. Much like her predecessor, Ms. Muffins II is used mainly as a device for Transmutation, if she doesn't have a hostage on hand. She's also used for good times and snuggles! Short Bio Dianna’s beginnings started with the Wise One. The Wise One was a hero turned villain after a few complications with the law. He hid away, only coming out to cause a horrific scene once a year on the Fourth of July. Finally, the hideous massacres ended. They just stopped one year, things ran smoothly. This was because he had found a new Apprentice. The Wise One always had a soft spot for children, and his past lover had moved on and given birth to a beautiful red haired baby. The child was the spitting image of her mother, and carried the abilities needed to be a good witch. So, her teachings began. For every spell, the Wise One planted a bit of his own essence into her. He began aging, after a while. On the day her training was completed, he finally died. Dianna was still small, a ten year old with a cat and the power to kill. She took after her Master, her first attack was on July Fourth, an homage to him before she became her own villain. Now, she's known throughout the world as a killer, a villian. She couldn't be happier. Other N/A
55,075	1,503	41	893	1,251	Phone Freak jumped when the gun popped out of the ceiling, throwing herself under the table as a shot rang out. She stayed down there for a moment before slowly raising herself up over the edge when no more were forthcoming. She noted the lack of any holes in and around her chair, looked up at the gun, then followed its gaze to the kitchen and the smoking hole near the two idiots whom she hadn't even noticed had decided to go in there instead of following some very simple instructions. She breathed a sigh of relief. When that thing had dropped down she'd been convinced it was for her. Her own warning conveyed what she's already discovered, but did contain an interesting tidbit: The Presence had not known what she was trying to accomplish with the door. That was interesting. It was not as all knowing as it made itself out to be. Wiggle wiggle wiggle... She crawled up and placed herself gingerly back in her seat, only a little embaressed that she'd moved when so many others hadn't. Regaining her composure, she cleared her throat, and decided to get on with it. "The gunslinging tool has a point, loath as I am to admit it." She said. "There's no assent necessary here. Just entering this room was like signing on the dotted line, so lets skip the bit where we all go Yea and just get to the most important points; freedom and discretion. Are we free to come and go, or are we to be kept cooped up here like good little tin soldiers until you need us? Are we free to tackle missions how we choose, or are you intending to micromanage our efforts?"	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,076	1,503	42	2,301	766	When the turret fired at the feet of the other two who didn't sit down, Maverick stiffened but didn't flinch when the gun fired at the floor in front of her, as well. Inwardly, she was relieved that it warned the other two first, otherwise her current macho display she was putting on would have faltered. Maverick lazily raised her hands into the air and held them by her head, a sarcastic gesture of surrender. She eyed the bullet hole that was left on the floor, a small smoke puff rising from it's miniature crater. She could only assume the Presence had more weaponry up it's sleeve, as even these alleged "teleporter tracing turrets" would probably have limited efficiency against Loud Love. She could only imagine that some of these "villains" in the room were resistant to firearms in the least. She also noted the amusing display but on by Phone Freak. Maverick took a near Phone Freak. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her, and then looked back at the screens. Her thoughts turned back to the situation at hand. ...Villains? Samantha didn't think of herself as being...villainous. A criminal yes, but she wasn't evil. A lot of the people here seemed to proudly label themselves as villains, as the bad guys. She was being grouped together with these people? A sinking feeling set in as she realized she would be forced to do jobs with this new group, dragged along by a bunch where murderers and sadists are in the majority. Hopefully Maverick could root out the stable-minded and try to stay on their good side. If there was one thing she could use, it was at least one person who she knew wouldn't stab in the throat for the fun of it.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,077	1,503	43	1,828	2,004	Metallia placed her chair among the other chairs when they came in, slightly behind the rest of the line if possible. After that, she has been sitting silently, watching over the rest and intentionally not involved herself. ... Hm. The Presence seemed to have quite the amount of control over them. Metallia pondered about the means which it gathered information, and as such also what means she could use to do things that the Presence wouldn't be able to sense. ... More on that later. She dispelled the line of thought immediately with the after-thought of "it might be able to read minds". This post is also just a general "I exist" post, Metallia just watching silently on the side.	Name: Angelica Wilder Age: 15 Gender: Female Personality: Apathetic, she floats along life, showing little emotion even to the deeply disturbing. She does not mind doing disturbing things herself, either. Arrogant, she believes she’s better than you, even if the opposite is proven. She looks down on any petty act that has no purpose, as well. Irritable, things that annoy her annoy her a lot, and is about to explode. She’s very likely to hold a grudge, which is why she’s here. Graceful, the way she moves and talks would make you think she’s royalty. This is her at her best, disturbingly graceful. At her worst… Childish, that ice-cream looks delicious. I want it. Hey, pay attention to me. Heeeeeeeeeey. … I can’t have it? … ice-cream stand explodes Hmpf. Serves you right. Powers/skills: Her one capability is her understanding of technology way out of her league and capability to construct such. However, if confronted without her toys, Metallia will be but a 15 year old girl in terms of combat prowess. Equipment: On herself. Her headset, those two things on her head, contains extremely powerful transmitters and receivers, allowing her to make use of public satellites to communicate with her robots wherever they might be. They also send back any information they have to update them on what they’re doing right now. Using this, Metallia can directly control her robots as if they were her own limbs, should she wish it. Oh, and that dress is bullet-proof highest grade combat-armor. There’s also metal in it, to allow her to control herself with the next machine if needed. Her chair. She has her own chair which is called the R5. This machine is equipped with two very powerful magnetic controllers (one in each black box by her hips in the image). These allow Metallia to fly, carry around those two giant metal arms to do her bidding and generally harass enemies with any metallic things nearby. Her magnetic control with this can be pretty powerful, though she cannot deform metal objects with it and there’s a limit to how fast she can accelerate things depending on their weight. She probably can’t affect a car all that much. It is also outfitted with machine-guns, capability of launching multiple kinds of rockets or explosives, supreme impact-power in close combat, emergency thrusters and it is also rather customizable depending on what Metallia needs on her newest trip. Robots. Tia in the middle. Usual robots to the left and right. First there’s Tia. She’s an android that Metallia felt like building because she was bored one day. Tia does not have the capability to display any emotions, but through an AI Metallia considers “rudimentary” she emulates human intelligence to a frightening level, though has no capacity to do anything but follow instructions and answer to her mistress’s commands. That is, except for destroying enemies with robot strength and utilizing the rockets/machine guns in her arms. Metallia spent more time on Tia than her usual robots and she should be considered more powerful. The usual robots are big humanoid shapes that are bulky but quite strong. In their shoulders they can carry weapons from blades, guns, explosives, whatever Metallia felt like putting in it. Metallia can control them directly or she can allow their AI to do the maneuvering based on her instructions. Though, while the AI in them is supposedly very advanced because Metallia made it, they mostly suck in combat and most heroes make short work of them. Their inability to be competent should never be underestimated. However, Metallia can make a lot of them in a relatively short amount of time. If The Presence needs an army, she can provide it. Of course, in the future, Metallia is able to invent new robots to cause trouble for her enemies. When she does, I’ll most likely delve into this link, where I found her image. Short Bio: Metallia does not know her own backstory. But, if you wish to know, then feel free to open the hider. Metallia is a drone from a super-villain of galactic proportions. She is, to say, a biological android, having been designed rather than born but yet still have organs and function like a normal human would. Her “father” created her and sent her to Earth in a shuttle that would germinate her on the way so she’d be born upon arrival. She was supposed to gain further orders upon arrival. However, when Metallia was arrived on Earth and was born, no orders came. Be this because the super-villain was defeated before she arrived or for another reason entirely, the information that was supposed to spur her on her way never came. And then… she was stuck there. … However. Her mind still has information which her father considered “vital for survival”, which just happened to include information on superior technology from space. Metallia started her existence as 14 years old in England. She simply opened her eyes and there she was. Nobody knew who she was, not even herself. That said, she managed to quickly find lodging with a nice old grandma who took pity on her. The police could not find any record of her existence, and when she was sent to the hospital for a check on her mind. In the hospital, however, something odd happened. She… became extremely annoyed at the technology they used to examine her. Because, it could be so much more efficient, so much more thorough. As it was, they could miss whatever the issue was! She lashed out in anger, and then she was down at the police again, who believed themselves to have a problem child on their hands. They had no idea. Encouraged to do something about humanity’s inferior technology, she started working. Under the name Angelica Wilder, a name she took out of nowhere, she took the job as a maid to a prevalent technological doctor while she worked tirelessly on new technology on the side. She invented something ground-breaking in the field of robotics, and she expected to be praised. Sure enough, she WAS praised by the doctor… … Then he took patent on her invention and received all the credit. Nobody would believe a young maid like her had developed such a piece of technology. Enraged, Angelica decided to forcefully punish the doctor who took her things by building robots that would do her bidding. Taking the name “Metallia”, she attacked the doctor’s university. … That’s when she found out she stood no chance against the heroes of today. Managing to escape, Metallia turned her attention to these… “heroes”. They had defended the doctor. They had to pay. She’d develop better robots, better weapons. She’d find out their secret identities and who their loved ones were. It became clear to her that the only way she could be allowed to make humanity better… was if she took over it all herself, first…! … That said, she never had much luck as a super-villain. Her robots were often easily destroyed by heroes she confronted. … That’s when The Presence contacted her… … … Other: … If bored someday, you might find her aimlessly browsing the internet and/or playing a video game. She can be easily distracted if she doesn’t feel like doing what she should be doing. Beware her knowledge of the internet. She can fairly easily get and invent what she desires by selling things she made/fixed on the internet while buying, which is how she gained all the items she needs to make her contraptions. The things she buy look innocent on paper, but become significant when she starts working on them. Money has never been her goal.
