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9,700	268	259	538	2,678	Great One! Da village under attack! Fiery thing comes burn tents! a voice called out from within the shaman's hut. "THEN SLAY THE INTERLOPERS!" a monstrous voice roared back, its diabolical tone harsh like the grating of metal. "Warriors charge out to go bashin', but dey be needin' yer hel-" D'Artagne would walk in to see the shaman in all his horror. This being was no longer a mere orc; magic had twisted and warped his body into something even more insidious. Wild horns spouted out from all parts of his body, magical tattoos in the likeness of beast and meaningless lines alike adorrned his stony flesh, and where a normal orc had hands this shaman had claws that resembled molten slag. With unnatural ease and quickness the shaman moved to grip by the throat that worthless guardsmen that had disturbed him. Cackling as the searing heat of his massive hands charred and melted flesh, from within the shaman's helmet he roared, "A warrior that flees to his shaman rather than fight is a warrior that is not worth the grog he drinks!" In one violent motion, he hurled the pitiful orc across the room. The sudden arrival of D'Artagne was the only thing that allowed the barely-living respite from the shaman's full wrath. "And what is this?!" he roared at D'Artagne, his heated breath steaming out from the confines of his helmet as a smoky haze. Clearly he was not happy at the preposterous notion of his village being attacked and the rabbitman before him managing to sneak in, but at least he wasn't trying to kill D'Artagne yet. Still, the rabbitman would probably have only a few moments to think of some sort of answer before the raging and unpredictable shaman had another fit of rage. -~=~- Bemused, Faeles watched as the ever-irate Clotho flew away as hastily as she had appeared. He so no need in taking the time to immediately depart; rather, he would wait and see exactly what became of this mess. Opening a small vial of what appeared to be some dark fluid, the arch-thief let loose vapors of pure darkness, and in doing so rendered himself invisble to the weak-minded orcs. Laughing as he stood unseen whilst in plain sight, he watched as Torrens incinerated those warriors that challenged him, only to immediately after fall prey to a barrage of arrows from the unseen guards above. Before the last of the jagged blades had collided with the demon's fiery flesh, another volley had been knocked and loosed. And then another. With frightening speed and accuracy, the determined invaders turned Torrens into something as a firework as arrows after arrow tore into him, unleashing blasts of fire and depleting him of his energy. Whether this would prove fatal or if he would manage to escape remained to be seen; whilst a good deal of the arrows would have struck true, if he reacted quickly enough he might be able to find cover or quickly retaliate with a fireball or two of his own.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,701	268	260	268	1,389	The glory and destruction of Torrens' battle was rudely interrupted by the hail of arrows. He turned to see the archers positioned above the valley, who had already released their next volley. One or two arrows he could ignore, but this continuous barrage could prove deadly. With a shortage of immediate cover, Torrens decided he needed to make his own. With a sweeping motion, Torrens conjured a wall of fire between himself and the archers, obscuring himself from view and allowing him to sidestep the arrows. Given a moment's respite, Torrens prepared another fireball of a similar sort as his first one. With the firebomb ready in his hand, Torrens allowed the wall of fire to fade just enough for him to see where the archers were. With his target in sight, Torrens lobbed the fireball, which streaked through the sky and landed right in the midst of the archers. This particular fireball exploded into a wave of slightly sticky flames, which would cover all the archers in fire and set them alight. With the clifftop ablaze and the archers dealt with, Torrens dispelled the wall of fire and turned back to orc warriors. He rubbed his hands together and walked towards them with a sadistic grin on his face. "OK, who's next? I'm hungry."	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,702	268	261	778	3,791	D'Artagnan thought this was very unexpected but understandable since the shaman would be angry with some random people attacking his village,"I am Sir D'Artagnan of Coniglio and i was sent here by my group for safe passage...we are but lonely creatures compared to your mighty stature.We only as for safe passage though the village and will be off on our way...away form your village" The smaller rabbit said bowing his head in respect wanting to play on the shaman's ego if he had any in this form. If the subject of Torren comes up then he would have to throw him under the ox cart for the group and himself to survive.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,703	268	262	538	2,678	You'll have your safe passage if you help butcher the thing attacking my village! the shaman answered. Then he pushed past D'Artagne and stormed down the path from his hut. Several of his guards stomped forward to push D'Artagne along as they followed him out. With the dead already in dozens and the village starting to catch fire the mob of orcs disintegrated into a wild stampede as they tried to flee. This was short lived; after only a minute something caused them to near instantly find their bravery again. It would seem that the arrival of their leader had that effect; they feared him more than they did Torrens. They moved back a ways closer to where the fire demon was, but this time they made no effort to attack Torrens. A raucous cry began to take hold amongst the throngs of orcs. "Gormlag! Gormlag!" they roared in unison, cheering at the arrival of their champion, the shaman. Gormlag suddenly burst out from the crowd and charged towards Torrens with an unnatural speed for a brute of his size, searing claws outstretched. Unlike the other orcs, he didn't show the slightest hint of trepidation upon seeing the fire demon, nor the charred remains of all the fallen. No, it only drove him into more of a rage. Meanwhile, the other guards were quick on Gormlag's heels, and one of them threw D'Artagne out into the field. "Go kill da fire devil!" one ordered. "Help da big mighty shaman!" said another, which quickly started a small argument over whether the shaman was mighty enough to handle his own fights. "Kill it right now or we eat you, little rabbit thing!" roared one last orc, who unlike the others seemed willing to force D'Artagne to do it. Raising his spear, he moved to prod the rabbitman forward (or perhaps outright impale him) if he didn't go on his own volition.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,704	268	263	1,198	1,769	Kangutso and Cyclone Flashback Within the dwarven mining colony "Well, be done with that fool and help me find the explosives. They must be kept somewhere around here, and the Horde will not leave empty-handed!" Mar looked at the new arrival, most definitely not a dwarf, more of a human. Yes, it was a human, a seemingly powerful one at that. His eyes narrowed, or at least the eyes of his host did, at the stranger, sensing the power he gave off. They stayed like that for a couple moments, the sounds of battle and something colossal outside the building. Soon a scream of something monstrous outside resounded through the city as it died, and the new arrival opened a portal that summoned a great many imps into the world. As Mar opened his host's mouth to speak, the person turned and warped away in a sudden burst of flames, leaving no trace save for the red tide of imps that were pouring out of the portal he'd conjured. Slowly and warily watching the little creature move about the room and grab everything, Mar was surprised when a vial of liquid was smashed against his host's shoulder, splattering the liquid inside over his host's face and upper chest. It only took a moment before the liquid was proven to be acidic, burning the skin and turning it red as other chemicals inside of it worked into the body's system. It was the old alchemist's last mistake, as Mar used his claws to tear and rip out his throat in rage, leaving the dwarf to drown in his own blood as it pooled around his body. Finally, his oily form absorbed itself mostly back into his host's body, immediately begining work to repair and cure it from the inside out. The host's body falling to the floor, onto an unfortunate imp, with a black, oily substance covering the areas affected by the acid. The other imps glanced over with curiosity and a few of them let out short cackles. They didn't know what was better: the alchemist's grisly fate, or what had happened to the poor imp that stood too close to Mar. Not paying much mind to Mar as they routinely encountered all manner of horrors in their particular line of work, they set about business. For a good twenty seconds they scurried like little ants, rapidly plundering everything in sight and systematically ransacking the building in search of the explosives that they came for. But the instant that they sensed their Master was preoccupied 9the warlock outside speaking with his champions and silently wondering where his demon had gone off to), in unison they all stopped working. The lazy runts slouched down and a few began preparing to take naps. Then a short time later, without warning flames flashed through the air and the Master reappeared. Befor he could so much as blink, much less take in the scene, the imps had snapped back to attention and pretended to be hard at work. "Get a move on!" he yelled upon noticing that they had yet to find the explosives. Then he suddenly noticed the corpse of the alchemist, the thing mutilated to the point that it looked like some sort of beast had savaged it. His gaze shifted back to the feral elven lady, the one that he had thought was in his Horde. Now noticing the strange black oil that caked her upper body, his curiosity was piqued. This wasn't one of his minions; he would remember one like this! Sensing that the elven lady was half dead, a mere shell being inhabited by some other strange being, the Master warily raised his staff. "What have we here?" he mused aloud. A moment passed before a response came, "A wounded being, controlled by me." It sounded as though the figure had yet to fully learn control of the mouth. The keeper scoffed. He had already observed as much. "But what are you, and what are you doing in this wretched hole in the ground? I hope that you didn't come for the explosives; I'll be taking all of those!" A triumphant cry came out from one of the imps, who had discovered a hidden room that contained their prize. The workers began to haphazardly toss the vials of the strange alchemical explosives into crates and then carry them back through the portal from which they had arrived. It was a wonder that they managed to not blow up the entire building. "I do not care for the explosives, right now my primary concern is my host. I have no memory before many weeks ago, the earliest one being my taking of this body and the killing of her comrades..." A pause as Mar sorted through the host's memories, "I receded after, into a trance while she passed out. It would seem she has been a slave for some time now..." Some sort of parasitic beast that lost his memory and inhabited the body of an elven slave? This day had been off to a rocky start, but it was getting better by the minute! "Indeed. Well, turn your gaze through this door," the Master said, flinging open the heavy door with an effortless blast of telekinetic magic. The streets outside were had pools of blood, the corpses were strewn everywhere, and a few members of the Horde still rampaged through the streets looking for any survivors. Others were already moving to dispose of the fallen and go through with the plan to cover up the attack. "Have your pick of bodies, if that scrawny little elf's frame is proving defective! My army cleaned up this little colony well," he snickered. "Might you be interested in joining my Horde? Clearly you are a capable killer, and I could use your skillset." "On the contrary," Mar responded to the Master's former offer, "This elven body is still stronger than any in this situation, likely due to her once being a warrior. And it is not that simple, unless she were to actually die I can not leave this unless temporarily until I have more... of myself." Silence for a few moments once more, "I wonder if I was more than a killer before..." While the host did not move, the Master would feel him look to him, "I will join your... Horde. It is more likely that I will get stronger then, rather then being on my own." The sappy talk about his forgotten past irritated the nefarious Overlord, but of course the promise to join the Horde alleviated that. "Very well, then. I am Master of this Horde, and I have more than just these wretches in my service," the Master said as he kicked one of the imps. "Come; I shall show you to our center of operations. Perhaps you will want to become acquainted with the others..." Current Time The days passed, Mar now being a member of this horde and residing in its den of evil. It felt a little like home, admittedly. Despite meeting each of the others, he was rarely in contact with any one them, simply being a silent observer of the goings on in the dungeon. Very few had any interest in him anyway, well, aside from a couple of the more intelligent sort. He had been permitted a room of choice of his own, and he chose a very large cave a little further in than the others, it felt right to him. Then came the Master's orders, to march the new army off to battle against a new rising evil. To the not so strategic minded it wouldn't make sense, but in truth it made perfect sense. Couldn't have a rival Master competing for long, and what was more was that the humans and elves were mustering an army to face this new foe. Before they set out, Mar gave a request, or his own order, to some imps to convert a large part of his room into a library, so that he might learn and perhaps remember. Despite having his host in a comatose state most of the time, Mar was able to keep up with the horde. After another two days they finally stopped to set up camp, and he joined the other in attending the Master's meeting. He was the only one present that couldn't go on the assigned mission. After some walking through the camp, Mar found that there really wasn't much he could do, as his host was still recovering from her injuries prior, even with his help. Finally, just at the edge of camp in the direction the scout left, he sat and waited patiently. He needed a temporary host to reside in, until this one could recover, so that he could get stronger.	Name: Mar'Ament "The Formless One" "The Black Blood" Physical Form: Mar, as one of his titles suggests, has no defined form, only being recognized most as like a black, blood-like fluid that can move on its own in any way it wants, taking up any shape or form that he wants or needs to. Abilities: Is currently incapable of using magic, but can learn it. Physical combat ability is potentially unlimited, the only limiting factor how much mass he has. Is capable of learning flight, and is able to harden different parts of himself into rock-like, iron-like, or harder consistencies. Personality: Calm, tactical, observant, and to many uncaring or indifferent. To others, should they earn it, a good ally to have. Wants/Needs: Doesn't exactly have any, though he has a thirst to learn and recover the history that was lost to him. Both of which he feels capable of doing himself. Does have a passive want of getting stronger, however. Relationships: None for now. Backstory: Mar has no memories from before he 'woke up'. So instead, I'll talk about when he was released. He was sealed inside an urn in some ruins right on the border of the elvish and dwarven territories, and a small group of elven warriors was sent to investigate, explore, and obtain anything of their people to bring back. One of them, a female elf, entered the chamber in which his urn resided. A couple of the other elves followed and they each went about searching the many bookshelves and few chest in the room. The female, unfortunately for her, touched the urn and it cracked from age. Right as that happened, the doors slammed shut, likely due to ancient magic, and a black blood from inside the urn shattered it as he lunged at the elf. One swing of the sword went right through it and did nothing, one swing was all she could do before it clung to her chest. She didn't feel it, but multiple small cut were made on her skin, then she felt the pain of the fluid entering her body through those cuts and her mouth and nose. Needless to say, he passed out and Mar took control, slaying the other elves in the room that tried to help her before he entered another dormant, restful state. The elf would wake up later, in a cage being drawn into the mountains by dwarves, feeling something inside her body and at the back of her mind. Other: Nothing at the moment.
9,705	268	264	778	3,791	"Well no hard feelings..." The rabbitfolk shook his head hopping forward towards Torren his sword unsheathed,The small rabbit was moving quickly towards Torren moving close enough to to speak to him."Listen they want me to kill ya...now play along and we can all get out of here alive.." The rabbit whispered to the demon quickly moving backwards him away taking a slash of his sword to the demon's chest missing of course but looking real to the orcs.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,706	268	265	268	1,389	With bold confidence Torrens strutted towards the village, with the orcs cowering from his fiery aura. Torrens laughed haughtily. These orcs were no match for him. He would burn their village to the ground and the Horde would be able to march through unmolested, all thanks to him. His plan was working well. Too well, perhaps. That was when Torrens saw the shaman, with skin of stone, breath of smoke and claws of molten metal. The sight of this shaman wiped the smile right of Torrens' face, not because of the shaman's intimidating form, or his strength or speed, but because- "Why do they always have to be BLOODY FIRE-PROOF!" Torrens shouted in exasperation. Not one to give up without trying, though, Torrens aimed his fingers at the charging shaman and shot three fire bolts in quick succession. He also lowered himself into a fighting stance, ready to dodge aside as needed. Then came a person who caught him off guard. D'Artagnan? What the hell is that rabbit doing? were Torrens' initial thoughts when he saw D'Artagnan advancing on him, out from the orc ranks. Then realisation struck. He looks fine though... hang on, if he's fine, then he didn't need help, and... aw damn it. However, Torrens did not have time to consider the error of his choice, as the shaman was approaching fast and would be bearing down on him at any moment. ((I'll cover my reaction to D'Artagnan after I deal with the initial clash of the shaman))	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,707	268	266	538	2,678	Without hesitation, the shaman charged into the path of his fireballs, reached out, and caught the orbs of fiery energy one by one. Through virtue of his unnatural hands or a rather impressive amount of magic. he had somehow managed to prevent the fireballs from simply exploding upon contact. Smashing them together in the crushing grip of his stony hands, the combined fireball grew even bigger as he added his own energy to it. He hurled the projectile back at Torrens and the resulting explosion shook the ground and sent the dry, dusty earth billowing into the air. It was during this time that D'Artagne managed to find Torrens as the dust began to settle and subside, but hardly a few moments passed before the hulking figure of the shaman came flying into sight. He seemed intent on grappling with the demon and fighting in close range, his hate-filled eyes practically boring holes through Torrens. Fortunately, he seemed to not pay any heed to D'Artagne; he was so preoccupied that he might not have even realized the rabbitman was there.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,708	268	267	268	1,389	When the shaman caught the fire bolts, then hurled them back at him as a fully fledged fireball, his face turned to one of bemused surprise, even as he was hurled backwards and knocked prone by the fiery blast. That's a cool trick. I should try that trick some time. Before the dust had settled, the rabbitman hopped up next to Torrens and spoke to him in a hushed whisper. Torrens replied in kind, "A rouse, eh? Tricking those orcs into liking you. I-" he was cut short as the shaman tore through the cloud of dust and Torrens had to quickly roll aside to avoid the initial lunge. Quickly, Torrens sprung to his feet so he could nimbly attempt to dodge aside from the shaman's claws. In the shaman's eyes he could see a fiery rage, a fury fueled by Torrens' destruction and fuelling his rampant attacks. To one grab Torrens side-stepped and countered by slashing the shaman with a wave of fire from his hand. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?" Torrens goaded. While Torrens was fairly nimble, there was no way he could keep dodging the shaman for long, who had superior speed, strength and martial prowess.	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,709	268	268	778	3,791	The rabbitfolk was now working along side the now demonic shaman slashing at Torren's.Of course his attacks were not meant to harm Torrens and could be easily doge by the demon.Although the rabbit was trying his best to keep up the act slashing and stabbing with his sword at Torren making sure that the shaman was close to him. His wolf Feninr was waiting for his master to give him the signal and would attack the shaman.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,710	268	269	538	2,678	After missing a grab and being blasted with fire from Torrens, Gormlag made the unexpected move of leaping backwards and nearly landed on top of D'Artagne. Before the fire demon could close the gap or seize the opportunity to attack with a fireball or ranged attack of some sort, the shaman called upon his powers over the earth. The ground beneath Torrens cracked open and a geyser of hot slag burst out. What would have incinerated any other being would fuel Torrens, but the half-molten rock and earth was highly viscous. Trapped in a pit similar in consistency to tar or honey, Torrens would find it nearly impossible to simply swim out or clamber away from the growing pit of fire. Seemingly just now noticing the rabbitman's presence, Gormlag yelled to D'Artagne, "Finish him!"	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,711	268	270	268	1,389	Torrens had hardly any time to react before his feet sank into the ground as it melted around him and lava spurted over him. The fire demon was used to the ground melting around him, and he normally took measures to avoid making a puddle of molten rock, although this happened much faster than he was used to, and in no time at all he was stuck, knee deep in liquid slag. Aside from the lack of mobility, this didn't perturb Torrens much at all. In fact, being soaked in molten earth was quite soothing for him, like how a person might wrap up in a blanket next to a fire and drink a hot chocolate. Or maybe like a spa treatment, with warm water massaging their back and fresh ointments cleansing their face. When the shaman ordered D'Artagnan to attack Torrens, Torrens let out a haughty laugh and looked at D'Artagnan. "Ha! Like that little knife won't do me any harm. Try it if you like, I dare you." Then Torrens looked down at the molten rock he was standing in. "This lava pit you've made for me is marvellous, by the way," he said to the shaman, "So refreshing." Then Torrens scooped up some lava in his hands and lathered it over himself, as if he were bathing. "You should try it some time." With that comment he picked up another handful of the molten slag, heated it a bit above its normal temperature so it would stay hot for longer, and flung it playfully at the shaman. Torrens watched to see what the orc would do in response to the incoming line of lava.	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,712	268	271	778	3,791	"Don't make me regret this..." He muttered to himself quickly turning around to face Torren throwing a bomb that was hidden behind the lava that would cause a big explosion and would be quite the mess if it hit.D'Artgnan called Fenir to come help him out knowing this would be the time for some assistance form his companion.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,713	268	272	538	2,678	Gormlag grit his teeth together, the loud gnashing sound audible as it echoed out of his helmet. The burning fiend claimed to enjoy bathing in a searing pool of molten slag, but how would he like it when every last bit of heat was pulled back out of that earth and it solidified into solid stone once more? Seizing the opportunity created by D'Artagne's sudden throw of a grenade, the shaman outstretched a hand and began to work some sort of magic. He adroitly stepped to the side to avoid the handfuls of lava that Torrens threw. Even though the damage inflicted by such futile attack would be minute against a shaman that had infused his flesh with raw fire, beign struck by an object might still break his concentration and ruin the spell that he was working. Once again the shaman performed an amazing feat of pyromancy, though this time there would be no fire or heat flung towards Torrens. Rather, the shaman was pulling all the heat towards himself in a most unnatural and unusual form of spell, bathing himself in a wave of fire. All of this energy had to come from somewhere, and in this case it was being leeched from the molten pool that Torrens waded in as well as straight from the fire demon himself. In seconds, the lava had solidified into glassy obsidian colder than the most frigid winter snows, every last bit of heat having been drained out. Unless he had managed to somehow resist such magic, Torrens too would be deathly cold and crippled from such a rapid and extreme heat loss. In any case, even if he had escaped mostly unscathed he would be half encased within solid obsidian. A low, insidious rumble reverberated from deep within the shaman's chest: it was laughter. "It would seem that the clever little fox is trapped in his own hole." The onlooking crowd of orcs now surged forward, jeering at the fire demon who they took for dead. They looked forward to seeing what sort of horrible torture the shaman would employ against this one; if he had intended for Torrens to have a quick death, the fire demon would have already had it.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,714	268	273	268	1,389	Torrens was rather enjoying himself when D'Artagnan's grenade landed. It was a crude contraption, explosives still being a rare substance, so it did little to harm Torrens behind his buffer of molten rock, yet it did fling a good amount of the lava aside. What is that rabbit trying? Perhaps he was trying to free him, although the lava proved much too thick for the bomb to clear enough of it away for him to escape. As he was distracted by this, the shaman made his move and executed his trap. Immediately Torrens could feel the heat being violently leached away from the molten rock around him, which began to solidify quickly. But worse, the shaman also attempted to draw heat from Torrens, as the fire priest had done. While the fire demon's own internal heat sink was extremely difficult to tap directly, the shaman did not need to, for he was sapping the thermal energy from all around him, and Torrens' own heat rushed out involuntarily to fill the cold. Unlike his encounter with the fire priest, the shaman was safely out of his reach. Torrens attempted to conjure a fire bolt but that too was absorbed by the shaman's terrible heat sink. Desperately, Torrens held on to what little thermal energy he could, keeping it deep within himself for as long as he could, until finally the shaman stopped. Torrens was in a pitiful state. One moment he had been lively, incandescent and cherry-red. Now he had cooled to a dull red-brown and he was bent over, severely weakened. His legs and waist encased in a tower of obsidian, his arms barely holding his torso up and his head hung in defeat and exhaustion. He could feel the cold grip of stasis closing in, although since he was only a bit above room temperature it would be a while before he cooled to that state. He had been bested, quite severely, but he was not out, for the last spark he held was the most powerful of them all. With it he could rise once again in a literal blaze of glory, but he could not afford to waste the last chance it represented. Torrens sighed deeply, and raised his head just enough so his eyes could meet the shaman's. "I underestimated you, and you have beaten me." He paused, as though to catch his breath. "You going to come over here and finish me off properly?" Then Torrens waited for the shaman to approach. Once the shaman came within arms reach, he would act. If the shaman did not approach, he would have to improvise.	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,715	268	274	538	2,678	Moving forward with deliberate slow and giving off an aura of nearly unbridled cruelty, the shaman moved to execute the crippled remnant of his foe. Unseen and unheard, with neither a whisper nor a word, a small distortion in the air rushed closer unnoticed in the chaos. Made invisible through some of his dark magic, Faeles crept past D'Artagne's wolf, the demon's foul and acrid reek masked just as surely as his form. Faeles invisibly walked up to D'Artagne and grabbed him tight with ethereal hands that would feel like nothing more than a cold breeze. His whisper, however, would ring clearly in the rabbit man's ear. He rasped in a familiar crooning tone, "...so much for leadership." Darting forward, he suddenly revealed himself behind the overconfident shaman. There was a sudden explosion of what could only be described as darkness, the mystical shadows that had been wrapped around his form with black magic so as to bend the light around him suddenly unfurling and flying as they would. Sly fingers grasped the twisted horns that protruded from the shaman's helmet and clutched with an iron grip that no being of Faeles' slender size should have been able to produce. From within the wraps around his other hand the arch-thief procured a wicked dagger and held it to Gormlag's throat. The stubby, warped shard of metal glowed and seemed to come alive at the prospect of drawing blood; like a snake it suddenly wrapped itself around the contours of the orc's neck, pressing its edge inwards. Yanking the surprised and now truly terrified shaman back from Torrens' lava pit, he turned to face the onlooking crowd of orcs with their shaman in front of him as a shield. There was sweet, delicious silence for a pregnant pause. At last, Faeles' whispered words seemed to echo thunderously throughout the quiet mountain pass, "Let's negotiate, vermin: you concede, and I let you flee this place." Before the cowards that stood gawking at him could begin to mutter to one another, Gormlag the shaman roared, "NEVER!" His smoldering claws shot like lightning to grab the blade around his neck and snap it in half like any other piece of steel. Faeles did not so much as twitch; the long and expanded blade sensed the sudden movement and responded by suddenly retracting itself back into its normal shape, cutting the shaman's throat as it went. Choking on blood, the shaman gasped, "Summon the king..." A sense of terror and desperation instantly engulfed the orcs; awakening their king was not something to be done lightly, but they had no choice. The crowd surged back to the village walls, and a few minutes later there was the sound of a tremendous horn being blown. Its harrowing din resounded through the mountains, and within a few moments an enraged roar answered back from atop one of the highest peaks. The heavy sound of beating wings soon followed. Faeles had stabbed the shaman in the back for good measure; he didn't like to leave any jobs half done. Laughing, he vanished as abruptly as he had appeared and then presumably retreated back to where he knew the Horde to be waiting. Torrens was left to his fate; surely he could manage to effect some sort of escape what with the orcs in such a terrified frenzy that they had all but forgotten about the dying fire demon. As in for D'Artagne, his cover was not yet blown; perhaps the rabbitman could attempt to meet this 'king' and write off the actions of Torrens and Faeles as being no fault of his group. Admittedly once the orcs saw the Horde that was composed of hundreds more demons like that, they might be skeptical, but in the mean time distancing himself from the two overly zealous demons might be a good idea for D'Artagne.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,716	268	275	778	3,791	D'Artagne decided to indeed move away from the two in hopes of not being seen by any other orcs and ruin his chances of speaking to the king.His kind were known to be very stealthy so he could easily move around the camp unnoticed and made his way to where the king should be.He would have to make this affair quick since he wanted his comrades to get out here safely. "My king i do not wish to disturb you but i have some business that needs to be dealt with quickly" He said bowing to show his respect to the king orc.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,717	268	276	268	1,389	Torrens awaited the shaman's approach. He watched every footfall, every gesture, every cruel step, checking at every moment whether now was the best time to make his move. It was all going according to plan. Sure, it wasn't the original plan. His plans had changed three times in the past ten minutes. Yet this was his last plan. If he could not make this one work, that would be the end of him, unless the Master were to show such uncharacteristic mercy to revive him. Did anyone even know that he could be revived? If no one figured it out, then he could be stuck here an extremely long time, as this place was barren, and it may take millennia for a fire to pass by him naturally. He had spent that sort of time out before, but now was too soon. There was so much left to be done. Torrens' brooding came to an abrupt halt when the shaman was stopped in his tracks by an flurry of shadows. He looked up attentively and saw that the shaman was now being held hostage by none other than Faeles. Torrens smiled. Seemed like he wouldn't have to deal with the shaman after all. It was nice to have backup. A minute earlier would have been nice, though. Hadn't Faeles been the one to prompt him to advance on the tribe, after all? "Hey, thanks. Could you-" Torrens called out to Faeles, but already the arch-thief was gone. "Sure, just leave me here," Torrens muttered. He put his hands on the obsidian encasing him and pushed, trying to lift himself out, but to no avail. He wriggled and writhed, but he was stuck fast. He sighed. No shortcuts this time. "Keep clear," he said to D'Artagnan, "This will get messy." Giving the rabbitman enough time to move away, Torrens went back to his prior plan for escape. He released that ember which he had held onto so tightly, and for an instant he was engulfed from head to toe in pure-white Empyrean, a flash which for that instant was far brighter than the noon-day sun. In that moment the obsidian encasing Torrens was vaporised, and shards of shattered obsidian and molten rock were flung from his feet. For another second Torrens' skin crawled with fire, which curled around him and gave him strength. After it all, Torrens was standing strong and proud, his skin cherry-red, and surrounded by a puddle of lava above which the air shimmered and waved. "Woo! That was a rush!" he exclaimed jubilantly. Then the horn blew from within the camp, and Torrens' face became sombre. He turned to D'Artagnan and said, "I think I should be leaving now. I've been beaten up enough for one day. I hear this king is a bird or something, which suggests he might be flammable, but I'm not keen on sticking around and finding out. Good luck." And Torrens turned and ran in the general direction of the Horde. It was dark, and he stood out like a campfire in the night, so he wanted to put as much distance between him and the orcs as possible before their king arrived.	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,718	268	277	1,449	5,930	Oblivious to the occurrences back at the settlement, Clotho fluttered back toward the camp of the Overlord. She trusted the situation behind her to sort itself out in the most appropriate way possible: either her allies' strength prevailed and proved their worth, or their foolishness and weakness got them killed. Either way, the outcome suited her, for both, in their own ways, would be justice. On the way to the Horde, she ascribed to no flight-pattern in particular, for her daring aerial maneuver back at the orc encampment had torn open the wound in the small of her back. Each beat of her wings strained her muscles, and given how many times each beat per second, the cumulative pain could not be ignored. With the composure of a commander, however, Clotho returned to base with no sign of hurt more visible than gritted teeth. Dutifully she made a beeline for the habitation of her master and waited to deliver her report. When he could spare her attention, she knelt slowly, and told him, "Sir. The advance party discovered a large orc camp. We performed reconnaissance there and got a rough idea of their numbers, armament, and leadership. During this time, however, we were separated, and an unrelated fight among the orcs drew the attention of the demon Torrens, who decided to attack. D'Artagnan leaped to assist him. Faeles and I remained undetected. I left them behind under the impression that they could handle a platoon of orcs with ease, but I can return to assist them if you so desire." After the Overlord made his reply, even if it were only to acknowledge that the report had been given, Clotho left quickly. She spent a few minutes among her insect troops, making sure that they would be ready for battle on a moment's notice, before retiring to a tree. A couple moments' rest before she returned to her orders would do far more good than harm. Stretching her limbs, the swarm queen attempted to keep her wings still. The arrow to the back might have just as well have been a curse, with all the agony it caused. Unlike many members of the horde, Clotho's body was purely organic in nature; she couldn't simple ignore or flash-regenerate any wounds. Still, in a way she welcomed the pain. It reminded her that she was alive--that she was fighting and surviving for something she believed in. Before all this, she mused, what she had been doing had not been living.	Name: Clotho Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood. Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'. Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability. The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction. Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures. Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master. Relationships: None Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization. It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka. The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be. From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question.
9,719	268	278	538	2,678	At the mountain's summit there was a gaping maw in the stone's face that gave way to a cavernous pit. None of this was natural, though time had weathered many of the innumerable claw marks that had been left from when the cavity was dug and ripped out of of the mountain. It was inside this horrid lair (in which no mortal had ever set foot and lived) that the orcs' king had slumbered. Beneath him was a mound of charred bones, bloodstained swords, shredded armor, and unimaginably huge heaps of gold and gems, though even those precious treasures had their brilliance tarnished by the very foulness in the air. That great mound was all the spoils of war, accumulated for so long that they had become the size of a small hillock and a throne for the monster that slept atop his precious collection. For a hundred generations Khilgarrath had ruled the orcs of these mountains with fire and death, and in times past all of these lands had been theirs. Time was finally catching up to the beast, though; his inner fire was beginning to fade, and with it his passion and desire for war. The orcs had declined in strength and number and now only plagued the lands near their mountain chain. Khilgarrath was mostly content to rest, and so it was only perhaps once in a century that his orcish slaves had the honor of marching to war beneath the shadow of their master's wings. Indeed, it had already been so long that many of the petty wizards and scholars had dismissed the tales of his horror as mere fantasy, but the peasants still remembered his legacy of terror. It would not have been long before the mighty dragon roused from his slumber on his own volition, but the sound of that wretched horn from below still managed to make him wroth. He would have slumbered for perhaps another season or ten, but it would seem that the insects that worshiped him as their god of war and their king had seen fit to deny him even rest. The thought crossed Khilgarrath's mind to purge those worms with his flame; what were they to him, anyways? Perhaps a new shaman was needed to lead the tribe? It had been only ten years since he had imbued the hands of the last shaman with fire! No. The shaman was still alive, but barely. Though the stench of smoky breath and rotten flesh clung to air of his den even after so many years of quiet, the dragon needed no smell to sense the little creatures that crawled about on the plateaus and crags of these mountains. His ancient magic was potent enough for such tasks, and with little more than a thought he scried below and near instantly located Gormlag the shaman. The fool would pay for this interruption! Upon his descent D'Artagne had somehow mustered up the courage to call out and speak to the dragon, but the orcs' king would have none of it. The insignificant rabbitman hadn't even caught his attention yet. --=~=-- Gormlag lay on the ground, choking on his own blood. Worse than the agony of his own bleeding was that fiery glare in his eyes from the baleful sun above; just as it had baked the dirt of these red mountains as hard as stone, it now withered the dying shaman with its tortuous heat and bright. It dried and scorched him just as it did those few sparse thistles and bushes that tried to eek out a living on the slopes of these forsaken mountains. This pain burned him even worse than what he had felt when he had plunged his bare arms into the burning bile of his god, infusing himself with fire and becoming shaman. The sunlight pierced through the visor of Gormlag's helmet and into his eyes, blinding and burning even if he shut his eyelids. For all his former strength, the shaman was too weak to even move his head so as to avert the glare. The sharp pain and tortuous light denied him even the peace of slipping out of consciousness and slowly fading away into the next life; it would seem that he was doomed to suffer until his very last breath. There was suddenly a tremendous thud. 'Yes,' the dying orc thought, '...I can hear their beat already! The drums of war! I will march to glory in the afterlife...' That horrid sun vanished and made way for respite. Gormlag shuddered, his life compelte and his end at hand. Then there came a second light, a thousand times brighter and hotter than the sun. Suddenly he was drenched in fire. Burning alive, Gormlag howled, his hoarse, rasping scream drowned out by the roar of fire. --=~=-- Khillgarath had landed before the corpse of the shaman, crushing beneath his claws several of the charred corpses of lesser orcs that had been left by Torrens. Looming over the moribund shaman so much that he blocked the sun, the dragon had then reached up and began to sear the shaman. The rock below cracked and melted, the superheated air blast outwards in a small explosion, and the heat had burned away every last piece of weakness and soft flesh left within Gormlag's body. The flames began to die down. The dragon sighed and looked down upon the shaman, the orc's body even more ruined than before. Already the dragon was exhausted, but this process was far quicker and more preferable to making an entirely new shaman, however unworthy this one was proving to be. That initial breath of flame was the drizzle that preluded the storm; he had broken down and shaped Gormlag's body by cauterizing away what had remained of the twisted orc's weakness and personality. Now it was time to temper the steel: this shaman would become a mighty sword indeed, a fine weapon of war that would hopefully never shatter again. The dragon retched and from his throat flew a globule of searing bile, that fluid hotter than any coal fire, magical flame, or even the dragon's breath. The horrid fluid seeped into the ashes and bones that remained of Gormlag and forged him a new body even greater than the last had been. Before the shaman's spirit could wander away, Khillgarath used his magic to bind the orc's soul into this new body. The avatar of destruction was complete, and the shaman rose to his feet bearing more resemblance to a fire demon like Torrens than any orc. Khillgarath's most pressing job complete, he sniffed the air and surveyed the scene. Clearly the village had awoken him because they had been attacked and were so miserably weak that they needed his protection, though in all fairness their foes had managed to defeat the shaman... Where were the foes? The dragon saw neither any signs of an army nor any fallen invaders in the immediate vicinity, only dozens of orcish corpses strewn throughout the clearing. It was outrageous. But then D'Artagne would find looming over himself a draconic visage... "Little one! You are brave indeed to not cower before me as even the orcs do. But surely you are not responsible for this intrusion upon my lands and savagery against my warriors? This...glorious destruction?" --=~=-- The Master's eager ears listened carefully to the words of Clotho; for some strange reason, his scrying magic was failing in these treacherous passes. It was as if the magic of another great magical entity had already brought these lands completely under its control. That being, if it existed, would have had to be ancient indeed, for its presence was so deeply ingrained to the land that one could hardly even feel a disturbance. When she was done, the Keeper acknowledged Clotho quickly, "Very well. Prepare at once; we will march upon this village quickly. If passage has already been secured then we will be on our way all the sooner, and if not, these orcs will be denied time for further preparation." When the host of demons and other assorted monsters that was the Horde encountered Torrens on his way down, he would be unceremoniously ordered to fall back into line with the others with hardly a thanks. Whether by intention or mere chance, Faeles found himself right beside Torrens once more.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,720	268	279	778	3,791	"Not us milord we would not dear try to destroy your precious land and your men.....our tiny insignificant band of mercenaries only want to travel past your land to the land across.." The small rabbit bowed his head down to show respect to the dragon.His eye twitched a little when he was called little but he got pasted that quickly since at least he was not called cute."Umm...Milord dragon i only offer safe passage for our company and no harm will come to your army or yourself" The rabbit said now looking at the dragon dead in the eye. He would have to admit deep down hew was scared with most enemies he would not flinch or blink with other people.He had faced bigger but seeing a dragon made him a bit careful of what he should say or do.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,721	268	280	268	1,389	Walking away from the orc settlement rather briskly, Torrens was mildly surprised to find the Horde coming the other way, but he was quite content to fall back in line. He replenished his supply of magical green fire from the fiery demons, then marched amongst them. He was starting to worry about whether the orc's flying king had arrived and was still there when he noticed Faeles beside them. "Oh, hello there, Faeles," Torrens said. There was a pause, before he said, "Hey, thanks for helping back there. Things didn't go quite as well as I had hoped." He chuckled, "Remind me not to go on scouting missions anymore."	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,722	268	281	1,198	1,769	Mar opened his host's eye to observe what her elven ears heard, the beat of insect wings. And there she was, Clotho, racing back here to camp as she returned from her mission. Mar watched as the champion flew into the camp and disappeared behind some tents, now doubt reporting what she had seen and what happened to the others. Shortly afterwords, Mar watched her as she inspected her insectoid troops, no doubt preparing them for a potential battle or to at least be ready to move out at a moments noticed. It was during this time that he got a clear view of her back, from which some blood could be seen. She had a wound there, likely from an arrow or bolt, judging from its size and shape. An idea began to form in his mind, after all, he needed a new, temporary host so his current one could recover. Soon enough Clotho had flown to, and rest upon a tree, no doubt in an attempt to recover. Now was his chance. He moved his host to one of the wagons, laying her in it for safety before he left her body, leaving enough behind to keep her in a comatose state while that piece healed her. His oily form now snaked through the grass, coming upon a couple of rather unfortunate imps skipping out on their duties. That mess taken care of, he continued on his way, making his way back towards the edge of camp and soon reaching the tree where Clotho was resting. The was no sound as he closed in, like oil flowing silently across the ground or up a tree. He tensed up and waited... Clotho shifted slightly, fully revealing her wound to him, and he took the chance then. He shot forth at great speed and entered her wound quickly, like causing discomfort and pain for her as he did. Next, he spread throughout her body, and she would feel every last uncomfortable bit of it, from her neck to the tips of her fingers and feet. The only part it stopped at was her mouth, the lower half of her head, he did not need her control her brain and mind.	Name: Mar'Ament "The Formless One" "The Black Blood" Physical Form: Mar, as one of his titles suggests, has no defined form, only being recognized most as like a black, blood-like fluid that can move on its own in any way it wants, taking up any shape or form that he wants or needs to. Abilities: Is currently incapable of using magic, but can learn it. Physical combat ability is potentially unlimited, the only limiting factor how much mass he has. Is capable of learning flight, and is able to harden different parts of himself into rock-like, iron-like, or harder consistencies. Personality: Calm, tactical, observant, and to many uncaring or indifferent. To others, should they earn it, a good ally to have. Wants/Needs: Doesn't exactly have any, though he has a thirst to learn and recover the history that was lost to him. Both of which he feels capable of doing himself. Does have a passive want of getting stronger, however. Relationships: None for now. Backstory: Mar has no memories from before he 'woke up'. So instead, I'll talk about when he was released. He was sealed inside an urn in some ruins right on the border of the elvish and dwarven territories, and a small group of elven warriors was sent to investigate, explore, and obtain anything of their people to bring back. One of them, a female elf, entered the chamber in which his urn resided. A couple of the other elves followed and they each went about searching the many bookshelves and few chest in the room. The female, unfortunately for her, touched the urn and it cracked from age. Right as that happened, the doors slammed shut, likely due to ancient magic, and a black blood from inside the urn shattered it as he lunged at the elf. One swing of the sword went right through it and did nothing, one swing was all she could do before it clung to her chest. She didn't feel it, but multiple small cut were made on her skin, then she felt the pain of the fluid entering her body through those cuts and her mouth and nose. Needless to say, he passed out and Mar took control, slaying the other elves in the room that tried to help her before he entered another dormant, restful state. The elf would wake up later, in a cage being drawn into the mountains by dwarves, feeling something inside her body and at the back of her mind. Other: Nothing at the moment.