55,078	1,503	44	1,602	2,499	Conrat looked to the two who had sat next to him. They were both strange in their own ways to say the least. Conrat couldn't accurately describe, Joe, he was like nothing he had ever seen. I mean tight clothing was one thing, but this was another. He was friendly enough though, and, as if Joe's suggestion was a command, Conrat slouched ever so slightly in his seat and crossed his arms. Ed was different, he looked normal enough, if a bit scruffy, but it would have been a bit hypocritical for Conrat to even mention that, let alone take it into account. His strangeness came from the incident earlier, of which Conrat only caught a glance at. Conrat jolted in his seat as the unfamiliar sound of a gun echoed through the room. He immediately straightened up, grabbed his sword and had unsheathed it halfway before The Presence began speaking again. He quickly put his sword on the ground, he was no longer embarrassed or anxious, he was on edge. The Presence seemed to have the base on lockdown, and no doubt with weapons like that this would be a tough, near impossible fight if this was a trap. He kept his back straight, Joe's suggestion of relaxing would fall on deaf ears after that kind of shock. The Presence spoke like a noble, Conrat had met once. He was a ponce to say the least, and actually confessed to be a paedophile after his army had been defeated by the Demon Army. The promise of riches and bloodshed was nice enough, but Conrat didn't take the demand for 'obedience' very well. Obedience was something he gave to those he respected, and someone who couldn't even face a team they'd assembled was not someone he respected.	Name: Conrat Stoyan - Hannibal Age: In every way but chronologically he's about 19. He was born in 1170. Gender: Male Appearance: Conrat towers at a tall 6 foot 4 and has a muscular physique fit for a man who wields a sword taller than him by about a head. His hair is an ebony black, and is kept in a short and messy style. He has a strong jaw and handsome features, although some are put off by his scars. The three most notable wounds on him are all on his face. First and foremost is his left eye, which he keeps closed at all times as it was taken out around a year or two before he was frozen in time. Secondly is the scar that traces horizontally across his nose and lastly is a strangely shaped scar, tracing around the side and underside of his remaining eye. Various other scars trace his body, but none as notable as the ones on his face of course. Although he has lived in the modern world for all of 2 months, he still does not fully understand the clothing habits of the modern day. His costume consists of his black, lightweight armour and nothing but a red scarf to cover his mouth and subsequently his identity. Day-to-day he's become quite accustomed to flannels and jeans. A safe bet for sure. Personality: Dated/Loyal/Vengeful/Naive/Ruthless By all means, Conrat should be your stereotypical brutal, misogynistic, angry warlord who goes around killing for no reason and acting about as edgy as his blade. However, he's completely different. He's optimistic, ready to learn and cheerful at about all times. At first glance, you could even think he was a hero. A hero is something he isn't though, it is something he'd always liked to be however. His brutal life has raised a child born of hatred and anger. His real emotion is hidden behind a facade of joy. He's accepted that it's simply in his nature to kill and do evil. His attitude towards women is also, not what you'd expect. He isn't misogynistic at all, and could tell you tales of the women he'd met on the battlefield and fought alongside. However, he does get quite embarrassed when seeing some of the skimpier outfits worn in the present day. Even shorts can make him go all red. Powers/skills: Conrat's most obvious power is his sheer strength. His sword being the most obvious example of this. Furthermore, his speed is far beyond that of any human, without his sword he could probably run faster than your average sports care. It's not really true to say that Conrat has increased durability, it's only slightly above that of the average human. It's more like an ignorance to pain that allows him to keep on trucking through injury. A less obvious power of his is related to his curse. He is able to manipulate and create fire. He dislikes creating, and only really does so in times of dire need. Equipment: Conrat's main piece of equipment is his sword, The Black Death. It's more like a hunk of iron than anything else, and is unliftable by any normal man. Even to those with enhanced strength it can be a tricky, or damn right near impossible weapon to use. It feels imbalanced to those who haven't used it for years on end, but to Conrat it feels just as easy to use as your average long sword. Short Bio: Conrat was born in Germany, during the winter of 1170. He was the seventh son of a seventh son. Anyone who knows their mythos would know that this must mean he was born with some sort of special power, but rather than some sort of magic spell, Conrat was born with a curse. His family couldn't cope with six sons, let alone seven. They sold Conrat into slavery. For the first two years of his life he was cared for by a slave woman before he was sold off to a mercenary battalion. Now, I know what you're asking, "Why would a mercenary battalion buy a slave baby?". The simple answer is that the head of the battalions wife was baron, and attempts at suicide had been made. Conrat was raised a soldier. To think that he would have had an easy life because of his father is to think a lie. He was in every battle from the age of 5, handing weapons to soldiers and eventually even fighting on the field as a squire. As he grew older he gained an affinity for heavier weapons, and took a liking to the zweihander. His life was thrown into ruins during a fight that no one could have expected. For the first part of it they were fighting what looked to be ordinary foot soldiers, but soon enough the battalion was surrounded and were being slaughtered by the dozen. Soon enough, all that was left was Conrat and his 'father'. The beast that rode before him gave Conrat two options, kill his father and join them or die on that field. He, of course, chose to kill his father. He regretted it almost immediately after. The 'man' that had given him the options removed his helmet to reveal a charred, horned face, with teeth sticking out like a sabretooth. The entire battalion looked that way, like demons. Conrat's transformation began that day. They used various concoctions and spells to transform him, giving him unimaginable abilities and even crafting the very sword you see him with today. Things were not all beneficial though. After giving him these abilities they required a sacrifice, one of the flesh. They first took his eye, and then a part of his nose, it was only when they began to take his other eye that Conrat rebelled and escaped his former commanders. He travelled throughout his homeland for about a year after that before they found him. He took on around 200 of them before it was over. They froze him on the spot, turning him to stone and encasing him underground for presumably all eternity. It was of course, not meant to be. He woke up just 2 months ago, and has already been making headlines for his crime spree, killing those who got in his way and taking what he liked. Soon enough, he was contacted by 'The Presence' through a dove of all things. Other:
55,079	1,503	45	2,773	50	Things were heating up that was for sure. It seemed in accordance with the new additions, The Presence was eager to trim the numbers. She could understand him firing off a shot at LL and Mako, after all they had practically raided the mans fridge. Maverick, however, was just standing minding her own business, surely that wouldn't require being shot at. As if to demonstrate a small amount of her so-far secret powers, Tereska's finger slyly morphed into a talon, she used the extremely sharp nail of sorts to scratch a small doodle into the expensive-looking table in front of her. Her other hand remained, cupping her chin as her boredom became more and more obvious.	Name: Tereska Kowalczyk Age: 17 Gender: Female Appearance: Tereska stands at a short 5 foot 5 and has a thin physique. Her hair is long and naturally black and her eyes are an icy blue. Her style of clothing consists of band t-shirts and rather boyish clothes. Her transformed self is obviously very different. She grows to 5 foot 9, and her skin grows pale white, covered by feathers everywhere but her face and neck. A large red mark grows on her lips and nose, and her eyes change to the same colour. Her hair also changes to a bright white, with the ends dying to a blood red. Of course, she also grows more bird like, with large wings growing on the back of her arms. Personality: Hopeful, easily-angered, vindictive, protective, adaptable Powers/skills: Tereska's most obvious power is her ability to change into a harpy. Her strength is increased in this form, and sharp talons grow on her hands and feet. She is also, of course, able to fly. She is also able to transform any percent of her into the harpy. For example, she could transform solely her arms or her hands into the harpy form, enabling her to use her wings or hands without fully transforming. Although this, of course, does not grant her the extra strength or speed boost she gains from the full form. Equipment: Tereska doesn't carry anything on her when doing villainous deeds. She loses her clothes and equipment when transformed so bringing anything seems just dumb. Short Bio: Tereska was born to a farming family just outside of Częstochowa, Poland. Her life was relatively normal up until the age of 13, which was when she developed her powers. They appeared while she was at school, and, of course, the horror of her transformation scared and alienated her classmates and even her teacher. After she returned she was made a mockery of, being teased day in and day out. This was, of course, what changed her from your average girl into a villain. She began picking off her classmates one by one. Eventually she was the only person left in the class and it didn't take a huge amount of investigation to determine that all of the corpses washing up with signs of large bird attacks were from her. She was to be sent to jail, she escaped of course and flew for new pastures. For America. There she made a name for herself as a villain, before being contacted by some strange electrical force and being assembled to a team. Other: -Will only transform when out of sight, she aint that kind of gal.
55,080	1,503	46	682	1,490	Jackal gave her a rather overconfident and cocky grin. "If you get on my bad side then you may want to worry about how my kin are at being ambitious predators." Even from here, he could smell the residue of magic from her, though she didn't appear to be the only one to cast spells, there was definitely a difference in quality and type. There was something, instinctual nostalgic of it. Afterwards he began to take note of more of his contemporaries. One of the girls seemed to have embarrassed herself, and the other was almost in trouble as the presence may have shot her had she continued whatever it was she was doing that was unknown to Jackal's attention. Speaking of instinct-based nostalgia, He noticed another striking character, a man with a giant sword. "Nice to see some variety, I appreciate the use of a more primitive weapon." He called over to Conrat. Most of these characters seemed tolerable. Well except for two. One smelled of seafood, the other wasn't wearing any clothes, and had been the center of misfit behavior for this meeting. He tried to ignore them for now, annoyances for another day.	Name: Jackal Ventmaw Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: 5'11 in height, with messy white hair and amber eyes with slit-like pupils. His eyes glow faintly in the dark like small candles. He often wears black pants with a white button up shirt under a blue jacket. 18.5 feet long. Personality: Greedy, Cocky, Prideful, Stubborn, Short-tempered. Powers/skills: His human form is weaker then his dragon form, as his human form is mostly for show. Like your typical dragon physical superiority and flight are to be expected. And like all dragons he is immune to fire, as he cannot be damaged by heat alone or be burned by any means. His greatest ability though is his fire manipulation, breathing amplified jets of flames, igniting his body on fire, or creating fireballs out of his hand. His flames are his most powerful and destructive weapons next to his natural weapons and armor-like scales. His scales are almost as durable as steel, making them hard to damage or puncture, however his underbelly instead has weaker scutes which serves as a weak spot. His tail can both function as a powerful, bone-breaking whip, or a spear due to the sharp biological spines and tip of the tail. His horns can be used for great impact damage, his claws and teeth are as effective in combat as they appear. He cannot survive in cold climates, anything lower then 40 degrees can kill him by hypothermia, he doesn't tolerate with weather well unless it is above 60 degrees F, while he can use his own fire to warm himself this drains his energy faster and he won't typically last longer then five minutes. Ice and other related forms of attacks are also especially effective against him. When enraged enough either by emotion, damage, or other such stress, he enters a berserk-like state in which he exhausts much more energy and becomes much more destructively violent. In such a state he may even consume human flesh or attack his comrades. He also looses all sense of pain, becoming almost unstoppable and relentless until either something manages to soothe his rage or he passes himself out. Due to unrestrained energy exhaustion he will last about 10 minutes in a berserk stage until he passes out, injuring him will quicken this timer. Once he exits this berserk stage he will be hit with all the pain he would have experienced during that state, as well as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Also while he is in a berserk state he doesn't necessarily think about anything else other then what has enraged him. Due to his arrogance he often underestimates opponents and overestimates his own abilities against others and obstacles. Equipment: Nothing but the clothes he wears, he has no regard for any tools or Trinkets and always assumes that his strength and ability alone is enough for any situation. He doesn't wish to use any tools or weapons, and he may insult others for relying on such. Short Bio: Jackal was born from supposedly the last dragon egg, as dragons have been extinct for thousands of years. It is unknown, even to him, his exact origins beyond this, but he takes his own race with pride. However as he grew out of a hatchling he blended in with the world, using magic for a human disguise and taught himself of basic knowledge of society until he practically blended in with the very humans his kind has terrorized long ago. However as he grew older, and having no parental guidance, he became overly greedy and started a sort of 'job' at thievery, though he attempted stealth it usually ended up with him burning away a few guards and buildings in his heists and fleeing before the cops could arrive. His arsenic nature has nearly cost him discovery by authorities several times, putting him on edge. When he received the fateful message of the mysterious entity that knew of his existence, threatening his livelihood he had built up on his own, he didn't hesitate to do what the entity had requested.
55,081	1,503	47	2,190	126	His mind having wandered off from boredom, the sudden sound of gunfire caught Nergal off-guard. Tensing up as his gaze snapped to the ceiling he relaxed slightly when he saw the guns seemed to be pointed elsewhere and the Presence voice growled at the three who still had yet to sit down. So it seemed that they weren’t completely replaceable or else he would have imagined the Presence would have wounded or killed those three for ignoring its instructions, though as he gave the guns another glance he figured there was unlikely to be anymore warning shots. Looking at the rest of the group he gauged their reaction to the scene, he noted that most of them seemed to be undisturbed by the gunfire, including those that had been shot at. The naked boys reaction was particularly curious and amusing, to have such a blatant disregard for a tool that was designed to kill him spoke of either great mental fortitude or mental damage. Then there were others like Phone Freak which he couldn’t help but chuckle at, her comments just far made her seem like a smart individual so perhaps she was just unused to combat situations? The warning the Presence aimed at her was curious as well, giving him an idea of what kind of powers she might have.	Name: Andrew/ Alias - Nergal Age: 19 Gender: Male Appearance: Andrew wears simple and rough clothing, consisting of torn jeans and a sleeveless shirt, having learnt quickly that good looking clothing makes one a target on the street. His soft features from his pampered lifestyle have given way to a much rougher features including a number of scars from the brawls he has gotten himself into. His blonde hair has become rather messy and unkempt though he keeps it cut short so it stays out of the way. His eyes are a dark brown/green color and seem dull and without the spark of life at most times, though when he succeeds in a crime or venture they momentarily regain that spark. His overall body structure is toned but not muscular, his focus being on agility and dexterity rather than strength Personality:Sadistic, Rageful, Selfish, Arrogant, Bad with Authority Powers/skills: Corrosive Touch, Toxic Fluids, Poison Resistance Corrosive Touch: The chemicals that splashed Andrew caused a side-effect in his biological makeup, granting him the ability to change the chemical compounds of the skin of his body. By focusing his mind on a part of his body, Andrew can make the skin of that area become corrosive enough that his very touch begins to break down the object he comes into contact with. The longer he concentrates and the longer he maintains physical contact with the area, the stronger this effect becomes. This effect is most pronounced when contact is made using the palms of his hands, however it can still be used by the rest of skin, though to a much weaker degree. When this is used on a person, it will initial cause a burning of the skin with longer contact beginning to melt the skin and work on the underlying structure of the unfortunate victim. Wounds caused by this resemble chemical burns and can result in poisoning in some cases Toxic Fluids: Any of the liquids from Andrew’s body, such as blood or saliva, can become toxic with concentration. With some mental effort, he can make the blood from a wound, or saliva he gathers it in his mouth change its chemical structure to be either poisonous or corrosive to the general human. Unlike his touch, the toxins produced are specifically designed for a biological reaction. The poisons produced can mimic most poisons found naturally in the world (Mild Paralysis, muscle spasming, blood thinning, blood thickening, flesh melting, etc.). The toxins become more potent if they manage to enter the targets bloodstream and with repeated doses Non-living substances will have minimal effect from any toxins produced through these methods Poison Resistance: Due to his ability to create poisons and toxins, Andrew has an initiate resistance to being poisoned himself. This does not make him completely immune to the effects but greatly diminishes their effect and renders them non-lethal to himself. Equipment: The main tools he carries around a set of throwing knives and a sickle. He has no problem picking up any other bladed weapons he comes across as he can lace them with his poisons, allowing him to increase the lethality of what would otherwise be glancing blows Short Bio: Andrew lived a life that many would have envied, having a well renowned father and mother for scientists ensured that he was well taken care of. Wanting to ensure the best for their child, his parents made sure he was offered the best education and experiences to ensure he would follow in their footsteps and continue down the path they had. Despite being provided the means to live in the upper echelons of society by his parents however, Andrew expressed resentment at how it seemed his life had already been decided for him by his parents. Further fueling this resentment was the fact his parents research demanded their time and attention, often leaving Andrew on his own unless it was him expressing interest in the topic of research they were currently working on By the time he was finishing High-school and beginning to look at Universities, this resentment had developed into a deep-seated hatred which resulting in many arguments between the family. On one such night where his parents were on the verge of a breakthrough, when the family was planning on having a dinner together once they had finished the latest research, another argument broke out while tensions were at an all time high. Heated words were exchanged and becoming enraged by the conversation, Andrew began taking his anger out on the nearby equipment and causing it to malfunction. The end result was the equipment exploding, injuring Andrew both from the blast and the chemical burns he suffered. After being rushed to hospital and stabilized, Andrew was eventually visited by his father who promptly told him this attitude of his could go on no longer, and he either to behave himself or become disowned. Left alone to mull over this fact, Andrew eventually decided he could not live with his life being dictated by others. While he healed he slowly began to realise the accident had resulted in some positive side effects. Spending the next few days testing his abilities, he eventually disappeared from the hospital, abandoning who he and any ties to his past. The next few years he spent honing his own skills and forging his own path, not caring for those he hurt or killed as long as he got to live his own life. Other: N/A for now
55,082	1,503	48	1,254	172	When the gunshot rang out next to Mako and the naked one, mako resisted the urge to jump. When the presence spoke and told him how these guns could punch through titanium a small grimace formed on Mako's face, "A fine waste of a bullet since I was going to seat myself anyway." Tupperware dish in hand he made his way back to his chair and after moving his "Party Gear" on to the table he sat down and continued eating raw salmon filets, now right in front the entire group. After listening to all the voice had to say Mako simply shrugged, "Human riches hold no appeal to me...bloodshed however is more my scene..." Mako smiled to himself once again letting his razors show a bit as he thought about all the interesting people he was going to eat. "Yeah what about when we aren't doing stuff for you? You gonna lock us up? What good are riches if we are to be slaves?" Mako continued to eat fish while sitting in his chair directly across from the man with the large sword.	Name: Kelacton "Kells" Regarius/Mako Age: 17 Gender: Male Appearance: Personality: Violent, Volatile, Childish, Uncontrolled, Temperamental. Powers/skills: The telepathic ability to communicate with marine life, which he can summon from great distances. (Mainly uses it to attract great numbers of ocean predators) Hydrokinesis, the ability to control water and change its shape and temperature. Mako has a number of other superhuman powers, most of which derive from the fact that he is adapted to live and thrive in the harshest of underwater environments. He has the ability to breathe underwater and possesses a superhuman physique strong enough for his lungs to work unaffected by the immense pressure and the cold temperature of the ocean depths, also making him tough enough to withstand attacks from superhuman opponents and machine gun fire. He also possesses superhuman strength as a result. He can swim at very high speeds, capable of reaching speeds of roughly 6,700 mph and can swim up Niagara Falls. He can see in near total darkness and has enhanced hearing granting limited sonar. Equipment: A small metal cylinder that transforms into a black Trident that can fire electrical bolts. (Think Electric Eel) Short Bio: Kells grew up in Atlantis as every single member of his race did but from a very young age it was clear he wasn't like other children, Kells loved hurting others, from other children to sea life and when his baby teeth started to fall out they were replaced by razor sharp piranha like fangs, a sign amongst his people that he was going to grow up to be a monster. At the age of 13 he killed a boy his age during a fight. The law was clear he was to be taken out into the ocean and abandoned to his fate, but his mother and father still loved the boy. As a last act of defiance his father, (a member of the royal guard.) Left him with his trident a powerful weapon he knew his son would use to survive. From then on Kells started watching the sharks and learning how to survive from them. They were harsh teachers and the way of life was unforgiving, but nonetheless Kells flourished and at the age of 15 he encountered a ship of Somali pirates and at first he was just investigating but when he was found on the ship one of the pirates shot him with an AK47, the bullets stung and instantly sent Kells into a frenzy he killed everyone aboard the ship in a matter of minutes, ripping men into pieces and sinking his teeth into their flesh, it was a horrific scene. Kells started watching these "humans" and decided that he liked their way of life and at the age of 16 he left the ocean and went on land. It didn't take him long to adjust and found that he was suited for living on land just as well, he also found that he really liked to party. Other:
55,083	1,503	49	2,330	440	Dianna laughed, placing Ms. Muffins II on the table, as if displaying a weapon of mass destruction. The kitten stared at everyone with the wide eyes of a doe, focusing softly on the man eating raw fish, before scratching at the table. Dianna smiled at the cute little pet, stroking her behind the ears. “Even the most ambitious predators have fallen at the hands of Ms. Muffins II!” She announced enthusiastically, and the kitten meowed sweetly in response. She remembered the many ways Wise One would punish her if she became overly cocky. Some were funny, others...not so much. She knew that she wasn't going to hold a dagger that had once been a spoon to the man's throat, that would give off a bad impression, and not everyone took it as lightly as she did. Instead, she would do something more playful, with quite possibly a sour result. “Columbae.” She muttered, pointing at his chair. The wooden piece of furniture he was once sitting on became a small flock of doves. As soon as the initial shock wore off, they flew up into the rafters, leaving the white haired man without a seat. Dianna smiled warmly at him, before turning her attention to the man eating fish. He had brought up a good point. “Yes! That is a grand point! I would much rather go home, than stay here after we are done. A festering hole of criminals is not a place for me.”	Name Dianna Lear Alias Black Magic Age 16 Gender Female Appearance Dianna has short red hair that frames her face, always parted neatly to the side of her head. She has almond eyes, an icy shade of blue making up her irises. On her pale skin, she has a smattering of freckles. Her lips are a naturally sheer shade of pink, and her cheeks appear to have a slight blush. She stands at a graceful five feet ten inches, with legs that go on for miles. She has an athletic build, strong arms and legs that show how dedicated she is to gymnastics and running. Although she does prefer athleticism, she is usually seen in business casual clothes that suit her well for a teenager. Personality Impish, Dark Sense of Humor, Loyal, Dedicated. Powers Magick- Dianna is able to use both offensive and defensive magic, though she prefers offensive. Transmutation: Through transmutation, Dianna can take something and turn it into something else. She's known for making a joke out of things: a dagger into a bouquet of fresh flowers, a bullet into a flock of doves, she made the news for a week when she turned a lizard into a tyrannosaurus rex which caused the slaughter of many police officers. She is usually seen taking her cat, Ms. Muffins, and transforming her into a menagerie of different animals and tools. The spell lasts until broken by Dianna, which isn't common. Curses: With a few empowered Latin words, Dianna can curse others. She has been seen cursing others with simple things like a weak ankle, or deadly things such as diseases. She can also use these hexes to cause mental despair and insanity. Depending on the strength of her victim, the curses can last from five minutes to a lifetime. Potions: Dianna is a skilled potion crafter. She can make anything from love potions, to potions that excrete toxic fumes. These potions usually require tricky ingredients, but she does have the necessary ones in her base. Energy Shields/Domes: The name says it all. Dianna can make energy domes around her, or flat circular shields in front of her. The larger the shield, the weaker it will be, and the more concentration it will require to uphold. If Dianna plans to take a group into her dome, she will probably end up with a hideous migraine, if she doesn't fall unconscious of course. The shields can withhold blasts from medium sized explosives, projectiles, and sharp/blunt weapons. They will strain under too much pressure though, cracking until they break. Skills Sleight of Hand- Dianna is an excellent thief, without the usage of her magic she can probably strip someone down to their knickers without them knowing any better. Stage Magic- To keep with the magician motif, Dianna has aced many card tricks. She can pull a rabbit out of a hat, throw daggers blindfolded. If you've seen it on a stage, she can recreate it. Not the most practical of skills, but it gets a good laugh. Gymnastics/Athleticism: Dianna is a skilled gymnast, she is also skilled at running. She has a tank that almost never runs empty, allowing her to outrun most of her foes. Skilled Swordsman: Dianna is a gifted swordsman, having been taught by the Wise One himself. She is also good with most blades, such as throwing knives, daggers, and anything with a pointy end. Equipment A Bandolier: instead of bullets she has small servings of all her favorite potions. Sleeping Potion: When thrown on the ground, the potion will shatter and create a gas that will knock most people out. The gas can get through most spaces, so covering one's face with a t-shirt will only work for so long. Healing Potion: Once drunk, this potion will heal minor wounds. It can also lessen the blood flow of some major wounds. Curse Removal: In case a cursed person can still be useful, Dianna carries servings of her own special concoction that removes any curses she has placed on someone. It restores them back to their original state, whatever that was. Throwing Daggers: As much as she likes to think so, magic doesn't solve every problem. At each hip she carries a sheathe of four throwing knives. Two of which are tipped with poison, for those special moments. Ms. Muffins II: Sadly, the first Ms. Muffins died in a firefight. Now, Dianna carries Ms. Muffins II. Much like her predecessor, Ms. Muffins II is used mainly as a device for Transmutation, if she doesn't have a hostage on hand. She's also used for good times and snuggles! Short Bio Dianna’s beginnings started with the Wise One. The Wise One was a hero turned villain after a few complications with the law. He hid away, only coming out to cause a horrific scene once a year on the Fourth of July. Finally, the hideous massacres ended. They just stopped one year, things ran smoothly. This was because he had found a new Apprentice. The Wise One always had a soft spot for children, and his past lover had moved on and given birth to a beautiful red haired baby. The child was the spitting image of her mother, and carried the abilities needed to be a good witch. So, her teachings began. For every spell, the Wise One planted a bit of his own essence into her. He began aging, after a while. On the day her training was completed, he finally died. Dianna was still small, a ten year old with a cat and the power to kill. She took after her Master, her first attack was on July Fourth, an homage to him before she became her own villain. Now, she's known throughout the world as a killer, a villian. She couldn't be happier. Other N/A
55,084	1,503	50	682	1,490	At first Jackal chuckled at the sight of her trying to make her cat sound threatening. However he was soon left in surprise as his chair disappeared and was replaced by a flock of birds. Annoyed Jackal tried to catch one but his reaction was delayed. No longer having a chair he was forced to stand up in front of the table. Crossing his arms he glared at the witch and her cat too.	Name: Jackal Ventmaw Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: 5'11 in height, with messy white hair and amber eyes with slit-like pupils. His eyes glow faintly in the dark like small candles. He often wears black pants with a white button up shirt under a blue jacket. 18.5 feet long. Personality: Greedy, Cocky, Prideful, Stubborn, Short-tempered. Powers/skills: His human form is weaker then his dragon form, as his human form is mostly for show. Like your typical dragon physical superiority and flight are to be expected. And like all dragons he is immune to fire, as he cannot be damaged by heat alone or be burned by any means. His greatest ability though is his fire manipulation, breathing amplified jets of flames, igniting his body on fire, or creating fireballs out of his hand. His flames are his most powerful and destructive weapons next to his natural weapons and armor-like scales. His scales are almost as durable as steel, making them hard to damage or puncture, however his underbelly instead has weaker scutes which serves as a weak spot. His tail can both function as a powerful, bone-breaking whip, or a spear due to the sharp biological spines and tip of the tail. His horns can be used for great impact damage, his claws and teeth are as effective in combat as they appear. He cannot survive in cold climates, anything lower then 40 degrees can kill him by hypothermia, he doesn't tolerate with weather well unless it is above 60 degrees F, while he can use his own fire to warm himself this drains his energy faster and he won't typically last longer then five minutes. Ice and other related forms of attacks are also especially effective against him. When enraged enough either by emotion, damage, or other such stress, he enters a berserk-like state in which he exhausts much more energy and becomes much more destructively violent. In such a state he may even consume human flesh or attack his comrades. He also looses all sense of pain, becoming almost unstoppable and relentless until either something manages to soothe his rage or he passes himself out. Due to unrestrained energy exhaustion he will last about 10 minutes in a berserk stage until he passes out, injuring him will quicken this timer. Once he exits this berserk stage he will be hit with all the pain he would have experienced during that state, as well as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Also while he is in a berserk state he doesn't necessarily think about anything else other then what has enraged him. Due to his arrogance he often underestimates opponents and overestimates his own abilities against others and obstacles. Equipment: Nothing but the clothes he wears, he has no regard for any tools or Trinkets and always assumes that his strength and ability alone is enough for any situation. He doesn't wish to use any tools or weapons, and he may insult others for relying on such. Short Bio: Jackal was born from supposedly the last dragon egg, as dragons have been extinct for thousands of years. It is unknown, even to him, his exact origins beyond this, but he takes his own race with pride. However as he grew out of a hatchling he blended in with the world, using magic for a human disguise and taught himself of basic knowledge of society until he practically blended in with the very humans his kind has terrorized long ago. However as he grew older, and having no parental guidance, he became overly greedy and started a sort of 'job' at thievery, though he attempted stealth it usually ended up with him burning away a few guards and buildings in his heists and fleeing before the cops could arrive. His arsenic nature has nearly cost him discovery by authorities several times, putting him on edge. When he received the fateful message of the mysterious entity that knew of his existence, threatening his livelihood he had built up on his own, he didn't hesitate to do what the entity had requested.