9,723	268	282	538	2,678	Khillgarath's brazen eye met D'Artagne's as the rabbitman spoke. Throughout the whole ordeal, the dragon's unblinking stare might have been metaphorically burning holes in the little one. "Your band of mercenaries? Your company?" he echoed back, having caught those subtle cues. "So you have revealed that you do not come alone, and that you intend to march through my mountains. But to what ends? You will find nothing beyond save ash and ruin, for that country has already fallen to the shadow of another warlord. Surely you would not be so foolish as to offer your hire to that brute? Yes, I can already see your foolhardy plan: you plan nothing less than an attack on his stronghold, for that is the only possible place that you might strike. Nonetheless, to do so is suicidal." The orcs' king did not even need an answer; he could smell that his guess had been true. He had a way of extracting information, especially from terrified beings much smaller than himself. "I could burn you all upon these rocky highlands to spare you the trouble of marching so far to your own deaths. Fortunately for your 'company', it has been far too long since I have smelt blood and my orcs have had a worthy battle. The toll through my mountains is that your 'company' will march along the orcs beneath the shadow of my winds, and together we will sack the lands beyond. Not even the warlord of those lands will be able to withstand my might; so you may stand a chance at survival yet..." Just then the flaming green body of one of the master's demons could be seen rounding the slopes of the mountain above, its keen eyes catching sight of both D'Artagne and the dragon. A hundred more vanguards came, preceding the Horde's arrival an hour later. Throughout the whole time, Khilgarrath's confusion only increased. He had not expected such demons to be a part of this one's 'company', and indeed he already wanted to swat the flies out of his sky before their acrid stench permeated his mountains with an infernal smell for years to come. Alas, he had already struck a deal and felt bound by it. --=~=-- Faeles had half expected a sour reaction from Torrens, maybe being chided for having not done more. It was good to see some recognition from a fellow demon, albeit one that seemed rather...impulsive. In his dealings Faeles had come across a fair many brutish devils with even less intelligence, so Torrens was at least tolerable. Perhaps he could even be useful. "I think you will have a chance to repay me," he answered Torrens' greetings low to his breath, immediately moving onto business. It was hard to always muster a false, jovial tone. "I like to collect trinkets," he went on, casually flicking out that twisted knife he had earlier unleashed upon the shaman and brushing his enchanted cloak. "...and I am always seeking new ones. Like maybe your Master's staff." The Arch-thief instantly cocked his eyes to bore them straight into Torrens, gauging the demon's reaction. If this one went along, then all would be well. If not, he had spoken low enough to not be heard by any of the others. This one had no proof, even if he was foolish enough to try warning anybody else. --=~=-- When the rest of the Horde at last arrived, Khillgarath was even more distraught. The one called D'Artagne had made a fool of him; this was no band of mercenaries or simple 'company', it was more like a legion from hell. The main body seemed to be freshly summoned demons, but mixed throughout was a menagerie of all other sorts of dark individuals. Now the dragon understood why these strangers had been intent upon crossing the mountains: they were looking to eliminate a rival. As if it were nothing out of the ordinary, the Master met with the orcs' king and spoke to the dragon as an equal. The Horde remained stopped while they two brokered a mutually advantageous deal. After all, both wanted their share of the spoils that were sure to come. --=~=-- Gormlag lived on. His every fiber of being was wracked by agony, and yet he suffered on. Suicide was dishonorable and would revoke his place in the afterlife, and so he would have to live even though his heart burned with rage and his body with the blistering fire of a dragon. 'Who is to blame for this? Whose death will bring me vengeance?' he thought to himself as he watched uselessly to the side as his king brokered with these invaders and the Horde made their way into his home. The fiery one that he had first fought had been a treacherous snake, but he was not the worst of them. Indeed, now the shaman was not sure if he could defeat Torrens a second time; his form was that of a magmatic, burning humanoid and he suspected that at this point their powers were one and the same. They were equals. How could fire kill fire? There were two that were truly to blame. The first one was D'Artagne, the tiny rabbit. The deceiver. The two-faced liar that had been associated with these invaders the whole time, who had pleaded peace while his comrades butchered the defenders at the village's gate. The second one was the coward that had Gormlag's doom: Faeles. Though the shaman did not know which coward had stabbed him from behind and had been deprived the chance to even witness the retreat of his would-be killer, he would find out. The king had committed no act of mercy by prolonging Gormlag's suffering, but he had given the shaman one gift: more time. The chance for vengeance. Gormlag would march for Khillgarath again and serve the king as ever, but he would also exact his revenge. And he would start with D'Artagne. Orcs were not ones for subtlety and even the shaman was no exception. Some few hours after the Horde had arrived, when the Master and Khillgarath were still holding their meeting, Gormlag emerged from his village. The baleful orcs had remained inside, refusing to commingle with the assortment of demons and monsters that had only earlier left dozens of orcs dead at the gates. It certainly drew attention when Gormlag alone trudged out from the village gates and towards the Horde, but none moved to stop him. He had an air about him that let them all know to be afraid. Quickly he blended into the Horde, for at this point he did not even look so different from some of the demons. He wandered and wandered, looking for D'Artagne. His plan was simple: approach the rabbitman and slay him. Right in front of all these other demons. Gormlag did not care what happened after that, though he was correct in his suspicion that most of the Horde wouldn't even care should one of their own be killed. It happened on an almost daily basis.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,724	268	283	268	1,389	Torrens cocked an eyebrow (or at least the facial feature of his which passed for an eyebrow) at Faeles' mention of 'repay', although all was well until he mentioned the Master's staff, at which point Torrens' face twisted to one of alarm. "Are you mad?" Torrens hissed, in similarly hushed tones. He continued, "I don't owe you that much. I had my own exit plan, as you can tell from me being alive and healthy right here. You just saved me the bother of dealing with that shaman." Faeles' motives seemed clear to Torrens now, and why he so often appeared so shifty. He was a thief, after artifacts of power, in stark contrast to Torrens, who had been a warrior and Construct for as long as Keepers had been around. Not that Torrens disliked Faeles for it. Torrens furtively glanced behind him before leaning in even closer to Faeles, a distance which would have set Faeles alight if he was a creature of flesh. "And while I can't be positive, it's a safe bet that I've been around Dungeon Keepers for longer than you have. So I'll share with you this- Keepers draw their power from their Dungeon and conquered lands, not sticks and trinkets. Sure, his staff is probably powerful, but he could still tear you limb from limb without it. At least, if he can catch you." Torrens straightened up and resumed his normal march, his face betraying no trace of the conversation which had just took place.	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,725	268	284	778	3,791	"Of course it was not my best idea but it has kept my comrades alive so far...so do we have a deal sir?" The small rabbit thought seeing that things we're settled between them and the dragon."I think i better lay low for a bit..." He had this bad feeling in his gut as the small rabbitfolk hopped away form the dragon and into the shadows to see what he should be doing next.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,726	268	285	1,449	5,930	A guttural cry wrenched its way free from Clotho as she felt Mar's intrusion. The impact sent her tumbling from the treebranch, and the ensuing pain and sheer disturbance of that sensation prevented her instincts from kicking in to open her wings. On the ground she writhed, appropriately like one possessed, as the murky corruption of Mar surged through her systems. It repulsed her immensely, both during and after the process. At last, however, the invasion ceased. Shaking with rage rather than shock, Clotho got to her feet. It did not take a genius to figure out that some kind of parasite afflicted her, though she did embody a certain kind of genius. ”What is the meaning of this disgusting attack? Are you trying to control me? I would rather dash myself to pieces on a rock, or order my own soldiers to rip me to shreds, than become the puppet of some repulsive ooze. Whatever the hell you are, you're not part of the orc forces, which means you're under the command of the Master. I am the epitome of loyalty and service to the Master, so I highly doubt that this pervasive intrusion is sanctioned. I imagine that he could eradicate you in seconds. Perhaps you are the captive here, not me. Regardless, if you aim to control me, you're doing an especially poor job. Struggling with my anatomy, perhaps? It's not your everyday fare.” With every passing second, Mar struck her as less threatening and more pathetic. What could the gelatinous weasel hope to accomplish by messing with one of the Master's chief lieutenants? Putting this matter aside, she could not afford to banter with whatever despicable slime had infested her. The Horde had begun to move, and with it Clotho moved as well. Her insect army made good time, and before to long she and her troops arrived at the rendezvous point where the demons of the Master waited. She watched, still heartily displeased by the inky pestilence but more contemptuous than fearful, as the Master brokered an agreement with the great dragon. If anything could penetrate her acerbic attitude and earn her praise, it would be Khilgarrath. Never had the swarm queen seen a dragon, and it truly risked thrilling her to see a legend come to life.	Name: Clotho Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood. Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'. Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability. The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction. Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures. Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master. Relationships: None Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization. It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka. The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be. From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question.
9,727	268	286	1,198	1,769	As the Great Dragon wrought it's mighty flame, something....else, came into existance. Not yet form, it did not yet need form, and to be formless, but here in the realm, was nice. Interesting. It could spy, without being seen, except by those who really looked for it, and as of yet, there was no reason for such an indepth search. It observed the Dragon's craft for a little, before flowing off, to see the rest of the Horde that their new guest was so smitten with. It was a lovely mish, of small rabbits and giant creatures, and even one strangely firey humanoid. It observed that one for a while, before returning to her drifting. It was nice to get out once in a while, and nice to be free of constraints, if only for a little while. It would get in trouble if it tried to remain formless too long. Still, some time later, as time is measured in this new place, it saw the Dragon's Craft again, distinctly unorcy, and not looking to happy. Curiousity bid her to follow the Not-Orc, wondering what it might get up to. After all, it did not look like it was going to be handing out cookies and cracking jokes with the rest of them.	Name: Mar'Ament "The Formless One" "The Black Blood" Physical Form: Mar, as one of his titles suggests, has no defined form, only being recognized most as like a black, blood-like fluid that can move on its own in any way it wants, taking up any shape or form that he wants or needs to. Abilities: Is currently incapable of using magic, but can learn it. Physical combat ability is potentially unlimited, the only limiting factor how much mass he has. Is capable of learning flight, and is able to harden different parts of himself into rock-like, iron-like, or harder consistencies. Personality: Calm, tactical, observant, and to many uncaring or indifferent. To others, should they earn it, a good ally to have. Wants/Needs: Doesn't exactly have any, though he has a thirst to learn and recover the history that was lost to him. Both of which he feels capable of doing himself. Does have a passive want of getting stronger, however. Relationships: None for now. Backstory: Mar has no memories from before he 'woke up'. So instead, I'll talk about when he was released. He was sealed inside an urn in some ruins right on the border of the elvish and dwarven territories, and a small group of elven warriors was sent to investigate, explore, and obtain anything of their people to bring back. One of them, a female elf, entered the chamber in which his urn resided. A couple of the other elves followed and they each went about searching the many bookshelves and few chest in the room. The female, unfortunately for her, touched the urn and it cracked from age. Right as that happened, the doors slammed shut, likely due to ancient magic, and a black blood from inside the urn shattered it as he lunged at the elf. One swing of the sword went right through it and did nothing, one swing was all she could do before it clung to her chest. She didn't feel it, but multiple small cut were made on her skin, then she felt the pain of the fluid entering her body through those cuts and her mouth and nose. Needless to say, he passed out and Mar took control, slaying the other elves in the room that tried to help her before he entered another dormant, restful state. The elf would wake up later, in a cage being drawn into the mountains by dwarves, feeling something inside her body and at the back of her mind. Other: Nothing at the moment.
9,728	268	287	1,409	1,959	Amidst the sand and the dust kicked up by a passing army, there stalked an ominous duo. One, a mockery of a knight. Adorned in plate armor the color of coal and stained with streaks of crimson from unwashed blood. Her hair was a healthy gold, in contrast to the sickly straw color of a lone eye not obfuscated by her decorative headdress. A ragged shoulder cape billowed behind her, caught in the wake of what lay ahead. If one were close enough, they'd have heard the knight humming a jaunty tune as she sat astride her companion. The other, a beast without parallel. Skin purple and marked with tribal designs, with crude iron armor affixed over it's legs. Bladed armor had been affixed to the tail to further accentuate the lethality of the multi-ton killing machine when its teeth and claws weren't sufficient to get the message across. On either side of beast's waist was a quiver, but in place of arrows the left held an assortment of swords while the right held spears. None of which were anything approaching good quality. No lord, demonic or otherwise, would be caught wielding them, but they were sufficient. One did not need to be close to hear the thunder of his footfalls shaking the ground beneath them. Emerging from the cloud of dust they came upon the mountain range that barred entry to a neighboring land, and along the spines of those great spires was a mighty army of the most foul, wretched, and depraved demons in all the land. The duo paused, both craning their necks to glimpse the dragon visible even from the mountains base. The Lord of Beasts let out a disquieted growl, naturally being unnerved by the sight of a creature so far beyond it's purview. This was ignored by the Abyssal Knight, eye shining in undiluted wonder at the sight before her. "Truly, we are a righteous cause." The Knight said with a soft smile, hand patting against the Lord's muscled neck. "Look at what has been brought together? The mightiest and the meekest standing as one before the tyranny of the world!" He ceased his reverberations but did no more to signal this being a shared sentiment. Moving once more, they closed the distance between them and the resting army shortly. The Knight waved to the sentries as they passed, they being either too confused by the two or too afraid of the beast to properly react to the casual manner with which they entered the camp. The absence of hostility in their approach and cadence did much to assuage any concern of attack, and once they were amidst the troops they received only a few curious glances before moving on unmolested. The Abyssal Knight had come to offer her services in combating the forces of Man that so fervently hunted her fellow creatures of the dark, and now that she had finally tracked down the Dungeon Master's horde she was ready to get to work. She perked up as the Lord of Beasts sniffed the air, which coincidentally had enough force to pull a passing Imp off the ground momentarily before dropping it on it's ass, and turning towards the shadow between two tents. There, seemingly trying to blend into the shadows was a Rabbit man that she thought looked rather chivalrous. Spurred on by a feeling of kinship, she dismounted with deft ease and approached the inconspicuous rabbit. "Hail sir! I am the Abyssal Knight Lorelai, champion of the meek and mighty persecuted by Man, and this is my most honored compatriot Durgan, the Lord of Beasts who walk the land." Lorelai greeted, bringing her fist to her heart in what she thought was a courteous salute. Durgan was preening from being addressed by his full title, an unmistakable glint of pride in the beasts' continence that couldn't be shaken, even under the shadow of an ancient dragon. "We have come to pledge our service to the Dungeon Master. You seem a reputable sort, watching over the rank and file to maintain order as you are. Could you direct us to the leader of this glorious army to pledge ourselves to their cause?"	Name: Elouviana Physical Form: A beautiful Lampad with long crimson hair, and glowing red eyes. Usually wears a dress that, if one looks closely, mimics the nature of a fire. Abilities: Elou is always seen with a sword-hilt, through which she projects a beam of supeheated fire, creating a pure white sword-shaped flame. She is highly proficent in the use of this sword, but can also uterlise moderate pyrokinesis if she needs to. Personality: Elou is a friendly Lampad, slightly pyromanical, but that simply adds to the fun. She does not judge people, nor does she put forward her own believes on many subjects, simply obeying the one she is told to obey, and trying to have some fun with the rest of the Horde as well. Wants/Needs: Elou has no real wants or needs, simply appearing in the wake of a great dragon and offering aid to the Dungeon Keeper. Relationships: She knows nobody present, but her nature allows her to get along with everyone, even people that don't want to get along with her. Backstory: A topic that Elou is very silent about. Anytime she is asked, she simply winks in a coy fashion, and carries on whatever she was doing. She does like to drop teasing hints about how it will all be made clear soon, but other than that, keeps herself a secret. Other: Staring in her eyes too long will cause the starer to feel abnormally warm, and if they continute, eventually believe they have spontaniously combusted, so she has developed a habit of closing her eyes when she speaks to people.
9,729	268	288	778	3,791	"Eh hello i am Sir D'Artagnan form Terra Di Coniglio...now that we got the introductions out of the way,Our leader is well...not really a person" He said thinking of The Master the who giving them orders to do what they are doing right now."But the big cheese right now would be either myself or the gentleman over yonder,Honestly we're just all working together to survive.." The rabbit then pointed to Clotho "Where in a bit of dilemma right now so we could use all the help we can" The rabbit said taking quick swig of the flask hidden in his cloth armor before putting back in the pocket."We got some pissed of orcs and a dragon that may or may not want to kill us" The rabbit was now peering over form the rock making sure he was not seen and could head out form where he was to help in some way.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,730	268	289	1,409	1,959	It saddens my heart to hear there difficulties between the Horde and the orcs, but I am confident that we shall overcome! She declared, resolute and optimistic in the face of this sudden issue she had thrown herself -And Durgan, the poor, put upon Behemoth that he was- into without a moments consideration. "You may consider us at your service till greater need pulls us elsewhere!" Moving to stand beside the knightly rabbit while Durgan padded over to his opposite, the Abyssal Knight stood at attention. "So what shall we do to rectify this situation?"	Name: Elouviana Physical Form: A beautiful Lampad with long crimson hair, and glowing red eyes. Usually wears a dress that, if one looks closely, mimics the nature of a fire. Abilities: Elou is always seen with a sword-hilt, through which she projects a beam of supeheated fire, creating a pure white sword-shaped flame. She is highly proficent in the use of this sword, but can also uterlise moderate pyrokinesis if she needs to. Personality: Elou is a friendly Lampad, slightly pyromanical, but that simply adds to the fun. She does not judge people, nor does she put forward her own believes on many subjects, simply obeying the one she is told to obey, and trying to have some fun with the rest of the Horde as well. Wants/Needs: Elou has no real wants or needs, simply appearing in the wake of a great dragon and offering aid to the Dungeon Keeper. Relationships: She knows nobody present, but her nature allows her to get along with everyone, even people that don't want to get along with her. Backstory: A topic that Elou is very silent about. Anytime she is asked, she simply winks in a coy fashion, and carries on whatever she was doing. She does like to drop teasing hints about how it will all be made clear soon, but other than that, keeps herself a secret. Other: Staring in her eyes too long will cause the starer to feel abnormally warm, and if they continute, eventually believe they have spontaniously combusted, so she has developed a habit of closing her eyes when she speaks to people.
9,731	268	290	538	2,678	Faeles shrugged with a mixture of indifference and mild disappointment. "I daresay that I know more about the Keeper than you...and I am not so sure that your 'plan' would have worked. The shaman might have killed you." Suddenly a devious chuckle rang out from behind the wraps that shrouded Faeles' face. "He still might kill you! When we get to the top of this mountain, you will see that the dragon somehow managed to save the sorry fool, though now the shaman looks more like you than an orc." The arch-thief marched on, not even turning to see Torrens. He didn't need to, "Ah yes, the dragon. I did warn you about their God-king, didn't I? In any case, you are in my debt. I will procure the staff easily enough without you, but when I come for another favor you will not deny me again!" The demon broke rank and skulked away from Torrens, melting into the darkness of the shadows that clung to the bottoms of the cliffs. A few hours later when they arrived, Torrens' own eyes would be able to confirm what Faeles had said. --=~=-- Gormlag trudged through the crowd restlessly, just as he had done for the past hour. He would find D'Artagne. His patrol was interrupted by the strangest of sights: it was a knight of sorts, mounted atop some sort of beast. And it walked straight up to the rabbitman who had lurked in the shadows. Straight up to the one that he had been seeking. He could only stare for a long moment. He heard what Lorelai said and laughed; she was yet another lackey for this despicable 'Horde'. If she got in his way, he would kill her too. And the monster that she rode. With a menacing gait he walked right towards the small gathering, his burnin eyes focussed solely on D'Artagne. "You! You are a liar, a coward, a traitor! Look at me: you have wrought this upon me!" he roared out. Without another word, for he could no longer speak, he gave in to rage. He charged forward with beastly fury, intending to simply rip D'Artagne apart when he was close enough. Considering his new form, he might also incinerate his enemy at the same time, but there were worse problems to have. --=~=-- While Torrens arrived with the rest of the Horde and no doubt gawked at Khillgarath (or perhaps found himself embroiled in a fight when the shaman confronted D'Artagne) Faeles was on the other side of the encampment. He was seeking out someone, specifically the insect-creature. 'Clotho, that is her name. I remember now,' the demon thought to himself. There was no way to evade Faeles when he sought you out; those same lenses that he used for scrying faraway lands were also a useful tool for seeking out those that would hide. Inevitably, he found Clotho after only a short time. Unaware that even now Clotho was infested and that their conversation would have Mar as a silent eavesdropper, he spoke bluntly, "I have a talent for knowing things, and so I have learned that the king of these orcs, the dragon...he is in the possession of something that I would very much like to acquire. It appears as a simple mirror gilded in gold, but the thing is no mundane object. It has far more powerful than even the most discerning of mortal eyes could see. Alas, I cannot reach it. I lack wings that would allow me to enter the dragon's lair and leave with haste, and my sort of demon has a distinctive smell that the dragon might recognize. Furthermore, I have other engagements. So I propose that you perform the heist! Take the mirror for me, and claim anything else that you might want to keep. In return I offer both my silence and my thanks; a favor from me might prove vlauable later on..."	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,732	268	291	778	3,791	"Well ya could help me out with this pissed of shaman" The rabbit said to the knight that had recently introduced herself,Turning to face the shaman with a smirk on his face."Ya knew i've had a rough day and after this i need a good woman and some hard liquor...but for now you need to do me a favor and bugger off" The rabbit said pulling out his sword whistling for Fenir to come out and help him out. Out came his wolf companion who jumped form where he was aiming for the shaman's arm wanting to cut off his master's enemy's limbs.The sword in it's mouth to help out with the attack.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,733	268	292	1,409	1,959	Of course, my blade is yours Sir D'Atragne. This one shall rue the day he uttered such slander towards a fellow knight beyond repute! Lorelai declared. As the Lord of Beasts rose with a growl she drew a length of pitted steal that could be referred to as a sword if you had a exceedingly liberal definition of the word. An experimental swing and she felt she had a good grasp for the balance of it, years of going through swords like firewood giving her a good sense for their worth. Hmm, I give this two swings. This ruffian seems the difficult sort, so perhaps I try another? Yes, that sounds like a good idea. The Abyssal knight searched out for what she thought of as a well spring of honor and valor that imbued her with her might beyond reason, but anyone else would call wasted magic potential so great that every Mage worth their salt across the world over wept the day she choose to be a deluded knight. "You will taste our steel!" Her arm swept back as valor coursed through the limb and into the blade before she swung forward and released the sword. There was audible crack and distortion of the air as the projectile moved faster than sound towards the Shaman's center mass.	Name: Elouviana Physical Form: A beautiful Lampad with long crimson hair, and glowing red eyes. Usually wears a dress that, if one looks closely, mimics the nature of a fire. Abilities: Elou is always seen with a sword-hilt, through which she projects a beam of supeheated fire, creating a pure white sword-shaped flame. She is highly proficent in the use of this sword, but can also uterlise moderate pyrokinesis if she needs to. Personality: Elou is a friendly Lampad, slightly pyromanical, but that simply adds to the fun. She does not judge people, nor does she put forward her own believes on many subjects, simply obeying the one she is told to obey, and trying to have some fun with the rest of the Horde as well. Wants/Needs: Elou has no real wants or needs, simply appearing in the wake of a great dragon and offering aid to the Dungeon Keeper. Relationships: She knows nobody present, but her nature allows her to get along with everyone, even people that don't want to get along with her. Backstory: A topic that Elou is very silent about. Anytime she is asked, she simply winks in a coy fashion, and carries on whatever she was doing. She does like to drop teasing hints about how it will all be made clear soon, but other than that, keeps herself a secret. Other: Staring in her eyes too long will cause the starer to feel abnormally warm, and if they continute, eventually believe they have spontaniously combusted, so she has developed a habit of closing her eyes when she speaks to people.
9,734	268	293	268	1,389	The being saw the Shaman guy announce his anger and move to charge into the fight, but it also saw a few people react to the challenge, so it wasn't unfair, or anything. So it just watched. Slightly intreged at the girl who was using what looked like her Magic as some sort of physical aid, rather than using her magic for Magical stuff. And a...rabbit, with a wolf companion. This place was weird.	Name Umbra Physical Form Umbra Umbra has no real physical form, but rather takes control of various objects most often statues, and in rare occasions even people or animals. In order to get around this Umbra does have a human companion that he uses as a temporary body if the situation calls for it. Christopher His companion is a small child named Christopher who is around the age of 7 who stands at just under 4’. The child looks like a normal human commoner, and wears nothing but very simple clothing, a plain white t-shirt and light brown pants (both loosely fitted and slightly torn). Christopher looks very unkempt and often appears covered in dirt and grime. Abilities Umbra -Possess:Umbra attempts to take complete control of the person or object for an unlimited amount of time if successful. If the object is inanimate and is unprotected from magical wards then Umbra can possess it with ease. If he is trying to posses something protected by a magical ward or something that is living than it is slightly more difficult, and if the person is strongly willed or if the object in mention is protected by a powerful enough ward than Umbra will become unable to posses said object and will become unable to repossess something for the next twelve hours. -Inanimate Possession: If Umbra takes control of an inanimate object than he will be able to move around as that object as if it was another living being, only without the physical limitations of a normal human either, granting him as much as four times the physical capabilities of the average human. -Living Possession: If Umbra takes control of a living being than he is able to interact with people as if he was one. Though this comes with the risk of failure due to the person’s willpower and their own physical limitations, it is often the easiest way for Umbra to get around. -Trapped in Purgatory: When Umbra is not taking possession of an object or person he is unable to interact with the world of the living or be seen by those who inhabit it. -Frozen Touch: If Umbra is able to pierce or cut a living thing or object it will immediately begin to freeze until the person or object is completely frozen (It can take upwards of two days to become fully frozen from a minor cut, but a major wound can take as little time as an hour). The only way to prevent this is from fully happening is by cutting off the afflicted wound, using advanced healing magic or any kind of fire based magic to stop the spread. -Enemy of the light: When Umbra takes possession of a person or object he is unable to walk around or move in direct sunlight or any source of light as strong as sunlight, as well as unable to leave the possessed body because of it (fire lit rooms don’t affect him). If he comes into contact with any form of shade he is able to continue as if he wasn’t in sunlight. -Personality Disorder: When Umbra takes possession of a living being he will adopt that person’s characteristics and personality completely. -Flight: When Umbra is not taking possession of a person or object he is able to naturally fly from location to location at immense speeds. Personality Umbra Umbra is often extremely apathetic showing little care for morality or others around him beyond achieving his own goals and surviving. This makes him not inherently evil nor inherently good, but rather someone who will chooses the quickest and cleanest solution to solving a problem. Christopher Christopher is extremely outgoing and talkative for a small child. His childlike behavior is often easily noticed, and sometimes will go out of his way to show this to those around him. He is extremely naive and will attempt to befriend anyone or anything he sees. Much like Umbra, over the couple of years Christopher has spent with him he began to lose any concern over morality. Often seeing killing or other despicable activities as normal things that you must do in order to survive. Wants/Needs He has two ultimate goals, to find a permanent body of his own, one that doesn’t age, need rest, or get exhausted, and to be able to move freely in the sunlight. He is convinced that “the master” will be able to one day provide this to him or at the very least find him someone who can. Relationships Umbra holds a close relationship with Christopher. The small child being the closest thing he could have to his son he began to grow fond of him. Eventually befriending Christopher. Backstory Once a wealthy man named Jackson Rider, Umbra lead a life with little care until he found a beautiful woman named Rosana, who promised to marry him if he proved that he wasn’t only wealthy, but brave. Eventually he came to the conclusion the only way to prove this was to defeat a witch outside of the village, and bring back her head to show all of the towns people. As a week passed by he prepared buying weapons, armor, and potions to eventually defeat this witch. Eventually the time came and he set off on his journey, eventually arriving within two days. The witch though proved much more powerful than he had ever expected. To her, he was nothing but a mere bug waiting to be squashed maybe even less so. Before striking him down she found it more interesting to curse him instead. “A child born without soul to the newly wed wife. A husband to a weeping woman and a child without purpose in life. Forsaken by god and forsaken by man. Simply to prove one's bravery matches his wealth hand to hand.” It wasn’t long before he arrived home with feelings of failure and confusion. When he went to tell Rosana of his failure, she accepted him saying “an honest man is more virtuous and worthy of being my husband than the bravest of men,” and so they married. It wasn’t long until his wife told him of her pregnancy and the child was born not long after and was named Christopher. Sadly much like the witch had told him long ago his child was born without a soul. That day he journeyed to the witches hut, leaving behind both his wife and child. He begged and cried for forgiveness. For the witch to lift the curse on his son. She smiled wickedly and whispered. “Death will be both your salvation and your punishment.” She quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed Umbra through the chest, whispering a chant. When he finally awoke he was greeted by the witch. “You are no longer man nor are you demon, simply Umbra taker of lives. Forced to walk in the shoes of others and the shadows of the night. Enjoy your son’s soul for yours.” After many years after that day, how many exactly is unknown to him, he slowly began to desire what he once lost many years ago. Eventually he stumbled upon the dungeon keeper. Sensing his power and strength he decided it would be best to seek his help. They eventually they came to a compromise, if Umbra helps him achieve his goals he will one day return the favor. Other -If Umbra is in the body of a living person and said living person suffers a fatal wound Umbra will not die, but rather he would suffer a great amount of pain and will be unable to possess a body for a great deal of time (usually around a couple of weeks). -There is no real way to permanently ‘kill’ Umbra, rather you can banish him to another plane of existence. While this can be accomplished through powerful spells or other magical means, the easiest way to do this would be to destroy his possessed body completely before the possessed can die. (Note: He can technically leave the possessed body at anytime so this would be best accomplished if he was under direct sunlight, or if it was by surprise.)
9,735	268	294	538	2,678	The air itself boomed and screamed for a split second as the thrown blade shot for the shaman. Before the sound could even reach one's ears, the supersonic projectile struck. There was a splash of fire and lava, globs and pieces of the shaman's magmatic body spraying everywhere, even towards the knight and the one that she had tried to protect. At least it had stopped Gormlag dead in his tracks, if only for a moment. After a short time, there came from his ruined body a harsh wheezing and raspy laugh. The gelatinous fire that made up his body broiled and writhed back into place, reforming itself, and he rose to his feet once more. Standing wasn't even necessary for what he intended next; he had just wanted to show the worms the futility of what they had just done. The revenant shaman silently summoned his magic with more power and control than he had ever possessed as a being of flesh. Without warning, the hands of stone shot out from underfoot to grasp the ankles of his foes and root him in place while every loose stone in the vicinity was animated into life. One after another, each rock lobbed itself at them in rapid succession. "You will regret that!" Gormlag laughed as he began to stone them with that hail of rocks.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,736	268	295	778	3,791	"God damn it is anyone gonna help me out here..." He thought using his quick feet to try to dodge the incoming rocks, Unsheathing his sword hopping as fast as he could to the shaman and cut off the head of the shaman with his sword. The small rabbit folk whistled for Feninr to come and see if he could kill the shaman while he was fighting him.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,737	268	296	1,909	266	Fell Obereon stood tall, his artificial spine stretched out to its maximum. He had hoped it would make him look more intimidating. As he stared up at the demon towering at least three feet above him, he knew it didn't. Nonetheless, he stood his ground, and drew his broken blade. He heard an ethereal laugh, ringing through his ears. "Demon! Your services have been fulfilled. What is your price?" Fell called up, spreading his arms wide before the demon. The dark figure kneeled down, oily skin stretched taut over his innumerable limbs. The gaping mouth on it's otherwise blank face opened impossibly wide, unhinging. Resting in the abyssal cavern of his throat was an image dancing in red flame. Along with the image came a musky scent, intermingled with an oaken smoke. Beneath his mask, Fell frowned. The price, far too high for the services rendered. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly stopped himself. One does not haggle with a demon, a lesson he learned hard and early. His eyes flicked left and right, looking around, before locking onto the shifting black form of the demon. Though he no longer had muscles, the stones and wood of his body creaked with tension -a crude imitation of life. The demon, no dumb creature, snapped it's jaws shut before releasing a feral scream -primal and unrestrained, nothing like the proper laughter earlier. From a dozen different impossible angles, it lunged out at Fell with it's twig-like arms. Fell was suddenly glad that he had lost the ability to feel fear to a demon long ago, and quickly acted in response. In a flash of brilliant light, the demons many arms retreated, many now just smoking stubs. Though the demon lost multiple appendages, it laughed to see Fell on his knees, smoke rising from his husk-like body. 'Damn demons. Everything comes with a price, doesn't it?' He thought to himself, feeling a deep agony twisting at whatever was left inside his twisted corpse of a body. Slowly, he stood once again, eliciting another screech from the demon. As Fell staggered to his feet, a smirk came over his face. Killing three demons in the past two days was a surefire way to numb him from feeling pity. Another onslaught from the black skinned demon faced Fell. A one trick pony, it seemed, though Fell was smart enough to not underestimate him. With a primal fury, voices in his head shouting to kill kill kill, Fell lunged in turn. Letting his demon killing blade guide him, Fell shrugged off the few arms that grasped at him. Twisting his way through the path left by useless singed hands, Fell found his mark. The broken blade buried itself up to the hilt in the demons black body. From the wound, fiery liquid came out, spurting less than an inch from the wound before turning to smoke filled with terrible screams and a scent of iron. Fell stepped back, leaving his blade buried in the paper-thin skin. He wasted no time in speaking as the demon fell to it's knees, arms uselessly scratching at the wound. "Demon Khanivirre, I bind you here to my will-" Fell began, before being interrupted by a savage screech. Though there was no real words, the intent was clear. Fell walked to the hunched over demon, taking a hold of his blade and twisting it, before ripping it out of the demon. Fell sheathed the blade, before gripping the demon's throat in his golden arm. "What demon prefers death to being bound?" He asked, relaxing his grip to allow the demon to speak. Again the echoey laughter rippled from the demons throat. "Kill me, fool. Kill me to escape your debts." It taunted. Fell grunted, not wanting to deal with demon riddles. So, with a swift thrust of his blade, he complied, sending the demon to whence it came. Fell quickly realized his mistake, and regretted his lack of foresight. When dealing with demons, their debt was more than just a moral or ethical obligation. After years of such pacts, Fell learned that deal with a demon had a physical weight to it, one that only increased with the power of the demon and meaning of the deal. Rather than feeling this weight relieved from his shoulders, it only piled on heavier. Fell knew that could mean only one thing -the demon was in servitude of another, and his debt simply moved up the ladder. Fell shuddered to think of a demon powerful enough to subjugate the raw force of evil of which he had just dispatched. With a hesitance, Fell stood straight, flexing his wings. He took the first hesitant step forward, to search out his new Master. Scolding himself internally, Fell muttered. "One more dead demon, one more debt to pay off."	NAME Fell Obereon PHYSICAL FORM Vaguely humanoid in shape, Fell is comprised of a patchwork of bits and pieces. The mass of his body is largely made up of separate chunks of wood, stone, bone, and crystal inscribed each with a different rune or sigil indicating some demonic presence. His right arm is made of what appears to be solid gold, moving in impossibly organic ways. Stretching from his back are a pair of silken wings, framed in stone. In place of real feet, Fell sports a pair of iron spikes protruding from his legs, on which he seems always able to balance. Resting on his left shoulder is a blackened skull, which seems to constantly drip ash from the eye sockets. Through gaps in his mismatched body, one can see the harsh yellow glow of Fell's heart. The only visible part of Fell that remains human are his eyes -gentle hazel irises can be seen staring out from behind his iron mask. for potato quality ABILITIES Fell relies on the abilities granted to him from the many of sacrifices he has made in the past to demons, devils, and the like. These numerous sacrifices have left him with many boons which he uses to great effect. Imo's Blessing- Deadly blade forged of cold iron -now broken after demonic incidents. Came at the cost of his father's life. Zesuc's Blessing- Overall increased agility -putting him at peak physical form for a human. Came at the cost of a pound of flesh. Pulnon's Blessing- Strength increased -putting him above the average man, but no grand power. Came at the cost of his right arm Acernas's Blessing- Fluid gold right arm. No special effects, just a replacement arm as durable as gold. Came at the cost of his most valuable possession -at the time, a jeweled heirloom from his time in the church. The Tyranny of Lord Eldron- Is able to produce a small powerful burst of light energy, that also briefly increases his own speed. Provided by an angel, a reward for disposing of demons. The Council of Father Geriane- The skull of his father, now perched on his shoulder. Speaks to him, providing spiritual guidance. Came at the cost of his final relic from his time at the church. Erre's Blessing- The ability to summon small imps, about cat sized. Though cowardly, weak, and useless in a fight, these imps each provide Fell with a special resistance when summoned. Only one will remain summoned at a time. Though originally he had resistance to each element, Fell is now only left with Quas, an imp providing fire resistance. Came at the cost of much of the flesh from his lower body. The Fool's Curse- Mind altering effects, such as hypnosis, are far diluted. Came at the cost of his mind -reducing him from a once tactical mastermind with genius foresight to an impulsive mess, focused only on the present. The Lust of Ivratri- A glowing rune in his chest exudes an aura of pain, only present after having taken enough damage to expose the light. Came at the cost of his heart. Body of Shidi- Replacement of all of his remaining flesh (save for the face), with rune inscribed stone. General durability increase, as well as immunity poison, and the like of which that would harm only flesh and blood. Came at the cost of his remaining, flesh, blood, and ability to feel. Mifro's Blessing- Silken wings sprouting from his back, framed with stone. Though they are magical, they do not actually enable flight, only controlled gliding. Cost the life of his first true love. Blessing of Halarin- Upon taking critical damage to the stone parts of his body, Fell can replace them with wood, which will naturally integrate itself into his body. Though weaker, this replacement body will continuously repair itself when provided with a supply of wood. Came at the cost of the life of his best friend and companion. Vavavel's Blessing- Hefty iron mask on his face hides his demonic nature from all but the most powerful arcane observation. Came at the cost of a month of servitude. WANTS AND NEEDS Fell has one primary driving force behind his actions -power. Throughout his life, Fell has fought and won thousands of battles. But for each victory, he faces dozens of losses on a personal level. Because of this constant cycle of loss with which he is cursed, Fell seeks out any way to empower himself in the hopes of someday becoming a decisive victor and winning back that which he has lost. Along with this, he has a strong sense of vengeance, and goes after those who wrong him with a fiery passion RELATIONSHIPS He is widely known among demons, and generally respected for his dedication and perseverance -as well as the fact that he always keeps his word. Nonetheless, many are wary of him, due to his uncanny knack for killing them. He has very few relationships with others, as those around him tend not to last long. BACKSTORY Fell has a history of sacrifice to the infernal, almost written in his blood. Coming from a long line of diabolists, the name of Obereon had incurred many debts. As such, the birth of Fell was no act of love, nor happy accident. Fell was planned as a sacrifice to a more insistent demon hunting the family. Instead of accept the sacrifice, the demon was disgusted by the Obereon family's attempt to go back on their word, and slaughtered them -leaving the child alive. Hearing of the incident, the church thought it only just that they take in the child -not only to save it from obvious starvation, but to also set it on the righteous path. Growing up in the church, Fell had his past hidden from him for his own protection. However, demons tend not to stay hidden for long. In the many months leading to Fell's 10th birthday, he was haunted by recurring nightmares, of a goat-like figure, standing over him and laughing. It was on the morn of his 10th birthday that this nightmare became reality -as Fell awoke, he saw the entire community of his church on the floor, surrounded in pulpy gore -but not before he smelled them. The irony scent of blood mingled with a distinct odor of rot to paint a disgusting image in the boy's head, something he would never forget. In the orgy of blood, Fell saw the figure again, a deep throaty laugh filling the room. It was here that Fell made his first deal with a demon. He lost very little in exchange for the return of his 'father', an elderly priest who had shown the boy nothing but unadulterated love. In exchange for a simple favor that the demon would later cash, Fell's 'father' was returned to him. Eight years of recovery followed. When it seemed that the two would finally be able to return to their normal lives, Fell heard the dreaded laugh once more. The demon returned, demanding it's debt repaid. Taught to honor his word, Fell fell to his knee and swore he would do anything to please the demon. This elicited only more laughter. When Fell looked up to the demon, he saw it was gone -in its place, a violent blade was impaled in the ground. In the reflection of the blade, he saw only his 'father', no matter what angle he looked. When Fell realized what it was the Demon wanted, he screamed, kicked, and swore, refusing. The only response he received was a flashback of the original gore, and the realization that the demon could do far worse. So it was, that Fell parted a second time with his father. Over the course of years, he sought out every possible way to bring his father back, and exact revenge upon the demon who had torn apart his life. Endless searching through tomes and libraries lead him to only one solution -one he loathed. And so it was, twelve years after the death of his father at his own hands, that Fell now stood over the body of the demon who wrought this destruction upon him, his father at one shoulder, a figure robed entirely in red at the other. Fell turned to the demon clothed in bloody crimson to ask the price. Before he could open his mouth to speak, he was faced with a nauseating sensation that sunk deep down, permeating his bones, and a scent of ozone. The demon was gone, and with it, his left hand. And so begun an endless cycle for Fell. A violent loss, followed by a victory that inevitably cost more than he gained.