55,085	1,503	51	2,301	766	“Columbae.” Maverick watched the situation from her new seat (that was so respectfully recommended to her by their new host), and the girl who gave her bad vibes seemed to be some sort of...witch? A magic word ended the conversation between her and another patron, turning the chair into a flock of birds that now were festering about on the ceiling. Great. Suddenly, a shudder ran up and down Maverick's spine. An after effect of being shot at. She exhaled and leaned forward, placing her elbows on her thighs and resting her cloth covered chin in her hands. The longer the night went on, the harder it was becoming to stay cool. This was representing an unfortunate trend. She hoped this Presence didn't plan to keep this group of misfits together for long.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,086	1,503	52	2,720	1,306	She had spent most of her time twirling a piece of the red side of her hair with her finger. Looking around the others had not quite interested her. The only ones that she had really seemed to notice were the cute ones. When the guns fired off Queenie tucked her head down so that her forehead was touching her knees. She protected her head with her arms screaming, "Eep!!!" As she hid from the bullets. Luckily for her, she hadn't been the target and the pain never came. After a moment she raised her head and looked around. So many of the others seemed unaffected. The fish-eating one sat down as well as Naked Lad and the one concealing her face. "Oh! Okay!" Queen seemed to confirm something to herself and continued on grinning at the others. Mako in particular. This newcomer had a strange aura about him that she liked a lot. And it wasn't just because he was dressed as strangely as her either. The thoughts going through her mind were sinister along with sexual, which was normal for her but this time she had her sights set on the fish boy. When that one guy fell down after that kitten lady cast some magic spell, Queenie burst out laughing. "Ahahaha!! That was so funny! I love magic!" Then something occurred to the strange young woman. "WAIT A MINUTE! YOU CAN'T KEEP US HERE, I'VE GOT PLACES TO BE. MY GUESTS AT THE ASYLUM WILL MISS ME IF I'M GONE TO LONG!!" At last she had processed what the booming voice had said, a little late. Queen folded her arms across her chest with a pouting express"No fair!"	Name: Lyra Nix/Queen(Queenie) Age: 18 Gender: Female Appearance: Personality: Psyho, funny, flirty, sexual, sadistic Powers/skills: Able to imbue any weapon with a power that lasts only a few minutes per use. The ability gives her weapon an energy that enables her to do more damage. It has a cool down and can only be used once every few hours due to the fact that it drains so much energy from her. Equipment: Her mallet is all she needs Short Bio: Grew up in a rural part of a town far, far away. Her family had to the move to the big city for her father’s new job. Typical life. They moved into the city only to find out how utterly horrid it was. Crime was everywhere. Somehow her family managed to survive through the chaos. However, one night her father never came home and a peculiar man came to the house. Before snatching Lyra away he killed her mother. Terrible things were done to Lyra that gave her her abilities. Her and many others were tortured and experimented on. Once one had broken out however, he released all the others and they were able to wreak havoc upon the world with their powers and twisted minds. Lyra, known by now simply as Queen(since they were all named after a card in a deck of cards), lift the horrible city and went to wreak havoc elsewhere. Which was helpful because the one who released them all hunted them all down one by one in the city and killed them so they couldn’t kill any more innocent people. No one knows what happened to this person. But Queen escaped and that was all that mattered. Now amongst her own Lyra goes by her second given name, Queen and uses her powers for evil-doing. Other: She a psycho sex deviant, with a thing for ripping off body parts.
55,087	1,503	53	2,654	2,774	You will be allowed to do things in the outside world, but know that I am always watching you and if you betray the group then you will be taken care of The Presence spoke to the group. "Now, moving on to your first. You all will be robbing The Central Bank of Europe. I have a plan that is guaranteed to the work if you all do your jobs. You will be leaving for Germany in two days, so get yourselves prepared." 2 days later The Presence had them journey to Frankfurt Germany by means of an experimental military jet with the capability of landing vertically. The pilot of the plane was mercenary under contract with The Presence. The flight only took a few hours and while they were on their decent towards a rural field. "Remember to keep a low profile and when you get into Frankfurt, I will lead you through the plan" The Presence said to them as the plane landed. Andrew exited the plane and had a look around at the Germain landscape. "I always wanted to see what Germany was like" he said out loud.	Name: Andrew Talbot/Blood Fang Age: 15 Gender: male Appearance: Personality: bad-tempered, cold blooded, ferocious, cunning and dominant. Powers/skills: Werewolf Transformation: he can shape-shift into a humanoid wolf. Superhuman Strength: Andrew can lift up a maximum of ten tons. Superhuman Durability: He can withstand gunfire and take hits from super strong opponents. Superhuman Agility: Andrew is incredibly agile and quick. He moves like a apex predator and is hard to follow for normal humans. Wolf Communication: Andrew can speak and communicate with wolves. Equipment: none Short Bio: Bio: Andrew Talbot was born to a lower middle class family in Chicago and do to the city's dark reputation of crime, being middle class did not keep Andrew from experiencing the bad sides of Chicago. He saw all sorts of crimes happen in the streets and his home life wasn't much better. His mom was abusive to his dad and when his dad finally got the courage to try and leave her, she falsely accused him of domestic abuse and he lost his parental rights to have custody of Andrew. Do to social stigma his dad was not able to fight the system and was forced out of Andrew's life. His mom then took to abusing him and Andrew's life became total shit after that. After several years of abuse, Andrew finally snapped and his metahuman genes activated. He transformed for the first time when his mom attempted to slap him and he took sadistic pleasure in savagely tearing her to pieces. Finally free from his abusive mother, Andrew embraced his new powers and used them to commit crimes that he viewed were bringing humanity back to their natural origins, free from societal control. With the name Blood Fang, he became one of the infamous super villains in America and has left behind a blood trail of brutality. Other:
55,088	1,503	54	1,602	2,499	Conrat was confused to say the least. He knew what a bank was, but he couldn't fathom a bank for the entirety of Europe. Did everyone have to travel to Germany to use it? What about the Britons? Did they just not use banks? What was the point of a bank anyway? Who has enough money to keep it lying around? What overpowered his confusion was an overwhelming sense of joy. He hadn't been back in Germany since he was initially frozen solid. The centuries had moved him all around the place, but he'd never actually been brought back to his fatherland in all the time he was frozen. 1176 40 miles from Hamburg Die Traurige Brigade camp Smoke lifted and danced in the air as Conrat left footsteps in the snow on his way back to his parents. In his arms he carried a bundle of sticks and on his waist rested a sheathed, oversized sword. A noble had enlisted the brigade to assist in a battle the very next day, and anxiety was high as per usual. There was no telling how the battle would go, especially with the weather being as it was. Conrat unloaded his delivery of sticks onto the fire, his adoptive father, a tall broad shouldered man named Jonas sat, a grim expression on his face as he scraped a sharpening stone down his longsword. As if Conrat had just appeared from thin air, Jonas' head shot towards looking at him, a small smile grew on his face. At first, Jonas was hugely against the boy. He only tolerated him for the sake of his wife, but over the years and throughout the battles he had grown to love the boy as his son. "You feelin' alright, Hannibal?" He asked. The nickname was something he'd picked up in a book strangely enough. The book was a historical recount of the Carthagian invasion of Italy led, of course, by Hannibal. "Better than alright! I have a great feeling about tomorrow!" He said, confident as ever. The next day the battle would turn in favour of the opposition. A great deal of Die Traurige Brigade was lost, and a night raid resulted in the loss of, Conrat's mother. Conrat leaped out of the helicopter, pushing past, Andrew with a large forearm and displaying his joy evidently on his face. He took in the field that lay before him, even the grass looked different to him, looked homely. He was forced into casual wear, carrying his armour and sword in an exceptionally large sports bag. He wore a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of jeans and a rather scruffy pair of converse shoes. "Ah, the fatherland" He exclaimed, joy and nostalgia evident in the tone of his voice. He turned back to the rest of the group, hoping to engage a few in conversation while they made their way into Frankfurt. "I wonder how it's all changed since I was frozen, I hope they still sell bratwurst!" He said joyously, oblivious to the heavenly taste of currywurst.	Name: Conrat Stoyan - Hannibal Age: In every way but chronologically he's about 19. He was born in 1170. Gender: Male Appearance: Conrat towers at a tall 6 foot 4 and has a muscular physique fit for a man who wields a sword taller than him by about a head. His hair is an ebony black, and is kept in a short and messy style. He has a strong jaw and handsome features, although some are put off by his scars. The three most notable wounds on him are all on his face. First and foremost is his left eye, which he keeps closed at all times as it was taken out around a year or two before he was frozen in time. Secondly is the scar that traces horizontally across his nose and lastly is a strangely shaped scar, tracing around the side and underside of his remaining eye. Various other scars trace his body, but none as notable as the ones on his face of course. Although he has lived in the modern world for all of 2 months, he still does not fully understand the clothing habits of the modern day. His costume consists of his black, lightweight armour and nothing but a red scarf to cover his mouth and subsequently his identity. Day-to-day he's become quite accustomed to flannels and jeans. A safe bet for sure. Personality: Dated/Loyal/Vengeful/Naive/Ruthless By all means, Conrat should be your stereotypical brutal, misogynistic, angry warlord who goes around killing for no reason and acting about as edgy as his blade. However, he's completely different. He's optimistic, ready to learn and cheerful at about all times. At first glance, you could even think he was a hero. A hero is something he isn't though, it is something he'd always liked to be however. His brutal life has raised a child born of hatred and anger. His real emotion is hidden behind a facade of joy. He's accepted that it's simply in his nature to kill and do evil. His attitude towards women is also, not what you'd expect. He isn't misogynistic at all, and could tell you tales of the women he'd met on the battlefield and fought alongside. However, he does get quite embarrassed when seeing some of the skimpier outfits worn in the present day. Even shorts can make him go all red. Powers/skills: Conrat's most obvious power is his sheer strength. His sword being the most obvious example of this. Furthermore, his speed is far beyond that of any human, without his sword he could probably run faster than your average sports care. It's not really true to say that Conrat has increased durability, it's only slightly above that of the average human. It's more like an ignorance to pain that allows him to keep on trucking through injury. A less obvious power of his is related to his curse. He is able to manipulate and create fire. He dislikes creating, and only really does so in times of dire need. Equipment: Conrat's main piece of equipment is his sword, The Black Death. It's more like a hunk of iron than anything else, and is unliftable by any normal man. Even to those with enhanced strength it can be a tricky, or damn right near impossible weapon to use. It feels imbalanced to those who haven't used it for years on end, but to Conrat it feels just as easy to use as your average long sword. Short Bio: Conrat was born in Germany, during the winter of 1170. He was the seventh son of a seventh son. Anyone who knows their mythos would know that this must mean he was born with some sort of special power, but rather than some sort of magic spell, Conrat was born with a curse. His family couldn't cope with six sons, let alone seven. They sold Conrat into slavery. For the first two years of his life he was cared for by a slave woman before he was sold off to a mercenary battalion. Now, I know what you're asking, "Why would a mercenary battalion buy a slave baby?". The simple answer is that the head of the battalions wife was baron, and attempts at suicide had been made. Conrat was raised a soldier. To think that he would have had an easy life because of his father is to think a lie. He was in every battle from the age of 5, handing weapons to soldiers and eventually even fighting on the field as a squire. As he grew older he gained an affinity for heavier weapons, and took a liking to the zweihander. His life was thrown into ruins during a fight that no one could have expected. For the first part of it they were fighting what looked to be ordinary foot soldiers, but soon enough the battalion was surrounded and were being slaughtered by the dozen. Soon enough, all that was left was Conrat and his 'father'. The beast that rode before him gave Conrat two options, kill his father and join them or die on that field. He, of course, chose to kill his father. He regretted it almost immediately after. The 'man' that had given him the options removed his helmet to reveal a charred, horned face, with teeth sticking out like a sabretooth. The entire battalion looked that way, like demons. Conrat's transformation began that day. They used various concoctions and spells to transform him, giving him unimaginable abilities and even crafting the very sword you see him with today. Things were not all beneficial though. After giving him these abilities they required a sacrifice, one of the flesh. They first took his eye, and then a part of his nose, it was only when they began to take his other eye that Conrat rebelled and escaped his former commanders. He travelled throughout his homeland for about a year after that before they found him. He took on around 200 of them before it was over. They froze him on the spot, turning him to stone and encasing him underground for presumably all eternity. It was of course, not meant to be. He woke up just 2 months ago, and has already been making headlines for his crime spree, killing those who got in his way and taking what he liked. Soon enough, he was contacted by 'The Presence' through a dove of all things. Other:
55,089	1,503	55	893	1,251	Phone Freak stepped lightly out of the plane, bag letting out a muffled clanking sound as she did. She was still dressed for heavy, cold weather and still wearing her mask. Turning back, she cast a long pointed glance at the military grade jet still kicking up a cloud of debris around her. "Looooooow profile!" she said, giving it a thumbs up. "Got it boss." She'd been lucky she'd gotten those two days to head back to her workshop and prepare. She'd gathered materials she thought she might need for this job, but as the plan was as yet forthcoming that could be practically anything. It'd also given her a chance to check up properly on this new team, and it had not been pretty. Even if she wasn't a paranoid who guarded her identity like a nucleate launch code she still wouldn't take her mask off in front of some of these people. It was just a bad move letting that type know your face. She'd have to ditch the helmet when they got near Frankfurt, but she figured that by that time she'd have ditched them to. It would be dangerous for her, but they'd probably run into a phone line before they got to the city. That was all in the future though. Right now she was stepping out to survey the German wilderness. Or the field, at least. "Oh, he's been chugging along." She said to Conrat conversationally. "Around 1871 it all became a single country. Famous for cars, beer, and trying to fight the entire world all at the same time. Twice. But that's all behind them. Now they've settled for being the biggest economy in all of Europe. Which is why the bank we're knocking over is here."	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,090	1,503	56	2,330	440	Dianna stepped out of the plane, thanking the pilot kindly for his work. She adjusted the strap on her bandolier and thumbed the daggers on her hips, hidden from all eyes except hers with the help of a little enchantment. Ms. Muffins II stepped out alongside her, taking her rightful place at Dianna’s feet. She meowed, for the first time since they had started their flight. She was a good little travel companion, always quiet when the situation called for it. It was their first team effort, and Dianna was not one to disappoint. She could lay low all she wanted, in casual street clothes that Wise One would probably disapprove of. She hadn't seen the others in two days, and in that time she had prepped new potions and practiced her magic. “Germany. Lovely place indeed, yes, folks here know me well.” She giggled mischievously, referencing her times slaughtering the innocents on the streets in Germany. Her eyes gleamed with nostalgia as she remembered the romp she and Ms. Muffins had here.	Name Dianna Lear Alias Black Magic Age 16 Gender Female Appearance Dianna has short red hair that frames her face, always parted neatly to the side of her head. She has almond eyes, an icy shade of blue making up her irises. On her pale skin, she has a smattering of freckles. Her lips are a naturally sheer shade of pink, and her cheeks appear to have a slight blush. She stands at a graceful five feet ten inches, with legs that go on for miles. She has an athletic build, strong arms and legs that show how dedicated she is to gymnastics and running. Although she does prefer athleticism, she is usually seen in business casual clothes that suit her well for a teenager. Personality Impish, Dark Sense of Humor, Loyal, Dedicated. Powers Magick- Dianna is able to use both offensive and defensive magic, though she prefers offensive. Transmutation: Through transmutation, Dianna can take something and turn it into something else. She's known for making a joke out of things: a dagger into a bouquet of fresh flowers, a bullet into a flock of doves, she made the news for a week when she turned a lizard into a tyrannosaurus rex which caused the slaughter of many police officers. She is usually seen taking her cat, Ms. Muffins, and transforming her into a menagerie of different animals and tools. The spell lasts until broken by Dianna, which isn't common. Curses: With a few empowered Latin words, Dianna can curse others. She has been seen cursing others with simple things like a weak ankle, or deadly things such as diseases. She can also use these hexes to cause mental despair and insanity. Depending on the strength of her victim, the curses can last from five minutes to a lifetime. Potions: Dianna is a skilled potion crafter. She can make anything from love potions, to potions that excrete toxic fumes. These potions usually require tricky ingredients, but she does have the necessary ones in her base. Energy Shields/Domes: The name says it all. Dianna can make energy domes around her, or flat circular shields in front of her. The larger the shield, the weaker it will be, and the more concentration it will require to uphold. If Dianna plans to take a group into her dome, she will probably end up with a hideous migraine, if she doesn't fall unconscious of course. The shields can withhold blasts from medium sized explosives, projectiles, and sharp/blunt weapons. They will strain under too much pressure though, cracking until they break. Skills Sleight of Hand- Dianna is an excellent thief, without the usage of her magic she can probably strip someone down to their knickers without them knowing any better. Stage Magic- To keep with the magician motif, Dianna has aced many card tricks. She can pull a rabbit out of a hat, throw daggers blindfolded. If you've seen it on a stage, she can recreate it. Not the most practical of skills, but it gets a good laugh. Gymnastics/Athleticism: Dianna is a skilled gymnast, she is also skilled at running. She has a tank that almost never runs empty, allowing her to outrun most of her foes. Skilled Swordsman: Dianna is a gifted swordsman, having been taught by the Wise One himself. She is also good with most blades, such as throwing knives, daggers, and anything with a pointy end. Equipment A Bandolier: instead of bullets she has small servings of all her favorite potions. Sleeping Potion: When thrown on the ground, the potion will shatter and create a gas that will knock most people out. The gas can get through most spaces, so covering one's face with a t-shirt will only work for so long. Healing Potion: Once drunk, this potion will heal minor wounds. It can also lessen the blood flow of some major wounds. Curse Removal: In case a cursed person can still be useful, Dianna carries servings of her own special concoction that removes any curses she has placed on someone. It restores them back to their original state, whatever that was. Throwing Daggers: As much as she likes to think so, magic doesn't solve every problem. At each hip she carries a sheathe of four throwing knives. Two of which are tipped with poison, for those special moments. Ms. Muffins II: Sadly, the first Ms. Muffins died in a firefight. Now, Dianna carries Ms. Muffins II. Much like her predecessor, Ms. Muffins II is used mainly as a device for Transmutation, if she doesn't have a hostage on hand. She's also used for good times and snuggles! Short Bio Dianna’s beginnings started with the Wise One. The Wise One was a hero turned villain after a few complications with the law. He hid away, only coming out to cause a horrific scene once a year on the Fourth of July. Finally, the hideous massacres ended. They just stopped one year, things ran smoothly. This was because he had found a new Apprentice. The Wise One always had a soft spot for children, and his past lover had moved on and given birth to a beautiful red haired baby. The child was the spitting image of her mother, and carried the abilities needed to be a good witch. So, her teachings began. For every spell, the Wise One planted a bit of his own essence into her. He began aging, after a while. On the day her training was completed, he finally died. Dianna was still small, a ten year old with a cat and the power to kill. She took after her Master, her first attack was on July Fourth, an homage to him before she became her own villain. Now, she's known throughout the world as a killer, a villian. She couldn't be happier. Other N/A
55,091	1,503	57	1,791	426	Ed stepped out of the plane carrying two duffel bags one of them was the same one he had during the meeting. The other was one he prepped during the two down days they had. He was wearing his usual cloths which basically pass for low profile. He had no guns on him all of those had been put in the duffel bag. At least he wasn't the only one carrying a big bag of course referring to Conrat who had his big sword hidden in a big sports bag. "Well take in the view, but make it quick we're probably on a tight schedule." Ed said while of course also taking in the view. He's been in Germany before but never had the time to look into it.	Name: Ed Rosario Age: 19 Gender: Male Personality: Loyal(ish), Funny, Team player, Adaptable, and Has-a-self-code. Powers/skills: Ed has nothing special about him... Well except that he's... A crack shot with almost any gun you put in his hands. Meaning he is an all around marksman and plans to hit his shot if the conditions are ideal of course. Knows the basics of most common and uncommon fighting styles ranging from the simple stuff kids ask their parents to sign them up for to the almost dead style of Okichitaw. Plus he can make explosives which may or may not self destruct within a couple seconds of completion. Equipment: He carries a handgun, a magnum revolver, three grenades, spare ammo, and sometimes a combat knife. Short Bio: Ed grew up in good old Detroit where crime was just always across the street, at the stop sign, or even right behind you. His family wasn't in the best of position as for money so that didn't help his situation nor did it affect him much. He knew his family was poor for a reason and his father made him know almost every second of his life that the reason his family was poor was because of him. It also really didn't strike Ed that much his mother died what was he suppose to do somehow get half a fortune to afford fancy medicine no that would just be unreal. His father from that point on basically had this idea that he would rob this transit from the bank and frame his son. Months of planning and preparing were put in motion, and by the end Ed had a basic knowledge of how to point a gun, shoot, and make something go boom. When time came and a huge money deposit was coming in for Detroit to try and get out of dept the two jumped into action. Everything went off without a hitch but when it was time for the frame game Ed had a counter plan to this and left his father to take the downfall. With so much money in his pocket Ed traveled learning new ways to improve his ways. Ed would always take what he learned and apply it to what he knew best... Stealing, killing, robbing, and just all things regular villains would do. Ed actually got caught when in France trying to rob a museum and sell some art to other countries. On his escort to a highly secured prison Ed took over the armored van he was in and drove off course into a a river. From France he a took a plane back to America deciding to stay off radar for a while, but while he was trying to... Well it was just too much fun to do what he usually does. Other:While Ed can is loyal his Self-Code makes him mostly look after himself mostly. Hence the (ish) after loyal.
55,092	1,503	58	1,828	2,004	‘... Sir.’ Metallia would attract attention to herself after The Presence's little explanation. ‘You are no doubt aware of my skills. Is there anything in particular you'd require me to build for your plan during these two days?’ Two days... was plenty to develop something brand-new medium-sized from scratch without blueprints if necessary, assuming she focused all her efforts on it and took parts from the other robots. Or, if it's something smaller, she could build a few with relative ease. If nothing special was needed, she could probably arrive with 25 regular robots. ______________________________________ Metallia wore a jeans-jacket above an expressionless black dress, and then a black cap with the visor forward casting a shadow over her eyes, her white hair still sticking out under the cap in numerous places. This was apparently her idea of low profile. She stepped out calmly, walking along. Her headpiece that she used to control robots was currently in her jacket-pocket. If The Presence had not provided such means, Metallia would have spread out small communicators that'd fit in a pocket to the team. To keep an open communication-line, just press the button if you wished to speak when apart. You could even configure them to speak to a specific target. That, in addition to small items to put in your ears to just listen in, practically unnoticeable unless someone actually directly examines your ears. … Unless, of course, somebody objects because maybe the communication-waves would be traceable or something, or if the Presence complains about them and has a better method of communication. Metallia just felt it'd be appropriate for distance communication, and as such made a few. ‘I took the liberty of laying claim to a nearby relatively unused underground garage. It currently contains my constructions.’ Metallia said, having prepared ahead of time knowing where they were going. She had smuggled them in using a few trucks. ‘I can command them out at any time. This would include whatever The Presence might have instructed her to build, but if not, then assume it's just a bunch of the regular soldier-robots. … And I can also summon my chair from there at any time...’ She looked down at her black out-door shoes with a disgruntled frown. Seems like she didn't appreciate having to walk, since flying on her chair would not be low profile. Seemed like, in her mind, regular walking was beneath her.	Name: Angelica Wilder Age: 15 Gender: Female Personality: Apathetic, she floats along life, showing little emotion even to the deeply disturbing. She does not mind doing disturbing things herself, either. Arrogant, she believes she’s better than you, even if the opposite is proven. She looks down on any petty act that has no purpose, as well. Irritable, things that annoy her annoy her a lot, and is about to explode. She’s very likely to hold a grudge, which is why she’s here. Graceful, the way she moves and talks would make you think she’s royalty. This is her at her best, disturbingly graceful. At her worst… Childish, that ice-cream looks delicious. I want it. Hey, pay attention to me. Heeeeeeeeeey. … I can’t have it? … ice-cream stand explodes Hmpf. Serves you right. Powers/skills: Her one capability is her understanding of technology way out of her league and capability to construct such. However, if confronted without her toys, Metallia will be but a 15 year old girl in terms of combat prowess. Equipment: On herself. Her headset, those two things on her head, contains extremely powerful transmitters and receivers, allowing her to make use of public satellites to communicate with her robots wherever they might be. They also send back any information they have to update them on what they’re doing right now. Using this, Metallia can directly control her robots as if they were her own limbs, should she wish it. Oh, and that dress is bullet-proof highest grade combat-armor. There’s also metal in it, to allow her to control herself with the next machine if needed. Her chair. She has her own chair which is called the R5. This machine is equipped with two very powerful magnetic controllers (one in each black box by her hips in the image). These allow Metallia to fly, carry around those two giant metal arms to do her bidding and generally harass enemies with any metallic things nearby. Her magnetic control with this can be pretty powerful, though she cannot deform metal objects with it and there’s a limit to how fast she can accelerate things depending on their weight. She probably can’t affect a car all that much. It is also outfitted with machine-guns, capability of launching multiple kinds of rockets or explosives, supreme impact-power in close combat, emergency thrusters and it is also rather customizable depending on what Metallia needs on her newest trip. Robots. Tia in the middle. Usual robots to the left and right. First there’s Tia. She’s an android that Metallia felt like building because she was bored one day. Tia does not have the capability to display any emotions, but through an AI Metallia considers “rudimentary” she emulates human intelligence to a frightening level, though has no capacity to do anything but follow instructions and answer to her mistress’s commands. That is, except for destroying enemies with robot strength and utilizing the rockets/machine guns in her arms. Metallia spent more time on Tia than her usual robots and she should be considered more powerful. The usual robots are big humanoid shapes that are bulky but quite strong. In their shoulders they can carry weapons from blades, guns, explosives, whatever Metallia felt like putting in it. Metallia can control them directly or she can allow their AI to do the maneuvering based on her instructions. Though, while the AI in them is supposedly very advanced because Metallia made it, they mostly suck in combat and most heroes make short work of them. Their inability to be competent should never be underestimated. However, Metallia can make a lot of them in a relatively short amount of time. If The Presence needs an army, she can provide it. Of course, in the future, Metallia is able to invent new robots to cause trouble for her enemies. When she does, I’ll most likely delve into this link, where I found her image. Short Bio: Metallia does not know her own backstory. But, if you wish to know, then feel free to open the hider. Metallia is a drone from a super-villain of galactic proportions. She is, to say, a biological android, having been designed rather than born but yet still have organs and function like a normal human would. Her “father” created her and sent her to Earth in a shuttle that would germinate her on the way so she’d be born upon arrival. She was supposed to gain further orders upon arrival. However, when Metallia was arrived on Earth and was born, no orders came. Be this because the super-villain was defeated before she arrived or for another reason entirely, the information that was supposed to spur her on her way never came. And then… she was stuck there. … However. Her mind still has information which her father considered “vital for survival”, which just happened to include information on superior technology from space. Metallia started her existence as 14 years old in England. She simply opened her eyes and there she was. Nobody knew who she was, not even herself. That said, she managed to quickly find lodging with a nice old grandma who took pity on her. The police could not find any record of her existence, and when she was sent to the hospital for a check on her mind. In the hospital, however, something odd happened. She… became extremely annoyed at the technology they used to examine her. Because, it could be so much more efficient, so much more thorough. As it was, they could miss whatever the issue was! She lashed out in anger, and then she was down at the police again, who believed themselves to have a problem child on their hands. They had no idea. Encouraged to do something about humanity’s inferior technology, she started working. Under the name Angelica Wilder, a name she took out of nowhere, she took the job as a maid to a prevalent technological doctor while she worked tirelessly on new technology on the side. She invented something ground-breaking in the field of robotics, and she expected to be praised. Sure enough, she WAS praised by the doctor… … Then he took patent on her invention and received all the credit. Nobody would believe a young maid like her had developed such a piece of technology. Enraged, Angelica decided to forcefully punish the doctor who took her things by building robots that would do her bidding. Taking the name “Metallia”, she attacked the doctor’s university. … That’s when she found out she stood no chance against the heroes of today. Managing to escape, Metallia turned her attention to these… “heroes”. They had defended the doctor. They had to pay. She’d develop better robots, better weapons. She’d find out their secret identities and who their loved ones were. It became clear to her that the only way she could be allowed to make humanity better… was if she took over it all herself, first…! … That said, she never had much luck as a super-villain. Her robots were often easily destroyed by heroes she confronted. … That’s when The Presence contacted her… … … Other: … If bored someday, you might find her aimlessly browsing the internet and/or playing a video game. She can be easily distracted if she doesn’t feel like doing what she should be doing. Beware her knowledge of the internet. She can fairly easily get and invent what she desires by selling things she made/fixed on the internet while buying, which is how she gained all the items she needs to make her contraptions. The things she buy look innocent on paper, but become significant when she starts working on them. Money has never been her goal.