9,738	268	297	1,449	5,930	The mental utterances of Mar brought from Clotho something as close to a derisive snort as she could manage. ”Temporary lodging, am I, then? So be it. Perhaps I'll even patch up your original host myself—whatever gets you out of me the quickest, vermin.” The idea of the parasite developing within her, as indicated by his comments about him learning and improving his abilities, repulsed her utterly. Surely there existed a cleric of some sort among the Master's ranks who could expunge this detestable seep from her? As much as the dragon intrigued her, she knew that it would be utterly inappropriate to insert herself into negotiations unless called upon. As such, she remained unmoving on the sidelines, an easy find for the demon that sought her. The sight of Faeles, when he made himself known, did not please her. The highly unprofessional results of the attempted infiltration of the orc camp had filled her with an acute distaste for every being whose ignorance, incompetence, or negligence contributed to that outcome. She narrowed her eyes slightly at his arrival, but said nothing, waiting for him to speak. He made apparent without mincing words that he wished her to do some dirty work for him, both soundly improper for one of her station and unrewarding. In payment for his bluntness, Clotho returned the favor. ”Why should I risk my neck angering a new ally and potentially throwing the Horde into chaos? All for a mirror, the favor of a demon, and whatever other stolen treasures I could carry. Even if I cared nothing for loyalty or principle, I couldn't carry much, that's for certain. Find some nameless thief to do your bidding; this task is ill-advised and beneath me.” A commotion drew her gaze. After quickly testing her wings and finding them serviceable if painful to use, she fluttered up into the air and toward the source of the clamor. Having left the orc settlement in the early stages of the catastrophe brought on by Torrens, Clotho did not recognize Gormlag, save as a greater enemy than the rabbit that he attacked with a deluge of crushing stone. Did this minion of the dragon attack with permission, or out of rage? The situation seemed to barefaced to be a real attempt at subterfuge. That left a clear conscious for the death sentence of the fiery shaman. ”How bothersome.” She removed her rapier from its place on her left thigh. A nasty twinge from her back caused her to hiss in discomfort. ”Your little stunt had better not affect my speed, odious one.” Tucking in her wings and lunging forward, she dove. Her rapier extended before her, she aimed to penetrate Gormlag's skull and with her momentum beat him into the ground.	Name: Clotho Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood. Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'. Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability. The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction. Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures. Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master. Relationships: None Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization. It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka. The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be. From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question.
9,739	268	298	538	2,678	Another swing of a hand brought forth another hail of stones, and Gormlag laughed as he pelted Fenrir into submission; it would take more than some rabid wolf to stop him! How, with unbridled rage, he stomped forward towards the rabbitman and the knight--and then he was impaled. When Clotho dealt her fatal blow and dove down to strike at the burning shaman, she met no resistance for her target never even saw her coming. The blow went cleanly through his skull, and with an ignoble choke the former shaman collapsed and suffered a second death. Clotho, however, had danced awfully close to fire. Piercing the being's magmatic form incinerated her rapier and a spurt of fire, sulfurous haze, and slag erupted out from the wound towards the insect queen. Faeles had watched the entire ordeal, distaste in his mouth. How he hoped that Clotho suffered an immolation and spared him the task of ending her life! He was not one to be refused, and in due time he would see about exacting some measure of revenge. Beyond simply being petty, it was also best that one took measures to eliminate those who knew your true intentions. Countless plots and betrayals had taught him these lessons, and he kept them to heart most of the time. Truth be told, he liked to keep things fun; there was always so much enjoyment to be found in hinting at one's intentions all along, that the final betrayal would burn even fiercer. Regardless, with so much attention drawn to the shaman's mangled body Faeles knew that this was not the time. Silently he blended back into the shadows. That day he went abruptly missing; the Horde would not see him for a good time to come, but then again, many might not even notice the sly demon's disappearance. With a few exceptions, he had done a fairly good job of keeping a low profile. With so many other notable characters, it was easy to forget about one or two. --=~=-- Hardly an hour passed before negotiations between the dragon and the Master were finished, but all of that was undone in a moment when Khillgarath learned of his champion's death. Needless to say, the dragon was furious to hear that Gormlag had been slain. By extension the Master was also livid at the sheer stupidity of his minions; how had they managed to so swiftly and decisively jeopardize this alliance? Lorelai would have an interesting first encounter with the Horde's Master as she, Clotho, and D'Artagne all found themselves ordered to find the Master at once. Word spread through the camp like wildfire; if they did not come soon of their own volition, any one of the countless vengeful orcs or members of the Horde seeking the Master's favor would come looking for them.	Name: Whatever his real name is, he hasn't told any of his minions. He demands to be called the Overlord, Master, Dungeon Keeper, or simply 'boss'. Physical Form: He may appear to be just human, a simple warlock, but make no mistake: possessing that frail human body is an ancient and incredibly powerful demon. The demon's unadulterated malevolence is made visible to the eye by the glowing lines and strange symbols that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes that seem to reflect the deepest pits of hell like a lake reflects the moon. Abilities: The Dungeon Keeper is essentially a demigod; he is aware of everything that happens inside his own dungeon (and with some simple magic he can see what is happening elsewhere), with a flick of his wrist he could incinerate a dozen people, and overall he could match at least five or six of his champions at once, blow for blow. On top of this he is a powerful warlock, capable of performing all manner of black magic, summoning monstrous beasts or brokering deals with other demons. He has two fatal weaknesses, however: the first is his human form. He is not the sort of demon that is a massive hulk of red flesh; he is stuck within this fragile body, and while he is harder to kill than a normal human he is still an easy target for any that can withstand his might for long enough to retaliate. His second weakness is that all of his power stems from what he refers to as his Dungeon Heart, and so this heart must be protected at all costs. For these two reasons, don't expect to see him fighting much. He'll have his champions doing that sort of dirty work. Personality: He is ruthless, seemingly without compassion or care for anything. Brutal and valuing effectiveness over all other traits, one of the quickest ways to his good side is to obey his orders and exceed his expectations. He is not much for words, and not terribly approachable either. Still, if one of his minions hatched a devious enough plan, he might at least listen and consider it. Wants/Needs: He's utterly hellbent upon enslaving the mortal races and conquering the world. Relationships: Unless listed otherwise, he feels rather neutral towards your character, or hasn't been left with any impression. Twich - He's watching this one. Twich seems both competent and useful, so the Master likes him. That Which Consumes Peace - The Dungeon Keeper is rather agitated with him, after the incident with Shukra. Shukra - Shukra seems rather ballsy and arrogant. Even though the Master took Shukra's side, he still feels that the warlord might need to be put in his place. Athinar - Bold, and seems like he might be a good leader. While he doesn't necessarily like Athinar, he will humor his request and grant him a few chances to prove himself as a leader. Backstory: This invasion of his has been years in the planning; for many centuries he writhed in the abyss of the infernal realm, until he finally managed to escape into this world. Then, he lurked in the darkness, always on the run, biding his time until he sensed that the time was right. Now, that time has come, and through various means he's been gathering together a horde of evil the likes of which this world hasn't seen in thousands of years.
9,740	268	299	1,449	5,930	Elouviana watched, for a little, before the Shaman was laid low with a blade through his head. Such a dissapointing ending for one with such flare. The rock trick was interesting, though, something she might even try to pick up if time allowed. Still, with her interesting entertainment over, she was wondering if she should go find the Master of this place and introduce herself. It seemed the polite thing to do, after all. And the thing that she had been told to do when she got here, but Elou decided that she wasn't technically here yet, and so that little loophole was what allowed her to watch in her incoporial form. So, deciding to now go introduce herself, she floated off, and found the Master pretty easily. He was the big guy next to the Dragon, looking like he had just swallowed a slug dipped in something Cegorach would give out for a laugh. And the dragon wasn't looking to happy either. Which was always good, irritating dragons was a favoured pass time of hers when she got to meet them. The disenbodied spirit that was Elou floated up to the dragon's head, and there it pulled together form. Flesh, blood and bone spirling into existance, and then some clothes, to keep her modesty. Who knew how prudish the Master of this place was. And finally, atop the head of the Dragon, she looked down at the Master, and spoke. "So, are you chewing nettles, or do you just naturally look like that?" She asked, smirking in that confident tone of hers. She wasn't sure how well traveled this Master was, but the Dragon she was currently standing on would definately, for better or for worse depending on it's ego, know of her speices by scent, before anything else.	Name: Clotho Physical Form: Clotho is a foot taller than most men, with long arms and legs, and has a chitinous exoskeleton that is a dull brown-maroon in color. Four gossamer rounded wings, transparent green with orange edges, form into a cloak when not in use. Her shell forms into a barbaric-style armor around her shoulders, knees and thighs, gauntlets, and chest. Small spikes line many of the edges of her shell. Her face is crossed with seams, her nose is inhumanly sharp, and her wide mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth. A shock of black hair more like spines protrudes from the top of her head. Additionally, her eyes are a bright, luminescent green, with layered pupil rings. Instead of hair, two membranous mini-wings protruding from her upper back form into a hood. Abilities: Clotho's wings grant her the power of flight, which she can perform with almost ludicrous speed and agility. Her insect carapace functions like armor, affording her ample protections. Hidden inside her left forearm is the Stinger, which she can project from her palm for stabbing. The Stinger can inject a variety of toxins into a target, all of which are manufactured chemically within Clotho's own glands. Such toxins include 'poison', 'paralysis', 'mutation', 'subordination', 'blindness', and 'calcification'. Cloth also has the ability to command bugs and parasites. Aside from conjuring flies, hornets, leeches, worms, and flesh-eating beetles, sometimes in vast swarms, she also controls her own minions in the form of Myrmidons, Lambent, and Antlions. These she orders around via chirp-calls, and she has no true leadership ability. The true combat ability of Clotho, however, lies in her rapier. With a barbed tip, it can slide into flesh cleanly and eviscerate it on the way out. Its flexible blade allows Clotho to lash the tip around when fighting, cutting and gashing opponents as she opens them up for a thrust. Its deceptive deadliness, couple with Clotho's uncanny speed and notable strength, make it a lethal tool of destruction. Personality: A certain conflict underlies Clotho's convincing exterior. Deep inside she is still Nona, confused and reticent and immature. This directly disparages with the aged experience of the that melded its soul with hers, whose bloodthirsty monstrosity has guided her thus far as a Keeper. The union of the two distinct spirits produced Clotho, a cunning, intelligent imperialist. Clotho is without conscious barring the distant, faint murmurs of the suppressed girl within her, and will kill without question, though good judgment keeps her from exercising this often. Though self-centered, she is more than willing to make alliances and deals for mutual gain, and will even adhere to them—an behavior unheard of among most such creatures. Wants/Needs: Clotho lusts for power and control. She wants nothing more than to rise through the ranks of her master and become both his most powerful warrior and most trusted ally. Eventually, Clotho wishes to gain the ability to become a Dungeon Keeper herself, though she does not plan whatsoever on betraying her current master. Relationships: None Backstory: Clotho was once human, an urchin of Virens. This premier logging town, situated in the Oerwood Forest north of the Saploya river, was home to over two hundred thousand, but never truly to a girl called Nona. Surviving by her wits and her knack for finding odd jobs, she later became reliant on the family of Theo Rosenstern. Theo, playing the nobleman as well as the romantic, sought to feel better about his own clan's success and gain a girlfriend in the process by hanging out with Nona and helping her get by. Ever in need of aid, Nona accepted, forming an uneasy relationship with the boy while trying to make ends meet. From a young age, the Biomancer's Guild of Virens, responsible for the magical acceleration of conditioning of the city's saplings and crops, had fascinated her, but her own lowly beginnings and ineptitude for magic estranged her from the organization. It was in this stagnation, during her nineteenth year of a woeful life, that a voice first reached out to her through her dreams. Its whispers, low and meaningless at first, grew in strength as she became more desperate, and finally its message became clear: journey into the jungle and find a special insect. After convincing Theo to accompany her, Nona left in the morning to pursue her dream. Hours later, she arrived in an unpeopled lumber camp miles from the city limits. Upon entering the shack at its center, she beheld a nasty-looking metallic green wasp confined in a jar. In a trance, she seized the jar -totally unresponsive to Theo's urges- and smashed it against the ground, freeing the wasp. Immediately it stung her, injecting into her the ancient soul of an insidious being of darkness—Kafka. The two minds, girl and monster, melded, and in the process her own body transformed into its current state. Long before the modification finished, Theo took to his heels. That day, Clotho came to be. From there she imposed herself on the forest, thinking to become a force of darkness. Though the self-appointed Vermin Queen stockpiled quite the retinue of mindless insectoid minions, and gave the nearby towns a great deal of trouble, she never quite lived up to the status of an evil overlord. After a botched attempt to obliterate her former hometown caused an army of avenging townsfolk to converge on her lair, she fled south until she happened to find one of the Overlord's bands. After wiping the plains with them, she sought the Overlord's dungeon, and pledged her service to him without question.
9,741	268	300	778	3,791	Don't speak to me that way little girl..i was doing my best not to have us all burnt to a crisp... The rabbitfolk growled back at Clotho,He felt his own rage coming up mostly at himself and would be a bit irritated if he was confronted again.The worst thing would be talking to the Master who would be angry at him. Seeing his wolf with a smile summoning his companion over who was resting for a moment to stand by his side,Taking a swig of his flask wanting to feel a bit tipsy wiping the contents form near his mouth. D'Artagnan then put his flask away feeling terrible then already did for messing up on his job.	Name: Sir D'Artagnan Gender: Male Race: Rabbitfolk/Coniglio Physical Form: His race Rabbitfolk also known as Coniglio in his tongue are a race of rabbit like people that are skilled warriors and to a current extend thieves,Coniglio live in a region called Terra Di Coniglio where his race lives and for the most part live a peaceful life for the most part interacting with humans and other races but mostly like to keep to themselves. Skills/Abilities Hand of Demio: Skilled quick strikes to the torso to his enemies. Wind of Jouns: A quick dash to try to avoid enemy attacks. Quickness of Yri: A skill that lets him sneak in the shadows giving him a advantage sneaking around. Personality: Sir D'Artagnan is a proud sort of person hating being called cute or adorable by other people,He is also very stubborn doing things his own way having to be convinced strongly by others to be convinced otherwise.He has a strong personality in this he is a caring person to his friends and comrades going as far as throwing his life to try to save his friends. Because he was shamed by his king he is a bit washed up he can be angry and bitter towards royalty and knights. Wants/Needs: Sir D'Artgnan wants to gain revenge on the one who framed him. Backstory: D'Artgnan was born in his homeland called Land Of Rabbits by human tongue was born into a warrior family being trained by his father on how to be a warrior,Once he was of age he was a knight for his king named Sovrano who gave him many task and quest gaining favor with the king. Unfortunately for him during one of his quest he was framed for the murder of a member of the council.He was then exiled by his king where he does mercenary jobs and is a sword for hire. Other: His sword called Guarigione a iron sword with the runes of his people inscribed on the sides given to him by his father.
9,742	268	301	1,909	266	The events of this post take place several days after those of the last post. There was a peculiar sting and a curdling within his veins; as his blood roiled, he knew that one of those demons bound to his will had been extinguished. With an irritated thought he reached out to the minds of those few individuals on this plane that had been brought into his direct service, and in a moment he had his answer: it was Khanivirre that had been extinguished and sent back to the wretched abyss from whence he had come. 'A useless fool!' Khanivirre's master thought, but then there came another tingle. A new toy had fallen into his possession, and the bitter ashes in his mouth gave way to a delight that almost brought forth salivation. How he loved collecting new playthings. Perhaps Khanivirre was not so incompetent; after all, it seemed the minion had at least managed to find his own replacement. Though the tether to this new servant's soul was taught and stretched thin over many days of travel, Fell Obereon's new master was not at all perturbed. He would wait. After all, it hadn't been as if he would be traveling any time soon. The refusal of those other fools to cooperate had seen to that... --=~=-- The wind howled, almost protesting the death of the fell demon on the ground before Fell. Silken wings stretched taut along stone frames, as Fell reached deep within himself to search out the source of his new obligation. Though he felt compelled to hold to his word and repay his karmic debt, Fell was loathe to seek out this demon -the raw power he felt in their connection alone was dazing. Turning to his so-to-speak conscience, The Council of Father Geriane, Fell dropped to his knees as he focused on the ashen skull. Deep within the sockets of the skull, a brilliant white light flared, expelling a steady stream of ash that trickled slowly down Fell's shiny golden arm. As the eyes were lit in purity, Fell felt a tugging from deep within himself -soon the voice of his father echoed throughout his body. Though the voices of the dead are faint and short lived, Father Geraine's message was clearly imprinted on what was left of Fell's mind. He stood straight, his mind decided. The debt would be honored, no matter the cost. Fell mentally tugged at the connection he felt to his new demonic master, but found it lacking in substance, not something he could rely on to lead him. It was clear to Fell that the demon was not lurking nearby- perhaps a blessing in the short term, but it meant that he had a long journey ahead. Fell looked down at the corpse of Khaniverre before him, hoping for some clue as to where his master would be hiding. Though he seemed to find naught in his fresh kill, the smoke trailing from the gaping wound lead his eyes upwards to the sky. It was there that he found what he believed to be his best lead -plumes of black smoke rose in pillars in the distance. Taking a moment to recall his location, Fell discerned that the smoke must be trailing from the mountains in which a great troupe of orcs lie. While orcs certainly had a propensity for destruction, Fell doubted that anything short of a powerful demon would cause flames of such intensity. Then, that might just be his natural bias against such creatures. It was then, that with determination, Fell began his trek to the East -seeking out his new master. With a grunt, he sheathed his blade within a gap in his own stomach. His wings curled tight to his own back as he trudged, appearing more as a silken cape now than anything else. ... Fell made his way up the orcish mountains, meeting little resistance. As he neared both the fiery plumes and the orcish encampment, he felt the connection to his debtor strengthen. Calling upon the enhanced strength bestowed upon him by one of his countless pacts of the past, Fell hauled himself over the final ridge in between himself and the orcish encampment, at the same time drawing his broken blade, caked still in the gore of dozens of dead demons. Fell raised his head, lifting his steel mask. His voice rang out through the encampment, gravelly tone tainted with a demonic echo, calling out for the demon to which he is indebted. The echo of his own voice in these mountains was all that Fell's cry received as an answer, but after a few long moments of silence there came a harsh cackle. The laughter came from no direction in particular other than from within. Its source was of course Fell's mind itself, as his new master had the noxious ability to communicate in such ways through their newfound mental link. A pact bound by soul or blood was also bound in mind. Utterly hidden from all but the most discerning of eyes, the demon clung to the twilight veil between the plane of the living and that of the spirits, aided by that mystical cloak that shrouded his indiscreet form. In that way he was at one with the shadows and invisible. From mere feet away, in the shadows at the base of a sheer cliff, he observed Fell. He had not known what to expect. One hardly ever did. But this? This was a surprise, for whatever sort of being that Fell Oberon was, it was by now so far from human that his subjugator did not even recognize him as such. Rather, he thought Fell to be some sort of abomination, perhaps a bastard conglomeration of a dozen different sorts of demons and other horrors. Such repulsive creatures were rare but not unheard of. In any case, this one looked a step above what Khanivirre had been, and for that reason alone the dark stranger was pleased. Nonchalantly he remained still in the shadows, waiting to see if Fell would even be able to find him when he was a mere ten paces away. As the cackling rang throughout Fell's head, his tight posture fell into a slump. "Gigantic demons with flaming swords taller than I am? I can handle that. Demons that surround themselves in an orgy of minions for protection? I can handle that." He thought to himself, letting his metallic mask fall back into place as he slowly pivoted in a circle, eyes searching the area around. "But fuck stealthy demons." He muttered, this time aloud. Though the connection was strong and Fell could tell the demon was near, there was little he could do -perhaps a downside of holding so tightly onto his mortal eyes. Momentarily, a golden rune glowed on Fell's forehead, as he prepared to let out an angered outburst of holy light, but the symbol faded as quickly as it came. No, a demon as powerful as this would not be stupid enough to get so close while hiding. Fell, angered, stopped his almost frantic search of the area, and swiftly returned his broken sword to it's sheath between the stony makeshift abdominal muscles of his husk-like body. "Demon, I pledge myself to repay my debt to you to the best of my ability, and swear unto you my word that my blade will not turn on it's master, unlike the late Khanivirre." Fell stated, monotone as he repeated the pact he had pledged time and time again. He hesitated before he continued, always hosting some animosity for the next part. "I am your tool to guide, master." He said, dropping to one knee in a cloud of dust. With mild bemusement the shadowy figure watched this spectacle, skeptical about the worth of this one's words. Unlike the late Khanivirre indeed. How had this one even come into the debt of that fool? There was what could only be described as a ripple as the shadows hugging the bottom of that nearby cliff began to flow and distort as if some sort of black liquid. The darkness itself writhed and parted, and out from its bowels emerged a strange demon. Two infernal eyes pierced into Fell, glowing like dying embers, but were it not for that and the unmistakable reek of sulfur, this figure may have been human. Robes and other wrapping covered every inch of the stranger, even his face, leaving only two shady gaps for those eyes to peer out from. He stepped forward into the light now, and seemed all the more immaterial and weak for it. Illuminated clearly now, in one hand there was a twisted staff and in the other there was a strange pouch. Yet one would have a hard time staring, for the voice of this one had a way of being disconcerting. "And who is it that finds himself bound now to Faeles?" rasped back Fell's new master. The name Faeles rang empty and Fell would know that this was a mere alias. For a demon to surrender its true name left one with far too much power over it, and this one clearly knew as much. "Faeles..." Fell muttered, rolling the name around in his mouth like a child might a piece of candy. "Faeles has obtained the service of Fell Obereon, bastard son of countless demons before." He stated simply. Over years of service, Fell found it best to not offer a demon any information past that which is explicitly requested. As he stood before the demon, Fell put great effort into staring the demon down, but felt somehow small, weak, in front of the wrapped figure. Momentarily, his fighting spirit encouraged him to attack the demon, end the debt once and for all. "It'd be simple, really. Rip out my blade and throw it as a diversion, use the cut to expose an aura of pain while I tackle him, then release a burst of holy light to weaken it. Cut and dry." The thought was dismissed almost as quickly as it came. Demons were always more than they appeared, and Fell was especially wary of the pouch of unknown contents. Even worse, the demon could be in the service of an even more powerful master. As fell pondered, he rolled back his right shoulder, much as a runner might during their morning stretches. Having a body entirely lacking flesh, blood, and muscle, the gesture was an entirely unnecessary one, though it did allow a buildup of ash from the skull of Father Geraine to fall to the ground in a clumpy black cloud. His stomach, removed many years ago, churned with anticipation as he looked at the demon, utterly out of his element. He opened his mouth and stuttered out a brief grunt, quickly snapping it shut once again. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he tried once again. "How will this debt be repaied, Faeles?" Fell dared to ask, attempting to interject a tone of distaste on the name, and utterly failing. Faeles ignored that question entirely, at least for that moment. "I sense that only a sparse few of my associates and minions have found their way onto this plane, and those that have are spread few and far between, listening for whispers. Khanivirre was one, but now he is dead by your hand and so it is only right that you take his place. Fortunately for you, I have need of a task right now," Faeles mused aloud, "Your debt to me will be repaid quickly enough, if you fulfill this role and play it will..." There was a long silence in which the demon's burning stare never once faltered or budged. Instead, his seeking eyes seemed to trace every detail and contour of Fell: the skull upon his shoulder, his wings, his various limbs. At last, as if having judged him capable, Faeles continued in his conspiratory rasp, "First, you will take this," the demon commanded, offering the staff that he held in one hand. Fell hesitated for a moment, mind urging him to move, but body loathe to follow the offer. Finally gaining control of his faculties, Fell leaned forward, taking a hold of the gnarled staff in his stone left hand. He nodded, confirming his understanding of the order. Impatiently Faeles had observed the trepidation present in Fell, but at the last moment he had reached for the staff. Good. Faeles had nearly snapped right then and there; he was not one for hesitation. The demon made a mental note to omit the finer details and implications of just what Fell's mission would involve; whilst it might have been amusing to torture or twist some by sharing with them the extent of his devious plans, this one had been stoic thus far. It irritated Faeles but was probably for the best; no doubt Fell had learned that maintaining a placid manner staved off the worst of a demon's sadism. "And now you must climb that mountain yonder, right there..." Faeles stated in a matter-of-fact tone, a bony finger reaching out to point towards what was coincidentally the highest mount of the entire range, but fortunately the one that was also closest. "...but take care that you are not seen by those below. Perhaps it will be best to make the ascent under the cover of darkness, if you trust in your hand to not slip. Your debt will go unpaid if you tumble to the bottom and are shattered, and I think you know what that would mean!" he continued, cackling toward the end. The thought of Fell being forced to serve a near eternity in death to repay that one little debt was one that was amusing. Finally, Faeles finished, "Once near the summit, you will find a great opening in the mountain where a dragon rests even now. He will slumber for some days yet, so you must move quickly. Within his lair are many artifacts, but only one is worthy of falling into my hands: it has the appearance of a small, inelegant thing: a mirror. You will procure this mirror for me without waking the dragon, and in its place you will leave behind that staff. Then you must tarry not and make your way straight back to me. Perhaps then you shall be freed of my service!" As the demon carried on his ranting speech, Fell took on a lugubrious demeanor. "Climb the tallest mountain in sight without being seen, sneak by a dragon, and steal its treasure without waking it? And here I was thinking you were going to go easy on me." Fell grimaced, looking up to the mountain. His entire body flexed in anticipation, wings spreading wide. "Oh what I'd give to have these damn things work..." Fell thought to himself as the wind rippled uselessly through the silken drapes. With an air of scorn, for he had always been without that sort of humor, Faeles retorted, "It is a paltry task that you are given, and one that I would easily carry out myself were if not for my very particular smell. But you, for reasons I do not fathom, walk without the reek of the nether clinging to you...So you would be able to do this." Faeles was glad that his command had gone more or less without question; perhaps this one truly was foolish enough to understand the magnitude of what he was about to accomplish. Or perhaps Fell simply didn't care much for consequences; that seemed just as likely true. Only time would tell! Fell considered making a crack regarding the comments involving scent, but thought better of it for his own safety. Fell, deciding to cut off the discussion with the demon rather suddenly, turned away swiftly, resting the staff over his shoulder. As he slowly paced away from the demon, Fell stopped before an orcish corpse, looking back over his shoulder at Faeles. "And this is where I'll find you once my task is complete?" He inquired, as he proceeded to hack at the corpse with his broken sword. Another one of those cackles reverberated through Fell's mind as Faeles turned and began to meld into the shadows once more. "Have no fear, little one; I will find you afterwards," came that rasping voice from the deepest depths of Fell's mind, and then Faeles was out of sight. He knew not what that one was doing to the mangled corpse of the orc but cared little to stay and see; he had other important things to attend to. Fell's head dropped as he continued lacerating the dead orc. "Bastard." He said, taking no care to lower his voice. Rather quickly, he finished his work on the body. Soon enough, the torso was almost entirely dismembered, arms legs and head all strewn across the rocky ground. Stowing the staff safely in a manner similar to his broken blade, Fell began his trek to the mountain, what was left of the mangled body in hand. As he walked, he tore meat off of the bones with his bare hands, leaving a trail of gore as he walked. As the trek carried on, soon Fell had nothing in his hands but a bloody ribcage and spine held tight in his hands. He lazily tossed it over his shoulder, much like one might carry an unconscious body. The journey ahead was going to be a long and arduous one, and it appeared that it would not end at the summit. Hours later, the hike up the mountain proved to be almost entirely uneventful. Having a stone body came with it's benefits -no fatigue allowed him to walk up the mountainside in half the time a mortal man would take. Upon reaching the summit, Fell was faced with a dank scent of smog intermingling with well cooked meat. Fell grimaced, lowering to a crouch as he entered the massive chasm on the mountain face that clearly marked a dragon's lair. Fell trudged through the blasting hot air of the cavern, eyes focused forward as he crawled deeper and deeper, approaching a horde of treasure. The trove was smaller than Fell had expected -the dragon appeared to take up most of the cave in it's tightly curled ball. Creeping slowly, Fell quickly spotted his target, standing seemingly alone among a trove of gold far less valuable in comparison. Wasting no time, Fell removed Faeles' staff from it's sheath within his body, placing it where the mirror once laid. A shudder erupted from the dragon, prompting Fell to hasten his exit, mirror clutched close to his chest. On his exit from the cavern, Fell stood tall upon the mountain. He had put minimal effort into the ordeal, but something about surviving an encounter with a dragon was very good for the spirits. He let his wings spread wide, catching the heated wind in the flowing red cloth. Taking in a moment to survey the area, and drinking in the view, Fell walked to the edge of the steepest area of the mountain he could find. Drawing in a deep breath, he dove from the cliff, wings spreading even wider to control his descent. He had no destination in mind, his only thought was to get as far away from the dragon as he could before it inevitably awoke. Fell crashed to the ground rather inelegantly, attempting to tuck into a roll as he hit a large flat strip of ground beneath the mountain. He rose to his feet, largely unharmed thanks to his slow glide down. Once his feet were under him, he considered calling out to Faeles, but decided instead to take the demon's word to heart. "Come and get it, fucker." he thought to himself, examining the mirror that he had been tasked to find. Largely ordinary, and luckily undamaged in the descent. Fell took care to not stare into the mirror too long -focusing on his mangled body of demonic prosthetics would only enforce his mental lack of humanity, not something he desired. To pass the time waiting for Faeles, Fell took to working on the ribcage and spine he had earlier harvested. On the plateau on which he had landed, Fell was lucky enough to spy a sparse growth of flora, most importantly a group of small trees. Sheltered beneath the mountain, these trees had grown to surprising size considering the harsh conditions of the orcish mountains. There was a grimace on fells face as he began his 'renovations', so to speak. Taking a firm grip of his broken blade, he turned the blade on himself, using the rough edge to carve out the large areas of his body currently comprised of wood. Though he lost the ability to feel pain in the literal sense of the word long ago, Fell still felt something deep inside at the loss of so much mass. He quickly continued the process, breaking ribs off of what was once an orc, and maneuvering them to lie within the cavities he had opened up. Once satisfied with the positioning, he began ripping branches from the trees, and placing them similarly to the bones. He felt a warmth radiate from deep within, and the branches sprung to life, twisting and weaving themselves to replace the broken sections. Fell paused for a minute to mentally thank Halarin, one of the more agreeable demons he had dealt with, for this gift of regeneration. Fell continued this process, rebuilding his wooden body with a support of orcish bone. He was also thankful for the rather lucky find of orcish bones. He usually didn't bother using bone as a reinforcement in his body, but orc bones were durable enough to be worth the headache of harvesting and implanting them. Dusk soon came as it inevitably does, and Faeles too came as he inevitably would. If there were any tricks of shadowy magic or invisibility they weren't apparent; Faeles simply stalked through the gloom with so much unnatural ease and silence that he may as well have been a wraith. If Fell had not kept an especially careful vigil, he wouldn't even sense his Master's presence until the demon spoke, "Your descent was made in haste. I hope, for your sake, that you have brought the mirror..." Had Fell any fear left in his rather frail mind, the sudden voice rasping from behind him would've caused a startle. Possibly fortunately, Fell was no longer burdened with such faults. Instead, he simply turned to face the cloaked demon, mirror clasped tight within his golden hand. As he lifted the mirror, Fell took care to keep it from the steady stream of blood that trickled from his newly added bones. "The deed is done, Faeles. Our business is concluded." Fell stated, putting a sense of finality in his voice, though he knew that it was very unlikely that his statement had any truth to it. In his first display on any emotion save sadistic humor or irritation, Faeles stepped forward both visibly gingerly and excitably. He clutched the mirror like a drowning man might hold a rope thrown to him, and the glow of his eyes reflecting softly in the mirror as he peered at its every facet. Whereas anyone else might have met the thing with the mild curiosity that they gave any antique or with utter indifference, his trained and astute eye saw the artifact for what it truly was. Avarice shone in his eyes, and quickly he procured from within his robes that same pouch that he had held when Fell first saw him. As if he were afraid that the moonlight itself might bear witness to this theft, he unceremoniously forced the mirror into the pouch. Despite the thing visibly falling in, the sides of that seemingly mundane pouch didn't bulge or even ripple; far from mundane, it was in the void of twisted space inside that bottomless pouch that he stowed away a hundred such treasures and magical artifacts. "That deed is indeed done, and you have carried out your end exceptionally well! So well, I think, that I should not set you free. No, you are far too useful....this will be only the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership!" Though Fell expected nothing less from the demon, he had been holding onto a slight glimmer of hope that there would be freedom to be found from this demon. No, demons of honor were, by definition, few and far between. Again a primal force within him urged him to rip out his blade, and bury it deep within the demon. Common sense told him that it would only end in tragedy. Big red demons with horns were simple to deal with -just be stronger than them, and you get what you want. The frail old demons that surrounded themselves in minions were simple to deal with -just wade through the fodder until you can stab something more substantial. But this dark figure in front of him, rippling with power was a completely different burden. In years of hunting and dealing with demons, the sly cunning demons were the absolute worst. No way to outhink, no way to overpower them. The only thing one could do is hope to reason with them, and not come out with less than they went in with. Of course, that required clever wordsmithing, or at the very least a sound mind. Neither of which fell under the skill set of Fell Obereon. "Of couse." Fell said, offering a curt expression. "I'm sure the two of us will do great things." He said, taking the flattery for what exactly it was. As he spoke, he began to wonder if a 'partnership' under Faeles would be so bad. Though the demon clearly had plans to subjugate him, Fell did consider the power he could obtain from working under a demon like this. Perhaps his association with the sly being would give him the skills he needed to later deal with such infernal creatures. The trick would be to first make sure their 'alliance' would not end in Fell walking out with less than he walked in with. "I'll join you demon, but my debt is repaid. If we're to work together, I will be expecting some compensation for my... how did you put it? 'Exceptional' services?" Fell asked, paraphrasing the demon's earlier praise. That cackle resounded again, cutting through the night's deathly quiet. "The debt is only repaid when I say so; I am sure that you understand how these things work. Yet while I may force your continued service, I will indeed offer you reward where such is earned; let none say that Faeles is not generous to those that serve well. Set aside petulant hubris, and make of me one request. I shall grant you one boom of any sort, should it be within reason." In his time dealing with demons, Fell often found that demons could be very creative at times. As such, he had a tendency to leave requests open-ended, hoping to take advantage of their lawful nature and tendency to keep to the letter of their word. He sincerely hoped that Faeles was one such demon he could rely on for this. "If I'm to continue in your service, I'll need some way to move around in the shadow undetected like you, Faeles. Grant me some way to move through the shadows swiftly and unimpeded." He stated, hand idly resting on the hilt of his blade. Faeles found that strange pouch of his once more, and his hand plunged into its depths up to the elbow. Deceptively large, he grasped for several moments as if looking for something before he at last pulled out a small jar of a dark grey powder. "The ashen remains of a shadowbeast that dwelt in the rift between worlds," he explained. "it will be a poor subsitute for true shadow magic, but infused into your flesh, it would give you some dominion over darkness." With the flick of a wrist the demon conjured a ball of writhing, demonic flames in his palm. The hellish fire burned blood red and with a vengeance, yet left his robes untouched; instead, if leapt at Fell and spread voraciously. As what small scraps of flesh Fell Obereon had were nearly melted to tallow, Faeles grabbed a fistful of the powder and threw it onto Fell's tortured form, letting the fine grains find their way onto his body and seep into it. After a few minutes of what might have seemed like endless agony, it was over. Almost as quickly as it had come, the flame vanished and with it retreated too the pain and much of the injury that it had inflicted. "It is done."	NAME Fell Obereon PHYSICAL FORM Vaguely humanoid in shape, Fell is comprised of a patchwork of bits and pieces. The mass of his body is largely made up of separate chunks of wood, stone, bone, and crystal inscribed each with a different rune or sigil indicating some demonic presence. His right arm is made of what appears to be solid gold, moving in impossibly organic ways. Stretching from his back are a pair of silken wings, framed in stone. In place of real feet, Fell sports a pair of iron spikes protruding from his legs, on which he seems always able to balance. Resting on his left shoulder is a blackened skull, which seems to constantly drip ash from the eye sockets. Through gaps in his mismatched body, one can see the harsh yellow glow of Fell's heart. The only visible part of Fell that remains human are his eyes -gentle hazel irises can be seen staring out from behind his iron mask. for potato quality ABILITIES Fell relies on the abilities granted to him from the many of sacrifices he has made in the past to demons, devils, and the like. These numerous sacrifices have left him with many boons which he uses to great effect. Imo's Blessing- Deadly blade forged of cold iron -now broken after demonic incidents. Came at the cost of his father's life. Zesuc's Blessing- Overall increased agility -putting him at peak physical form for a human. Came at the cost of a pound of flesh. Pulnon's Blessing- Strength increased -putting him above the average man, but no grand power. Came at the cost of his right arm Acernas's Blessing- Fluid gold right arm. No special effects, just a replacement arm as durable as gold. Came at the cost of his most valuable possession -at the time, a jeweled heirloom from his time in the church. The Tyranny of Lord Eldron- Is able to produce a small powerful burst of light energy, that also briefly increases his own speed. Provided by an angel, a reward for disposing of demons. The Council of Father Geriane- The skull of his father, now perched on his shoulder. Speaks to him, providing spiritual guidance. Came at the cost of his final relic from his time at the church. Erre's Blessing- The ability to summon small imps, about cat sized. Though cowardly, weak, and useless in a fight, these imps each provide Fell with a special resistance when summoned. Only one will remain summoned at a time. Though originally he had resistance to each element, Fell is now only left with Quas, an imp providing fire resistance. Came at the cost of much of the flesh from his lower body. The Fool's Curse- Mind altering effects, such as hypnosis, are far diluted. Came at the cost of his mind -reducing him from a once tactical mastermind with genius foresight to an impulsive mess, focused only on the present. The Lust of Ivratri- A glowing rune in his chest exudes an aura of pain, only present after having taken enough damage to expose the light. Came at the cost of his heart. Body of Shidi- Replacement of all of his remaining flesh (save for the face), with rune inscribed stone. General durability increase, as well as immunity poison, and the like of which that would harm only flesh and blood. Came at the cost of his remaining, flesh, blood, and ability to feel. Mifro's Blessing- Silken wings sprouting from his back, framed with stone. Though they are magical, they do not actually enable flight, only controlled gliding. Cost the life of his first true love. Blessing of Halarin- Upon taking critical damage to the stone parts of his body, Fell can replace them with wood, which will naturally integrate itself into his body. Though weaker, this replacement body will continuously repair itself when provided with a supply of wood. Came at the cost of the life of his best friend and companion. Vavavel's Blessing- Hefty iron mask on his face hides his demonic nature from all but the most powerful arcane observation. Came at the cost of a month of servitude. WANTS AND NEEDS Fell has one primary driving force behind his actions -power. Throughout his life, Fell has fought and won thousands of battles. But for each victory, he faces dozens of losses on a personal level. Because of this constant cycle of loss with which he is cursed, Fell seeks out any way to empower himself in the hopes of someday becoming a decisive victor and winning back that which he has lost. Along with this, he has a strong sense of vengeance, and goes after those who wrong him with a fiery passion RELATIONSHIPS He is widely known among demons, and generally respected for his dedication and perseverance -as well as the fact that he always keeps his word. Nonetheless, many are wary of him, due to his uncanny knack for killing them. He has very few relationships with others, as those around him tend not to last long. BACKSTORY Fell has a history of sacrifice to the infernal, almost written in his blood. Coming from a long line of diabolists, the name of Obereon had incurred many debts. As such, the birth of Fell was no act of love, nor happy accident. Fell was planned as a sacrifice to a more insistent demon hunting the family. Instead of accept the sacrifice, the demon was disgusted by the Obereon family's attempt to go back on their word, and slaughtered them -leaving the child alive. Hearing of the incident, the church thought it only just that they take in the child -not only to save it from obvious starvation, but to also set it on the righteous path. Growing up in the church, Fell had his past hidden from him for his own protection. However, demons tend not to stay hidden for long. In the many months leading to Fell's 10th birthday, he was haunted by recurring nightmares, of a goat-like figure, standing over him and laughing. It was on the morn of his 10th birthday that this nightmare became reality -as Fell awoke, he saw the entire community of his church on the floor, surrounded in pulpy gore -but not before he smelled them. The irony scent of blood mingled with a distinct odor of rot to paint a disgusting image in the boy's head, something he would never forget. In the orgy of blood, Fell saw the figure again, a deep throaty laugh filling the room. It was here that Fell made his first deal with a demon. He lost very little in exchange for the return of his 'father', an elderly priest who had shown the boy nothing but unadulterated love. In exchange for a simple favor that the demon would later cash, Fell's 'father' was returned to him. Eight years of recovery followed. When it seemed that the two would finally be able to return to their normal lives, Fell heard the dreaded laugh once more. The demon returned, demanding it's debt repaid. Taught to honor his word, Fell fell to his knee and swore he would do anything to please the demon. This elicited only more laughter. When Fell looked up to the demon, he saw it was gone -in its place, a violent blade was impaled in the ground. In the reflection of the blade, he saw only his 'father', no matter what angle he looked. When Fell realized what it was the Demon wanted, he screamed, kicked, and swore, refusing. The only response he received was a flashback of the original gore, and the realization that the demon could do far worse. So it was, that Fell parted a second time with his father. Over the course of years, he sought out every possible way to bring his father back, and exact revenge upon the demon who had torn apart his life. Endless searching through tomes and libraries lead him to only one solution -one he loathed. And so it was, twelve years after the death of his father at his own hands, that Fell now stood over the body of the demon who wrought this destruction upon him, his father at one shoulder, a figure robed entirely in red at the other. Fell turned to the demon clothed in bloody crimson to ask the price. Before he could open his mouth to speak, he was faced with a nauseating sensation that sunk deep down, permeating his bones, and a scent of ozone. The demon was gone, and with it, his left hand. And so begun an endless cycle for Fell. A violent loss, followed by a victory that inevitably cost more than he gained.