55,093	1,503	59	682	1,490	Jackal left the plane with dread. He didn't carry anything with him, as he didn't had a desire too. But he was frigid cold and held his arms against himself. Even though the temperature was mild. "This place is horrible." He muttered to himself as he was a bit envious that the other crew didn't mind the weather at all. "Does someone have an extra jacket, or a fire..something." Jackal asked the group with chattering teeth as he drew closer to them. "Germany of all places, the landscape is dreary, temperature is freezing, and security hear is high I heard, not to mention this country housed people that slay my kind." He let out a sigh between shivering. "Why couldn't we have gone to I don't know, Madagascar or Australia.."	Name: Jackal Ventmaw Age: 16 Gender: Male Appearance: 5'11 in height, with messy white hair and amber eyes with slit-like pupils. His eyes glow faintly in the dark like small candles. He often wears black pants with a white button up shirt under a blue jacket. 18.5 feet long. Personality: Greedy, Cocky, Prideful, Stubborn, Short-tempered. Powers/skills: His human form is weaker then his dragon form, as his human form is mostly for show. Like your typical dragon physical superiority and flight are to be expected. And like all dragons he is immune to fire, as he cannot be damaged by heat alone or be burned by any means. His greatest ability though is his fire manipulation, breathing amplified jets of flames, igniting his body on fire, or creating fireballs out of his hand. His flames are his most powerful and destructive weapons next to his natural weapons and armor-like scales. His scales are almost as durable as steel, making them hard to damage or puncture, however his underbelly instead has weaker scutes which serves as a weak spot. His tail can both function as a powerful, bone-breaking whip, or a spear due to the sharp biological spines and tip of the tail. His horns can be used for great impact damage, his claws and teeth are as effective in combat as they appear. He cannot survive in cold climates, anything lower then 40 degrees can kill him by hypothermia, he doesn't tolerate with weather well unless it is above 60 degrees F, while he can use his own fire to warm himself this drains his energy faster and he won't typically last longer then five minutes. Ice and other related forms of attacks are also especially effective against him. When enraged enough either by emotion, damage, or other such stress, he enters a berserk-like state in which he exhausts much more energy and becomes much more destructively violent. In such a state he may even consume human flesh or attack his comrades. He also looses all sense of pain, becoming almost unstoppable and relentless until either something manages to soothe his rage or he passes himself out. Due to unrestrained energy exhaustion he will last about 10 minutes in a berserk stage until he passes out, injuring him will quicken this timer. Once he exits this berserk stage he will be hit with all the pain he would have experienced during that state, as well as an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Also while he is in a berserk state he doesn't necessarily think about anything else other then what has enraged him. Due to his arrogance he often underestimates opponents and overestimates his own abilities against others and obstacles. Equipment: Nothing but the clothes he wears, he has no regard for any tools or Trinkets and always assumes that his strength and ability alone is enough for any situation. He doesn't wish to use any tools or weapons, and he may insult others for relying on such. Short Bio: Jackal was born from supposedly the last dragon egg, as dragons have been extinct for thousands of years. It is unknown, even to him, his exact origins beyond this, but he takes his own race with pride. However as he grew out of a hatchling he blended in with the world, using magic for a human disguise and taught himself of basic knowledge of society until he practically blended in with the very humans his kind has terrorized long ago. However as he grew older, and having no parental guidance, he became overly greedy and started a sort of 'job' at thievery, though he attempted stealth it usually ended up with him burning away a few guards and buildings in his heists and fleeing before the cops could arrive. His arsenic nature has nearly cost him discovery by authorities several times, putting him on edge. When he received the fateful message of the mysterious entity that knew of his existence, threatening his livelihood he had built up on his own, he didn't hesitate to do what the entity had requested.
55,094	1,503	60	1,254	172	Mako had gone out into the ocean after their little meeting and started practicing his combat underwater, he might have been young but his father was an imperial guardian, Mako had to learn how to fight and he was good at it. His ferocious nature mixed with the Atlantean fighting techniques made for a dangerous combo and that was without the trident. With that weapon in his hand few could go toe to toe with him and come out unscathed. The lightning that it produced was a type of Atlantean magic that Mako didn't fully understand nor did he need to, all he needed to know was, "zap em and they die." As he exited the plane however the little black cylinder was hidden within his Atlantean pants, he was also wearing a tight fitting scuba shirt with black netting over the ribs to allow his gills access to air, he looked a bit beach ready beside the fact that his outfit was completely black. He wouldn't really stand out to much, he just looked like a swimmer. When The other humans started speaking about Germany he chuckled, "Home to one of humanities more brutal acts of genocide..." The smile and laugh that followed would have scared the spots off a Dalmatian. Mako stepped onto solid ground and breathed in, the ocean was much to far to aid him now and Mako felt a pit in his stomach. Water was calling out to him and if the time came and he needed it he knew it would be there but that didn't change the sick feeling he felt. Covering his discomfort with dark humor, "Perhaps I'll get to try some German!" By the glint in his eyes it didn't seem he was talking about Bratwurst.	Name: Kelacton "Kells" Regarius/Mako Age: 17 Gender: Male Appearance: Personality: Violent, Volatile, Childish, Uncontrolled, Temperamental. Powers/skills: The telepathic ability to communicate with marine life, which he can summon from great distances. (Mainly uses it to attract great numbers of ocean predators) Hydrokinesis, the ability to control water and change its shape and temperature. Mako has a number of other superhuman powers, most of which derive from the fact that he is adapted to live and thrive in the harshest of underwater environments. He has the ability to breathe underwater and possesses a superhuman physique strong enough for his lungs to work unaffected by the immense pressure and the cold temperature of the ocean depths, also making him tough enough to withstand attacks from superhuman opponents and machine gun fire. He also possesses superhuman strength as a result. He can swim at very high speeds, capable of reaching speeds of roughly 6,700 mph and can swim up Niagara Falls. He can see in near total darkness and has enhanced hearing granting limited sonar. Equipment: A small metal cylinder that transforms into a black Trident that can fire electrical bolts. (Think Electric Eel) Short Bio: Kells grew up in Atlantis as every single member of his race did but from a very young age it was clear he wasn't like other children, Kells loved hurting others, from other children to sea life and when his baby teeth started to fall out they were replaced by razor sharp piranha like fangs, a sign amongst his people that he was going to grow up to be a monster. At the age of 13 he killed a boy his age during a fight. The law was clear he was to be taken out into the ocean and abandoned to his fate, but his mother and father still loved the boy. As a last act of defiance his father, (a member of the royal guard.) Left him with his trident a powerful weapon he knew his son would use to survive. From then on Kells started watching the sharks and learning how to survive from them. They were harsh teachers and the way of life was unforgiving, but nonetheless Kells flourished and at the age of 15 he encountered a ship of Somali pirates and at first he was just investigating but when he was found on the ship one of the pirates shot him with an AK47, the bullets stung and instantly sent Kells into a frenzy he killed everyone aboard the ship in a matter of minutes, ripping men into pieces and sinking his teeth into their flesh, it was a horrific scene. Kells started watching these "humans" and decided that he liked their way of life and at the age of 16 he left the ocean and went on land. It didn't take him long to adjust and found that he was suited for living on land just as well, he also found that he really liked to party. Other:
55,095	1,503	61	787	153	Loud Love ventured forth, quite happy to once again breathe fresh air instead of sharing the same filthy space with like a dozen other people, and looked around whilst stretching in horribly unsightly ways - his companions and brothers-in-arms probably didn't knew that humans could even bend that way. LL remembered the advice about keeping a low profile that Presence gave and decided to try and blend in - so now he took great care to NOT instinctively teleport everywhere and walked around in red track pants, though still naked above the waist and barefoot - chillness of the environment hardly bothered him. At very least he tried his best. "Yeah-yeah Sharkboy, we got it," He spoke softly whilst jumping in place to get the blood flowing through his limbs once again. "You eat people, good. Shut up about it. Tell us a sad story about your childhood instead or something."	Alias: Loud Love Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: Young, pale and lithe boy with somewhat unproportionately long limbs and slightly elongated oval-shaped cranium - but nothing far beyond the norm. Appealing, slightly effeminate face, wider-than-usual hips, small hands and long, long hair reaching slightly below the hip might help to mistake him for a girl, but the falseness of that assessment is proven really easily, seeing as he does not wear any sort of clothing whatsoever due to the nature of his power - however, some parts of his skin, especially chest, temples and the zone around the mouth are covered in strange, black tatto-like patterns of complex geometrical figures. Personality: Vicious, Playful, Whimsical but Loyal, Confiding Powers: Explosive Teleportation, Increased Durability, Super-Sight. Explosive Teleportation - Loud Love's body and brain generate a fantastic field of quantum instability that allows him to essentially be in many points of space at once due to a specific sort of probability manipulation - at least that is how he himself explains his ability. Whenever he makes a conscious or unconscious effort of will, the field agitates the fabric of time-space and then, faster than in a blink of an eye, without any buildup, special effects or strange sounds except for one, Loud Love just ceases to exist in one point and immediately appears in the another place of his choosing. What makes this already potent power a truly horrible force, however, is the fact that matter and objects at the destination point of the teleportation do not just change places with Loud Love or cease to be. Instead they are extremely violently displaced in the direction and vector of his choosing - for example, if he teleports into a wall or even a free space that is filled with nothing but air, the volume of rock, air or metal equal to the volume of his body is very quickly pushed away from it's previous position to make place for Loud Love, and he can effectively control the shape and direction in which all this material will be shot out. It is possible to concentrate all of the displaced material into an very thin 'ray' that will be utterly terrifying in it's penetrating power or force it to be expelled in an explosion all around him, take shape of a cone or wide line. A very fancy-looking technique that Loud Love implements, partially for show and partially as protection from enemy fire is a series of lightning-fast teleportations that make up an impression of him moving frame-by-frame, each new jump accompanied by an extremely powerful blast of air that might even put out a person's eye at close range. Of course, the ability can also be used on living targets, with obvious gruesome and almost hopelessly fatal effects - an especially jolly show that Loud Love likes to put on is teleporting so that only his finger or fist is phasing inside of a person's head, with a compressed jet of brain and bone immediately rupturing forth out of his temple or crown of the head. The only drawback discovered by Loud Love yet is that he can only teleport himself, without any sort of clothing or gear on his person. At the point of his departure, air quickly fills in the emptiness left by Love's body, producing a sound somewhat like a thunderclap. (If it is required, i also have an actual weakness for this power. Say a word and i'll add it.) Increased Durability - Loud Love's flesh is incredibly dense, his blood pressure is very high - though his wounds close quickly, not allowing for lots of blood loss - and his system excels a normal human's one in general endurance and durability - while nowhere near the levels of actual "brick" superhumans, it is enough to compensate for sudden and often drastic pressure changes that come after teleportations, cold that he suffers without clothing and sometimes save him from a small-caliber bullet in soft tissue. Super-Sight - Loud Love posesses better-than-perfect sight and sense of perspective, able to view minute details at quite long distances, see at night and notice slightest changes in observed scenery. This is absolutely essential for the use of his power, which requires a big deal of precision and concentration to teleport over large distances or through any sort of semi-transparent obstacles, such as smoke or glass. Additionally, Loud Love posesses lightning-quick reflexes, allowing him to almost subconsciously teleport out of the way of some blows and lines of fire - oh, and makes him extremely suitable for being a marksman. Equipment: None, obviously - though sometimes he uses something that he can pick up at the moment. Short Bio: He was a pretty okay boy - somewhat of delinquent but a nice kid at heart. Got bullied sometimes for his looks but not nearly often enough to traumatize him. Suffered from some parental neglect but it didn't bring him low. Had a GREAT interest for music and really, really loved and adored a particular pop star, very very hard. Once they had a show in his small town, but oh, great sadness - he couldn't afford the ticket! So the guy came as close to the open-topped concert hall as he could, climbed on top of some nearby building and watched the performance from there with infinite glee, wishing so, so very hard that maybe by some miracle he could be there, on stage as close to his idol as it was possible~ The wish was granted immediately as the guy suddenly warped inside of his most favorite artist in the whole world and burst out of him in a shower of gore and guts - and then, he proceeded to teleport into every single place that he cast his gaze upon, always with horribly deadly results because he first of all turned his attention to people, trying to ask for help. Now THIS - this traumatized him alright. The murderous teleportating escapade went on for many hours and half of the globe until it finally stopped when the kid fell asleep. After that came a year or two of hiding from the authorities and people, with every attempt to reenter society resulting in another disaster that happened every time he became strongly agitated until at some point the guy just snapped and went off the deep end after a period of fugue and crippling depression and became what he is now. Other: Thinking about it.
55,096	1,503	62	2,190	126	As the plane began its descent, Nergal closed the documents he had been reading on his phone and placed it into his jacket. Since they had needed to lay low, Nergal had purchased a set of clothing that was still his style but looked less like rags, though with the addition of the Jacket to deal with any cold weather. The first day of free time they had been given had been sent working out the rage at the situation while the second day involved mostly research. In truth Nergal had never spent much time exploring the extents of his power, melting people’s faces and making them choke on their own vomit had been more than enough but now with a bank heist and teammates to work with he had been encouraged to come up with new ways of utilizing his abilities Stepping out of the plane after most of the group, Nergal frowned as he glanced around at the wilderness that seemed to spread in all directions, having grown up in the city he wasn’t used to such natural landscapes. As the group conversed amongst themselves he added, “Can’t say I see the appeal of the countryside myself, nicer streets and high value targets are more my style”. Despite his reservations of being forced to work with a team, if they were to succeed in this heist, he was going to have to learn to play along. Besides, they weren’t all bad, a number of them like Mako and Loud Love clearly enjoyed the thoughts of violence, which was something he could appreciate at least. Glancing at the one called Jackel, he watched him shiver in the cold and smiled “Can’t say I have an extra jacket but I could give you a quick dose of something to take the edge of the feeling. Promise you won’t feel the cold at all” Nergal offered, his research had already given him some ideas and he was keen for someone to experiment on	Name: Andrew/ Alias - Nergal Age: 19 Gender: Male Appearance: Andrew wears simple and rough clothing, consisting of torn jeans and a sleeveless shirt, having learnt quickly that good looking clothing makes one a target on the street. His soft features from his pampered lifestyle have given way to a much rougher features including a number of scars from the brawls he has gotten himself into. His blonde hair has become rather messy and unkempt though he keeps it cut short so it stays out of the way. His eyes are a dark brown/green color and seem dull and without the spark of life at most times, though when he succeeds in a crime or venture they momentarily regain that spark. His overall body structure is toned but not muscular, his focus being on agility and dexterity rather than strength Personality:Sadistic, Rageful, Selfish, Arrogant, Bad with Authority Powers/skills: Corrosive Touch, Toxic Fluids, Poison Resistance Corrosive Touch: The chemicals that splashed Andrew caused a side-effect in his biological makeup, granting him the ability to change the chemical compounds of the skin of his body. By focusing his mind on a part of his body, Andrew can make the skin of that area become corrosive enough that his very touch begins to break down the object he comes into contact with. The longer he concentrates and the longer he maintains physical contact with the area, the stronger this effect becomes. This effect is most pronounced when contact is made using the palms of his hands, however it can still be used by the rest of skin, though to a much weaker degree. When this is used on a person, it will initial cause a burning of the skin with longer contact beginning to melt the skin and work on the underlying structure of the unfortunate victim. Wounds caused by this resemble chemical burns and can result in poisoning in some cases Toxic Fluids: Any of the liquids from Andrew’s body, such as blood or saliva, can become toxic with concentration. With some mental effort, he can make the blood from a wound, or saliva he gathers it in his mouth change its chemical structure to be either poisonous or corrosive to the general human. Unlike his touch, the toxins produced are specifically designed for a biological reaction. The poisons produced can mimic most poisons found naturally in the world (Mild Paralysis, muscle spasming, blood thinning, blood thickening, flesh melting, etc.). The toxins become more potent if they manage to enter the targets bloodstream and with repeated doses Non-living substances will have minimal effect from any toxins produced through these methods Poison Resistance: Due to his ability to create poisons and toxins, Andrew has an initiate resistance to being poisoned himself. This does not make him completely immune to the effects but greatly diminishes their effect and renders them non-lethal to himself. Equipment: The main tools he carries around a set of throwing knives and a sickle. He has no problem picking up any other bladed weapons he comes across as he can lace them with his poisons, allowing him to increase the lethality of what would otherwise be glancing blows Short Bio: Andrew lived a life that many would have envied, having a well renowned father and mother for scientists ensured that he was well taken care of. Wanting to ensure the best for their child, his parents made sure he was offered the best education and experiences to ensure he would follow in their footsteps and continue down the path they had. Despite being provided the means to live in the upper echelons of society by his parents however, Andrew expressed resentment at how it seemed his life had already been decided for him by his parents. Further fueling this resentment was the fact his parents research demanded their time and attention, often leaving Andrew on his own unless it was him expressing interest in the topic of research they were currently working on By the time he was finishing High-school and beginning to look at Universities, this resentment had developed into a deep-seated hatred which resulting in many arguments between the family. On one such night where his parents were on the verge of a breakthrough, when the family was planning on having a dinner together once they had finished the latest research, another argument broke out while tensions were at an all time high. Heated words were exchanged and becoming enraged by the conversation, Andrew began taking his anger out on the nearby equipment and causing it to malfunction. The end result was the equipment exploding, injuring Andrew both from the blast and the chemical burns he suffered. After being rushed to hospital and stabilized, Andrew was eventually visited by his father who promptly told him this attitude of his could go on no longer, and he either to behave himself or become disowned. Left alone to mull over this fact, Andrew eventually decided he could not live with his life being dictated by others. While he healed he slowly began to realise the accident had resulted in some positive side effects. Spending the next few days testing his abilities, he eventually disappeared from the hospital, abandoning who he and any ties to his past. The next few years he spent honing his own skills and forging his own path, not caring for those he hurt or killed as long as he got to live his own life. Other: N/A for now
55,097	1,503	63	2,301	766	One Day Prior to Germany The room was quiet when Samantha entered. Her father was resting in his bed, sleeping until noon. She had taken down her hood and her cloth-wrapping was resting around her neck. She would put them in the laundry machine later. "Hey, Dad," She said, quietly, pulling up a chair. He turned to look. Samantha bit her lip as she made eye contact. Her Dad's eyes lit up. "Hey, sweat pea,!" "I'm going to be going to Europe tomorrow." She said with a false cheeriness. "It's a college field trip." It was a pre-meditated lie. "Oh?" The man said. "Have a lot of classmates? Making friends? I know you have problems making friends, Sammy." "...Yeah, I'm making friends. Sure," Her father laughed. "Do try to make friends, will you?" There was a pause. Her father spoke again. "Just promise me not to get into any trouble, okay?" He said with a smile. Samantha didn't reciprocate the smile. "Yeah, Dad, I promise." --- Maverick didn't fall asleep on the way there, for obvious reasons. As the door opened, she step foot onto German soil for the first time. She had gotten a good look at everyone on the plane ride over. Some people were...louder than others. Her hoodie and masker were up again, concealing most of her identity from the people here. If this all went wrong, she didn't want one of these guys knowing what her face looks like. Touching her toes and twisting her back, she lingered near the back of the group.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.
55,098	1,503	64	720	1,627	- Joe - Joe stepped out of the experimental jet wearing black lace boots, jeans, and high-collar trench coat that was flowing rather epically from the wind generated from the landing transport. He took off his sun glasses and glanced around lazily at the open field full of weeds and dry brush. "Here we are, founding country of the Illuminati and the Third Reich, of which were the first two symbols shown to us by the Presence during our meeting. Could by a coincidence, but unlikely knowing what we know of the Presence so far." Joe articulated, then put his sunglasses back on and turned to the group. "But that's not important right now, we have a Central Bank of Europe to make bankrupt. Anyone have the directions? As much as I wanted to pay attention to where we were going, I was busy seeing clouds as zoo animals and didn't have time." Whether that was actually what he was doing or not is a different story. Turning back to the field, Joe began to get slightly curious about what the Presence's plan actually was. Surely it didn't actually need all of them, the Presence could probably have just used one person in this group to rob the bank. There must be something else going on, whether a hidden enemy, or the Presence didn't tell them their true objective. Or both. All of which were equally likely. The Presence probably chose each individual based on the plan, not based the plan on each individual. But if that was the case, would that make it an immediate fail if even one person either messed up or revolted? That's a lot of trust put on this group of all people.	Name: Joe Age: Unknown Gender: Male Personality: Joe is a very chill, light-hearted guy that never seems to take things very seriously. Nobody can really tell what's inside his head because he always speaks in a calm, smooth voice, and has no facial expression. He always has a nice word for the ladies, despite not being interested in a relationship, and everything he does, he does with class. Joe seems to really enjoy shopping, often spending on all kinds of purchases, almost all of which he never is never seen using. From monkey wrenches to cans of soup, from extravagant hats to collector's addition superhero comics. Powers/skills: Joe is a demon of deception who decided that fierce battles for control over mankind wasn't his type of lifestyle, so he left his prior residence and became an American citizen. He still retains his deception abilities, and uses them in anyway he finds useful. Inconspicuous - Joe can remain unnoticed by anyone he wishes. Human Form - Joe can take on any form he wishes, within the limit of it being human and, to an extent, clothing. Temptation - Joe can whisper into the ears of the unsuspecting, pointing them in the direction he'd like them to take. The move the victim acts on a whim with little to no self control, the easier it is to get them to do what he wants. It is much harder to tempt someone who knows him for who he is. Puppet Control - If a human consciously relinquishes control (whether they know who he is or not), Joe can take control over them. They gain much greater strength, speed, awareness, and ferocity, but are under Joe's control until he releases them. Equipment: Only the various objects he purchases during shopping sprees, though nobody actually knows where he stores all that stuff. Other: Joe's reasons for obeying the Presence will be revealed IC.