9,743	269	0	134	1,316	Darkness once more creeps back into the forests of the world. Rumors grow of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear that brought the world to the edge of oblivion can be heard. The land of Mordor burns once more, black smoke billows from behind the mountains of the Far East. The animals have become restless and scared of an unknown evil that grows in strength while the world sits by oblivious to what will soon come. Sauron, the dark lord of Middle Earth has returned, to claim all under his cruelty, his madness, and his will to dominate all life for eternity. While the one ring remains unknown to most of the world, a very unlikely creature had obtained it through extraordinary means. A Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins of the shire unknowingly holds the one way to end Saurons threat upon the world and the lingering fear of the Dark Lords return. Many miles away, a different story is unfolding as a group of close friends are about to be thrown into the middle of the conflict between the Dark Lord Sauron and the destruction of the one ring. On this clear starry night, a cool, refreshing breeze blows across the lands of Bree, summer has come to an end and the weather is cooling down. This breeze that travels through Breeland is more than the seasons changing, for something dark moves with it, invisible but leaving an uncomfortable feeling upon all it crosses over. The trees of the great old forest even blow with the breeze, bringing an odd silence to it. On the edges of Western Breetown a celebration has just begun, and will continue into the late hours of the night. The celebration is being thrown for a group of heroes that had recently eliminated a large camp or Orc Raiders that were destroying all settlements they could find in the Lone Lands. The leader of this group of heroes is a human male that has acquired the name of Raven through some of his actions in the past and the type of plate and mail armor mixture he wears. A party or celebration for their victory over the Orcs was welcomed by Ravens group as he sat upon a bench, watching a woman creature beautiful music with her lute. The music quickly picked up and turned into a jig of sorts where people flooded the ground in front of the stage and started to dance. Raven was not all too fond of parties, he wanted to be at home resting and relaxing by the fireplace for a calm night. That was not going to happen though, the major of Bree threw he and his squad the celebration and out of respect and while being polite, he showed up and did his best to enjoy all that was going on for them. The woman playing the lute glanced over at him and gave him a wink while singing the closing to the song that sounded quite suggestive. Of course women interested him, but Raven was very fond of Elven women, which had landed him in trouble a couple of times before. Quickly he brought the mug of ale up to his lips and took a long sip, enjoying its smooth flavor and texture before placing it down upon the wooden table in front of him. Raising his eyebrows a couple of times, he responded playfully before turning his attention away from the performer and walked to the back of the festival grounds to grab something to eat once more. Tender chicken breast that had been marinated with rosemary on top of it, a side of potatoes and some vegetables was his choice for this round, and he would be back again for round number three if the hunger and curiosity remained. “You eat like a hobbit, and that makes me proud good sir.” Said the hobbit that was dishing out the food from behind the counter of the shead that sat next to another that was used for serving some of the drinks. Raven nodded his head in thanks, not wanting to comment on what the hobbit had said, it was better to take it as a compliment, which it of course was. “Please enjoy, I must get back to cooking.” The hobbit walked away quickly to where he started to process more food. Looking over to his friends, he noticed they were off doing their own thing, either with someone else or alone. “It’s going to be a long night.” He thought to himself, wondering who would notice if he went home to sneak in a cup of tea and a book for going to bed. In the far distance, the forces of darkness moved silently towards the Shire, hunting the one ring. The Black Riders were looking for Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, for he held the One Ring, the greatest threat to Sauron and his armies.	Name: Nicholas Mythian – Raven Sex: Male Place of Birth: Gondor Age: 30 History: Nicholas Mythian was born within the walls of Gondor, in the southern lands of Middle-Earth upon a starry night. His father was Damion Mythian and his mother was Emilee Mythian, both who actively served in the cities great military. The army of Gondor was known for their skill in combat and chivalry on the field of battle. His mother preferred the bow for range attacks but was skilled in other weaponry as well. His father preferred the longsword for close melee combat but was skilled in other weaponry as just. From an early age, his parents personally started to train him in many weapon forms and types, becoming well rounded but not yet picking one for him to master. The years passed by quickly as Nicholas became a talented, and very skilled fighter for the army of Gondor. He was chosen to fight alongside his fellow elite troops in many campaigns that reached out to the far corners of Middle- Earth. He had heard of the great battle that had taken place before he was born, where the allied armies of Middle-Earth fought against the great evil of Saruman and defeated him and the story of the rings. Evidence of the great war laid all around them, no matter how hard it tried to hide from the eyes of men and mortals. It was evident that there was more to this world thank fighting humans, but creatures of the dark roamed the lands and were becoming more and bolder with every day that passed. Rare sightings of these creatures became quite common, and he took it upon himself to help eliminate some of these non-human threats. The first time he encountered an Orc was while traveling with his parents through a dark forest near the borders of the their lands. These were not ordinary Orcs, they were stronger, larger and much more aggressive. Sadly, his parents were kill by an ambush of the same Orcs later that year when on a journey with a group of other soldiers. Nicholas found out a couple days later of his parents fate and decided to venture forth into Middle-Earth alone, hunting down those who killed his parents and all other evil that stood in his way or threated the lives of innocents. Eventually his travels brought him to Bree, where he took up residence and created a name for himself as a mercenary and solider, protecting the lands and their people. Race: Human Random Information: Nicholas is a stubborn, cold, and mysterious man to those around him including his friends. He is also a honorable, confident, kind hearted and polite man as well. His history is full of dark secrets that he hides within himself, never speaking or mentioning them to anyone. When a job arrives, he will fill it out to the letter with no mercy as he eliminates his targets. For many reasons, he has earned the nickname Raven, and prefers to be called it over his real name. Some part parts of his personality include humor and affection, that are rarely seen.
9,744	269	1	2,524	1,179	Eros wandered over, filling his own plate again. He nodded to Raven, but was rather distracted by the lass beside him who seemed very intent on making his acquaintance in more ways than one. Taking his food and lass, Eros wandered back into the din of joyous shouting and rowdy singing. He was enjoying the party quite a bit, and hoped that there would be many more in the days to come, not quite realizing what he was asking for. He greeted many of his fellow warriors and friends, helping a few of them recount the tale of the slaughter. It had been a hard fight, and several good men had died achieving it, but it had been done, and Eros was certain that the dead celebrated in their own way this dark night. Finishing his second plate and third tankard, Eros rose to his feat and took the green, dancing with his fair haired lass. Several other lasses tried to steal him for a bit, and one raven haired girl succeeded for a little while, but the fair haired lass was quite insistent that he stay with her that night. His raven winked and whispered about tomorrow night, before bowing out and moving on. Now rather dizzy and tired, Eros sat down to a drinking contest with some men from Bree. He fared better than the men expected, but ended up loosing it all after the eleventh tankard.	1: Name: Eros of the Weather Hills 2: Sex: Male 3: Place of Birth: Weather Hills, North of the watch tower Amon Sul 4: Age: 24 5: History: A huntsman and archer like his father, and his father, and his father. He seeks his fortune with Raven's company, having been turned down by the Rangers for his lack of useful skills when not wielding spear or bow. He is desperate to prove his worth as a bowman striving to become the equal of Bard of Laketown his personal role model. He wields both bow and spear with exceptional skill, and looks like he'll achieve mastery of both in the next decade, if he survives it. 6: Race: Man 7: Random Information: Has family in the weather hills, but doesn't speak of them much, his mind is on the future, not his past.
9,745	269	2	1,321	571	Thanneth was not one for parties, but this time was different. This was not an event where she could make a brief appearance and then disappear to tend to Esgal. No, this party was in their honor, so she would stay til the end. At least, she would try. Whether she made it or not depended on if the humans kept eyeing her like that. Woman or not, she was a warrior and an elf, and had no desire for a man's company for the night. Even if she did, she had standards. Taking a sip from her tankard, she pointedly ignored another man trying to get her attention. If it was urgent, he would come to her. If not, it - and he - could wait. The women, on the other hand, Thanneth was not averse to spending time with. Women did not preposition her; they simply wanted to hear elven tales. That she could do. Her stories of Mirkwood attracted more women and a few men, drawn in by an elf's storytelling voice and tales of adventure in a far-off realm.	1: Name: Thanneth 2: Sex: Female 3: Place of Birth: Mirkwood 4: Age: 702 5: History: Thanneth was just an average shieldmaiden of Mirkwood for several hundred years. Then, she decided to wander the world, to see all there was to see. She visited Gondor and Rohan, and was making her way towards Rivendell when she heard of the orcs. Immediately, she diverted her course towards Bree. Imladris could wait; the orcs needed to be eradicated. 6: Race: Elf 7: Random Information: Thanneth is skilled with bow and sword, and is a great rider. Her horse, Esgal, has been her companion ever since she left Mirkwood.
9,746	269	3	1,104	675	The rhythmic beat of the traditional, hide drums rang out with deafening volume over the crowded parade field, filling it's inhabitants with glee. For each hit another step, each person in turn taking merrily to the jig as their feet pounded out the continuous tune. Deirdre was no different. The raven haired lass allowed the music to flow with great spontaneity, swinging from partner to partner, hands all a mix of gracious gestures and vigorous merrymaking. This was all quite different than some of her dower comrades, men and woman who still had signs of frowning reservation about their faces, no, this was a time for joyous celebration, especially with the orcish threat gone. Another spin brought Deirdre into the arms of another dancer and it was only with some concerted effort that she was able to break away from their entrancing steps. Her cheeks were aglow with the tinted redness of the ale and spirits and it was in this capacity that the horse-mistress approached her elven comrade. Thanneth seemed to be in the middle of another of her elven tales: beauteous woods and misty vales, alluring in their own right but still incomparable to the blunt wonder of Rohan's rolling plains. It took only a few more minutes before the tale was concluded and she could approach properly, taking a seat by this companion she'd known for only a few weeks. "Not interested in the festivities Than'? I'd think as an elf you'd be more than willing to show us a thing or two about dancing properly?" It was a blatant goad, not even properly veiled as a challenge.	1: Name:Ori son of Nori 2: Sex:Male 3: Place of Birth:Blue Mountains 4: Age:53 5: History:Ori was born into a family of merchants travelling from Bree to the blue mountains on a regular basis. Trading goods such as Iron and basic medals for timber and cloth aswell as food. The roads are dangerous though so from a young age Ori was taught to defend himself and soon became a guard on his fathers caravan. One day while making a trip to Tharbad their caravan was set on by Dunlanders. His father and mother where slain in the raid aswell as much of their companions but those who remained scattered. Ori made his way to Bree, being a familiar place at this point, with naught but his mattock and chain mail. There he signed on with a mercenary party to make his living. 6: Race:Dwarf 7: Random Information:(Class) Barbarian/Knight (weapons) 4ft long Mattock, Short sword, Sheild Don't know if I should put this here or.. but yeah let me know what you think.
9,747	269	4	1,321	571	Why, you want to be shown up, Dre? Thanneth laughed, coming up with a silly nickname on the spot. "None of you humans can compare to the grace of an elf." Her tone was teasing. Then she lowered her voice and became more serious. "I'm not much of a partier, but I would love to dance. If those men would stop looking at me like a prize to be won, I would gladly take part." She shrugged and returned to her earlier merry tone. "Besides, I don't wish to outshine every woman here! I rather enjoy their company, and would not wish to cause dissension between them and their sweethearts." Thanneth wasn't lying; she loved to dance. However, she usually danced only with males she respected and who respected her. It was one way for a man to know how he stood with her. If she consented to dance with him, he had her trust. If she asked a man to dance... that had only happened with one elf, many years ago. He had fallen to a spider not long after. "Enjoy yourself, Deirdre. Don't concern yourself with me." She smiled softly at the younger woman.	1: Name: Thanneth 2: Sex: Female 3: Place of Birth: Mirkwood 4: Age: 702 5: History: Thanneth was just an average shieldmaiden of Mirkwood for several hundred years. Then, she decided to wander the world, to see all there was to see. She visited Gondor and Rohan, and was making her way towards Rivendell when she heard of the orcs. Immediately, she diverted her course towards Bree. Imladris could wait; the orcs needed to be eradicated. 6: Race: Elf 7: Random Information: Thanneth is skilled with bow and sword, and is a great rider. Her horse, Esgal, has been her companion ever since she left Mirkwood.
9,748	269	5	2,524	1,179	Eros, having finally lost his hangers on, for now, and cleaned himself up a bit after losing most of his stomach to being to merry for one evening, stumbled into the table on the other side of Thanneth from Deidre. His hair was plastered to his head, from his haveing dunked his head in cool water to help sober himself, so now he was only mostly drunk. He hadn't caught much of what was said, but he understood that Deidre had invited Thanneth to join the festivities and the Thanneth had declined. Thaannneth, ye shu be danthin'. Yer inthultin' the mahhicyer, by bein' tho dour. Hic At leath danth 'ith Rafen, if we be to thimple fer ye tathte(taste). Inthultin de mayer no good, hic, he juth wanna thay thankth an' yer thpitten in hith fathe(face). I thin' I need mer 'ater... Danth 'ith Rafen Thanneth, fer de mayer... Eros turned and stumbled off into the night again, trying to get sober before he passed out, so he could at least get into to town for the night, instead of ending up sprawled on the lawn, as he suspected he would at this point.	1: Name: Eros of the Weather Hills 2: Sex: Male 3: Place of Birth: Weather Hills, North of the watch tower Amon Sul 4: Age: 24 5: History: A huntsman and archer like his father, and his father, and his father. He seeks his fortune with Raven's company, having been turned down by the Rangers for his lack of useful skills when not wielding spear or bow. He is desperate to prove his worth as a bowman striving to become the equal of Bard of Laketown his personal role model. He wields both bow and spear with exceptional skill, and looks like he'll achieve mastery of both in the next decade, if he survives it. 6: Race: Man 7: Random Information: Has family in the weather hills, but doesn't speak of them much, his mind is on the future, not his past.
9,749	269	6	134	1,316	The tantalizing delicious scent that came from the freshly baked chicken upon Ravens plate was testing him as he walked across the festival ground and over to same table he had been sitting at only moments before. Pulling a chair out from under the hard wooden table, he quickly took a seat and placed the plate of food in front of him on its surface. Anyone that had been watching him at this point would have considered the man starving or at least thought that he enjoyed the food quite a bit more than the normal participant. Using a knife and fork, Raven cut into the chicken upon his plate and started to devour it with a ravenous appetite. After a moment or so of this, the food would have vanished, and plate cleaned of all its food, sitting alone upon the table, now someone else’s problem to clean up. Too tired to care about returning the plate, Raven walked through the groups of cheerful people that filled the tables around him while trying to find anyone he knew. Thankfully, sitting at one of the tables nearby was his elven friend Thanneth as well as Deirdre, and Eros who had already managed to end up drunk. “Have some respect for yourself Eros and lay off the drinking before you pass out or do something you will regret later.” Raven smacked the man on the back, half expecting him to fall over flat on his face. “You are free to do as you wish of course, but please try and use common sense before hurting yourself.” Letting out a soft sigh, Raven found an empty seat next to Thanneth and Deirdre, claiming it as his own. “Good evening ladies, I hope you two are enjoying yourselves at the celebration?” Crossing his arms, the ranger leaned back in his seat and waited for a reply. In the far distance, a soft but still audible sound that seemed to be a high pitch wail pierced the night. No one else around him seemed to hear it, and the celebration continued on. The sound came forth from the distance once more, but was clearly closer this time. The hairs on the back of Ravens neck stood up now, his once acceptable state of comfort, shattered and tossed into the wind. Turning his head to Thanneth then to Deirdre, he had a look of concern spread across his face. “Am I the only one that heard that? It sounded like a high pitch inhuman wail of some sort.” Standing up from the table, he motioned to Thanneth, Deirdre, and Eros to join him. “I need to have a word with the mayor before we leave, we are going to investigate that sound just to clear my mind.” The mayor of Bree had his own table that was lavishly decorated with designs carved into the table. Gold and other fine metal plates as well as utensils sat upon the tabletop with his own freshly prepared meal that covered a wide variety of foods. Raven walked up to the large man who sat in a cushioned chair and bowed lightly to him before speaking. “My friends and I would like to thank you with all of our hearts for the amazing festival that has been quite a fun event to partake in. As of now though, I must unfortunately announce that we are leaving for the night for our own personal reasons. If you ever require our assistance again, please contact me and we can discuss what has needs to be done. Have a good night and please enjoy the fantastic food, drink, and entertainment you have so kindly set up for us.” The mayor would open his mouth to say something but quickly nodded his head instead and then shoved a chicken leg into his mouth. “Follow me, stay silent and in the shadows, I do not want to take any chances here for I have no idea what we are going to find.” Raven motioned with his right hand for the group to stay close to him before they arrived at the large river that ran alongside Breeland. Once again, the same unnerving sound could be heard but this time was much closer and did not echo. The air around them had fallen strangely silent, and the winds had died leaving the night with an eerie feeling of dread. In the distance down the road to their left they could see figures moving but could not make out what they were. “Look, the road to the north west has riders who approach.” Raven motioned with his right hand in the direction as the black figures moved closer. “Everyone hide, into the forest!” Raven quickly scurried into the lush forest to their left and threw himself onto the ground, keeping his head part way up only to watch as the Black Riders closed in on them with every moment that passed. “Lay still and be silent, do not move a muscle.” said Raven. Quickly he ordered the rest of his group to do the same as he. Nine Black Riders, he had counted them as they moved down the road, soon to pass them. "I must tell the mayor and inform the rest of my mercenaries." thought Raven to himself, but if these Black Riders turned out to be what he thought they were, they were going to need all the help they could find as well as answers.	Name: Nicholas Mythian – Raven Sex: Male Place of Birth: Gondor Age: 30 History: Nicholas Mythian was born within the walls of Gondor, in the southern lands of Middle-Earth upon a starry night. His father was Damion Mythian and his mother was Emilee Mythian, both who actively served in the cities great military. The army of Gondor was known for their skill in combat and chivalry on the field of battle. His mother preferred the bow for range attacks but was skilled in other weaponry as well. His father preferred the longsword for close melee combat but was skilled in other weaponry as just. From an early age, his parents personally started to train him in many weapon forms and types, becoming well rounded but not yet picking one for him to master. The years passed by quickly as Nicholas became a talented, and very skilled fighter for the army of Gondor. He was chosen to fight alongside his fellow elite troops in many campaigns that reached out to the far corners of Middle- Earth. He had heard of the great battle that had taken place before he was born, where the allied armies of Middle-Earth fought against the great evil of Saruman and defeated him and the story of the rings. Evidence of the great war laid all around them, no matter how hard it tried to hide from the eyes of men and mortals. It was evident that there was more to this world thank fighting humans, but creatures of the dark roamed the lands and were becoming more and bolder with every day that passed. Rare sightings of these creatures became quite common, and he took it upon himself to help eliminate some of these non-human threats. The first time he encountered an Orc was while traveling with his parents through a dark forest near the borders of the their lands. These were not ordinary Orcs, they were stronger, larger and much more aggressive. Sadly, his parents were kill by an ambush of the same Orcs later that year when on a journey with a group of other soldiers. Nicholas found out a couple days later of his parents fate and decided to venture forth into Middle-Earth alone, hunting down those who killed his parents and all other evil that stood in his way or threated the lives of innocents. Eventually his travels brought him to Bree, where he took up residence and created a name for himself as a mercenary and solider, protecting the lands and their people. Race: Human Random Information: Nicholas is a stubborn, cold, and mysterious man to those around him including his friends. He is also a honorable, confident, kind hearted and polite man as well. His history is full of dark secrets that he hides within himself, never speaking or mentioning them to anyone. When a job arrives, he will fill it out to the letter with no mercy as he eliminates his targets. For many reasons, he has earned the nickname Raven, and prefers to be called it over his real name. Some part parts of his personality include humor and affection, that are rarely seen.
9,750	269	7	1,104	675	Although Deirdre had originally been planning to enjoy the simple merriment of a village festival throughout the duration of the night coming events conspired to rob the Rohirrim youth of that joyous opportunity. With half-narrowed eyes the woman turned her attention to Eros as he approached, lips pulling downwards into some semblance of a frown; although she was more than accustomed to dealing with drunken warriors, especially after so many years working with the militia, it none-the-less continued to annoy the youth when others felt the need to lose themselves in their drinks to such a degree. Nevertheless, Deirdre forced a half-smile and greet her comrade in the same cheerful tone she'd used with the elf. "Hail comrade! You look as though you've downed one to many tankards?" The question was rhetorical of course, from a moment's observation it was clear that the man to whom Deirdre was now speaking was thoroughly intoxicated. She wondered absently if he'd even be able to fend for himself in the case of a sudden attack in such a state? Before she could wander too far down this train of thought another companion from the band joined them, this time with a much more serious look on his face. It was Raven, their so-called leader and the namesake of the band. Deirdre herself had made conversed with the man only a handful of times, though she'd seen him more often than such. In a way they still had yet to know one another and this hesitancy was much more apparent than with Thanneth or Eros. “Am I the only one that heard that? It sounded like a high pitch inhuman wail of some sort.” There was a moment's pause as Deirdre remained silent, looking to the others to see if they'd heard the sound. “I need to have a word with the mayor before we leave, we are going to investigate that sound just to clear my mind.” As soon as the orders were given Deirdre rose to her feet, hands pressed against the simple cloth garments that clad her form, unique only in their distinct patterns and splashed of dull green and blue. Moving away from the group it took only a minute or so the reach the village stables, the woman's rough hands rising against the now tattered hide of Lowain's haversack. The horse responded to its rider's approach with a curious whiny, though in her haste Deirdre paused a moment before responding, too busy pulling off her top vestments, replacing them with a shirt of mail before retying the cloth atop. "Peace, I'll be back shortly. . ." Retrieving her bow and sidearm Deirdre's nimble fingers wasted only a second or so more untying the reigns of her mount from the nearby pole. Lowain was well trained and knew this new-found freedom was not to be abused, only utilized in cases of emergency or when a speedy exit was required. Patting the horse's side twice Deirdre made haste returning to the group, this time completely ready with her armor and armaments. By about the same time Raven seemed to have concluded his business with the mayor, leading the squad away from the town to investigate the expansive wilds that lay beyond. It was a good time before their investigations produced anything of worth; a long trek in the woods brought nothing but mist and cold air. It was only when they approached the northern road that Raven made known verbally the results of his scouting. “Look, the road to the north west has riders who approach.” Immediately Deirdre went on the alert, body pulling closer to the protection of a nearby tree as her cold, obsidian eyes swiveled to observe the appointed area. Indeed it was true, a number of dark riders, cloaked and hooded, galloped down the road at blinding speeds which seemed almost impossible at second glance. With each passing moment the beating hooves of their ethereal mounts rang out louder and louder in the ears of the experienced rider. “Everyone hide, into the forest!" Deirdre obeyed without delay, having little interest in attracting the attention of the decidedly macabre riders. Sucking in air through her lips the bow mistress pulled herself flat against the backside of the tree, leaning hard into the cold oak. Her eyes closed briefly as a wave of freezing air washed over her like a tidal current, soaking her body all the way to the bone with some demonic chill. "Orome protect me." The words seemed to leave her lips uncontrollably and at an inaudible whisper.	1: Name:Ori son of Nori 2: Sex:Male 3: Place of Birth:Blue Mountains 4: Age:53 5: History:Ori was born into a family of merchants travelling from Bree to the blue mountains on a regular basis. Trading goods such as Iron and basic medals for timber and cloth aswell as food. The roads are dangerous though so from a young age Ori was taught to defend himself and soon became a guard on his fathers caravan. One day while making a trip to Tharbad their caravan was set on by Dunlanders. His father and mother where slain in the raid aswell as much of their companions but those who remained scattered. Ori made his way to Bree, being a familiar place at this point, with naught but his mattock and chain mail. There he signed on with a mercenary party to make his living. 6: Race:Dwarf 7: Random Information:(Class) Barbarian/Knight (weapons) 4ft long Mattock, Short sword, Sheild Don't know if I should put this here or.. but yeah let me know what you think.
9,751	269	8	1,321	571	Ori sat on a camp stool, brewing over tankard of mead, his clay pipe hanging from his lips. Reaching into the pouch at his side he pulled a wad of tobacco and packed it into the bowl. Striking his flint with the blade of his knife to light it. The night had been one full of merry-making and celebration but dance and mead had left him feeling drowsy. He noticed a group of his fellow mercenaries chatting for a while and then walking off towards the mayor's table. Ori thought that it was odd but assumed that there leader Raven was going to collect his coin. Ori followed his short legs wobbly as he tried to catch up. He abandoned hope at the edge of the woods, where they carried on down the road, as he turned back to return to his humble quarters at the inn.	1: Name: Thanneth 2: Sex: Female 3: Place of Birth: Mirkwood 4: Age: 702 5: History: Thanneth was just an average shieldmaiden of Mirkwood for several hundred years. Then, she decided to wander the world, to see all there was to see. She visited Gondor and Rohan, and was making her way towards Rivendell when she heard of the orcs. Immediately, she diverted her course towards Bree. Imladris could wait; the orcs needed to be eradicated. 6: Race: Elf 7: Random Information: Thanneth is skilled with bow and sword, and is a great rider. Her horse, Esgal, has been her companion ever since she left Mirkwood.
9,752	269	9	753	169	Aethidos, smoked his pipe weed silently. The darkness embracing him, his cold grey eyes watching the dancing lights of the festival grounds. He enjoyed to see the folk dance and drink. At some point on his return trip to the north he had managed to meet up with a company of mercenaries, in which he joined in their hunt of the orcs. After the mess had been cleaned up they had planned on a night of merrymaking and celebration. He refused their offer, and instead sat outside away from the festive activities. The night wore on, and his pipe had run out. A small portion of the band left the general grounds for the party in a rush, following the sound of other worldly screams. In the back of his mind he knew what it meant, and all too well understood what was about to unfold in the world of men. The feeling rose from his stomach and sank quickly. He packed his pipe one more time and sat back, waiting for the return of his new companions. Naur en' Kala rested comfortably beside him. "The nine ride again." he spoke softly and to no one in particular. Letting out a long puff of smoke, he placed a well calloused hand on the hilt, the familiar feel of the cool metal under his hand put his mind at ease. He was one of the few left of his race, the days of the Dunedain were over, and now he lived to preserve the line of Elendil. With the nine roaming the lands again, things were about to change and he hadn't decided yet on how it might.	Name: Aethidos son of Aethiden Sex: Male Place of Birth: Evendim Age: 103 Equipment: Sword, longbow, cloak, metal bracers, and dagger. History: Aethidos has spent his life living in the north doing his duty to protect the line of Elendil. Most of his life was spenting hunting and tracking the servants of morgoth. Aethidos spent most if not all of his years bathed in fighting and blood shed. In his recent years Aethidos witnessed the wall guarding Mordor fall into the hands of the enemy. Afterwards he resumed his travels across middle earth, and wound up in a small village of Bree. Race: Dunedain Random Information: Aethidos is skilled and competent in both archery and swordsman skills. He knows basic elvish, and has spent some time studying in the library of Gondor. ------
9,753	269	10	2,524	1,179	Eros managed to not topple, only by bracing himself against the edge of the table, as Raven beat his back. As Raven sat and chatted, Eros became very painfully aware of the noise beyond the party. Though he wasn't entirely certain it was anything more than the drink getting to him until Raven commented on it, and Tanneth's expression stated that she had heard it as well. Great, that wasn't a good sound... Eros could feel it, more than anything else, but he knew it bore ill tidings to all who heard it. Dread further filled him as he realized that his weapons were in town, safely kept from thieving hands in his room at the prancing pony, and incidentally well out of his own reach as well. If he survived this night, he swore he'd never let his weapons pass beyond his reach again. But for now, he needed less drunk, and he needed it now... Grimacing, he adopted his grandfather's favorite method of sobering drunks, sudden and intense pain. Still leaning on the end of the table as everyone else rose and started towards the mayor's table, he picked up an empty tankard, and slammed it down onto his left hand. Well, he tried to anyway, he really only hit his ring and pinkie fingers, which was probably for the better all things considered. The pain did it's job quite well, turning into a constant dull throb that forced his mind from it's drunken stupor. Eros hurried to catch up with the others, reaching them as they departed the mayor's table. Following Raven, with throbbing fingers, but a surprisingly sharp mind all things considered, he had no difficulty hunkering down in clump of trees and waiting for the riders to pass. They were ill news, and he knew his best chance of surviving the night, would be to get as far away from them as possible. But he wasn't a coward, and he wouldn't tolerate anyone calling him one either, still, between his drunkenness, pain, and terror, he managed to sit still and await further orders. Armed and armored in little more than a steak knife and woolen tunic and trousers, he was not looking forward to the fight he now believed to imminent.	1: Name: Eros of the Weather Hills 2: Sex: Male 3: Place of Birth: Weather Hills, North of the watch tower Amon Sul 4: Age: 24 5: History: A huntsman and archer like his father, and his father, and his father. He seeks his fortune with Raven's company, having been turned down by the Rangers for his lack of useful skills when not wielding spear or bow. He is desperate to prove his worth as a bowman striving to become the equal of Bard of Laketown his personal role model. He wields both bow and spear with exceptional skill, and looks like he'll achieve mastery of both in the next decade, if he survives it. 6: Race: Man 7: Random Information: Has family in the weather hills, but doesn't speak of them much, his mind is on the future, not his past.
9,754	269	11	134	1,316	One of the Black Riders demoniac horses came to a sudden stop, its front hooves lifting from the ground as it kicked up a cloud of dirt that hung in the air. The grotesque horse whipped its head to the direction of the forest and stared with pupils crimson eyes into the darkness as if it could see right through the trees and ground cover that hid Raven and the rest of his fellowship. When the Horses breathing increased dramatically, the same unsettling high-pitched wail echoed through the forest. Raven did not feel a physical pain but one that seemed to come from deep down in his soul that filled him with terror and hopelessness of the likes he had never experienced before. The Black Rider looked forward once more into the distance, in the direction of Bree then rode off with unnatural speed, the rest of The Nine keeping pace. Moving his head around the tree very slowly and carefully, Raven observed the Black Riders as she seemed to vanish into the mists down the road, all sign of them vanishing along with the silence that had taken over the land. A feeling of dread remained in their wake once they had vanished, “I have no doubt in my mind now that those were indeed the Nine, they were heading in the direction of Breetown. What could they want with the people of Bree?” Raven ran a couple possibilities through his head as he now walked through the misty forest that had the cool breeze return to it. Reaming silent for the cautious walk back to Breetown, Raven kept his eyes and ears open, looking and listening for anything peculiar or out of place within the forest. From what he had read of the Nine, they had been nine great kings of men, they were all given rings of power but the rings turned them into slaves of Saruon, and later they became his chief lieutenants once he forged a new ring, a ring to rule them all. “The one ring…” Raven said to himself. “That is what they must be searching for, the one ring that the Dark Lord himself wielded.” Raven stopped and bent over for a moment to regain himself after revelation. “If the Black Riders are hunting down the one who carries the one ring, that means he who cannot be named has returned, the Dark Lord himself.” There was a pause before Raven once again started to move towards Bree, but this time sprinting. He could see Bree now in the distance, and pushed himself to run down the front gate and gates men that had been trampled by large hooves. Sliding to a stop, he turned around and noticed the group of people that had formed around the gate with the rest of the guards who were alive “Who did this guardsmen? What did you see?” asked Raven while grabbing onto one of them who seemed to be in a state of shock. “Tell me!” The man covered his face with both his hands and said “Black riders, they came right through the gate and trampled the other guardsmen. The rode horses not of this earth, draped in all black and an ill feeling of decay surrounded them, I saw them head down towards the Prancing Pony then vanish as if merely an illusion.” Raven quickly turned and ran towards the Prancing Pony, ordering his fellowship to follow him. Once there, he kicked open the front door and found the tavern to be empty on the first floor for all but one man, Butterbur. “They left already!” Butterbur explained pushing Raven out the door and then moving heavy objects in front of it. “They went east, leave me alone!” Raven turned back to his fellowship and shrugged. “All of you own a horse, correct?” asked Raven before he heard something or someone walk out of the shadows behind him. “I am going to assume you that you saw the Black Riders as well hmm?” A man in dark grey robes kept his face hidden but talked in what could almost be called a cheery voice, strange for the current situation they were in. "We have indeed, who are you? Do you know where the nine and headed and what they are looking for?” asked Raven, still holding onto the hilt of his longsword. “I may know where they are headed, but it is not where anyone sane or looking to be a hero would head. The fires of Mount Doom burn once more, a dark shadow has been cast upon the land and the dead rise to carry out the masters will.” He would pause and look over the fellowship before nodding his head with approval. “I have heard of your deeds Raven and company, perhaps you would be interested in assisting me?” Raven nodded his head, “Very good, but I’m afraid there is a high chance that none of you will make it back alive. The ring bearer heads south west with his own fellowship to destroy the ring of power but for you…” The old man would stand and think of a moment before laughing softly to himself. “You clearly can fight and are quite talented at it. There is a war in the north as well, but you will take the south eastern paths that lead into the mountains and lands beyond.” The man handed Raven a map then tipped his hat at him before vanishing back into the shadows. “I wish all of you luck Master Mythian from Gondor, remember that I will be watching so will others who are not so friendly. The forces of evil are working against you now, make hate and leave Bree as soon as possible. Your map will give you information on what will come next.” With those last words, the old man vanished into the shadows of the night. Opening the map, Raven studied its contents before folding it back up and placing it inside of one of his bags. “I know some of you would rather stay behind and help protect the town from further danger but what is on this map shows that if the strong do not do their part, the world could be last to the Dark Lord. He has risen once more and builds armies in the south east that gather for global domination and then our extermination. For those who wish to join me, gather all of your equipment, armaments and anything else you may need for a year’s length journey at least. We will be leaving at the first light of dawn by the east entrance of Breeland.” Turning around, Raven pushed as hard as he could to get the furniture out of the way of the doorway so he could enter. “Fine fine! You may enter, I heard everything I think, you may stay at my Inn for no charge tonight but you must leave in the early morning and be gone!” Raven nodded his head at Butterbur, “Thank you, we appreciate it, don’t we my friends?” asked the fellowships leader. Walking over to stairway, he climbed the stairs before picking an empty room and laying down all of his gear then heading downstairs once more. Pulling a table over to him, he sat out a large number of chairs by the fireplace and took a seat, laying the map down upon it for all to see. Calling his fellowship over, he laid the map down upon the hard wooden surface of the table and quickly pointed at their route. “We are heading southeast from Bree, we will pass through the Lone Lands and stay off the road at all times. Once outside of the Lone Lands, our trail brings us to the Troll Shaws, we will pass through this area during the day and avoid any dark areas. Then a visit will be made at Rivendell, I will need Thanneth to help us move through the lands and perhaps rest and rejuvenate there. The river leads down through the misty mountains and to Eregion." "We will past Gwingris and continue through the lands Eregion until arriving at the walls of Moria. Depending on how the lands condition is, we may have to pass through Moria to arrive at Rohan. From Rohan we move to Gondor then…” Raven would cough lightly and tap his finger on top of the last place they ever wanted to be. “Mordor…that is the general path that has been recommended to us, if there is trouble and knowing us there will be, there may have to be a couple changes made. As for now, I will answer any questions you all may have about tomorrow."	Name: Nicholas Mythian – Raven Sex: Male Place of Birth: Gondor Age: 30 History: Nicholas Mythian was born within the walls of Gondor, in the southern lands of Middle-Earth upon a starry night. His father was Damion Mythian and his mother was Emilee Mythian, both who actively served in the cities great military. The army of Gondor was known for their skill in combat and chivalry on the field of battle. His mother preferred the bow for range attacks but was skilled in other weaponry as well. His father preferred the longsword for close melee combat but was skilled in other weaponry as just. From an early age, his parents personally started to train him in many weapon forms and types, becoming well rounded but not yet picking one for him to master. The years passed by quickly as Nicholas became a talented, and very skilled fighter for the army of Gondor. He was chosen to fight alongside his fellow elite troops in many campaigns that reached out to the far corners of Middle- Earth. He had heard of the great battle that had taken place before he was born, where the allied armies of Middle-Earth fought against the great evil of Saruman and defeated him and the story of the rings. Evidence of the great war laid all around them, no matter how hard it tried to hide from the eyes of men and mortals. It was evident that there was more to this world thank fighting humans, but creatures of the dark roamed the lands and were becoming more and bolder with every day that passed. Rare sightings of these creatures became quite common, and he took it upon himself to help eliminate some of these non-human threats. The first time he encountered an Orc was while traveling with his parents through a dark forest near the borders of the their lands. These were not ordinary Orcs, they were stronger, larger and much more aggressive. Sadly, his parents were kill by an ambush of the same Orcs later that year when on a journey with a group of other soldiers. Nicholas found out a couple days later of his parents fate and decided to venture forth into Middle-Earth alone, hunting down those who killed his parents and all other evil that stood in his way or threated the lives of innocents. Eventually his travels brought him to Bree, where he took up residence and created a name for himself as a mercenary and solider, protecting the lands and their people. Race: Human Random Information: Nicholas is a stubborn, cold, and mysterious man to those around him including his friends. He is also a honorable, confident, kind hearted and polite man as well. His history is full of dark secrets that he hides within himself, never speaking or mentioning them to anyone. When a job arrives, he will fill it out to the letter with no mercy as he eliminates his targets. For many reasons, he has earned the nickname Raven, and prefers to be called it over his real name. Some part parts of his personality include humor and affection, that are rarely seen.
9,755	269	12	1,321	571	Ori had woken with a start to the sound of footsteps in the hall. He pulled himself out of the cot he had been given and threw on a tunic and breeches. Belting his belt and short-sword he peaked his head into the hall it was empty but the hair smelled of death and a strange breeze sent tingles down his spine. He returned to the room and shut the door grabbing the candle on the bed side he peaked back into the hall. Once assuring him self that it was empty he began down the stairs. As he entered the main hall he saw his fellow compatriots gathered around a map listening as Raven spoke in a low whisper. "...until arriving at the walls of Moria. Depending on how the lands condition is, we may have to pass through Moria to arrive at Rohan. From Rohan we move to Gondor the Mordor…that is the general path that has been recommended to us, if there is trouble and knowing us there will be, there may have to be a couple changes made. As for now, I will answer any questions you all may have about tomorrow." Ori cleared his throat and in a groggy voice said "What all this about? Have we another contract? I'm up for anything as long as there is coin." He stroked his auburn beard with a calloused hand and with the other lifted the candle so as to get better view of the part.	1: Name: Thanneth 2: Sex: Female 3: Place of Birth: Mirkwood 4: Age: 702 5: History: Thanneth was just an average shieldmaiden of Mirkwood for several hundred years. Then, she decided to wander the world, to see all there was to see. She visited Gondor and Rohan, and was making her way towards Rivendell when she heard of the orcs. Immediately, she diverted her course towards Bree. Imladris could wait; the orcs needed to be eradicated. 6: Race: Elf 7: Random Information: Thanneth is skilled with bow and sword, and is a great rider. Her horse, Esgal, has been her companion ever since she left Mirkwood.
9,756	269	13	753	169	He had rejoined the group shortly after they arrived at The Prancing Pony. The nine were moving with a quickness that should worry any man. He stayed on the outskirts of the group. His leader began to speak with a man in the shadows, an older man. He dropped a great deal of information that both confirmed and worried him. In all his days he had seen some horrible things, but none of them could hold a candle to the darkness that was surely to fall upon middle earth. All of his gear was packed into his saddle, he usually prefer to travel by foot but on a gut feeling he'd purchased a horse and saddle on his way into Bree before joining the group. As Raven layed the plan down he ran their course through his mind. Moria worried him, he hoped that there was another way. The white wizard Saruman also popped into his mind. It would be close to Rohan and could benefit the group by seeking his council. Aethidos spoke when there was a break in conversation. With a step forward he spoke. "We could also visit the white wizard Saruman. I'm sure his council would be invaluable." He paused his voice was rough and deep. "We could also travel south staying off the road, and avoid the mountains all together, it wouldn't extend our travels more than a day or two, especially on horse back."	Name: Aethidos son of Aethiden Sex: Male Place of Birth: Evendim Age: 103 Equipment: Sword, longbow, cloak, metal bracers, and dagger. History: Aethidos has spent his life living in the north doing his duty to protect the line of Elendil. Most of his life was spenting hunting and tracking the servants of morgoth. Aethidos spent most if not all of his years bathed in fighting and blood shed. In his recent years Aethidos witnessed the wall guarding Mordor fall into the hands of the enemy. Afterwards he resumed his travels across middle earth, and wound up in a small village of Bree. Race: Dunedain Random Information: Aethidos is skilled and competent in both archery and swordsman skills. He knows basic elvish, and has spent some time studying in the library of Gondor. ------
9,757	269	14	2,524	1,179	Eros followed doggedly, though he had no trouble keeping pace. He listened and though, thought and listened, he wasn't much of a planner or thinker, but one question did come to mind that he felt needed voicing as it became clear that the group was going to Mordor. He had gone up stairs and donned his weapons, though his armor he merely laid out for the morning. Now nursing a swelling hand with some ice chips and a damp rag from Butterbur, he sat at the table, as far from the fire as possible to keep the ice as long as possible, and he offered his own question, one that might not hold much merit, but that his mind needed an answer too. I'd rather not go through Moria, no offense master Ori, but deep places and I are not on good terms. Why not go south and seek the white wizards council, or go east to Elrond, but from there take the lonely road. The same road Thorin and company traveled some twenty years ago, if they can make it we surely can. We just won't stop at Erebor, we'll move on past the Iron hills, and come down from the north. If I was the dark lord, my focus would be on the kingdoms of men, as they are the descendants of his last defeat, Isildur. So why don't we try to rally the elves and dwarves into helping us crush his fortress while he's out pillaging the realms of men. He might not even see it coming in time to do much about it, though I wouldn't count on it. Not with these riders out and about. I outlined with my right index finger, the paths I was suggesting, both south through the Gap of Rohan and east through the Misty Mountains, to the north of Moria, and on to Mirkwood, and Erebor, across to the Iron Hills then South through Rhûn and around into the back of Mordor. I don't know if either are particularly viable, but I know that the north roads will be hard for the riders to travel, and so perhaps I wish to take the north roads to be as far from them as possible. Even so, I will not hesitate to follow Raven where ever he decides to go, he has led us well so far, and I'm not about to doubt him now.	1: Name: Eros of the Weather Hills 2: Sex: Male 3: Place of Birth: Weather Hills, North of the watch tower Amon Sul 4: Age: 24 5: History: A huntsman and archer like his father, and his father, and his father. He seeks his fortune with Raven's company, having been turned down by the Rangers for his lack of useful skills when not wielding spear or bow. He is desperate to prove his worth as a bowman striving to become the equal of Bard of Laketown his personal role model. He wields both bow and spear with exceptional skill, and looks like he'll achieve mastery of both in the next decade, if he survives it. 6: Race: Man 7: Random Information: Has family in the weather hills, but doesn't speak of them much, his mind is on the future, not his past.
9,758	269	15	1,104	675	Almost as soon as the riders had vanished orders came again. The sudden veil of fear which had so closely cloaked their bodies washed away as the thrill and terror of the hunt set in. Deirdre's eyes flashed open as the heat of the moment washed over her. The abject chill which had frozen her only an instant before was gone and almost without thinking her body was in motion, form pulled away from the tree into an all out sprint. The riders were moving to Breetown but for what purpose remained unknown. As she moved Deirdre held herself low to the ground, feet moving quickly over rock and soil and root, expertly navigating the broken terrain. It was only with the sight of Breetown in the distance that she slowed her pace and the adrenaline began to wane. The fatigue set in close after combined with the uncertainty of what could lay within. As the companions drew closer she could see the ultimate fate of the town's foremost gate: trampled under the black hooves of terror beasts from the edges of one's farthest most nightmares. It didn't take long to track The Nine. Where they'd went a swath of destruction lay until at last the trail vanished before the Prancing Pony and the host fell upon the inn with all the courage and vigor they still possessed. Once inside the interrogation of the inn-keep and their mysterious commission kept Deirdre on her toes. All of it made little sense, at least, it made little sense to the nomadic warrioress who had no sense of the world's greater politics. All she could see was a mysterious man tempting her newly met captain into what seemed to be their group's imminent destruction. Still, the promise of coin and adventure was enough to keep her determination firm and as Raven outlined their plan she remained silent and observed. When at last Raven was done speaking a few others chimed in with their concerns or suggestions which ranged from different pathways to various forces upon which they could call for aid. Again, Deirdre had little conception of what their quest could bring them, only that the forces of the Dark Lord were involved and that the Ring of Power had been found. This alone was enough to seal her commitment and as the conversation ended she was quick to return to the stables. Deirdre removed the mail shirt as well as the rest of her leather bindings, stowing the armor upon Lowain for easy access in the morning. The majority of her weapons were stored in a similar fashion, though she kept a simple pair of knives upon her person in case of something unexpected. The rest of the night passed quickly and Deirdre got little sleep. The prospect of a long morning's ride and the threat of combat kept her awake. She was not often jittery upon the eve of battle, but this night had proven that the morrow's combat would not be against the typical brand of brigand or raider. The evil they now fought was something unlike anything she'd seen before; she was fearful.	1: Name:Ori son of Nori 2: Sex:Male 3: Place of Birth:Blue Mountains 4: Age:53 5: History:Ori was born into a family of merchants travelling from Bree to the blue mountains on a regular basis. Trading goods such as Iron and basic medals for timber and cloth aswell as food. The roads are dangerous though so from a young age Ori was taught to defend himself and soon became a guard on his fathers caravan. One day while making a trip to Tharbad their caravan was set on by Dunlanders. His father and mother where slain in the raid aswell as much of their companions but those who remained scattered. Ori made his way to Bree, being a familiar place at this point, with naught but his mattock and chain mail. There he signed on with a mercenary party to make his living. 6: Race:Dwarf 7: Random Information:(Class) Barbarian/Knight (weapons) 4ft long Mattock, Short sword, Sheild Don't know if I should put this here or.. but yeah let me know what you think.
9,759	269	16	134	1,316	The dim light that came from the candles upon the edges of the hard wooden table illuminated the corner of the Inn they had gathered in. Most of the citizens of Bree had gone home to rest for the night but those who were still awake and wondering would have found the simple candle lights coming from the first floor of the Prancing Pony a curiosity. Thankfully, there would be no intrusion due to the front door being locked as well as the shades being pulled down to help with privacy from inquisitive eyes. The trail that had been lightly marked upon the map from the old man did seem rather bizarre and went seemed to have no real direction to it besides putting those foolish enough to follow it in danger. “There has to be a reason the old man wanted us to take this path that he had marked out for us instead of the more obvious and less dangerous route." The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs drew Ravens attention, he quickly turned his body to face the stairs and drew his sword before noticing that it was yet another member of his Mercenary group. This certain member of the group was a Dwarf, and had seemingly missed the Dark Riders due to a deep sleep that he had been in when they passed through the building. “Thanneth speaks the truth unfortunately, the Dark Lord moves again once more. Come join us Master Dwarf and we will explain the situation to you.” Raven pulled over a chari for Ori and motioned to it before continuing. "I also believe that Lord Elrond will be of invaluable aid to us, that is if we will be allowed to speak with him or travel through his lands. I mean no offense by this Thanneth but most Elves dislike those who are from the kingdom of men.” It was a true statement, the Elves held quite a bit of dislike for the armies of men due to many reasons that were due to their poor choices and ability to become corrupt over the promise of power and wealth. “The White Wizard Saruman on the other hand would welcome us as if we are old friends, that is what I have heard at least. His great knowledge, power, and wisdom will be invaluable for our cause.” Reaching into his bag he pulled out a carpenter pencil and began to make revisions to their path, “The idea of staying off the road is a great idea Eros, we are less likely to run into the Nine while traveling through the wilderness. Attempting to rally the Elves and Dwarves will not be an easy task to do, we will need proof of what we say to sway their minds and have to join our cause but it is possible. As for Moria, we will avoid that area completely unless we are forced to take that route do to unforeseen complications. The misty mountains could be just as deadly though, so when we arrive at the point where the choice has to be made, I will take a vote between all accompanying me as to which path will be taken. Mirkwood, to Erebor, then the Iron Hills as well as we ride south through Rhun and around into Mordor….” Raven traced his finger over the map while saying the names of the lands out loud to mostly himself. “We must avoid the black gate at all costs, that is nothing but at death trap for us all. Just in keep in mind that this is not a set path, we will undoubtedly meet challenges and obstacles upon the way that will most likely force us to change our course. Everyone get to bed and rest, for tomorrow we begin bright and early.” Raven would bow before his fellowship then head up the stairs to his room, shutting the door and locking it. After removing his gear, he placed it neatly upon the table and laid down upon his bed, quickly falling into a deep sleep. That night, all he could dream about was being chased by the Black Riders who were out to end his life. Morning came quickly, and Raven awoke feeling refreshed, energized and ready to begin. “Master Raven, Good morning to you, I have made breakfast downstairs for you and your friends that is fir for a Hobbit. Quickly though, I must open the Prancing Pony soon!” Butterbur apparently had a quick change of mind over the night and had indeed created a breakfast fit for no less than a group of Hobbits. “Quite a display of culinary talent you have set up here for us.” Butterbur had retreated into the kitchen, and Raven took this as a sign to sit down and wait for the rest to join him for breakfast. When he did take his seat, he served himself a healthy amount of the wide assortment of foods, anxious to start eating and get the day moving.	Name: Nicholas Mythian – Raven Sex: Male Place of Birth: Gondor Age: 30 History: Nicholas Mythian was born within the walls of Gondor, in the southern lands of Middle-Earth upon a starry night. His father was Damion Mythian and his mother was Emilee Mythian, both who actively served in the cities great military. The army of Gondor was known for their skill in combat and chivalry on the field of battle. His mother preferred the bow for range attacks but was skilled in other weaponry as well. His father preferred the longsword for close melee combat but was skilled in other weaponry as just. From an early age, his parents personally started to train him in many weapon forms and types, becoming well rounded but not yet picking one for him to master. The years passed by quickly as Nicholas became a talented, and very skilled fighter for the army of Gondor. He was chosen to fight alongside his fellow elite troops in many campaigns that reached out to the far corners of Middle- Earth. He had heard of the great battle that had taken place before he was born, where the allied armies of Middle-Earth fought against the great evil of Saruman and defeated him and the story of the rings. Evidence of the great war laid all around them, no matter how hard it tried to hide from the eyes of men and mortals. It was evident that there was more to this world thank fighting humans, but creatures of the dark roamed the lands and were becoming more and bolder with every day that passed. Rare sightings of these creatures became quite common, and he took it upon himself to help eliminate some of these non-human threats. The first time he encountered an Orc was while traveling with his parents through a dark forest near the borders of the their lands. These were not ordinary Orcs, they were stronger, larger and much more aggressive. Sadly, his parents were kill by an ambush of the same Orcs later that year when on a journey with a group of other soldiers. Nicholas found out a couple days later of his parents fate and decided to venture forth into Middle-Earth alone, hunting down those who killed his parents and all other evil that stood in his way or threated the lives of innocents. Eventually his travels brought him to Bree, where he took up residence and created a name for himself as a mercenary and solider, protecting the lands and their people. Race: Human Random Information: Nicholas is a stubborn, cold, and mysterious man to those around him including his friends. He is also a honorable, confident, kind hearted and polite man as well. His history is full of dark secrets that he hides within himself, never speaking or mentioning them to anyone. When a job arrives, he will fill it out to the letter with no mercy as he eliminates his targets. For many reasons, he has earned the nickname Raven, and prefers to be called it over his real name. Some part parts of his personality include humor and affection, that are rarely seen.
9,760	269	17	2,524	1,179	Eros watched and listened attentively, carefully considering the map and committing its every line to memory as his father had taught him to do. As Raven ordered them all to bed, and made his own way upstairs, Eros lingered only long enough to get fresh ice for his hand before heading to his own room and sleeping soundly for the remainder of the night. Rising early, thanks largely to his throbbing hand, Eros bathed in a cold bath, and dressed in full war glory. A padded cloth hauberk under a heavy chain-mail hauberk, polished steel cap over a soft leather cap, lined with wool to fight the cold, and sturdy, knee high leather boots, scuffed and worn with use but still road worthy. He belted his spear and bow to his back, and slung three full quivers across his chest on a thick leather belt. Around his waist hung a belt to which a bedroll, canteen, tender box, fletching kit, and a small coin purse were all attached via a series of thin leather chords. Eros wandered down stairs after checking his reflection and shaving his stubble, knowing that today might be the last day in a long time that he could afford the luxury. Seeing Raven tucking into a hearty breakfast, Eros followed suit and sat down to eat quickly and be ready to go when the other's finished.	1: Name: Eros of the Weather Hills 2: Sex: Male 3: Place of Birth: Weather Hills, North of the watch tower Amon Sul 4: Age: 24 5: History: A huntsman and archer like his father, and his father, and his father. He seeks his fortune with Raven's company, having been turned down by the Rangers for his lack of useful skills when not wielding spear or bow. He is desperate to prove his worth as a bowman striving to become the equal of Bard of Laketown his personal role model. He wields both bow and spear with exceptional skill, and looks like he'll achieve mastery of both in the next decade, if he survives it. 6: Race: Man 7: Random Information: Has family in the weather hills, but doesn't speak of them much, his mind is on the future, not his past.
9,761	269	18	1,321	571	Being an elf, Thanneth had little need for sleep. This night, however, she retired to her bed, wanting to be refreshed and ready for the difficult quest ahead of them. Her sleep was quiet and dreamless; however, she still woke early. Moving quickly, she donned traveling tunic, leggings, boots, and leather vambraces. She belted her sword to her waist, slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder, and went down the stairs to the dining room, braiding spikes into her hair as she did so. When she sat down to eat, she was in full shieldmaid mode and ready to ride.	1: Name: Thanneth 2: Sex: Female 3: Place of Birth: Mirkwood 4: Age: 702 5: History: Thanneth was just an average shieldmaiden of Mirkwood for several hundred years. Then, she decided to wander the world, to see all there was to see. She visited Gondor and Rohan, and was making her way towards Rivendell when she heard of the orcs. Immediately, she diverted her course towards Bree. Imladris could wait; the orcs needed to be eradicated. 6: Race: Elf 7: Random Information: Thanneth is skilled with bow and sword, and is a great rider. Her horse, Esgal, has been her companion ever since she left Mirkwood.
9,762	269	19	713	131	Amaron had kept a low profile during the feast. The battle still weighed heavily on his mind. The band of Orcs had needed to be stopped, it had been causing way too much trouble for the innocent people of this area. Amaron had also accepted the fact that this band of Orcs bode ill for the future. Orcs had been keeping a low profile since the reign of Sauron had ended all those years ago, and they were far too stupid to come up with a gameplan like this on their own. Though this band had been defeated, Amaron feared that their problems had only just begun. He had spent the beginning of the night sulking. He hated the aftermath of the battle. Killing Orcs was fine, but somehow it always took him a few days to recover from all the violence, the chances he had taken, the risks of battle. The risk of getting hurt was always present, as was the risk of losing consciousness. For Amaron, being aware of what was happening around him was crucial. In spite of his own feelings, he certainly understood how the slaughter of the Orc band gave the people of Breeland cause for celebration, and he accepted his fair share of thanks and congratulations with good grace. As soon as he realised this, he made an effort to force his concerns and gloom to the back of his mind. The food was excellent, as one would expect from Hobbits and people used to dealing with them, and the booze certainly made forgetting the battle a lot easier. All in all, Amaron had a better evening than he’d expected. He had sat quietly in a corner while Raven indicated options for their next move on his map and discussed options and allies. Thanneth’s suggestion brought everything he had pushed aside back into his thoughts, and he sat quietly, listening and contemplating options. Rivendel was fine, but seeking Saruman’s council would bring him awfully close to home. Memories of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath flooded his thoughts, and for a moment, he was overcome by an almost unbearable sense of loss and grief. In his current state of mind, Raven's order to go to bed almost came as a relief to Amaron. Lost in thought he entered his room and locked the door behind him. In spite of the apparent safety of the bolted door, he waited until he was certain everyone else had gone to bed before removing his gear and settling in for the night. As he fell asleep, his last thoughts were with his family and his city he could no longer call home. The next morning, Amaron awoke as the others began making their way down stairs. He dressed quickly, and after a moment of consideration strapped on his weapons. He disliked breakfasting in his full gear, but did not enjoy the idea of leaving his things unprotected. They were all he had left of his old life. He double checked that everything was in place before unlocking the door and joining the others for breakfast. Seeing Raven and Eros eating stirred his appetite in spite of his weary mind, and he joined the others, ready to eat as much as he could before they would be hauled off for the next leg of their journey.	1: Name: Amaron 2: Sex: Male 3: Place of Birth: Minas Tirith 4: Age: 24 5: History: Born and raised in Minas Tirith, Amaron’s family knew all the stories about Sauron and his armies and made a point of telling them to their children and children’s children. They believe firmly in the city’s role of watchman, and consider training for the defence of Osgiliath and keeping an eye out for activity in Mordor a sacred duty. Amaron spent some time training under Faramir, who has taken a liking to the unlikely soldier. Unfortunately neither this affection nor his skill with weapons and horses could save him the humiliation of being kicked out of the army and the city, forever separated from his home, his army, his family. In a last, desperate attempt to contribute to the safety of Middle Earth, Amaron followed rumours of a band of Orcs tearing through the land. His hunt caused him to cross paths with Raven and his band of mercenaries. He eagerly accepted an invitation to join them, though he tends to keep to himself. 6: Race: Human 7: Random Information: Amaron is the third of five children. Their mother died giving birth to Gonnor, 14 years ago. Their heartbroken father never remarried, and the boys basically raised themselves. Amaron is tall and slender, almost frail. He lacks facial hair, and because of his appearance, he was rarely taken seriously by the others. His father judged him too frail to fight, and sent him to work among the women. Amaron did not appreciate this, so he spent most of his life sneaking out to train with his older brothers, who laughed at him at first. This made him even more determined and he trained night and day. He is much stronger than he looks, has some impressive skills with a sword and shield and is the only person in his family who can handle an elvish longbow. He has learnt to use his appearance and agility as an advantage, and it has been several years since any of his brothers could defeat him in combat.