55,099	1,503	65	893	1,251	Hold on. Phone Freak said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Her real phone, not the one designed for casting spells. A modern phone. A few quick taps brought up google maps and she screwed around a bit trying to figure out where they were. While she was at it, she thought about what Joe had said. "Wasn't Faust also a German legend?" She asked idly as she searched, remembering the fleeting symbols. She hoped this didn't involve demons. Nothing good ever came from dealing with demons, just ask every warlock in the history of the world. Finally she though she got a good idea of their situation and pointed. "There should be a road that way. Follow it north and it should take us right to the city, but after that I'm not sure. Are we just supposed to head to the bank, do you suppose?"	Name: Allison Bell (Phone Freak II) Age: 16 Gender: Female Appearance: Short, pale, and slightly pudgy with short brown hair and green eyes. The type of girl people talk about when they say "but she has a great personality." A boring, average looking girl that probably would not be noticed. When forced to go out supervillaining she wears a long, dark blue coat covered in pockets, black gloves covered in metal plates on the outside and very thing material on the inside, and a metal helmet. The helmet covers her entire head and face and has a blue screen going right down the middle that glows. The effect is very Daft Punk. Intentionally so. Personality: Irate, high-strung, driven, dutiful, paranoid Powers/skills: Allison is a Technomancer, a wizard who uses technology as a medium through which to cast spells. Like all technomancers she can commune with technology to try and get it to do what she wants through a combination of appeasement and coercion, though she can't do so to things like engines because she "doesn't speak that dialect." She can commune with most things that "have wires" but is specialized in phones and phone lines. A few notable things she can do with a phone line are: 1). The most basic thing is the ability to scramble where your call came from, send your call bouncing all over the network until it becomes impossible to trace where it originated from. 2). Listen in to it to try and peel out information. When you say something into a phone it doesn't disappear when it comes out the other end, it stays in there. This doesn't even just apply to things people say into the phone either. Since phone lines were built to "carry information" even things people say near them can get sucked up in there and carried around the lines. You can even find where someone is so long as they're speaking near a live line. You have to know what you're looking for, though, otherwise you're just listening to random snippets and the white noise that everything left in the line eventually becomes. 3). Travel through them or trap people inside of them. Moving like this you can get anywhere the line connects in record time, but it's extremely dangerous and knowing your exact route is a must. She hates doing it. You could get stuck in a mire of white noise, get creamed by a call coming down the line, or eaten by a monster. Speaking of that last one... 4). Telefangs. Phone demons. Emotion left in the line that coalesced into a monster that lives there. Comes in positive and negative varieties. They try to piggyback out of the lines on similar emotions and into human bodies. If you've ever felt particularly good or terrible after a phone call that was one of them getting into you. They're harmless like that, but Allison can draw them out of the lines and bind them to her will. The monsters come in as many varieties as there are emotions, though the general rule is that the positive ones help and the negative ones hurt. Can only exist for long periods of time in the real word when Allison is on hand and puts forth effort to maintain them, otherwise they dissolve into noise and vanish within a few hours. There are other applications of phone magic, but these three things are what she's most skilled in. She is, however, a ritual caster. She can't just quickfire these spells willy nilly. It also goes without saying that she needs a phone line to be able to do any of these things. Equipment: Like most wizards she has a workshop hidden in the middle of nowhere where she works to perfect her craft. It's underground, filled with technical manuals, arcane grimoirs, parts, junk, and tools. Anything she needs to build and maintain her equipment. It's also where she lives. Her helmet (includes a voice changer). Her gloves (Actually powerful shock gloves she can turn on with a command.) Her Spellphone. A simple blue flip-phone with the number replaced with arcane symbols. After tireless effort she's managed to turn it into a portable magic tome capable of casting simple spells with a few dials. It includes a simple magic blast, a weak defensive shield capable of stopping anything up to a hale of small arms fire, and a longsword mode for close up offence. It also includes storage space for a single Telefang. It's held back the abysmal hour long battery life and being prohibitively expensive to produce. It had to be assembled basically from scratch, being carefully enchanted all the while. It is bleeding edge technonmacy, but a work in progress. Short Bio: Allison has most of her entire life on the run with her father, the original Phone Freak Archibald Bell, helping him commit crimes in order to fund their research. She never knew her mother or a normal childhood. As far as she knows she's been a supervillain for about as long as she could walk, taking a supporting role in robberies, scams, magical duels, and every sort of mercenary work you could imagine. Her father always treated her more as a student than a daughter, and as she got older treated her as a peer and colleague. All the money they won was channeled into the research, always striving toward that next big step. One day, Archibald left her behind. She was confused, until the power went off later that night. She got the news later that he'd set off to steal something from the hero Cyber Shaman, and the resulting duel scrambled communication throughout mainland North America for about four months. No one ever really learned what happened during that fight, Cyber Shaman certainly didn't brag about it, but Archibald never came back. He'd left her, alone, to continue the work. She'd inherited his research, his workshop, and his contacts. She was 12 years old. She'd been handling it pretty well by herself for the past four years, stealing what she needed, doing various jobs to fund her way of life, working on how to do with wireless signals what Archibald had taught her to do with landlines, and most importantly: keeping anonymous. Allison Bell was a ghost. The people who contacted her only knew Phone Freak. She'd completely divorced her villain persona from her actual person. It was all going swimmingly until the day she got that call. On her Spellphone. The one she'd just recently built. The one that didn't even have a listed number. And the voice on the other end used her name...
55,100	1,503	66	2,330	440	“Faust was indeed a German tale.” Dianna agreed, smiling. “A scholar exchanged his soul, giving it to the devil for knowledge beyond that of which a man should carry. He became practically omnipotent.” She added, mostly as an afterthought for those who didn't know the legend. Her eyes swept the team, and she pursed her lips. She picked up Ms. Muffin, letting the kitten nuzzle against her cheek. “I don't think the Presence wants us to waste time dilly-dallying, the longer we enjoy ourselves the easier it will be to pick us out from a crowd. We should head straight to the bank, and get our jobs done. Agreed?” She focused on the more animalistic members of the group, not with a distaste, but a bubbling kinship. “As much as I love the slaughter, I believe we should keep it to the minimal amount until we arrive at our destination. Is that suitable?”	Name Dianna Lear Alias Black Magic Age 16 Gender Female Appearance Dianna has short red hair that frames her face, always parted neatly to the side of her head. She has almond eyes, an icy shade of blue making up her irises. On her pale skin, she has a smattering of freckles. Her lips are a naturally sheer shade of pink, and her cheeks appear to have a slight blush. She stands at a graceful five feet ten inches, with legs that go on for miles. She has an athletic build, strong arms and legs that show how dedicated she is to gymnastics and running. Although she does prefer athleticism, she is usually seen in business casual clothes that suit her well for a teenager. Personality Impish, Dark Sense of Humor, Loyal, Dedicated. Powers Magick- Dianna is able to use both offensive and defensive magic, though she prefers offensive. Transmutation: Through transmutation, Dianna can take something and turn it into something else. She's known for making a joke out of things: a dagger into a bouquet of fresh flowers, a bullet into a flock of doves, she made the news for a week when she turned a lizard into a tyrannosaurus rex which caused the slaughter of many police officers. She is usually seen taking her cat, Ms. Muffins, and transforming her into a menagerie of different animals and tools. The spell lasts until broken by Dianna, which isn't common. Curses: With a few empowered Latin words, Dianna can curse others. She has been seen cursing others with simple things like a weak ankle, or deadly things such as diseases. She can also use these hexes to cause mental despair and insanity. Depending on the strength of her victim, the curses can last from five minutes to a lifetime. Potions: Dianna is a skilled potion crafter. She can make anything from love potions, to potions that excrete toxic fumes. These potions usually require tricky ingredients, but she does have the necessary ones in her base. Energy Shields/Domes: The name says it all. Dianna can make energy domes around her, or flat circular shields in front of her. The larger the shield, the weaker it will be, and the more concentration it will require to uphold. If Dianna plans to take a group into her dome, she will probably end up with a hideous migraine, if she doesn't fall unconscious of course. The shields can withhold blasts from medium sized explosives, projectiles, and sharp/blunt weapons. They will strain under too much pressure though, cracking until they break. Skills Sleight of Hand- Dianna is an excellent thief, without the usage of her magic she can probably strip someone down to their knickers without them knowing any better. Stage Magic- To keep with the magician motif, Dianna has aced many card tricks. She can pull a rabbit out of a hat, throw daggers blindfolded. If you've seen it on a stage, she can recreate it. Not the most practical of skills, but it gets a good laugh. Gymnastics/Athleticism: Dianna is a skilled gymnast, she is also skilled at running. She has a tank that almost never runs empty, allowing her to outrun most of her foes. Skilled Swordsman: Dianna is a gifted swordsman, having been taught by the Wise One himself. She is also good with most blades, such as throwing knives, daggers, and anything with a pointy end. Equipment A Bandolier: instead of bullets she has small servings of all her favorite potions. Sleeping Potion: When thrown on the ground, the potion will shatter and create a gas that will knock most people out. The gas can get through most spaces, so covering one's face with a t-shirt will only work for so long. Healing Potion: Once drunk, this potion will heal minor wounds. It can also lessen the blood flow of some major wounds. Curse Removal: In case a cursed person can still be useful, Dianna carries servings of her own special concoction that removes any curses she has placed on someone. It restores them back to their original state, whatever that was. Throwing Daggers: As much as she likes to think so, magic doesn't solve every problem. At each hip she carries a sheathe of four throwing knives. Two of which are tipped with poison, for those special moments. Ms. Muffins II: Sadly, the first Ms. Muffins died in a firefight. Now, Dianna carries Ms. Muffins II. Much like her predecessor, Ms. Muffins II is used mainly as a device for Transmutation, if she doesn't have a hostage on hand. She's also used for good times and snuggles! Short Bio Dianna’s beginnings started with the Wise One. The Wise One was a hero turned villain after a few complications with the law. He hid away, only coming out to cause a horrific scene once a year on the Fourth of July. Finally, the hideous massacres ended. They just stopped one year, things ran smoothly. This was because he had found a new Apprentice. The Wise One always had a soft spot for children, and his past lover had moved on and given birth to a beautiful red haired baby. The child was the spitting image of her mother, and carried the abilities needed to be a good witch. So, her teachings began. For every spell, the Wise One planted a bit of his own essence into her. He began aging, after a while. On the day her training was completed, he finally died. Dianna was still small, a ten year old with a cat and the power to kill. She took after her Master, her first attack was on July Fourth, an homage to him before she became her own villain. Now, she's known throughout the world as a killer, a villian. She couldn't be happier. Other N/A
55,101	1,503	67	2,301	766	Maverick was anxious about the coming events. She'd never robbed anything anywhere near as large as the Central Bank of Europe. What was the Presence going to do with them? How? Why? All she knew was that she hated referring to it as 'The Presence.' The name gave it too much power over everyone here. A name like 'Dave' would be better. Or 'Harold'. 'Bertha.' Shaking her head, Maverick looked around at the men and women she was going to rob a multi-million Euro bank with and listened to them talk. Of course, there was an immediate holocaust reference, and in direct contrast, some folk were talking about German legend. She scoffed and murmured something under her breath.	Name: Samantha Park (Maverick) Age: 18 Gender: F Appearance: An Asian woman with a thin but athletic build you might expect from a free-runner. Her nose is wide and flat and her dark-green mono-lid eyes are a little too small for her flat face. Her eyebrows arch towards her nose and her lips are curled down at the end, giving her a neutral face of looking peeved off. Her skin is naturally a sort of peachy color, but because of how much time she spends out of doors it has tanned to shade of olive. Her hair is dark-black, usually tied into a high bun. She wears an off-white tank-top with a dark blue hoodie layered over it. For mobility as she moves her bottom articles of clothing is a pair of sweatpants and some expensive looking running shoes. When she is doing criminal activity, she puts her hoodie up and places a black cloth wrapping over the bottom half of her face. Personality: Extrovert, Confrontational, Emotional, Has-A-Moral-Code, Confident Powers/skills: Kinetikinesis Samantha is able to control the kinetic energy of objects she touches, as well as herself. This allows her to strengthen the power of her attacks, run faster, and manipulate her momentum. With this power, she can do things like jump in one direction, and then suddenly change course mid-flight. She can also use this skill to scale up walls and even do short term gliding. This also grants her the ability to throw objects much faster and with more control than normal. However, the more drastic of a change in kinetic energy, the more stamina it requires and she can be exhausted quickly if she does too many bizarre plays. She is also adept in free-running and parkour, as well as stealth and lock-picking. She has excellent hand-eye coordination, but this is not the result of any supernatural powers. She's just coordinated. Equipment: She carries an extendable baton that is easily portable. It extends out to a foot and a half, she can use it for a variety of things. She also has a handgun with a single extra clip she keeps on the inside of her hoodie in a hidden pocket. Other items include a miniature lock-picking kit, and a pocket with three metal ball bearings she can use as projectiles. Short Bio: Her early childhood was spent in a wealthy neighborhood, her father her only caretaker. Her father, Lo Park, was a quiet man on the straight and narrow, he'd never committed a crime in his life and he never would. He was also an older man, for Samantha was born very late into her parent's marriage. Complications resulted in the death of her mother, so Lo Park took care of Samantha by himself. Lo Park loved Samantha with everything he had, but unfortunately his child was a troublemaker, and was horrible to him. She was never built for the lavish life style, and hated every moment of her private-schooling. As time went on, he developed early onset Alzheimer's disease. Samantha neglected him for a short while as he began to become more and more unstable. She turned to a life of crime, doing petty thievery. Eventually, when her father forgot her name for the first time, something clicked inside Samantha. Her father was the only family she had, and she was going to take care of him as best as she could. Using her father's money, she hired a personal caretaker for her father. She felt terrible for being so ungrateful and spoiled to her father, but still, the life of crime called to her. She did it not for the money, but for the thrill. Everything else drove her crazy; in her mind she had no other option but illegal activity. When she was sixteen, she was pick pocketing people when she was intercepted by a young woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her mentor, teaching her advanced techniques. Samantha was better than ever at her craft. Elizabeth challenged her to do something big. She was planning to rob a gas station, and could use a partner. Samantha accepted. During the heist, they ascended to the rooftops. That was when it all went wrong. She didn't know how it happened, but when Elizabeth went to lift her up to a higher roof, Samantha's leg shot downwards with an immense amount of force. She kicked Elizabeth in the head, her kinetic energy manipulation manifesting at the worst possible time. She killed her mentor with that blow. Terrified, young Samantha fled from the scene. It was a traumatizing moment. Still, life went on. She continued on her own, learning more and more about her newfound power. She began pulling more and more solo heists, getting grander and grander as she grasped the scope of her powers more and more. Eventually, she donned the alias Maverick. In between in all, she visits her sick father and his caretaker. She doesn't tell him of what she does, of course not. He may not remember that she said it, but she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. Samantha knew her lifestyle was foolish, but somehow it was too late. There was something deep inside her that kept her from going back. And then, she was contacted by The Presence. It would expose her identity, tell everyone that she was responsible behind the murder on the rooftops. It would destroy her father, force him into a retirement home. She had no choice to believe it. It knew everything about her somehow, she feared that it too could find a way to link her father into her actions. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Other: Due to her previous and only experience with killing, Samantha is incredibly averse to lethal combat. She refuses to kill someone, unless under extreme, extreme circumstances. She's in it for the thrill of outwitting and escaping, not murder.

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