9,763	270	0	1,105	2,351	ACT I Bright Skies and Strong Storms The rock bounced several times before rolling to a halt in the middle of the dirt road. Walking along the dirt trail next to Lake Krukow, the blonde teenager found some entertainment in kicking a small stone. The sun was high in the sky, though it wasn't exactly hot. It was never "hot" in Krukow. Nor was it ever really cold. The temperature fluctuation was minimal, no matter the season. It was just as boring as this dirt road. Aubrey gave another light kick, watching the pebble bounce across the road further. However, it came to a rest near something that at first looked like another rock. As Aubrey drew near, he stopped and examined the small object. It was a wooden butterfly, slightly larger than the pebble next to it, with some kind of thin lace. A necklace of sorts. At first, it seemed plain odd. Then Aubrey's eyes widened. "An Aeva?" he thought aloud, bending over and picking it up. Holding it by the lace, he looked at the necklace intently for a moment. "Hey." The wooden object remained silent. "Helloooo?" Still silence. "If you're one of those Aevum I've heard about, you better not be messing with me..." The staredown continued a moment longer before Aubrey let out a sigh. Shrugging his shoulders, he tossed the necklace into the nearby lake. "I bet someone thinks they're real funny..." With his hopes now crushed, Aubrey kicked the rock again. This time, it made a sharp turn to the left after the first bounce, landing right in the lake. Now mildly disappointed that there was no form of entertainment for the rest of his walk, he paused to watch the ripples along the lake surface. But as the ripples died out, he began to hear a rumbling sound. The water of the lake began vibrating, creating small ripples across the entire length. Confused, Aubrey turned around to face the source of the low rumble. Frighteningly low in the sky, there was a large airship. Heading directly towards him. "Whoa..." As the large ship, an open-deck freighter by the looks of it, passed overhead, Aubrey rotated to keep his eyes on it. "Don't see too many of those pass by... That jackass was flying really low..." Suddenly, an idea came to his mind as he watched the ship disappear over the trees. "I bet everyone in town saw that too!" The teenager broke into a brisk run, no longer caring about neither the stone nor totem that had his attention moments before. He had a story to tell his mother. --- "Vladmir..." A tall man with black hair and obnoxiously large glasses stood in front of a desk. Behind it was the Krukow mayor, Vladmir Maximus. Not only was Vladmir tall, he was also wide. Though he was grey haired and wrinkled, with a trimmed grey beard to boot, his size came from muscle rather than fat. Intimidating to look at. Hilarious to listen to. "I know, I saw it too," a surprisingly high-pitched voice came from the big man. The assistant adjusted his glasses. "It would seem that the freight ship that passed dangerously low has landed on the north side of the island. It was likely an emergency landing. Should we send a search party or...?" The older man let out a sigh. "We never have ships like that come through this region of the world. There are no major routes nearby. This is suspicious..." As the overly-large glasses seemed to keep slipping, the tall man had to adjust them again. "I do not believe that ship was Crucibellian, Vladmir." "Of course not. It was too old to be a Crucible freighter. But things like this... they are a bad sign..." There was an awkward silence around the mayor's office for a moment. "Alright. We'll send a search party. Gather some of my men from Maximus, just in case." Before the assistant could even agree to the plan, the double doors to the room slammed open. "Vladmir!" Another young man, barely an adult, had barged in. The sudden burst enraged the mayor, and he jumped to his feet. Now standing at full height, he seemed even more intimidating. "What did I tell you about kno-" "Three Crucible ships have been spotted coming from the south-east!" There was a tense silence in the room. As angry as Vladmir looked a moment before, he now looked scared. With nobody saying anything, the newcomer decided to continue. "Two Magellan-class ships and an Interceptor-class. The Interceptor will be here any minute!" The mayor shook his head a few times and his angry expression returned. He pointed at the bespectacled man, whom was frozen in fear. "Gather all of Maximus. We have more important matters than the other ship. Go around the town and try to get all the women and children to the north-west part of the island. We need to get them on the skiff to Kuiper, fast." The assistant snapped out of his daze. "But sir... the skiff won't fit all of them. If you're planning on confronting them, you still won't be able to buy them enough time." A scowl formed on his face. "We have to try. But we can't have a panic... Ugh... Change of plans." The other two in the room seemed surprised by his sudden change in tone. "Gather all of Maximus. But we won't be fleeing. We have to disarm ourselves and take what's coming. This way, we won't lose as many lives..." The youngest spoke up again. "But Vladmir! You've heard the stories. These people aren't going to be nice, even if we do just roll over and give up. Your Rift Hunting guild is strong, and many of the men that work at the lumber mill are strong too. We can fight!" "No, we can't. The Interceptor's crew alone will be too much for us. And those Magellans... Those are battleships. If we put up a fight... they will annihilate us..." --- Aubrey closed the front door behind himself surprisingly gently, considering how excited he was. Rather carelessly in a rushed fashion, he threw his small backpack on the living room couch. Despite the fact that his mother was hardly able to get out of bed, the house was incredibly clean and tidy. Perhaps it was Aubrey that managed it. "Hey mom!" he called out, rushing down the hallway and taking a tight turn through an open bedroom door. Laying in the bed, under the covers, was a black-haired woman. Though her eyes were closed and her skin was pale, as well as being on the thin side, she stirred. "A huge ship passed over the island a few minutes ago. I'd never seen such a big airship around here before," he told her, going down on his knees next to her bed. His mother's eyes opened, revealing they were brown. "I've never heard of it either," she responded, giving him a smile. Aubrey grinned a bit, before pulling something out of his pocket. "I got paid today." He held up his hand, showing her the thick wad of cash. This caused her to chuckle. "That's good. But we have enough groceries for the week. I think you should hold onto that." This seemed to surprise Aubrey. "Are you sure? Can't think of anything else to get with it? Are you running low on your pills?" His mother shook her head slowly. "We're all set. Thanks to your hard work." A grin formed on Aubrey's face as he put the money back in his pocket. "Now why don't you go and find your friends. You deserve to have your fun for the day." Aubrey stood up to full height now. "Sheesh Mom. You still talk to me like I'm a little kid." This made his mother giggle a bit. "You always will be my little boy. Now run along. Make sure you're home by suppertime, and don't get into any trouble. None of your friends need to know how much money you have." Aubrey chuckled, before nodding his head. "Love ya, Mom." He walked out of the bedroom now, and with her son gone the woman rested her head and closed her eyes again. Now with everything done for the day, Aubrey walked into the kitchen. Before heading out, he needed one thing. A pair of sunglasses rested on the dining table, and the teenager quickly snatched them. After checking his reflection on the back of a clean spoon, he determined he looked cool enough to wander around town. With a grin on his face and money in his pocket, Aubrey headed out the front door. Upon closing it behind himself, he took a look around. The town seemed too quiet and boring for his taste. Before he could even decide where to start searching for people, he saw several Rift Hunters walk by. It was obvious who they were, as they wore the Maximus uniform. The teenager watched as they walked by. Though it wasn't uncommon to see them around, as they lived here, something seemed off. The two men seemed almost suspicious. Aubrey watched as they walked down the street and turned the corner, likely heading for the town hall. Their boss worked his day job there as the mayor, after all. Despite the strangeness of that event, Aubrey shook it off and the grin returned. Time to find some friends.	Name: Aubrey Marshall Nickname: Hasn't obtained one yet. Gender: Male Age: 17 Age Appearance: Teenager Appearance: Personality: Aubrey was always one to stand out from the crowd. Whether by being loud and boisterous or by performing some daring act, he has a way of getting attention. He will often take on a tough, cool persona to make himself appear "cooler", particularly around attractive girls. However, most of his flashy behavior hides a compassionate side. In fact, most of his bravery is actually a well made lie, with a good example being his pathological fear of the dark. While he does pursue admiration, he also aspires for fortune. Though most see that behavior as selfish, the truth behind it links to his hidden compassionate nature. Though he can be quite a scrappy and energetic fellow, when the odds are against him he tends to be more cowardly. This results in him often starting fights that he ends up running from. Backstory: Though he was born into Crucible territory, Aubrey and his mother moved far away soon after his birth. This led to them living on Krukow. Though Aubrey would often ask about his father, his mother Melanie would simply say he was a good man and that Aubrey would be able to meet him one day. At the age of six, Melanie grew ill and was bed ridden. At first, the two relied on the support of the town to even survive. But as Aubrey grew older, he took it upon himself to take care of his mother. He had to forfeit his education to be able to have the time for oddjobs he needed to stay afloat. At the age of ten he began working in the lumber industry on Krukow island. Though his mother felt that he was being too risky with his own health, no misfortune related to his job ever came to be. However, one night as he walked home from the mill on a particularly dark night, a Rift opened right next to him. Due to the darkness, he failed to notice the danger in time and was attacked by several Rift Monsters. He was saved by the local Rift Hunter guild, Maximus, and brought home with only minor injuries. But what stayed with him was the fear of being attacked in the night. No longer willing to work the long hours, due to not wanting to come home late at night, Aubrey quit the job. At the age of fourteen he quit to pursue a surprisingly more childish endeavor: racing. The neighboring island of Kuiper was more industrial and had more money. The underground racing circuit appealed to his youthful and thrill-seeking nature. Though it was a gamble, one his mother also didn't approve of, Aubrey found that he could actually make a living this way. Soon afterwards he told his mother he quit racing, but in reality that was a lie. While she believes he works in the lumber yard, Aubrey has actually spent the past few years going to Kuiper once a week to win money. His skills on an air bike, one of the more risky and entertaining forms of racing, had made him a local superstar on Kuiper. And with that fame came problems. Though he quickly learned how to fight and to defend himself, there would be nights he would go home to his mother with cuts and bruises and not a penny in his pocket. But for the most part, he has been keeping her alive with the ultimate dream he could save up enough money to take his mother somewhere that could properly treat her. Mage: N/A Skills: Boxing, Flying Techniques: -To Be Determined- Equipment: Aviator Shades - Can't leave home without these babies. Red Key - The key to his race bike, the Danger Close mk2. Hidden Blade - A tiny knife hidden in his right boot. Position: Cabin Boy Theme Song: I've Got This
9,764	270	1	156	2,749	Marlies Sweat beaded down her face, dotting her forehead like ad diadem of diamonds. Her lungs squeezed in her chest with every lumbering step she stole and her shoulder seared with a hot, fiery pain. Yet still she trudged on through the woods, the front of the log resting on her shoulder. Behind her, a man of forty years panted as he carried the backend of the dead tree. The sounds of their exhausted coughs created a melody of hard work and their tensing muscles were a graceless dance of labor. Every step was hell, but they continued to carry the burden proudly. It was only when they reached a small house that they stopped to rest. It was a modest house on the outskirts of Krukow, Krukow and was surrounded by the woods. On the porch, in her favorite rocking chair, was Merrybeth, the slaving girl’s mother and the slat-and-pepper haired man’s wife. In her lap was a thick book detailing court laws and was torn, bended, and generally overused. Though, it didn’t matter how used it was, as Merrybeth almost never had the opportunity to put the knowledge to good use; they lived in a small town, on a small island, after all. Upon seeing them, Merrybeth waved her hand elegantly, tan appendage that swayed like the wind, and beckoned the duo over. “You’re back from Kuiper already, mom?” The girl inquired, though the answer was evident, and flicked a russet lock from her just-as-red eyes. “Obviously.” Merrybeth answered with a wry twist of her lips. “Why don’t you fix me some tea, Enna?” The now named Enna frowned, but moved towards the door anyways. Merrybeth mad an ‘ah’ sound and Enna halted, glancing at her mother in question. However, Merrybeth wasn’t looking at her. The tan woman fixed her ruby eyes on her husband and crooked a finger at him, gesturing excitedly towards a book that lay next to her on a small table. “Jack, dear, I got you a book for arming.” Merrybeth announced, before smiling a smile that Enna knew well. It was the fox-like demeaning grin that Enna had learned to duplicate so well. “Now, you can do something actually useful.” Like a well-done bomb, Jack blew up. His face became an aggravated purple and his veins bulged from his neck, like bridges on flat land. Muscles once tired became reenergized as he flexed them irately. “Merrybeth,” he warned, his voice a deep, guttural growl. “What?” Enna’s mother asked innocently, cocking her head to the side. Enna bit her lip and decided that it was not to be part of this quarrel. “I’m going to hang out with my friends, bye!” Despite her uncharacteristic squeak, her parents paid her no mind and she rushed from the house and into the distance. The town of Krukow was only a couple minutes time from her house and Enna arrived in just five minutes. While she excused herself to hang with friends, the truth was that Enna didn’t really have any. What can she say? She was a temperamental, judgmental bitch. She got it from her mother. While Enna wishes she could say that Merrybeth hasn’t always been like that, she couldn’t because she has. As long as Enna has known her – her whole sixteen year long life – Merrybeth has been picking fights left and right. If her opponent just happened to be her husband, Jack, she got bonus points. Merrybeth just loved being in the center of chaos, thrived in it, and maybe that’s why she was lawyer. It didn’t necessarily make her a bad person – she was just DIFFERENT from the regular bunch of saps that lived in the little town. To Enna, her mother was a great character. Yes, Enna hated chaos. Yes, Enna hated their fights. Yes, Enna generally didn’t like conflict. But, damnit it all, her mother was amazing. Since she’s been born, Enna wished to be her mother. Someone different and unique. Maybe that’s why Enna imitated her aggravating habit of picking fights until, somewhere along the line, it became her own personality. When someone fell, Enna had to laugh. When someone said something extremely stupid, Enna had to point it out. Who was she to disappoint her soul’s inner desires? Maximus Hunters rushed past Enna, knocking into her aching shoulder and nearly tipping her sideways. “Oi, bastards!” Enna shouted in as strangled voice, caught off guard. She shook an angry fist at the two and even flipped a rather nasty gesture at their backs, but they didn’t bother apologizing. “Damn it all.” She muttered under her breath, glancing around the town and attempting to rub off the anger that surged with in her veins. If she inherited her mother’s bitchiness, then she inherited her father’s anger.	Name: Ennabeth Marlies Nickname: Enna Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: 16 Appearance: Enna is a tall girl who stands around 5’8” and is neither curvy nor stick-like. The only remarkable thing about her, really, is her super pale skin that has never been tan in her life, but other than that, Enna is average. Personality: Enna is a snarky, sarcastic bitch. Well, that’s the easiest way to describe her when you first meet her. She seems to love to point out the faults in others and is constantly complaining. She is not very affectionate and is actually quite the opposite; when in the few relationships she had, Enna could be described as distant and cold, just generally un-clingy. She loves to run her mouth and is never not talking, even in great times of danger. She has a pessimistic point of view and sees everything as bad or not-as-bad. The biggest fear she has is having her island be taken by the Crucible. Enna is also a perfectionist and needs everything to be nice and tidy; she can be described as a neat-freak and almost has OCD tendencies. She favors things to even, not odd, and everything needs to be in order so as she can find it easily. In her free time, Enna likes to alphabetize her vast amount of books on her shelf or read. Many might assume that Enna is violent when faced with her confrontational, opinionated and argumentative personality, but Enna is actually a pacifist and gets scared at the sight of blood. Backstory: Enna was born to a lawyer mother named Merrybeth and a lumberjack father named, ironically, Jack in Krukow. Enna mostly resembles her mother in the snarky attitude she has and learned all of her arguing from her mother’s constant arguments with her father. And Merrybeth had many arguments with Jack. Due to the fact that Merrybeth had a greater intelligence than simple Jack, Merrybeth constantly felt superior which would cause the two to get in a quarrel which affected Enna negatively. Enna began seeing arguing as an everyday, no-escape thing. However, she yearns for peace and harmony in her home. Enna didn’t have a lot of friends growing up because of her rather distasteful personality and so she mostly spent her time reading – she especially liked Merrybeth’s books. While Enna studies her mother’s lawyer books, she also helps out her father in chopping down trees and carrying logs to the house. Merrybeth has lately been urging Jack into getting into the farming business in order to bring in more money and more arguments have been stirred up because of it. Mage: N/A Skills: Arguing, organization, sarcasm Techniques: None as of yet since she is lacking many skills Equipment: Leather gloves Position: Quartermaster Theme Song: Novocaine by Fall Out Boy
9,765	270	2	425	1,026	Pansy slowly laid the dough onto the flour-coated table and began his work. He kneaded it with his hands, pressing and stretching the damp dough with the heel of his hand before folding it over and flipping it over, sprinkling some flour on top and beginning the process again. It was monotonous but not in a way that bored him. It relaxed him. Along with spending time with his plants, kneading bread was one of the only times he could be alone with his thoughts. In the back room of the bakery, where he was alone for hours at a time with just a bowel of dough and an oven, was where he was probably happiest. The dough flipped for the third time and now that he was satisfied, he carefully placed the floury dough on a peel. Being careful not to drop the bread, he tucked it neatly into the third row of the oven. He rubbed his hands on a spare cloth, removing the flour and excess dough and carefully looking around the small room that he spent most of his days working. A wooden work table lined the longest wall, covered in flour and pieces of loose dough. The floor was paved in tiles, which made most messes easy to clean. The walls above his work table were lined with pots, pans and almost every kind of cooking utensil you could think of. Behind him was a blank wall, it's only feature a wooden door that lead out into the main shop. Ovens covered the remaining wall and due to the constant baking that went on within them, it was always rather stuffy. It was because of the heat that he left the window opposite the ovens ajar and rolled his sleeves up completely. A cool breeze wafted into the room, bringing with it the sounds of the town. Except, there were no sounds. Pansy frowned. He was used to the sound of the town winding down towards the end of the day but he was not used to the deafening sound of silence that had befallen the town. He dropped the cloth onto the work table and strode across to the window. He pulled it open with a slight grunt and stuck his head out of it. He was immediately hit by the mild temperature, that was a cool shock to a face that had sweated in a hot baker for several hours. The street outside his window was completely devoid of all life. Not a sound echoed down the street. Where were the cheeky children who shouted through the window, asking for scraps? Where were the housewives of Krukow who strolled up and down the street, gossiping about politics? Or the workmen, who seemed to have no difference to their inside and outside voices? He grunted in confusion and slammed the window shut behind him. "Hey, Carmena!" he called from the window. From the other side of the door, he heard a shuffling and the door swung open. It was his boss, an older woman known only as Carmena. She handled the business side of the bakery but was still covered in flour and wore an apron. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied in a tight bun with a hairnet placed tightly above it all. Her skin was a creamy-brown colour, a colour that almost matched her eyes. She was a kindly woman who had employed Pansy for almost 10 years now and he had grown to become a good friend to her. She looked at him expectantly. "Is there something going on?" he asked, gesturing towards the window. "Oh...I don't know, Panny" she said, confused. Panny was a nickname she had developed for him over the years ("I'm not calling you Pansy!") and as far as he knew, she was the only one who used it. She walked up the window, cracked it open and peered out. "Hm" was her only response. Her brow furrowed as she held her ear outside. "Tell you what, Panny. I've got a few deliveries to make but if you'd like, you can do them for me, get some fresh air and maybe try to find out what's going on. Staying in that small room all day isn't healthy!" she smiled. "Okay" he nodded as she led him out to shop. It was rather bare. Behind the counter sat rows of bread and a set of two doors, one of which lead to Carmena's living quarters and the other to the baking room. Apart from the bread on display and the counter, it was an empty shop. Recent events had hit the local economy hard and her shop was no exception. "Here" she shoved a basket of bread into his hands. "Take them to the Simmon's household. And find out what's going on!" With a quick nod, Pansy headed out the door, which tinkled as he opened and closed it. He was in the streets now. And the streets were empty.	Name: Pansy Jermaine Spitz Gender: Male Age: 23 Age Appearance: Early 20's. Appearance: Picture Looks can be deceiving and this certainly is the case for Pansy Spitz. With black skin, a well-toned abdomen and powerful arms, some would take Pansy to be a large thug or even a fighter of some kind. How wrong they are. Growing up, Pansy shaved his head and muscled up his body for one reason only - to stop the teasing. His rather timid and feminime personality meant that he was often made fun of as a child. When he grew to his adolescence, he began bulking up and acting tough to stop the teasing. However, he was much more comfortable in the kitchen with an apron around his waist than in the wilderness lifting rocks. At the age of 23, he has become comfortable in his own skin and now wears what he wants and does what he wants. As such, his clothing is often loose and of lighter colours, such as blues and occasionally pinks. His keeps his face clean-shaven but has allowed his hair to grow into light dreadlocks that go no further than his shoulders. He still has a rather well-toned body but has long given up weight lifting in favour of baking and flowers. He stands at an impressive 6'2" and can give off an intimidating vibe to those who don't know him. But he is often more scared of you than you are of him. Personality: Pansy is, ironically, a rather big pansy. If you met him in a dark alley at night it's more likely he would get scared of you and hand over his wallet. A timid boy growing up, he was often teased for his love of nature as a child, which often lead to him running home to his mother. Thus, Pansy is a huge mumma's boy and was rather sheltered growing up, compared to his wild sister. His mother taught him to cook, to look after a home, to dress himself properly and most importantly of all, flower magic. As a result of spending so much time with his mother, he is the polar opposite to what you'd expect of a large, muscled black man. He is open with his emotions and rather intelligent, if naive. He is not afraid to cry and is often berated by his sister, Tulip, for being ''a freaking pussy''. Although shy went meeting new people, he is polite, friendly and an overall nice person when you get to know him. Backstory: 23 years ago, on the island of Krukow, Pansy Spitz was born to a local flower mage mother, Maggie Token, and another local Rift Hunter known as Jermaine Spitz. His early memories of his father are foggy, to say the least, as Jermaine was often out killing Monsters and keeping the town safe. Jermaine would disappear for months on end and only come back occasionally to give the family money or get Maggie pregnant again. The family was rather well-off due to Jermaine's Rift Hunting and Pansy had a comfortable childhood. But shortly before his younger sister, Tulip, was born, Maggie Spitz received news that her husband had been killed while on the job. The funeral was short but not something Pansy remembers well. The birth of his sister he remembers much better, as he was there holding his mothers hand the whole time. Despite the sadness of his fathers death, the small family unit crowded together at the birth of his sister and Maggie put on a brave face for her children, despite the crippling sadness that she kept for years after. Maggie was excited to learn Pansy possessed profieciency in flower magic and excitedly taught him all she could. Tulip, though, had little interest in the magic and instead went into mechanics head first. Pansy loved his flower magic and nature in general but the other children weren't so open to the idea of a boy playing with flowers. He was teased mercilessly as a child and became rather withdrawn because of it. His mother subsequently pulled both him and Tulip from school and gave them both professions. Pansy worked in a local bakery while Tulip went to a mechanic and worked on skiffs/flying machines. In his adolescence, Pansy became interested in changing his appearance to please his former bullies. It worked, for a while. He shaved his head, built up muscles and hid his interests. It only resulted in making him unhappy and it took years for him to eventually become comfortable in his own skin. Now, at the age of 23, he looks to the future with glee. He has a great job in the bakery, gets on well with his sister and mother and is even considering going to an academy for cooking in Kuiper. But with the increasing boldness of monsters, the poor health of his mother and the aggression from the Crucible, things are starting to look more and more bleak for the young black baker from Krukow. Mage: Flower Mage Skills: Cooking, Flower Magic, botany. Techniques: Daisy Chain A chain of flowers forms from his palms to loop around it's target and hold on tight. This is a rather powerful technique that takes a lot energy to use and can't really be used offensivly. Petal Swipe Using a cloud of razorsharp petals, he swipes at his target. The technique is powerful enough to cut through tree branches and can leave nasty looking cuts. Nectar Shield Dragging nectar up from a flower, it can be slathered across a wound and form a hard shell, comparable to a cast. It is again rather powerful and repeatedly hitting it will cause it to shatter. Position: Cook Theme Song: Gorgeous George - Kredo
9,766	270	3	435	350	It was quiet and listless, as though time stood still and stretched each second into forever. Days like these were the worst. Emery swung herself higher on the makeshift swing she had fashioned out of an old cushion and some leftover rope from a previous repair, a drawn out sigh escaping her lips. Not a wisp of cloud dotted the sky, robbing her of even the most boring source of entertainment. Outsiders, not that they would get many of them nowadays, would argue that every day in a small town like Krukow must be spent in similar indolence, but that usually wasn't true. Although today was certainly up in the dull meter, there were many fun things that could be done, if you looked hard enough. Like swimming in the like, or fishing in the lake, or having picnic by the lake. Exploring the island was among her favorites—it helped her unwind after a busy day of fixing things—but not many shared the sentiment. There were the occasional Rifts that needed closing, and she supposed some would consider that fun, though she tended to stay far away from those. Of course, Kuiper was always more fun, but she hasn't visited their neighboring island since she always went with her sister and— Ouch. Emery fell from the swing with a thud, landing face first on the grassy knoll. She rubbed her nose frantically and scrunched her face to keep imminent tears at bay. Falling didn't hurt at all, but the pang in her chest certainly did. This was why days like these were the worst. Without work to keep her busy, or friends to keep her company, she was left alone with her thoughts, and that was usually not a good thing. It ended with her wondering why she was still in Krukow when her sister was out there somewhere, calling for her. Two weeks have passed since she received the message, and yet she was no closer to finding her. Before she descended into another hour-long self-berating session, a low rumble echoed from a distance, effectively distracting her. Emery jumped on the swing to get a better view, instinctively pulling out the goggles out of her skirt pocket and donning them after she spotted something large in the horizon. It disappeared in between the trees before she could get a proper look—she didn't get the chance to start recording—but she saw enough to glean a bit of information. Judging from its size and dimensions, it was most likely a freight ship, although it flew lower than what she thought was the standard. She lifted a finger to trace the path it took; if it maintained its downward trajectory and speed, then it would have landed somewhere in the northern part of Krukow. Now the question was, what was she to do with this information? Emery tugged at the ribbon on her hair, as she was wont to do whenever she pondered over a decision. Should she go or not? She knew a shortcut to the northern area; she could get there and back before anyone realized, pursue the mysterious ship to alleviate her boredom. But it was a little scary. Maybe she should get someone to come with her? Aubrey seemed like he was always up for this kind of things—in fact, this was more his forte! She would feel loads better if he accompanied her. It was only then that the small brunette realized her mistake. With her hands off the swing ropes and nothing else to keep her balanced, it took only the gentle morning breeze whizzing past to tip her off the cushion. For the second time that day, and just minutes after the first, Emery fell from the swing. Only this time, she proceeded to roll all the way down the knoll, ultimately landing on her rear. Grass clung to her hair and clothes, and dirt stained her forehead and cheeks, but the girl remained impressively unfazed by it all. Emery immediately shot straight back up as though nothing happened and headed out to the town as planned, too accustomed to such accidents to be affected any longer. She ran past the bakery, where she stopped long enough to wave at and hurriedly greet the only other person out and about the streets, before rounding the corner. Once upon a time, the mere sight of Pansy Spitz would have sent her running the other way in a blink of an eye, but she has since learned that it was his sister that should be feared. To this day, Emery was still intimidated when forced to work with Tulip. Down the street was Aubrey's house, but of course, it wasn't like her to arrive at a destination without tripping at least once. As she spotted the blonde with his signature sunglasses, a distracted Emery took a faltering step that could have ended with a small bruise. Luckily, she righted her position before another fall, and although she ended up sort of skidding the rest of the way, she reached her friend without sustaining another accidental self-inflicted injury to add to the tally. She grinned at Aubrey in greeting, her arms flailing about in all her excitement and her words spilling out of her lips in a rush. "Aubrey, hey! I saw a big freighter just now land somewhere in the northern forest. Wanna go investigate?"	Name: Emery Cooke Nickname: None yet. Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: Teenager; usually mistaken for someone younger Appearance: Emery is five foot nothing, though her strategically tied ribbon and heeled shoes give her at least four more inches. She might disappear in crowds every so often, but she's actually pretty easy to spot, thanks to her distinctive graceless gait. Let's just say, you probably won't see someone trip over her own feet (then quickly roll to safety) as much as Emery does. She's also very expressive and it takes but a second to discern what's currently going through her mind. Personality: Three parts sunshine and rainbows, one part frantic energy, topped off with an even layer of awkwardness, Emery stands out for all the wrong reasons. She has mastered the art of clumsy movements and ill timings to an unparalleled degree, and she's likely to fumble her way through many a circumstance on a daily basis. No longer the eternal optimist she was as a child, there are cracks in her rose-tinted glasses, but obstinacy compels her to remain enthusiastic and blithe. Emery is naturally soft-spoken, but she's not at all as meek as she appears to be. Simple-minded and almost embarrassingly genuine, she expresses herself freely and openly, heart on sleeves and everything. She dishes out everything straightforwardly, no sugarcoating or mincing words. If she hates you, she'll deliver the contempt upfront and make it known; if she likes you, she'll stick to you like a puppy. It's hard for Emery to lie, and not because of a lack of trying; her many attempts at deceit just tend to get foiled by her involuntarily expressive face (and her inability to improvise, but that's another matter entirely). In any case, it's very easy to get Emery riled up and she's impressionable to boot. Sob stories and motivational speeches, no matter how contrived, always seem to get her. Emery may easily be intimidated (especially of people who are 27.94cm taller than her), and she may have a habit of hiding behind people when she's frightened, but by no means is she a coward. If anything, she borders on reckless bravery. She does anything and everything for friends and family, wont to stubbornly disregard her own limits and well-being if the situation called for it. Emery might be a spaztastic ball of enthusiasm most of the time, but when things go from bad to worse, she can be surprisingly dependable. Backstory: Emery was born in Kuiper, to parents who hardly fit the title. She doesn't remember who they are, but she knew of them and their abusive habits. It was her older sister, Arden, who took care of her in their stead. Arden had ran away from home when she was only fourteen, but as soon as she had found out her mother had birthed her a sister, she returned home immediately to save Emery from suffering as she had. She confronted her parents and forcibly took the five-year-old Emery, then visibly malnourished and littered with bruises. They hardly put up a fight and even seemed relieved to be free of the responsibility. Arden took Emery to Krukow, fifty miles away, and have since settled there, vowing never to let Emery know of the hardships she had to suffer through. Growing up, Emery never wanted for anything. Her sister saw through her promise; she provided her with everything she could possibly need, and even doted on and coddled her most of her life. Arden watched over her, as diligent the proverbial hawk, protecting her from all the dangers of the world, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The people of Krukow have helped them considerably as well, and many of them have come to regard the two as family. It was a peaceful life, one she wouldn't have traded for anything. Krukow was like her own giant playground; Emery moved about the island like she lived there all her life. The townspeople have even come to rely on her mechanical abilities. While her sister was busy with Rift Hunting, she helped earn a living repairing what's been broken around town. Emery couldn't have known that soon, she would be faced with something even she couldn't fix. She was fourteen when her sister disappeared, leaving only a hastily scribbled note behind. Be back soon. Emery returned home from a particularly boring day of school to an empty house, still in the same state as it had been in the morning. Breakfast dishes were set on the table, the flower vase she accidentally knocked over still on the floor, its broken pieces scattered around it. Everything was as she left it that morning, except for the bright yellow note left on the table. Ever the optimist, Emery brushed off premature worries and waited obediently, confident her sister would return just as suddenly as she left. Arden said she would be back soon, after all. She could have been called by the mayor for some emergency Rift Hunting duty even though it was her day off. Or, she could have gone to Kuiper to watch that concert she was talking about—Arden tended to be impulsive like that. If there was one thing Emery was certain of, it was that Arden would never, ever leave her behind. So she waited. But then hours turned into days, to weeks, to months. After the week of her disappearance, their neighbor took her in, unwilling to leave accident-prone Emery alone. The first couple of months were hardest on her, and they passed her by in a haze of tears and listlessness. She had very nearly given up hope of ever seeing her, but then she received a message from an unknown sender, only three words but more than enough for her. Be back soon. Emery would receive the same message every couple of weeks, and it was the only thing that gave her solace. The sporadic messages snapped her out of her despair and returned her to her chipper self. No more moping, no more crying, she decided. Instead, Emery channeled her pent up energy and busied herself with what she liked to call productive distractions as she waited for her sister's return. On her sixteenth birthday, she received another message, one that spurred her like never before. Find me soon. Mage: N/A Skills: Spatial and visual acuity: Emery has keen eyesight and can process, generate, and retain well-structured visual cues easily. Basically, she can accurately measure distances and lengths without using instruments and she's pretty good with puzzles. Still, it's always been a wonder how someone who can walk a straight line with her eyes closed can trip over her feet so often. Fine motor skills: For all of her daily struggles with keeping upright, Emery has unexpectedly dexterous hands. Mechanical Inclinations: Put both her skills together and you have the makings of a natural mechanic. Emery discovered her unexpected affinity for machines when she realized she could take apart anything without rendering it irreparable. Her inherent understanding of machinery is not something she can explain; all she knows is that what she can disassemble, she can just as easily fix. Techniques: None yet. Equipment: - A wrist communicator that she never takes off. - Goggles fitted with an optical head-mounted display. It has 50x magnification and can be used to analyze a target by recording its movements and recognizing any discernible patterns. Her sister said it was from the Crucible, but how she came to acquire it remains a mystery to this day. She has since tweaked it, enhancing its scanners and sensors in order to help her gather data more efficiently. Position: Mechanic Theme Song: ✿
9,767	270	4	1,105	2,351	The skies were clear, the sun was shining, it was quite a juxtaposition to the kind of craziness Katherine had to endure getting to the relatively remote island. The young adult sat next to her aircraft, landed in a meadow, resting against the warm aluminum body enjoying the calm weather. Any other day Katherine would have taken this opportunity to practice some maneuvers she had been toying around with in her head, but after such a long and tiring journey, a day or two of rest was all she wanted for now. Only a day or so earlier had the arrived at the rural community of Krukow. Her arrival in the makeshift, homegrown machine she called a plane was a slightly eventful one, as the island's small community wasn't exactly used to strange looking aircraft suddenly landing in their cleared fields. Though with Katherine's trademark genuine open friendliness, the farmer whose field she had landed in didn't mind her presence. He hadn't planted anything in that particular field nor was planning on doing so any time soon. Katherine had learned a bit about the island, but not a whole lot. The girl had only just flew out of a storm just to get to the place for some rest. Her pet Kulca, Ava, nudged at her arm, eventually pushing it aside so it could stretch itself across her lap. "Hey, shouldn't you be flying about and enjoying this weather?" Katherine inquired to her pet, now lazily sunbathing on her lap. Ava only gave a shrug of her wings in response before continuing its nap. Katherine simply sighed, muttering about how her lazy pet had simply slept through the whole storm anyway. Suddenly, a low rumble permeated through the air. Katherine opened her eyes and quickly stood up, causing poor Ava to roll off her into the grass with a surprised squeak. "Whoa...." A large freighter airship glided overhead on what looked like a one way ticket to the ground. "Wow, that's a older design with..... no way... it couldn't be! Come on Ava, we gotta go see where that landed!" she said quickly dashing off in the direction the airship went with Ava flying in annoyed pursuit.	Name: Aubrey Marshall Nickname: Hasn't obtained one yet. Gender: Male Age: 17 Age Appearance: Teenager Appearance: Personality: Aubrey was always one to stand out from the crowd. Whether by being loud and boisterous or by performing some daring act, he has a way of getting attention. He will often take on a tough, cool persona to make himself appear "cooler", particularly around attractive girls. However, most of his flashy behavior hides a compassionate side. In fact, most of his bravery is actually a well made lie, with a good example being his pathological fear of the dark. While he does pursue admiration, he also aspires for fortune. Though most see that behavior as selfish, the truth behind it links to his hidden compassionate nature. Though he can be quite a scrappy and energetic fellow, when the odds are against him he tends to be more cowardly. This results in him often starting fights that he ends up running from. Backstory: Though he was born into Crucible territory, Aubrey and his mother moved far away soon after his birth. This led to them living on Krukow. Though Aubrey would often ask about his father, his mother Melanie would simply say he was a good man and that Aubrey would be able to meet him one day. At the age of six, Melanie grew ill and was bed ridden. At first, the two relied on the support of the town to even survive. But as Aubrey grew older, he took it upon himself to take care of his mother. He had to forfeit his education to be able to have the time for oddjobs he needed to stay afloat. At the age of ten he began working in the lumber industry on Krukow island. Though his mother felt that he was being too risky with his own health, no misfortune related to his job ever came to be. However, one night as he walked home from the mill on a particularly dark night, a Rift opened right next to him. Due to the darkness, he failed to notice the danger in time and was attacked by several Rift Monsters. He was saved by the local Rift Hunter guild, Maximus, and brought home with only minor injuries. But what stayed with him was the fear of being attacked in the night. No longer willing to work the long hours, due to not wanting to come home late at night, Aubrey quit the job. At the age of fourteen he quit to pursue a surprisingly more childish endeavor: racing. The neighboring island of Kuiper was more industrial and had more money. The underground racing circuit appealed to his youthful and thrill-seeking nature. Though it was a gamble, one his mother also didn't approve of, Aubrey found that he could actually make a living this way. Soon afterwards he told his mother he quit racing, but in reality that was a lie. While she believes he works in the lumber yard, Aubrey has actually spent the past few years going to Kuiper once a week to win money. His skills on an air bike, one of the more risky and entertaining forms of racing, had made him a local superstar on Kuiper. And with that fame came problems. Though he quickly learned how to fight and to defend himself, there would be nights he would go home to his mother with cuts and bruises and not a penny in his pocket. But for the most part, he has been keeping her alive with the ultimate dream he could save up enough money to take his mother somewhere that could properly treat her. Mage: N/A Skills: Boxing, Flying Techniques: -To Be Determined- Equipment: Aviator Shades - Can't leave home without these babies. Red Key - The key to his race bike, the Danger Close mk2. Hidden Blade - A tiny knife hidden in his right boot. Position: Cabin Boy Theme Song: I've Got This
9,768	270	5	1,129	1,908	State of Affairs (Will add a header soon) ”What the-?!” Was all the boy could think before being thrashed off of his mattress, exposed to the open air with his boxers as his only defense. Sure, he has had some pretty rough awakenings in the past, usually caused by his fellow guardmates, yet this surely took the cake. Varren would have rather landed facefirst into such a delicacy, yet was instead met by the cold metallic tiled flooring. Of all people, he was rarely allowed to get a wink of sleep. Upon the Free Wind, he was one of the few who fell victim to this no shuteye policy. As such, rest was a rare commodity, one which he always loved to ascertain. It took a few moments for the boy to realize that the ship was making an emergency landing. Summers could hold her liquor like a queen, which meant this haphazard descent wasn’t on her terms. ”Alright, first… Crash landing guide! Where’s my tablet?!” As soon as he managed to get a decent footing, his personal device suddenly flew at him. Varren’s eyes instinctively homed in on the airborne object and caught it in the palm of his hand with grace. After a few hurried pecks at the screen, the precautionary guide conjured up by his group leader popped up. ”Alright, step one… Tie everything down with your nonexistent rope. Step two, get all the boozes for me. Step three, pray to your go- What kind of guide is this, Dabrowski?!” The ship shuttered again and forced the gunner off balance. Varren was flung around like a ragdoll for a while longer before the ship finally came to a stern halt. He had seen the world in an entirely different perspective, an upside down one at that, given the fact that his back was against his bed, and his shoulders were propped up on the floor. The tired boy let out a groan and managed to get himself dressed. Generally unconventional and bland apparel was his style. It was most definitely more low profile than the armour Weston was always draped in. A dark grey hoodie, jeans, and small backpack of concordant coloring. Varren ran a sluggish hand through his hair and turned himself to face his armament desk. It was the only thing in his room which he was scrupulous about. It was its own realm of organized sanctity, in comparison to the disorderly room surrounding it. He opened each drawer with ease and set upon the flat surface his Tecpatl and a couple of loaded magazines. The boy hooked two onto his belt then shoved the rest into his backpack. Yinyues hid the belt under his hoodie, and lastly, slipped his feet into his magnetic boots. He firmly fastened the metal-coated straps into placed, and with a nod of affirmation, set off towards his beckoning. Chances are, the rest of his fellow cargo guards were still writhing in bed. At their Free Wind’s previous stop, they had some sort of cuisine which churned their stomachs into a turmoil of dietary disfunction. Luckily Varren was quite the picky eater and evaded such a painful fate. Whilst jogging through the monotonous halls of the ship he quickly checked the magazines he had packed. Most of them were less-than lethal rubber rounds, yet if a certain governmental party was involved, there wouldn’t even be a hint of doubt before switching into dangerous chamberings. But at the moment, Varren had no idea of who inhabited this island, what was on it, or where it was. As the guard made his way to the deck he could already hear his captain’s… colorful vocabulary, accompanied by a solely-performed symphony of clanking and kicking of machinery. ”About time this happened… Wondered how long we would get before that thing finally called it quits.” WIthout even seeing the perpetrator of their crash landing, Yinyues already knew the generator had failed. He could recall countless occasions where he was forced to perform hull repairs and other forms of maintenance, forced upon him by his lazy guardmates. The boy had been lost in his thoughts yet again, Weston’s bellowing tugged him out of the daze and dragged him to the top deck. The guard picked up his pace and broke into a sprint, his silenced SMG and other gears bouncing inside of his bag as he sped his way to his higher ups. The youngster finally arrived at the location and gave a stoic salute, something he had mastered back in basic training. ”Sir! Ma’am! Good morn-” He was cut off mid-sentence as he gazed out to the landscape they were submerged in. A horizon of green topping, and at its center lied a small, secluded town. ”So it is inhabited…” He mumbled with hope. There was a chance that somebody out there could repair their ship and get them back on schedule. Of course Summer was still allowing her anger to ensue upon the ship she loved and loathed at the same time. Weston remained the voice of reason and was quick to reassure her. At times like these, Varren simply remained quiet and awaited his orders, which were soon issued by the first mate. Shortly after, the man threw himself off the ship and landed perfectly. The boy grinned and nodded to his captain, then followed suit. His boots began to eminate a light hum and glowed an incandescent blue at their heels. The guard lugged himself feetfirst over the railing and planted his feet on the hull, which he quickly sprinted down and hopped off of in a flawless fashion. ”Copy that, let’s split off when we get closer to town. We can cover more ground that way.” And with that, the two ventured into the depths of the forest, towards the town.	Name: Varren Yinyues Nickname: N/A Gender: Male Age: 18 Age Appearance: Slightly younger than his given age, can be perceived as a 16 year old. Personality: Varren is eternally loyal to his comrades and through who are close to him, being taught the rights and wrongs at a young age. He has a natural sense of justice, and believes that those who commit crimes or horrible acts should be dealt with. The boy is compassionate,understanding and is driven by good morals; perfect qualities for a guard who serves for the crew. He never disagrees with orders and is always happy to lend a helping hand to crew members, even if it’s for minor tasks. Varren is good at defusing arguments and keeping others calm, since he cares more about the well-being of others, rather than his own. Overall, he acts kindly to those who deserve it, and operates as expected to those who are unethical or pose a threat to the crew. At least, that is the facade which he cowers behind. Internally, Varren is a complete mess of emotions and dishonest feelings. He uncontrollably has nightmares of his father’s demise, which haunt and torment him. Though he may look like sort of an airhead on the outside, he is actually a blunt realist, who sees the world for what it is. Yinyues lives off of an empty heart, which he tries to fill with a fake persona, to protect the shambled wreck which remains. When it comes to combat, Varren’s composure is a mixture of the two personalities. The compassion for fellow human beings goes straight down the drain, and he has mental control of himself. Due to the fact he mutes out his churning opinions and internal feelings, he is able to think rationally and realistically. If a comrade were to fall before him, he would rather finish the rest of the enemies before checking on the wounded. Whether or not the person survives is an outcome of battle, and only minimal time can be given to mourn, before moving on to the neck objective. Though, he treats his comrades as family, and would rather have any adversaries focus on him, since he is more agile than most individuals. Backstory: Varren was born on the island of Lemnos, within the main city, Myrina. The region was named after an island which existed a few centuries ago, ran by a civilization known as The Greeks. Unlike the original island which spanned 477 km, this one was only a minescule 22 km. It was renowned for its large metal deposits, and harbored a constantly bustling trading port. Education was based around mining rather than the normal plethora of subjects, there weren’t many jobs to choose from either than harvesting the island for its exports. Even though the island is only 22 km across, its vertical height is technically unknown. Though, as workers mine deeper into the land, the pressure increases as they descend. The job is dangerous, yet profitable. Varren was adopted by the chief of police at the age of two, a single man who had chosen to never marry. Inadvertantly, he chose to take a child under his wing instead, somebody he could trust to take the reins of the police force. Of course, it was a hassle and a very complicated job to raise a child, especially for a man who had to refer to his memories of how his mother raised him. He only knew the bare minimum; feeding, changing the baby’s diapers, taking him out for strolls. Though, off of this base, the chief was able to develop and enhance his abilities as a parent. Since the man was at the office most of the time, he had the tendency to frequently bring his son to work. His co-workers found it laughable how the brass-hearted boss cared for a helpless child. By the time Varren started his third year in school, he had been balancing his studies and training with firearms. Since Lemnos had a high-traffic port, the police had to constantly monitor each ship which entered and left the island. Anything was possible, which meant the officers had to train for any sort of scenario, and must be able to quickly adapt. This capability was something that Varren aspired to. Working in a unit, stopping crime, saving the day, it was all his dream. He intended to make it come true, as he practiced his accuracy with low-caliber firearms on a daily basis, observed cadet training sessions, and read up on previous combat situations. A majority of the time, the life of a Lemnos citizen was peaceful, since the crime rate wasn’t too high. Yet, once in a while, there were those who wished to end such lives, people who Yinyues learned to despise. By the time Varren was seventeen, he was close to graduating from high school, and had already passed cadet training under his father’s wing. A tradition for the school he attended was to go on an annual field trip to the city hall, the center hub which ran the mining industry and trading regularities. It wasn’t anything special to the student, as he had seen the inner walls of the grand building multiple times, more than he could count. It was just a cycle nearing its final revolution, soon he would be serving and supporting justice. Though, something out of the ordinary occurred. During the middle of their ordain tour, gunshots went off near the mayor’s room. Everybody within the hall stood motionless, unsure of how to react. They all watched the door of the office expectantly, waiting for something to pop out. After a few moments, armed individuals bursted out of the room, escorting the mayor with a rifle pointed at his back. It wasn’t long until the whole entire ordeal turned into a hostage situation. The unsuspecting guards who were stationed inside of the building were easily picked off, as they were vastly outnumbered. After a few minutes, the police finally responded. The extremists which had taken the hostages demanded that the highest ranking officer enter the building, unarmed. Even though all requests were made, the trigger-happy terrorists fell back on their deal and set off an pre-placed explosive charges. Afterwards, an intense firefight broke out between the police force and the gunmen. While all of this was happening, Varren and his classmates were taking reconciliation, out of harm’s way. After the firefight had finally came to a close, the police force breached the building and completely searched it. It was confirmed that only one officer was killed in action; Varren’s father. Varren simply could not stand living on the island which served as his father’s resting bed. He had to leave the island as soon as possible, for his own sanity’s sake. But before that, he had to secure a job which provided a steady income. Rumors spread that there was a small squad of ex-police from another island, who served as guards for a cargo ship. Yinyues believed he could employ his skills best in the profession. The police force granted him use of one of their rarely used PDWs, along with contact information to the ammunition provider. Once he acquired the necessities, Varren made his way to the arranged meeting place. He was not surprised that he was the only applicant, as it was only a mere rumor. But there they were, three men who were carrying advanced firearms and batons. The leader of the crew introduced himself as “James”, and after a tedious interview and review of the boy’s abilities, they let him into the team. Classification: The Young Guard - There is absolutely nothing magical about this man except for his ability to deal with lowly-regarded complaints from crew members, forced down upon him by his higher-ups. Skills: Close Quarters Combat: Since Varren’s firearm is a low-caliber PDW, it’s rightful home is close-up combat, where there are only a few yards between his opponent, and bullets must be dumped before he has to take cover. The user must adapt and work with the gun’s capabilities. Because of Varren’s sleek figure, he can run at higher speeds and close the gap between combatants. Maneuverability: Varren has a finesse when it comes to moving his body in the direction he wants it to go. Agile, nimble, and quick on his feet, he is able to adapt as the situation changes, and can find ways to flank or move out of his enemy’s line of sight. This also helps out when he is assisting crew members, such as getting into spaces without much breathing room. His body is scarily compatible, which he uses to his advantage. Techniques: None as of yet, either than simply pointing his firearm and shooting it. Equipment: Electric Baton: A standard issue detainment baton, used by guards and rule-enforcing personnel aboard The Free Wind. The blunt weapon is small, compact and lightweight; perfect for swift movements. FsW-24J Tecpatl: The Tecpatl SMG fires a 6.2x25mm caliber round, has a firing rate of 750RPM and is loaded with a 40 round arc magazine. The firearm is equipped with an iron sight and STANAG rail. The attributes of the gun are picked from predecessors from decades ago, the result was a well-rounded PDW with low recoil, employed by most sub-military professions. Of course, Varren is only authorized to use lethal rounds in certain situations, such as an attack by armed assailants. To compensate, he carries with him less-than lethal ball rounds. Magnetic Boots: Whenever fellow classmates paraded around their most modern and top-notch footwear, Varren could just mention these bad boys and make them shut their traps almost instantly. To an unacquainted user, the boots feel sluggish and heavy, and seem to inhibit one’s movement rather than enhancing it. He was given the pair of boots as a present for his sixteenth birthday. Yinyues would have never guessed that they would have been the last things he would receive from his noble father. To an experienced user, whose feet and leg muscles have adapted to moving swiftly with the extra weight, it opens up new possibilities and ways of movement. Position: Cargo Guard - One out of the four guards tasked with protecting the Free Wind’s precious cargo, Varren is considered the newest edition to the force. Being green out of training, the other guards find it odd how he obtained such a remarkable PDW. He is easily considered the odd one out for his age and amount of experience. The guards’ main objective is to watch any precious cargo and assist the crew members. They help by running errands, conveying messages and lending a hand. The guards themselves are ex-police, discharged for disobeying orders made by a corrupt force. The three original individuals are morally good, and specifically asked to not be paid in high quantities. Theme Song ”All forces are free to engage. Green light is given.” One Year Earlier - Colony of Lemnos Five minutes before The Battle of the Fourth Ward Varren jammed the magazine into his issued rifle and pulled back on the charging bolt, whilst peering out the open bay of the helicopter. He was barely able to think over the loud humming of the relic, a troop transport which was employed decades ago. Though, the heli was refurbished with an engine which ran off of aura reserves, making it environmentally clean. The Lemnos Police Department only had a few of them in their arsenal, since the island itself wasn’t that large in size, they were only deployed for high grade missions, where danger was at its highest. He stared at the rest of his squad, who were checking their gear and loading their weapons, prepared for a combat drop. ”How did it all go to shit so fast?” The young man thought to himself as his eyes strayed towards the Area of Operation. The formation of pave hawks was en route to the fourth ward of Miynura, which was under attack from multiple bombings, which were mostly followed through by the terrorist organization which murdered his father a few weeks ago. All Varren could feel for the organization was undying hatred and the unquenchable thirst to avenge the man. ”Alright, the terrorist group known as ‘Titan’s Hand’ has set off multiple bombs in the fourth ward, and is proceeding with their attack as we speak. The fighters have been confirmed to be utilizing low caliber arms, along with dumbfire APGs and other assorted launchers. The origin of their armnment has not been confirmed as of yet, but it is suspected that their weapons were supplied by external colonies. Our mission is to secure a LZ and extract as many civilians as possible. Ally colonies will be sending their own forces to assist in the next hour. Alright, get re-” The captain was cut off mid-sentence when an explosion went off inside of the formation, causing him to avert his eyes. A distressed voice came onto the comms, ”This is Phoenix 1-2! Our wings have been clipped, I repeat, our wings have been clipped! Our main rotor is out, we have no lights!” The pilot screamed through his microphone, Varren glanced to his side to capture the hawk’s status. The man’s analysis was an understatement, Yinyues stared with his mouth agape, taking in the scene before him. Half of the Phoenix 1-2’s rotor was completely blown off, the remaining portions of the blades were melted by a blueish residue. Varren lent away from the opened door, cuffing his hands over his lids as the heli broke into a barrel roll and plummeted to the earth, utterly left to gravity’s will. All he could hear was the hawk crashing into a building, followed by the sounds of crumbling rubble. Just in a span of a few seconds, roughly ten lives were already lost. The right side gunner of Varren’s helicopter traced the trail of energy left by the rocket, and sent a volley of rounds towards the area. This was Yinyues’ first operation as an officer of the LPD, a horrible way to start his career. Varren suddenly jumped out of surprisement when he suddenly felt a hand grab his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. ”Yinyues, get your head in the game! We are one klick out from the LZ.” His CO ordered him, then went off to check the other squad members. The young man nodded, grabbing onto his firearm tightly as the pave hawk decreased its altitude. ”This is Phoenix 1-3, no eyes on any survivors from 1-2. Splitting off to LZ Sierra.” The pilot notified Command of their change of course, sticking to the plan as the helicopter began to bleat its speed. Both door gunners were watching the ground, trying to spot any infantry awaiting them. ”We are landing at LZ Sierra now, all forces, free to hop out.” Phoenix 1-3 hovered a foot over the rooftop of the building, ”Go go go! The captain barked at the men, standing on the edges of the helicopter. Two squads consisting of four officers each deployed from the open bay. The combat armor weighed Varren down, along with the heavy helmet and restricting knee-guards. Overall, the young man was far out of his comfort zone, completely unprepared for the situation. As soon as he set foot on the roof, a comrade shouted ”Duck!”. Thanks to the extra weight of the protective gear, Varren fell flat to the concrete as a round flew over his head, deflecting off of the helicopter’s plating. The door gunner quickly acquired his target and sprayed into the adjacent building, Yinyues covered his ears from the deafening crackles of the expended rounds. The two squads took the chance to crawl towards the roof access door, and pushed down the building towards the street level. He found it challenging to calm himself in such a situation, adrenaline pumping through his veins as they ran through the hallway. ”This is Phoenix 1-3, we are spooling off from the LZ. We will remain in the AO and will continue with runs on marked enemy foot mobiles.” Varren’s commanding officer acknowledged the notification as they ran through the building, finally reaching the bottom floor. The resistance surrounding the complex was exterminated by Phoenix 1-3, giving the two squads the chance to break off and search for survivors on their pre-assigned routes. Gunfire was constantly echoing in the distance; thankfully it wasn’t directed towards Varren’s squad. Almost as frequent as the firing of bullets, was the organization’s demolition work, causing building to collapse and take out whole blocks. After thirty minutes of searching, the fireteam managed to locate a dozen survivors, and were proceeding to the extraction point. The squad moved up in a diamond formation, creeping through the streets with the civilians in tow. Each member was on high alert, as the group had to take multiple detours to reach their destination. Varren’s CO grabbed his radio and whispered into it, ”This is Sierra 1. My squad is en route to the extraction point. Phoenix 1-3, are you nearby?” It turns out the helicopter was about 1 klick, providing close-air support for an insertion team from an ally colony on the southern side of the ward. “Alright, we’re almost there, just remain calm everybody.” One of his squadmates reassured the civilians, trying to calm them down as they walked down the road. A majority of them were shivering out of fear and shock, finding comfort in eachother’s presence. The squad members were completely silent, diverting all of their attention to their assigned angle, keeping an eye out for any hostiles. It all happened in slow-motion through Varren’s eyes. The sound of the first shot being fired, followed by the deaths of two of his comrades. They were both lit up from multiple angles, as they were too late to react. The CO and Varren leaped behind cover, the former individual being closest to the enemy. The young man stood in front of the civilians behind a the confines of the of a collapsed building, whilst his squadmate took cover behind the only substance between him and the hostiles; a pair of small wooden crates. ”Varren, get down! APG!” The man called out from behind the boxes, until a round bursted through the crate, burrowing into his back. The man must have died instantly, as his body went limp the second Yinyues’ ears picked up the thumping of the bullet penetrating the wood. Though, the young man had no time to mourn for the loss of his squad, as he remembered his CO’s callout before he passed on. “Everybody, get down!” Varren screamed as the rocket propelled by aura of a cyanic hue flew past him, the heat and propulsion of the projectile caused him to lose his balance. The rocket came into contact with a surface, exploding behind him. It took him a bit to wipe away the grime and soot which covered his goggles, then quickly got to his feet. The young man felt his whole body tense on the spot, unable to comprehend the sight before him. The rocket spared Varren’s life, but instead took those of the civilians. “This is… Sierra 3, need assistance.” He was able to muster before running over to where the civilians were huddled up. In their place were the vaporized remains of bodies, though the one who was the farthest back was still alive. He instantly rushed to the woman, whose leg was blown off in the explosion. “Listen, miss, everything is going to be alright. I just need to quickly close up the wound.” The young man tried to say reassuringly, bullets ricocheted off the wall providing them cover. Bravo squad, along with Phoenix 1-3, responded over the comms and informed him that they were almost at the block. The woman was taking short gasps, trying to intake as much oxygen as possible. Varren dug into his kitbag and took out some gauze, tying it around her leg with his hands, which were uncontrollably shaking. The woman was attempting to make out some words, “Please don’t talk miss, save your breath.” She rolled over to her side, revealing the more grave wound. A shard from the APG had impaled her in the back, judging by the amount which was showing through the skin, it had been burrowed deeply into her lung. Varren already realized the woman was a lost cause, relenting himself to only holding her hands as she drew her last breath. With it, she managed to let the words ”Thank you…” roll off of her tongue. He grimaced and picked up his firearm, his eyes void of emotion. …aiming down the optics of his rifle, opening fire on the distracted troops. Along with the help of the other squad and the air support, the group which ambushed Sierra squad was eliminated. Phoenix 1-3 landed on a nearby rooftop and evacuated the survivors Bravo squad was able to find, along with Varren. He took his seat next to some of the civilians, staring blankly out the window at the raging battle. The young man slipped off his helmet and let out a sigh, unable to rationally describe his mentality. He stared down at his glovers, caked in the dry blood of the woman he failed to treat. ”This is command. Officer Varren, you will be given two hours of R&R, then you will be redeployed with Ken’s team.” The succinct voice told him over the comms, the young man stifled a cry and managed to drag the radio to his mouth, “Copy that, sir.”
9,769	270	6	156	2,749	Marlies Enna wasn’t the oblivious sort, but she couldn’t always have her eyes trained on the sky, now could she? So, of course, she missed the rinky dinky freight ship and so her mind was clear of worries. Until her eyes idled upwards and she was met with the silent flight of the Crucible’s ships. Thoughts ran through her head, swirling and twirling in her mind until she was emotionally dizzy. What could she do? There was nothing that poor Enna could do to stop a damn invasion! Thoughts of her parents dying flashed before her wits and blood splattered across her heart: damn it all. Without another thought to be had, Enna pivoted on her foot and sprinted as fast as she could into the direction from which she just came. Like a bullet, she flew and like a gun, she pushed. Her aching muscles were burning corpses, shriveling up and transforming into ash, and her energy slowly left her. Still, she pushed harder and harder and harder and harder and harder – Whack! Enna grasped her throbbing forehead as she plunged downwards and onto her rump. Above her loomed a shadow and, peeking through her eyelashes, Enna saw ebony muscles and long dreads. It was that scary guy, uh, what was his name? It didn’t matter at the moment. Enna shoved herself onto her knees and glared up at the man through her bangs, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Who do you think you are, you-you pansy! Do you have any idea who I am? Running into me like that! Ha! I should show you what to run into!” She scowled, ignoring the obvious fact that she was the one who ran and she was the one who bumped into him. Because it didn’t matter – Enna was always right and the other was always wrong. Enna fumed and crossed her arms, her knuckles turning white as they pressed into her forearms. And then, like a hammer, she remembered exactly what she was doing. Suddenly, an insecurity took hold of her – insecurity over her future and her parents’ future: it was the damn Crucible! She hoped that the small flicker of dying fire inside of her didn’t show and to prove to herself that it wasn’t there, she straightened her back and puffed out her chest. “Didja see those Crucible ships, huh, beefcakes? We don’t have time to be dawdlin’!” As if to emphasize the moniker she gave him, Enna slapped one of his muscles with the back of her hand and rocked back on her heels in case he would move to hit her. "Damn it all."	Name: Ennabeth Marlies Nickname: Enna Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: 16 Appearance: Enna is a tall girl who stands around 5’8” and is neither curvy nor stick-like. The only remarkable thing about her, really, is her super pale skin that has never been tan in her life, but other than that, Enna is average. Personality: Enna is a snarky, sarcastic bitch. Well, that’s the easiest way to describe her when you first meet her. She seems to love to point out the faults in others and is constantly complaining. She is not very affectionate and is actually quite the opposite; when in the few relationships she had, Enna could be described as distant and cold, just generally un-clingy. She loves to run her mouth and is never not talking, even in great times of danger. She has a pessimistic point of view and sees everything as bad or not-as-bad. The biggest fear she has is having her island be taken by the Crucible. Enna is also a perfectionist and needs everything to be nice and tidy; she can be described as a neat-freak and almost has OCD tendencies. She favors things to even, not odd, and everything needs to be in order so as she can find it easily. In her free time, Enna likes to alphabetize her vast amount of books on her shelf or read. Many might assume that Enna is violent when faced with her confrontational, opinionated and argumentative personality, but Enna is actually a pacifist and gets scared at the sight of blood. Backstory: Enna was born to a lawyer mother named Merrybeth and a lumberjack father named, ironically, Jack in Krukow. Enna mostly resembles her mother in the snarky attitude she has and learned all of her arguing from her mother’s constant arguments with her father. And Merrybeth had many arguments with Jack. Due to the fact that Merrybeth had a greater intelligence than simple Jack, Merrybeth constantly felt superior which would cause the two to get in a quarrel which affected Enna negatively. Enna began seeing arguing as an everyday, no-escape thing. However, she yearns for peace and harmony in her home. Enna didn’t have a lot of friends growing up because of her rather distasteful personality and so she mostly spent her time reading – she especially liked Merrybeth’s books. While Enna studies her mother’s lawyer books, she also helps out her father in chopping down trees and carrying logs to the house. Merrybeth has lately been urging Jack into getting into the farming business in order to bring in more money and more arguments have been stirred up because of it. Mage: N/A Skills: Arguing, organization, sarcasm Techniques: None as of yet since she is lacking many skills Equipment: Leather gloves Position: Quartermaster Theme Song: Novocaine by Fall Out Boy
9,770	270	7	425	1,026	Pansy Spitz The afternoon air was cool on Pansy's face, which had become quite flushed in the back room of the bakery. He clutched his basket of bread close to his body and stopped a moment, listening hard. There wasn't a sound for miles - not a bird sang, not a child shouted and it seemed as though the whole town held it's breath for something. He walked cautiously down the street, as if terrified that something bad was happening. He had walked this street millions of times over course of his life but never had it felt so silent and tense. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps around the corner made him jump slightly. A short, light-haired girl covered in muck and grass gave him a quick wave and a "Hello!" before continuing past him without breaking her run. Pansy recognised her, somewhat vaguely - it was Emery Cooke, the girl who worked with his sister, Tulip, at the mechanics. By the time he had caught on to who she was, she was already out of earshot down the street. "Oh, Emery!" he began, taking a step back towards the bakery. "Ohhh....never mind, then". A paranoid part of the baker said she was running from something and judging by the state of her clothes and face, it could be believable. But the friendly greeting and wave said otherwise. He shook his head, wondering where she was off to and continued towards the Simmons' household. It wasn't that far, theoretically, anyway. The Simmons' were a local family unit. Two children, a father and a mother made up the close family unit. There wasn't particularly anything strange about them. They were a rather plain yet happy family that were famous for the brown hair, brown eyes combination that was in every generation. They were also one of Carmena's favourite customers, hence the reason she delivered much of their bread. Ah, bread. The smell of freshly-baked bread still had an almost drug-like effect to Pansy, even after nine year working in a bakery. As a child, his mothers bread had been delicious and one of Pansys goals in life was to some day reach the same level of bread-making as his mother, who refused to hand down her secrets. Although, Pansy was almost sure she hid the recipes in her journal under the- A quiet hum came over head as a sleek, silver ship flew over the town. Pansy's eyes widened at the sight and the bread basket fell to his feet, instantly forgotten. This was no normal trade ship or even a pirate ship - it looked much more powerful than that. For years, the crazy men with signs on Kuiper had often shouted in his face about invaders from outer space. At the time, he had laughed off their ideas as silly or unrealistic. But now, seeing a sleek silver ship, with no deck, not to mention the strange insignia, set his heart racing. Emery running. A sleek ship. Everyone disappeared. It all made sense. Krukow was being invaded by aliens. Horrible things came to mind just at the thought of aliens - green men with guns, people shot, injuries, the way of life ruined forever and worst of all, death. The stories told in the Kuiper newspaper, that his mother had often read and believed, told story of skiffs, completely abandoned, washing up in docks with no signs of struggle and they often suggested aliens. Pansy gulped as he saw the ship lazily turn and land somewhere behind him. His heart rate increased, his tongue became dried and heavy in his mouth and he could feel his left leg beginning to shake. These were the first signs that he was scared. So he did the thing he always did when scared - he started running to find his mother. He set off at a lumbering pace but got faster as thoughts of aliens with laser guns killing his entire family drowned out all other thoughts. A small part of him said to scream for help but then he realised that was probably what everyone else in town had done. And he couldn't see any of them. He ran full pelt for several minutes, his heart feeling He slowly trotted to a stop at a corner and leaned on it with one arm on his knees, panting hard. "Oh my Gods...Oh my Gods..." he murmured between breaths, his heart rate nearing that of a marathon runner. His chest felt tight and the muscles on his legs burned He glanced into the sky behind him, wondering if aliens would spare a black man and his small family if he offered to cook bread for them. Something hit him straight on in the chest, almost making him jump out of his boots. It bounced harmlessly off him, thankfully. He still gave a small yelp as the girl who had run straight into him hit the floor in front of him. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry" he said, covering his mouth with one hand in shock. The girl shoved herself to her knees, a scowl on her face and pointed a finger at him. A frightened look crossed his face as she did so. Was she an alien about to kill him? Or even worse, anally probe him? Although... "“Who do you think you are, you-you pansy! Do you have any idea who I am? Running into me like that! Ha! I should show you what to run into!” she snarled at him. "Bu-but you ran into me..." his voice trailed off to nothingness as she crossed her arms and fumed. She looked rather familiar. Pansy had seen the girl around town several times but he couldn't put a name to her face. And Pansy Spitz knew everyone on Krukow worth knowing about. “Didja see those Crucible ships, huh, beefcakes? We don’t have time to be dawdlin’!” she said suddenly. "Crucible ships? But those are obviously-Ohhhhh, gosh, I'm such an idiot!" his sentence ended in a short laugh, ignoring the nickname she had thrown at him. He was silly to believe such stories - green men from outer space would never invade a small island like Krukow. But this relief was short lived when he remembered that while an imaginary threat wasn't, a real threat was. To emphasize her point, the smaller girl gave him a slap on the bicep. Pansy flinched, even though it didn't hurt him (much) but she seemed to do the same, almost hopping back to avoid his reach. "Damn it all." she murmured to herself. Pansy looked slightly uncomfortable and rubbed his arm, pouting slightly. "Erm, okay. The Crucible is here, are they? Well, that's bad..." A chilling gunshot echoed through the empty streets from the centre of town, confirming Pansy's theory. The Crucible were here and it was bad. Very fucking bad. "Oh, my gods..." he whispered, his eyes meeting the girls and widening in fear. "Le-lets get out of here". He set off on a jog down the road, careful not too make too much noise. The gunshot set his pulse racing and all sorts of theories raced through his head to it's source. Who had fired a gun in this town? More importantly, who had they fired it at? The Crucible seemed like the obvious answer but still more questions spun in his mind. What were they doing here, of all places? What would they do to the inhabitants? Why here? Why Krukow?	Name: Pansy Jermaine Spitz Gender: Male Age: 23 Age Appearance: Early 20's. Appearance: Picture Looks can be deceiving and this certainly is the case for Pansy Spitz. With black skin, a well-toned abdomen and powerful arms, some would take Pansy to be a large thug or even a fighter of some kind. How wrong they are. Growing up, Pansy shaved his head and muscled up his body for one reason only - to stop the teasing. His rather timid and feminime personality meant that he was often made fun of as a child. When he grew to his adolescence, he began bulking up and acting tough to stop the teasing. However, he was much more comfortable in the kitchen with an apron around his waist than in the wilderness lifting rocks. At the age of 23, he has become comfortable in his own skin and now wears what he wants and does what he wants. As such, his clothing is often loose and of lighter colours, such as blues and occasionally pinks. His keeps his face clean-shaven but has allowed his hair to grow into light dreadlocks that go no further than his shoulders. He still has a rather well-toned body but has long given up weight lifting in favour of baking and flowers. He stands at an impressive 6'2" and can give off an intimidating vibe to those who don't know him. But he is often more scared of you than you are of him. Personality: Pansy is, ironically, a rather big pansy. If you met him in a dark alley at night it's more likely he would get scared of you and hand over his wallet. A timid boy growing up, he was often teased for his love of nature as a child, which often lead to him running home to his mother. Thus, Pansy is a huge mumma's boy and was rather sheltered growing up, compared to his wild sister. His mother taught him to cook, to look after a home, to dress himself properly and most importantly of all, flower magic. As a result of spending so much time with his mother, he is the polar opposite to what you'd expect of a large, muscled black man. He is open with his emotions and rather intelligent, if naive. He is not afraid to cry and is often berated by his sister, Tulip, for being ''a freaking pussy''. Although shy went meeting new people, he is polite, friendly and an overall nice person when you get to know him. Backstory: 23 years ago, on the island of Krukow, Pansy Spitz was born to a local flower mage mother, Maggie Token, and another local Rift Hunter known as Jermaine Spitz. His early memories of his father are foggy, to say the least, as Jermaine was often out killing Monsters and keeping the town safe. Jermaine would disappear for months on end and only come back occasionally to give the family money or get Maggie pregnant again. The family was rather well-off due to Jermaine's Rift Hunting and Pansy had a comfortable childhood. But shortly before his younger sister, Tulip, was born, Maggie Spitz received news that her husband had been killed while on the job. The funeral was short but not something Pansy remembers well. The birth of his sister he remembers much better, as he was there holding his mothers hand the whole time. Despite the sadness of his fathers death, the small family unit crowded together at the birth of his sister and Maggie put on a brave face for her children, despite the crippling sadness that she kept for years after. Maggie was excited to learn Pansy possessed profieciency in flower magic and excitedly taught him all she could. Tulip, though, had little interest in the magic and instead went into mechanics head first. Pansy loved his flower magic and nature in general but the other children weren't so open to the idea of a boy playing with flowers. He was teased mercilessly as a child and became rather withdrawn because of it. His mother subsequently pulled both him and Tulip from school and gave them both professions. Pansy worked in a local bakery while Tulip went to a mechanic and worked on skiffs/flying machines. In his adolescence, Pansy became interested in changing his appearance to please his former bullies. It worked, for a while. He shaved his head, built up muscles and hid his interests. It only resulted in making him unhappy and it took years for him to eventually become comfortable in his own skin. Now, at the age of 23, he looks to the future with glee. He has a great job in the bakery, gets on well with his sister and mother and is even considering going to an academy for cooking in Kuiper. But with the increasing boldness of monsters, the poor health of his mother and the aggression from the Crucible, things are starting to look more and more bleak for the young black baker from Krukow. Mage: Flower Mage Skills: Cooking, Flower Magic, botany. Techniques: Daisy Chain A chain of flowers forms from his palms to loop around it's target and hold on tight. This is a rather powerful technique that takes a lot energy to use and can't really be used offensivly. Petal Swipe Using a cloud of razorsharp petals, he swipes at his target. The technique is powerful enough to cut through tree branches and can leave nasty looking cuts. Nectar Shield Dragging nectar up from a flower, it can be slathered across a wound and form a hard shell, comparable to a cast. It is again rather powerful and repeatedly hitting it will cause it to shatter. Position: Cook Theme Song: Gorgeous George - Kredo
9,771	270	8	435	350	Of course, Aubrey had seen it too. Emery beamed; she knew she could always rely on him to be on top of fun things like this. She nodded as he voiced her thoughts, about the misleadingly boring day proving instead to be an interesting one. Sixteen years she'd been on Krukow and nothing like this had ever happened before. "Great! I know exactly where to… go…" Emery drifted off when she spotted the rift hunters walking by, tilting her head curiously as they made their way to the town square. It wouldn't have seemed so strange—rift hunters came and went all the time—if it weren't for the way Aubrey watched them. The wariness that she glimpsed in his eyes made her believe she was about to hear some bad news. A strange sense of foreboding racked her frame and she edged closer to the blonde unconsciously. Her hands clenched in apprehension and her fingernails dug into her palms. Aubrey was right. She had paid it no heed earlier, but other than him and Pansy, she had encountered no else out on the streets. Krukow was a small and peaceful town, but this was bordering on too quiet. There should have been some morning buzz, kids playing out the courtyards or peddlers badgering others with their wares. Anything but dead silence. Aubrey stopping midsentence only exacerbated her worries. She wasn't one to immediately assume the worst, but when even Aubrey was stunned to silence, she knew what was in store could be nothing good. "W-what is it?" Emery could feel her heart starting to race at the decidedly ominous atmosphere that settled upon them. Never could she have anticipated the day taking a turn like this. Hesitantly, she followed his line of sight, looking up and to the south, and all but felt her stomach drop when spied it. For the second time that day, Krukow would receive unexpected visitors. Only this time, it was an unwelcomed one. This ship was considerably smaller, and unlike the old freighter that barely managed to land, the sleek aircraft looked to be in perfect condition. Its faint buzzing sent a shiver down her spine, and the bold red insignia it brandished caused her heart to skip a beat. What on Aurelia was the Crucible Navy doing in their little town? Just the thought of the empire left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her sister had wanted absolutely nothing to do with them, and stories of the empire's brutality justified this abhorrence. Arden had warned her countless times to never get involved with them, and she had always been scared to find out what would happen to those who did. With shaky hands, Emery donned her goggles, swallowing nervously as she waited for the system to initialize. She fumbled her way on top of a low wall that fenced in a nearby shop for a better vantage point and braced herself for what she would discover. As expected, the ship had landed along the lake. Emery zoomed in as far as she could, zeroing on the ship's main entrance as it door slide open. A walkway extended to the right side of the ship, granting safe passage across the lake for the soldiers that marched out. She expected the line to break after the fifth soldier, but she was way off mark. On and on they marched, until several dozen had littered the edge of the lake. A Crucibellian army this size could only mean something horrible was about to happen. Emery relayed the information unto Aubrey as best she could in her frantic state. "Aubrey, there's a lot of them and they're coming. We have to run before they get us." She hopped off the wall carelessly, nearly crashing against him in the process, and started to tug at his arm. If they run for the northern forest, they might be able to seek refuge there. It was far enough from town, and they could stay there until Mayor Vladimir fixes everything like he always did. But before she could even flee, a thought struck her and she gasped in horror. "No, wait! We have to warn everyone else. Mr. Johnson's all by himself and—" Emery's eyes flicked down the street, to where Aubrey's house was, and the words died on her lips. And as if to punctuate the dread that overcame her, a gunshot echoed through the streets.	Name: Emery Cooke Nickname: None yet. Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: Teenager; usually mistaken for someone younger Appearance: Emery is five foot nothing, though her strategically tied ribbon and heeled shoes give her at least four more inches. She might disappear in crowds every so often, but she's actually pretty easy to spot, thanks to her distinctive graceless gait. Let's just say, you probably won't see someone trip over her own feet (then quickly roll to safety) as much as Emery does. She's also very expressive and it takes but a second to discern what's currently going through her mind. Personality: Three parts sunshine and rainbows, one part frantic energy, topped off with an even layer of awkwardness, Emery stands out for all the wrong reasons. She has mastered the art of clumsy movements and ill timings to an unparalleled degree, and she's likely to fumble her way through many a circumstance on a daily basis. No longer the eternal optimist she was as a child, there are cracks in her rose-tinted glasses, but obstinacy compels her to remain enthusiastic and blithe. Emery is naturally soft-spoken, but she's not at all as meek as she appears to be. Simple-minded and almost embarrassingly genuine, she expresses herself freely and openly, heart on sleeves and everything. She dishes out everything straightforwardly, no sugarcoating or mincing words. If she hates you, she'll deliver the contempt upfront and make it known; if she likes you, she'll stick to you like a puppy. It's hard for Emery to lie, and not because of a lack of trying; her many attempts at deceit just tend to get foiled by her involuntarily expressive face (and her inability to improvise, but that's another matter entirely). In any case, it's very easy to get Emery riled up and she's impressionable to boot. Sob stories and motivational speeches, no matter how contrived, always seem to get her. Emery may easily be intimidated (especially of people who are 27.94cm taller than her), and she may have a habit of hiding behind people when she's frightened, but by no means is she a coward. If anything, she borders on reckless bravery. She does anything and everything for friends and family, wont to stubbornly disregard her own limits and well-being if the situation called for it. Emery might be a spaztastic ball of enthusiasm most of the time, but when things go from bad to worse, she can be surprisingly dependable. Backstory: Emery was born in Kuiper, to parents who hardly fit the title. She doesn't remember who they are, but she knew of them and their abusive habits. It was her older sister, Arden, who took care of her in their stead. Arden had ran away from home when she was only fourteen, but as soon as she had found out her mother had birthed her a sister, she returned home immediately to save Emery from suffering as she had. She confronted her parents and forcibly took the five-year-old Emery, then visibly malnourished and littered with bruises. They hardly put up a fight and even seemed relieved to be free of the responsibility. Arden took Emery to Krukow, fifty miles away, and have since settled there, vowing never to let Emery know of the hardships she had to suffer through. Growing up, Emery never wanted for anything. Her sister saw through her promise; she provided her with everything she could possibly need, and even doted on and coddled her most of her life. Arden watched over her, as diligent the proverbial hawk, protecting her from all the dangers of the world, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The people of Krukow have helped them considerably as well, and many of them have come to regard the two as family. It was a peaceful life, one she wouldn't have traded for anything. Krukow was like her own giant playground; Emery moved about the island like she lived there all her life. The townspeople have even come to rely on her mechanical abilities. While her sister was busy with Rift Hunting, she helped earn a living repairing what's been broken around town. Emery couldn't have known that soon, she would be faced with something even she couldn't fix. She was fourteen when her sister disappeared, leaving only a hastily scribbled note behind. Be back soon. Emery returned home from a particularly boring day of school to an empty house, still in the same state as it had been in the morning. Breakfast dishes were set on the table, the flower vase she accidentally knocked over still on the floor, its broken pieces scattered around it. Everything was as she left it that morning, except for the bright yellow note left on the table. Ever the optimist, Emery brushed off premature worries and waited obediently, confident her sister would return just as suddenly as she left. Arden said she would be back soon, after all. She could have been called by the mayor for some emergency Rift Hunting duty even though it was her day off. Or, she could have gone to Kuiper to watch that concert she was talking about—Arden tended to be impulsive like that. If there was one thing Emery was certain of, it was that Arden would never, ever leave her behind. So she waited. But then hours turned into days, to weeks, to months. After the week of her disappearance, their neighbor took her in, unwilling to leave accident-prone Emery alone. The first couple of months were hardest on her, and they passed her by in a haze of tears and listlessness. She had very nearly given up hope of ever seeing her, but then she received a message from an unknown sender, only three words but more than enough for her. Be back soon. Emery would receive the same message every couple of weeks, and it was the only thing that gave her solace. The sporadic messages snapped her out of her despair and returned her to her chipper self. No more moping, no more crying, she decided. Instead, Emery channeled her pent up energy and busied herself with what she liked to call productive distractions as she waited for her sister's return. On her sixteenth birthday, she received another message, one that spurred her like never before. Find me soon. Mage: N/A Skills: Spatial and visual acuity: Emery has keen eyesight and can process, generate, and retain well-structured visual cues easily. Basically, she can accurately measure distances and lengths without using instruments and she's pretty good with puzzles. Still, it's always been a wonder how someone who can walk a straight line with her eyes closed can trip over her feet so often. Fine motor skills: For all of her daily struggles with keeping upright, Emery has unexpectedly dexterous hands. Mechanical Inclinations: Put both her skills together and you have the makings of a natural mechanic. Emery discovered her unexpected affinity for machines when she realized she could take apart anything without rendering it irreparable. Her inherent understanding of machinery is not something she can explain; all she knows is that what she can disassemble, she can just as easily fix. Techniques: None yet. Equipment: - A wrist communicator that she never takes off. - Goggles fitted with an optical head-mounted display. It has 50x magnification and can be used to analyze a target by recording its movements and recognizing any discernible patterns. Her sister said it was from the Crucible, but how she came to acquire it remains a mystery to this day. She has since tweaked it, enhancing its scanners and sensors in order to help her gather data more efficiently. Position: Mechanic Theme Song: ✿
9,772	270	9	1,105	2,351	Katherine had been walking through the forest now for some time, gradually making her way towards the crashed airship. Her theories and ideas of what had become of the airship buzzing in her head. "Maybe its empty and I can loot it for a new engine! Or batteries! Or.... well anything I need! That may have been an old model, but it definitely will have stuff way better than what's in the Songbird... Or maybe the the whole crew as infected! Turning the ship into a flying grave that eventually drifted onto this island!" She paused for a moment at the thought. Ava gave her a curios look, unsure why she had suddenly stopped. "....Nahhh.... its probably something boring like generator failure or a punctured ballast of some sort and they were just smuggling something..... Oh well." Katherine sighed at thought of the most likely scenario. Still, regardless as to how they got here, Katherine was excited to potentially see the infamous ship that has evaded the Crucible for so many years. "The Free Wind", a ship that has been a thorn in the butt for the Crucible for years. Katherine had heard of the ship through her travels. One pirate had even said the ship's hull may be old, even rusted, but bares no marks of ever being hit. One pirate she had sat with even speculated that it might have some sort of invisible technology of some sort, allowing the ship to literally disappear into thin air. Speculations from half drunk pirates aside, Katherine was excited to learn about it in person. Though before she was close enough to see it, she spotted some people. She noted they were armed, but most definitely not on guard... or at least expecting any threats. Thus, deducing they were most likely part of the crew of the ship, she decided to cautiously approach them. "Hello there! Are you, perhaps, from that airship that made that elegant landing over there?" Katherine shouted to them, revealing her position.	Name: Aubrey Marshall Nickname: Hasn't obtained one yet. Gender: Male Age: 17 Age Appearance: Teenager Appearance: Personality: Aubrey was always one to stand out from the crowd. Whether by being loud and boisterous or by performing some daring act, he has a way of getting attention. He will often take on a tough, cool persona to make himself appear "cooler", particularly around attractive girls. However, most of his flashy behavior hides a compassionate side. In fact, most of his bravery is actually a well made lie, with a good example being his pathological fear of the dark. While he does pursue admiration, he also aspires for fortune. Though most see that behavior as selfish, the truth behind it links to his hidden compassionate nature. Though he can be quite a scrappy and energetic fellow, when the odds are against him he tends to be more cowardly. This results in him often starting fights that he ends up running from. Backstory: Though he was born into Crucible territory, Aubrey and his mother moved far away soon after his birth. This led to them living on Krukow. Though Aubrey would often ask about his father, his mother Melanie would simply say he was a good man and that Aubrey would be able to meet him one day. At the age of six, Melanie grew ill and was bed ridden. At first, the two relied on the support of the town to even survive. But as Aubrey grew older, he took it upon himself to take care of his mother. He had to forfeit his education to be able to have the time for oddjobs he needed to stay afloat. At the age of ten he began working in the lumber industry on Krukow island. Though his mother felt that he was being too risky with his own health, no misfortune related to his job ever came to be. However, one night as he walked home from the mill on a particularly dark night, a Rift opened right next to him. Due to the darkness, he failed to notice the danger in time and was attacked by several Rift Monsters. He was saved by the local Rift Hunter guild, Maximus, and brought home with only minor injuries. But what stayed with him was the fear of being attacked in the night. No longer willing to work the long hours, due to not wanting to come home late at night, Aubrey quit the job. At the age of fourteen he quit to pursue a surprisingly more childish endeavor: racing. The neighboring island of Kuiper was more industrial and had more money. The underground racing circuit appealed to his youthful and thrill-seeking nature. Though it was a gamble, one his mother also didn't approve of, Aubrey found that he could actually make a living this way. Soon afterwards he told his mother he quit racing, but in reality that was a lie. While she believes he works in the lumber yard, Aubrey has actually spent the past few years going to Kuiper once a week to win money. His skills on an air bike, one of the more risky and entertaining forms of racing, had made him a local superstar on Kuiper. And with that fame came problems. Though he quickly learned how to fight and to defend himself, there would be nights he would go home to his mother with cuts and bruises and not a penny in his pocket. But for the most part, he has been keeping her alive with the ultimate dream he could save up enough money to take his mother somewhere that could properly treat her. Mage: N/A Skills: Boxing, Flying Techniques: -To Be Determined- Equipment: Aviator Shades - Can't leave home without these babies. Red Key - The key to his race bike, the Danger Close mk2. Hidden Blade - A tiny knife hidden in his right boot. Position: Cabin Boy Theme Song: I've Got This
9,773	270	10	2,129	3,308	"Seems even the wind decided to sleep in today." It was true the the normally bustling island was oddly quiet today. Instead of being outside and enjoy the rather nice day, the townspeople stayed inside, or at least out of sight. No kids played in the streets causing elders to trip over their feet. To say it was odd was an understatement. But what was even more unnerving than that was the fact that even the forest was silent. Not a single sign of life came from any direction, and Iris sat high in a tree in the dense part of the northern Kurkow forest. Today she had planned to do some routine target practice with good old SLIM, her sniper rifle. That idea was quickly tossed aside when she realized she grabbed a half empty set of rubber bullets. There was no point in wasting them, and for some reason, the atmosphere just wasn't right today. It seemed like everything was hiding from something. But... what was it? Iris decided she was content with just lounging around like a cat. Stretching her legs out on the limb of the tree and propping her gun on an adjacent tree limb, her eyes closed and she basked in the odd silence. It was not too long later that that the wind blew through the area and the leaves began to rustle. It kind of felt good as it rushed through her pink hair. That was, until it got more forceful and threatened to toss her off the branch she was on. Sitting up and pushing the hair out of her face, a large object passed just over the tops on the trees, humming loudly and disturbing the silence of the woods. Her eyes bulged out of her head as she watched it land a few hundred feet away from her. The ground shook at the impact, and she nearly fell over. What the hell was that thing? Some kind of airship was the only obvious clue. Grabbing SLIM and setting her sights on it, she watched the crew of the ship bustling around from a safe distance. It was a few minutes later that she figured the people were not out to kill anyone, so she quickly and quietly slipped from her tree perch and made her way into town. Somebody else had to have seen that and know what it was. Slinging her arm through the strap to carry her sniper rifle, she started at a fast jog into town in the direction of her family's shop. As she maneuvered through the streets, she noticed small groups of Rift Hunters running into town. Everything about the day seemed so odd, hopefully she'd be getting some answers soon. Unfortunately that was not the case when another ship flew overhead. It stopped her right in her tracks, causing her to do a kind of comical skidd. This time, there was no mistaking what she was seeing. The symbol plastered so proudly on the hull was something that was bored even into her memory. "The Crucible." Urgency began to come over her and Iris began racing at a full sprint to where she knew her parents would be. This was bad... really bad... The three of them could go away for life with the amount of illegal weapons stored in their shop. She had to warn them, before it was too late.	Name: Katherine Harvey Nickname: Sometimes she goes by her last name, Harvey. Gender: Female Age: 19 Age Appearance: Looks slightly younger than she appears to be Appearance: Katherine stands at a reasonable 5'8 and has a medium build. She is never seen without her flight goggles. Personality: Katherine is a mild, straightforward girl with an impressive wit. She is quite open and generally will be friendly towards those she meets, being someone who could quickly make friends in foreign lands. The kind of person that could walk into a bar filled with scary mercenaries and pirates only to be laughing and drinking with them moments later. Deeper down, she is a skeptical person, not taking things how they are and always asking questions. Like most pilots of small, flimsy bits of metal that have somehow gotten off the ground, she is pretty carefree and calm, even in the most dangerous of situations. Not to extent of near suicidal ignorance, but just happens to hold herself together under a lot of pressure. Yet despite having this seemingly strong personality, there is something lurking in the depths of her mind... something waiting to come out. Backstory: It was a warm summers day on the small agricultural island of Pasteir. A little girl ran through the meadows, a kite in tow. It was her favorite thing to do that day when she didn't have to go to school. She watched the kite hover in the air as the wind held it in the sky, her eyes gleaming at the sight. "Katherine! There you are, I've been looking for you!" a male voice said behind her. Katherine turned to see her father walking over to her. "Ah, I see your flying the kite you made. I'm glad to see you haven't crashed it yet!" He said with chuckle. "Do you want to come into town with me for some errands? I here the airship is back." Katherine's eyes widened. "Really? Let's go, let's go!" she said, hastily reeling in her kite and running back towards the house. Her father shook his head and chuckled to himself. "My my.... I wonder if she will get the chance to fly?" Katherine was born into rural community of the island of Pasteir. It had remained out of reach from the oppressive Crucible, but was connected to the outside world just the same. It was closer to a cluster of islands that made up a small state, Pasteir serving as the agricultural district. Since she was a little girl, Katherine had always had some sort of natural attraction to flying. During her younger days, she would read books about modern day aviation, befriended the airship crew that would come periodically to pick up and trade goods with the island. As she grew, she soon had read every single book her library had to offer on flying. Heck, even her pet flies. A Kulca she named "Ava" that had stayed by her side ever since it was a little hatchling. When she finished school, she began full time work on the farm with her parents. Despite her parents fully supporting their daughter's dream of flying, being a farming family meant money was always tight. Regardless, she began to work and save up. Katherine had been drawing up designs for aircraft for years, but now she decided she would design an aircraft she herself could actually build and fly. She began drafting up compact, cost effiecient designs, making paper models to simulate their flight characteristics, and studying various engine types. Soon her relatively small community began to take interest in her little project as she began to buy the parts for her aircraft. People would stop by the farm to check up on her progress, talk to her about the plane, and even occasionally help her out. Whether it be a metal worker taking on a special order for a unqiue part, or a machinist mysteriously putting a few key items on sale, it seemed the whole town was excited to see this project take off. About a year or so later, she had finally finished the aircraft. A rugged, small, push engine aircraft that looked like a quilt thanks to the miss matched plate aluminum that made up the aircraft's fuselage. One the day she was going to take off in it for the first time, many towns people came to the farm to watch. The Aura engine sputtered to life and the aircraft began to shakily move down the strip of flattened dirt that acted as a makeshift runway. Her parents watched with baited breath as the aircraft began to lift off the ground. Everyone suddenly cheered when the plane took off successfully and for many hours after the crowd disperse did Katherine finally land. Her parents ran over to her and hugged her. "I'm so proud of you.... to have such an amazing daughter makes me the happiest father in the world..." A few weeks later with much testing, Katherine decided it was time she left home. Her aircraft had a great range thanks to its small, light design and highly efficient lift to weight ratio. At first her parents were hesitant, but they knew was pointless to stop the now young adult from following her dreams. On the morning of the day she was to leave, only her father came out to see her off. "Your mother couldn't stand to see the sight of you leaving... She always said she hates saying goodbye. But here, this is from both of us." He handed her a small case. Inside were a pair of flight goggles, good ones at that. "Please come visit us once and awhile. I want to hear about that world your about to explore." With that, they parted ways. Katherine has been traveling from island to island for nearly eight months now with nothing but her pet Ava to keep her company. She only arrived at the somewhat isolated island of Krukow a few days ago, taking a rest after a particularly long and dangerous flight through a storm. Skills: Natural Skill of Flying Incredibly knowledgeable of all things on flying Very open mind, can easily absorb information and new ideas Techniques: Erm.... Techniques...techniques... Oh uhh... Dogfighting maneuvers? She hasn't learned many as she has only encountered hostile airborne forces twice, but here are a few things she's picked up "The Double Take" When an enemy aircraft is on your tale, you can use their high speeds to your advantage. By cutting the engine, lowering flaps, and snapping up you can send your aircraft behind the attacker. It requires great timing and control over your aircraft to preform. "The Death Spiral" A counter to the Double Take, it requires both the knowledge of the double take and the reaction time to pull it off. When the defender pulls up to rapidly slow down, the counter is to quickly roll right or left then spin your aircraft in the opposite direction. This will position you into a firing position aimed at the belly of the Defender's aircraft. Equipment: This aircraft is the first custom made design by Katherine to be actually made. Powered by a battery driven Aura engine, it can recharge itself in low altitude flight thanks to the compact intake on the bottom of the aircraft. While not a high performance fighter, it remains to be fairly maneuverability and more importantly, durable. With its high lift to weight ratio, it can take off on pretty short runways/strips of land, making it very easy to find places to land. It has a small cargo hold where Katherine stores her supplies and a fairly roomy single seat cockpit that has enough room technically for two. This plane has served has her home for the past eight months, and has served her well. The aircraft is actually armed, on the account of being in unoccupied, remote territory. It is fitted with four, 12.7mm machine guns, two in the wings and two in the nose, however, it would be more fair to say three. one of the wing mounted guns constantly jams up due to a feeding problem and some shoddy craftmanship. It isn't a pretty plane either, resembling a patchwork quilt with the various sheets of aluminum its made up off. Despite its homegrown look, its a well rounded, rugged plane. A Luger like pistol Traveling Supplies (Food, water, ect.) A basic utility knife. Tools for working on the plane Other: Katherine's Pet Kulca named Ava: (The woman on the left is there to provide a comparison to get the idea of its usual size) The Kulca are a flying creature that is highly intelligent and curious (think dolphin level of intelligence). Living mainly on the "coasts" of far away islands, they feed off of smaller flying creatures and berries. They seem to have a novelty ambition for collecting useful scraps of metal and electronics, seemingly the more one collects, the higher it is favored by the community of Kulca. The children are usually 30cms in length and the adults are around 80cms in length, but this is a standard as individual sizes will vary. Still, much is not known about this creature. Ava in particular loves resting on Katherine's shoulder instead of flying, usually called "lazy" by Katherine. Position: Scout Theme Song: Parov Stelar - The Mojo Radio Gang
9,774	270	11	1,129	1,908	A Soldier’s Rhapsody Few words were exchanged between the coworkers as they made their way through the dense forest. The grogginess which clouded the guard’s head had now evaporated. In the apathetic sloth of a morning person’s place was a youthful adult. Eyes peeled, finger on the trigger, and fully alert. They silently progressed towards the village, checking their rear and sides every few meters. They acted like an autonomously coherent unit. Although Varren had only been an employee of the Free Winds for roughly a year, he departed ship more often than his fellow cargo guards. Given the fact there is virtually nothing unique about him, in addition with his choice of attire, he’s a perfect candidate for stealth transactions with such a low profile. Words were a medium Maximus and himself had long abandoned. If any verbal communication was to ever arise, it was quickened and succinct. After all, in the shipping business, time was money. Neither of which could be squandered. The boy kept his eyes trained down the fluorescent iron sights as they trudged through the rugged terrain. He flinched a little with every twig snap, as the sounds were possible indications of their positions. Such a dangerous job had the tendency to bring with it its slew of mishaps and groups out to gouge their hearts out. Of course the personnel of the Free Wind were generally neutral and were never the ones to fire the first shot. Competing shipment companies which refuse to bump their fees on par with Summer’s had those which vehemently sought revenge. From what he had seen back on the freighter, the town itself was extremely isolated. The kind of lifestyle where every day was recurring and failed to differentiate with the preceding one. The townsfolk were probably caught off guard by their abrupt landing. But hey, it was something to go down in their history, right? Varren’s innate ears picked up the crumpling of rotting leaves nearby, the boy instinctively fixated his firearm in the sound’s general direction. The two were face to face with the unknown, an individual who they knew nothing about, a complete need-to-know basis surrounded the three. She was obviously a local, her attire led Varren to believe that her profession was that of a pilot. With blonde hair and a charasmatic demeanor, one which happily inquired the Free Wind’s untimely and haphazard arrival. Varren himself up until now had no idea why they landed on this island. After all, he was abruptly woken up and beckoned for in the blink of an eye. The boy lowered his firearm and let out a sigh, he quickly replaced his serious persona with a warm nod of greeting. ”Good afternoon, miss…” Was all he could muster, as Weston took the reigns of the conversation by passively asking if the girl knew of any mechanics. Since the first mate was the one who controlled the flow of cash, he continued to let him talk on their behalf. Yet the decorated veteran was cut off midsentence when a gunshot echoed from the town, the boy instinctively flinched slightly. With a moment’s grace he reasserted his guard, given the fact that a life could have just departed from this plane of existence. ”...Maybe somebody’s out hunting?” Surely locals hunted wildlife, Varren hadn’t spotted a landing dock upon their hastened landing. It seemed like a sound explanation. ”Sir, I’ll move on ahead and try to find a mechanic. I’ll move through the forest faster and draw less attention to myself. We can also cover more ground if we’re split up.” Weston took a few seconds to dabble internally before giving the readied guard a nod of affirmation. The boy took in a deep breath of clean air before speeding off, his SMG flowing fluently in conjunction with his arms. Varren slowed down when forest discontinued and transitioned into cobblestone. He hinged the tecpatl to the shoulder-strap hidden beneath his hoodie before proceeding into the town. The first factor he noticed was the disconcerting lack of activity. No kids were playing in the streets, windows and shop displays were shrouded by curtains, there was even the lack of street corner pro- ”Wait, not every town had those. Only the major cities. I guess I can be kinda glad the latter is absent. Those women are too straight-forward, it’s just blatantly frightening.” Aside from women who would provide indecent services, all in all, it was a ghost town. Varren didn’t have the slightest idea where the gunshot originated from, nor did he exactly want to scout about for the source. The boy had his own way of finding himself in trouble’s clutches, there was no need to search for such a harmful force of a maiden. He progressed through the town at a brisk pace, quickly checking every corner and picking his crossroads wisely. It was truly a down-beat village, perhaps all of the residents were nocturnal and developed night vision capable eyesight? Anything was possible in unknown territory. But the commotion near the town center drew the guard’s attention. Of course being an outsider, he couldn’t simply storm right in and catch an eyefull for himself. Instead, he though of a more… passive solution to gain intel. The boy peered around for any tall structures in the general vicinity and set his sights upon a chapel a block over, with metallic plates covering its roof. Varren grinned as he quickly sprinted over to the complex, vaulted over the gate and soon spanned the distance to the highest point of the building’s tower. His boots were firmly attracted to the metal casing of the roof, granting him the ability to hang his body completely off its side. ”Let’s see what we got here…” From a distance his figure would appear as a small-framed silouhette, with the shrouding and difraction of light as his assistants, he scanned the town until he finally focused on the town square. It was quite the sight, to say the least. Varren’s mouth was left agape as his mind processed the presence of white and red cladded uniforms. The governing force which had been hunting them down for years was present on this rock, of all places. Judging from what he could see, the town was in the beginning stages of annexation. First came the disarmament of its residents, then what followed was overall domination, then re-education. His heart sank faster than the rate he sped his way down the building. It was time to move, and a fast rate at that. His will to complete his primary objective guided him away from the formation of Crucible soldiers. The only appearance of free life caught his eye, two teenagers running down the street on the outer portion of town. They fled their way in a generally normal looking house. Varren wasn’t sure whether he should enter himself, but instead relented to calling out to whoever was inside. ”Um, hello?! Anybody in there? Or possibly know a mechanic?” The boy was aware that he had a few minutes to spare before the landing party would begin to dispatch patrol parties. Time was of the essence.	Name: Varren Yinyues Nickname: N/A Gender: Male Age: 18 Age Appearance: Slightly younger than his given age, can be perceived as a 16 year old. Personality: Varren is eternally loyal to his comrades and through who are close to him, being taught the rights and wrongs at a young age. He has a natural sense of justice, and believes that those who commit crimes or horrible acts should be dealt with. The boy is compassionate,understanding and is driven by good morals; perfect qualities for a guard who serves for the crew. He never disagrees with orders and is always happy to lend a helping hand to crew members, even if it’s for minor tasks. Varren is good at defusing arguments and keeping others calm, since he cares more about the well-being of others, rather than his own. Overall, he acts kindly to those who deserve it, and operates as expected to those who are unethical or pose a threat to the crew. At least, that is the facade which he cowers behind. Internally, Varren is a complete mess of emotions and dishonest feelings. He uncontrollably has nightmares of his father’s demise, which haunt and torment him. Though he may look like sort of an airhead on the outside, he is actually a blunt realist, who sees the world for what it is. Yinyues lives off of an empty heart, which he tries to fill with a fake persona, to protect the shambled wreck which remains. When it comes to combat, Varren’s composure is a mixture of the two personalities. The compassion for fellow human beings goes straight down the drain, and he has mental control of himself. Due to the fact he mutes out his churning opinions and internal feelings, he is able to think rationally and realistically. If a comrade were to fall before him, he would rather finish the rest of the enemies before checking on the wounded. Whether or not the person survives is an outcome of battle, and only minimal time can be given to mourn, before moving on to the neck objective. Though, he treats his comrades as family, and would rather have any adversaries focus on him, since he is more agile than most individuals. Backstory: Varren was born on the island of Lemnos, within the main city, Myrina. The region was named after an island which existed a few centuries ago, ran by a civilization known as The Greeks. Unlike the original island which spanned 477 km, this one was only a minescule 22 km. It was renowned for its large metal deposits, and harbored a constantly bustling trading port. Education was based around mining rather than the normal plethora of subjects, there weren’t many jobs to choose from either than harvesting the island for its exports. Even though the island is only 22 km across, its vertical height is technically unknown. Though, as workers mine deeper into the land, the pressure increases as they descend. The job is dangerous, yet profitable. Varren was adopted by the chief of police at the age of two, a single man who had chosen to never marry. Inadvertantly, he chose to take a child under his wing instead, somebody he could trust to take the reins of the police force. Of course, it was a hassle and a very complicated job to raise a child, especially for a man who had to refer to his memories of how his mother raised him. He only knew the bare minimum; feeding, changing the baby’s diapers, taking him out for strolls. Though, off of this base, the chief was able to develop and enhance his abilities as a parent. Since the man was at the office most of the time, he had the tendency to frequently bring his son to work. His co-workers found it laughable how the brass-hearted boss cared for a helpless child. By the time Varren started his third year in school, he had been balancing his studies and training with firearms. Since Lemnos had a high-traffic port, the police had to constantly monitor each ship which entered and left the island. Anything was possible, which meant the officers had to train for any sort of scenario, and must be able to quickly adapt. This capability was something that Varren aspired to. Working in a unit, stopping crime, saving the day, it was all his dream. He intended to make it come true, as he practiced his accuracy with low-caliber firearms on a daily basis, observed cadet training sessions, and read up on previous combat situations. A majority of the time, the life of a Lemnos citizen was peaceful, since the crime rate wasn’t too high. Yet, once in a while, there were those who wished to end such lives, people who Yinyues learned to despise. By the time Varren was seventeen, he was close to graduating from high school, and had already passed cadet training under his father’s wing. A tradition for the school he attended was to go on an annual field trip to the city hall, the center hub which ran the mining industry and trading regularities. It wasn’t anything special to the student, as he had seen the inner walls of the grand building multiple times, more than he could count. It was just a cycle nearing its final revolution, soon he would be serving and supporting justice. Though, something out of the ordinary occurred. During the middle of their ordain tour, gunshots went off near the mayor’s room. Everybody within the hall stood motionless, unsure of how to react. They all watched the door of the office expectantly, waiting for something to pop out. After a few moments, armed individuals bursted out of the room, escorting the mayor with a rifle pointed at his back. It wasn’t long until the whole entire ordeal turned into a hostage situation. The unsuspecting guards who were stationed inside of the building were easily picked off, as they were vastly outnumbered. After a few minutes, the police finally responded. The extremists which had taken the hostages demanded that the highest ranking officer enter the building, unarmed. Even though all requests were made, the trigger-happy terrorists fell back on their deal and set off an pre-placed explosive charges. Afterwards, an intense firefight broke out between the police force and the gunmen. While all of this was happening, Varren and his classmates were taking reconciliation, out of harm’s way. After the firefight had finally came to a close, the police force breached the building and completely searched it. It was confirmed that only one officer was killed in action; Varren’s father. Varren simply could not stand living on the island which served as his father’s resting bed. He had to leave the island as soon as possible, for his own sanity’s sake. But before that, he had to secure a job which provided a steady income. Rumors spread that there was a small squad of ex-police from another island, who served as guards for a cargo ship. Yinyues believed he could employ his skills best in the profession. The police force granted him use of one of their rarely used PDWs, along with contact information to the ammunition provider. Once he acquired the necessities, Varren made his way to the arranged meeting place. He was not surprised that he was the only applicant, as it was only a mere rumor. But there they were, three men who were carrying advanced firearms and batons. The leader of the crew introduced himself as “James”, and after a tedious interview and review of the boy’s abilities, they let him into the team. Classification: The Young Guard - There is absolutely nothing magical about this man except for his ability to deal with lowly-regarded complaints from crew members, forced down upon him by his higher-ups. Skills: Close Quarters Combat: Since Varren’s firearm is a low-caliber PDW, it’s rightful home is close-up combat, where there are only a few yards between his opponent, and bullets must be dumped before he has to take cover. The user must adapt and work with the gun’s capabilities. Because of Varren’s sleek figure, he can run at higher speeds and close the gap between combatants. Maneuverability: Varren has a finesse when it comes to moving his body in the direction he wants it to go. Agile, nimble, and quick on his feet, he is able to adapt as the situation changes, and can find ways to flank or move out of his enemy’s line of sight. This also helps out when he is assisting crew members, such as getting into spaces without much breathing room. His body is scarily compatible, which he uses to his advantage. Techniques: None as of yet, either than simply pointing his firearm and shooting it. Equipment: Electric Baton: A standard issue detainment baton, used by guards and rule-enforcing personnel aboard The Free Wind. The blunt weapon is small, compact and lightweight; perfect for swift movements. FsW-24J Tecpatl: The Tecpatl SMG fires a 6.2x25mm caliber round, has a firing rate of 750RPM and is loaded with a 40 round arc magazine. The firearm is equipped with an iron sight and STANAG rail. The attributes of the gun are picked from predecessors from decades ago, the result was a well-rounded PDW with low recoil, employed by most sub-military professions. Of course, Varren is only authorized to use lethal rounds in certain situations, such as an attack by armed assailants. To compensate, he carries with him less-than lethal ball rounds. Magnetic Boots: Whenever fellow classmates paraded around their most modern and top-notch footwear, Varren could just mention these bad boys and make them shut their traps almost instantly. To an unacquainted user, the boots feel sluggish and heavy, and seem to inhibit one’s movement rather than enhancing it. He was given the pair of boots as a present for his sixteenth birthday. Yinyues would have never guessed that they would have been the last things he would receive from his noble father. To an experienced user, whose feet and leg muscles have adapted to moving swiftly with the extra weight, it opens up new possibilities and ways of movement. Position: Cargo Guard - One out of the four guards tasked with protecting the Free Wind’s precious cargo, Varren is considered the newest edition to the force. Being green out of training, the other guards find it odd how he obtained such a remarkable PDW. He is easily considered the odd one out for his age and amount of experience. The guards’ main objective is to watch any precious cargo and assist the crew members. They help by running errands, conveying messages and lending a hand. The guards themselves are ex-police, discharged for disobeying orders made by a corrupt force. The three original individuals are morally good, and specifically asked to not be paid in high quantities. Theme Song ”All forces are free to engage. Green light is given.” One Year Earlier - Colony of Lemnos Five minutes before The Battle of the Fourth Ward Varren jammed the magazine into his issued rifle and pulled back on the charging bolt, whilst peering out the open bay of the helicopter. He was barely able to think over the loud humming of the relic, a troop transport which was employed decades ago. Though, the heli was refurbished with an engine which ran off of aura reserves, making it environmentally clean. The Lemnos Police Department only had a few of them in their arsenal, since the island itself wasn’t that large in size, they were only deployed for high grade missions, where danger was at its highest. He stared at the rest of his squad, who were checking their gear and loading their weapons, prepared for a combat drop. ”How did it all go to shit so fast?” The young man thought to himself as his eyes strayed towards the Area of Operation. The formation of pave hawks was en route to the fourth ward of Miynura, which was under attack from multiple bombings, which were mostly followed through by the terrorist organization which murdered his father a few weeks ago. All Varren could feel for the organization was undying hatred and the unquenchable thirst to avenge the man. ”Alright, the terrorist group known as ‘Titan’s Hand’ has set off multiple bombs in the fourth ward, and is proceeding with their attack as we speak. The fighters have been confirmed to be utilizing low caliber arms, along with dumbfire APGs and other assorted launchers. The origin of their armnment has not been confirmed as of yet, but it is suspected that their weapons were supplied by external colonies. Our mission is to secure a LZ and extract as many civilians as possible. Ally colonies will be sending their own forces to assist in the next hour. Alright, get re-” The captain was cut off mid-sentence when an explosion went off inside of the formation, causing him to avert his eyes. A distressed voice came onto the comms, ”This is Phoenix 1-2! Our wings have been clipped, I repeat, our wings have been clipped! Our main rotor is out, we have no lights!” The pilot screamed through his microphone, Varren glanced to his side to capture the hawk’s status. The man’s analysis was an understatement, Yinyues stared with his mouth agape, taking in the scene before him. Half of the Phoenix 1-2’s rotor was completely blown off, the remaining portions of the blades were melted by a blueish residue. Varren lent away from the opened door, cuffing his hands over his lids as the heli broke into a barrel roll and plummeted to the earth, utterly left to gravity’s will. All he could hear was the hawk crashing into a building, followed by the sounds of crumbling rubble. Just in a span of a few seconds, roughly ten lives were already lost. The right side gunner of Varren’s helicopter traced the trail of energy left by the rocket, and sent a volley of rounds towards the area. This was Yinyues’ first operation as an officer of the LPD, a horrible way to start his career. Varren suddenly jumped out of surprisement when he suddenly felt a hand grab his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. ”Yinyues, get your head in the game! We are one klick out from the LZ.” His CO ordered him, then went off to check the other squad members. The young man nodded, grabbing onto his firearm tightly as the pave hawk decreased its altitude. ”This is Phoenix 1-3, no eyes on any survivors from 1-2. Splitting off to LZ Sierra.” The pilot notified Command of their change of course, sticking to the plan as the helicopter began to bleat its speed. Both door gunners were watching the ground, trying to spot any infantry awaiting them. ”We are landing at LZ Sierra now, all forces, free to hop out.” Phoenix 1-3 hovered a foot over the rooftop of the building, ”Go go go! The captain barked at the men, standing on the edges of the helicopter. Two squads consisting of four officers each deployed from the open bay. The combat armor weighed Varren down, along with the heavy helmet and restricting knee-guards. Overall, the young man was far out of his comfort zone, completely unprepared for the situation. As soon as he set foot on the roof, a comrade shouted ”Duck!”. Thanks to the extra weight of the protective gear, Varren fell flat to the concrete as a round flew over his head, deflecting off of the helicopter’s plating. The door gunner quickly acquired his target and sprayed into the adjacent building, Yinyues covered his ears from the deafening crackles of the expended rounds. The two squads took the chance to crawl towards the roof access door, and pushed down the building towards the street level. He found it challenging to calm himself in such a situation, adrenaline pumping through his veins as they ran through the hallway. ”This is Phoenix 1-3, we are spooling off from the LZ. We will remain in the AO and will continue with runs on marked enemy foot mobiles.” Varren’s commanding officer acknowledged the notification as they ran through the building, finally reaching the bottom floor. The resistance surrounding the complex was exterminated by Phoenix 1-3, giving the two squads the chance to break off and search for survivors on their pre-assigned routes. Gunfire was constantly echoing in the distance; thankfully it wasn’t directed towards Varren’s squad. Almost as frequent as the firing of bullets, was the organization’s demolition work, causing building to collapse and take out whole blocks. After thirty minutes of searching, the fireteam managed to locate a dozen survivors, and were proceeding to the extraction point. The squad moved up in a diamond formation, creeping through the streets with the civilians in tow. Each member was on high alert, as the group had to take multiple detours to reach their destination. Varren’s CO grabbed his radio and whispered into it, ”This is Sierra 1. My squad is en route to the extraction point. Phoenix 1-3, are you nearby?” It turns out the helicopter was about 1 klick, providing close-air support for an insertion team from an ally colony on the southern side of the ward. “Alright, we’re almost there, just remain calm everybody.” One of his squadmates reassured the civilians, trying to calm them down as they walked down the road. A majority of them were shivering out of fear and shock, finding comfort in eachother’s presence. The squad members were completely silent, diverting all of their attention to their assigned angle, keeping an eye out for any hostiles. It all happened in slow-motion through Varren’s eyes. The sound of the first shot being fired, followed by the deaths of two of his comrades. They were both lit up from multiple angles, as they were too late to react. The CO and Varren leaped behind cover, the former individual being closest to the enemy. The young man stood in front of the civilians behind a the confines of the of a collapsed building, whilst his squadmate took cover behind the only substance between him and the hostiles; a pair of small wooden crates. ”Varren, get down! APG!” The man called out from behind the boxes, until a round bursted through the crate, burrowing into his back. The man must have died instantly, as his body went limp the second Yinyues’ ears picked up the thumping of the bullet penetrating the wood. Though, the young man had no time to mourn for the loss of his squad, as he remembered his CO’s callout before he passed on. “Everybody, get down!” Varren screamed as the rocket propelled by aura of a cyanic hue flew past him, the heat and propulsion of the projectile caused him to lose his balance. The rocket came into contact with a surface, exploding behind him. It took him a bit to wipe away the grime and soot which covered his goggles, then quickly got to his feet. The young man felt his whole body tense on the spot, unable to comprehend the sight before him. The rocket spared Varren’s life, but instead took those of the civilians. “This is… Sierra 3, need assistance.” He was able to muster before running over to where the civilians were huddled up. In their place were the vaporized remains of bodies, though the one who was the farthest back was still alive. He instantly rushed to the woman, whose leg was blown off in the explosion. “Listen, miss, everything is going to be alright. I just need to quickly close up the wound.” The young man tried to say reassuringly, bullets ricocheted off the wall providing them cover. Bravo squad, along with Phoenix 1-3, responded over the comms and informed him that they were almost at the block. The woman was taking short gasps, trying to intake as much oxygen as possible. Varren dug into his kitbag and took out some gauze, tying it around her leg with his hands, which were uncontrollably shaking. The woman was attempting to make out some words, “Please don’t talk miss, save your breath.” She rolled over to her side, revealing the more grave wound. A shard from the APG had impaled her in the back, judging by the amount which was showing through the skin, it had been burrowed deeply into her lung. Varren already realized the woman was a lost cause, relenting himself to only holding her hands as she drew her last breath. With it, she managed to let the words ”Thank you…” roll off of her tongue. He grimaced and picked up his firearm, his eyes void of emotion. …aiming down the optics of his rifle, opening fire on the distracted troops. Along with the help of the other squad and the air support, the group which ambushed Sierra squad was eliminated. Phoenix 1-3 landed on a nearby rooftop and evacuated the survivors Bravo squad was able to find, along with Varren. He took his seat next to some of the civilians, staring blankly out the window at the raging battle. The young man slipped off his helmet and let out a sigh, unable to rationally describe his mentality. He stared down at his glovers, caked in the dry blood of the woman he failed to treat. ”This is command. Officer Varren, you will be given two hours of R&R, then you will be redeployed with Ken’s team.” The succinct voice told him over the comms, the young man stifled a cry and managed to drag the radio to his mouth, “Copy that, sir.”
9,775	270	12	156	2,749	Marlies “H-hey!” Enna called out once she saw Beefcakes racing away. Seriously? What a pansy. Still, considering his, well, considerable mass, he was the best shot that Enna had. “Wait for me!” If Enna is being totally honest, as well, she kind of didn’t want to be alone. Part of her was worried about her parents, but the other part of her was pretty sure that Merrybeth would just exasperate the Crucible so much that they would just leave. Enna bit her lip and, in order to keep up with the running black guy, grabbed a slip of his shirt. “We can’t just run, Beefcakes! We need to come up with a plan!” Enna panted, flicking hair out of her face with a whip of her head. “Like, like, I don’t know – finding somewhere safe. We can’t just run! We’re on a damn island!” Well, maybe he could fly? Enna could just float on his back until they get to Kuiper and catch a ride to somewhere else, right? Okay, maybe not the best plan, but Enna’s blood was rushing to her legs and her lungs were being squeezed under her chest as she ran and that wasn’t really good thinking conditions, okay? "Damn it all!"	Name: Ennabeth Marlies Nickname: Enna Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: 16 Appearance: Enna is a tall girl who stands around 5’8” and is neither curvy nor stick-like. The only remarkable thing about her, really, is her super pale skin that has never been tan in her life, but other than that, Enna is average. Personality: Enna is a snarky, sarcastic bitch. Well, that’s the easiest way to describe her when you first meet her. She seems to love to point out the faults in others and is constantly complaining. She is not very affectionate and is actually quite the opposite; when in the few relationships she had, Enna could be described as distant and cold, just generally un-clingy. She loves to run her mouth and is never not talking, even in great times of danger. She has a pessimistic point of view and sees everything as bad or not-as-bad. The biggest fear she has is having her island be taken by the Crucible. Enna is also a perfectionist and needs everything to be nice and tidy; she can be described as a neat-freak and almost has OCD tendencies. She favors things to even, not odd, and everything needs to be in order so as she can find it easily. In her free time, Enna likes to alphabetize her vast amount of books on her shelf or read. Many might assume that Enna is violent when faced with her confrontational, opinionated and argumentative personality, but Enna is actually a pacifist and gets scared at the sight of blood. Backstory: Enna was born to a lawyer mother named Merrybeth and a lumberjack father named, ironically, Jack in Krukow. Enna mostly resembles her mother in the snarky attitude she has and learned all of her arguing from her mother’s constant arguments with her father. And Merrybeth had many arguments with Jack. Due to the fact that Merrybeth had a greater intelligence than simple Jack, Merrybeth constantly felt superior which would cause the two to get in a quarrel which affected Enna negatively. Enna began seeing arguing as an everyday, no-escape thing. However, she yearns for peace and harmony in her home. Enna didn’t have a lot of friends growing up because of her rather distasteful personality and so she mostly spent her time reading – she especially liked Merrybeth’s books. While Enna studies her mother’s lawyer books, she also helps out her father in chopping down trees and carrying logs to the house. Merrybeth has lately been urging Jack into getting into the farming business in order to bring in more money and more arguments have been stirred up because of it. Mage: N/A Skills: Arguing, organization, sarcasm Techniques: None as of yet since she is lacking many skills Equipment: Leather gloves Position: Quartermaster Theme Song: Novocaine by Fall Out Boy
9,776	270	13	2,129	3,308	Due to the unforgiving weight of SLIM strapped on her back, Iris had been moving slower than she would like. Reaching her family's warehouse took twice as long as it should. Not all the blame could be set on that however, because by the time she rounded the street and the building came into view, Crucible soldiers were already pouring inside. She had to wait until the coast was clear before she could approach safely. There were two guards who stood outside the front of the building, so Iris had to take a detour. Reaching into her clothes, she took out Dusty and placed him on the ground. "Dont fail me now. Go." she said, giving him a little tap on the behind, causing him to run towards the guards. Iris took this time to move around the perimeter of the warehouse and sneak up on the two. With the back of her handgun she pulled out of her boot, she hit both of them on the back of the head while they were distracted, and they fell like heaps of rice to the ground. Meanwhile Dusty was being adorable, cleaning his face with those tiny hands. Figuring he'd probably be safer out here than inside, she left him by the door as the new guard and slipped inside. The large one room building was filled with various boxes and containers of every type. Thousands of rounds of ammunition and gun parts, hundreds of ready to be sold firearms were just a few of the things stored there. Crouching through the row of things, Iris was able to see her parents at the back wall, pressed right up against it with five soldiers surrounding them. "We can make this easier and a lot less painful for the two of you if you comply with us." said a voice that didn't come from one of the soldiers. Another man was there, and as he came into view, Iris frowned and aimed the sights of SLIM right on his head. "I'm going to offer you a deal. Give us the names of your buyers and those who supply you with all of this..." He gestured around at the rows of crates that lined the walls. "And well, we can just take you in, lock you filth up for the rest of your lives instead of doing it my way. The way where you don't get out of here alive." On that, her father stepped to protect her mother who was shivering in fear behind them. This changes things. If Iris killed this guy outright, his goons would just shoot her parents right then and there. Time for plan B. Iris set SLIM down against a crate and pulled out her small, less than intimidating hand gun once again. She hesitated a long moment, gathering up her courage to go out there and talk. Moving fast on her feet, she approached and cocked her gun, the light noise causing all five gun sights once trained on her parents to turn on her. That's exactly what she wanted. With her gun aimed at the head of the guy who was in charge, she shifted on her feet, clearly appearing to be nervous. "H-how about we do things my way? Where you guys leave my parents alone and get out before... before I shoot you." Iris hoped he was falling for her trick. Her studdering and shaking hands were all acts in to getting him to think she was all talk. Harmless. Where in fact she was taking in her surroundings, ready to make her move in just a moment. The man turned towards her, now with all the attention on her, it was perfect. A smirk began to form on the man's face just before he let out a bark of a laugh. "Well this is just... fantastic! I didn't think they had a daughter. Welcome to the party." He saod, taking a few steps towards her. She backed up and pretended to stumble when he did. "I hope you are smarter than your parents over here. Why don't you talk to them? Convince them to give it up before you die along with them." She glanced behind him at her parents who already seemed to know what her plan was. Her father nodded and gripped her mother's hand before the two dashed off to the right, heading for the back to a door that lead to an escape route. Just as the six unwelcome guests turned away from her, Iris raised her arms and fired two shots at the light above them. It blew out, causing the rest of the lights in the building to flicker and turn off as well. She didn't wait around to move her position and meet up with her parents. Her nearly perfect memory allowed her to maneuver through the building with ease, and she reached her parents. Her father smiled and hugged her tightly and her mother did the same. "That was a hell of a crazy thing you did there." Her dad said. "Are you alright, Iris?" Her mom asked afterwards. "FIND THEM! NOW!" Iris looked behind her then back at her parents, the angry voice making her uneasy. "Go. I will be right behind you." she said before going back and making some noise in the opposite direction. She heard footsteps and gunshots behind her and she quickly ducked to the side. Her heart by now was racing in fear, and she tried to think rationally on how she was going to get out of here. Soon that idea was gone when the crate next to her was shot. She stood and ran in the direction of the entrance, still holding her hung in in one hand. She didn't fire any shots in fear that she would be found out, and instead made her way towards the door. She felt around and grabbed SLIM, fitting him onto her back and opened the door, causing light to stream in. "THERE! GET HER!"was all she heard before a flurry of bullets was shot towards her As she slipped outside. Two shots hit her, both grazing her left shoulder, but it didn't slow her down at all. Reaching down and picking up Dusty, she ran as fast as she could back towards the forest where she came from. That would give her some cover if they still wanted to persue her. She just prayed that her parents got out of there safely. There was nothing more she could do."Please be safe..."	Name: Katherine Harvey Nickname: Sometimes she goes by her last name, Harvey. Gender: Female Age: 19 Age Appearance: Looks slightly younger than she appears to be Appearance: Katherine stands at a reasonable 5'8 and has a medium build. She is never seen without her flight goggles. Personality: Katherine is a mild, straightforward girl with an impressive wit. She is quite open and generally will be friendly towards those she meets, being someone who could quickly make friends in foreign lands. The kind of person that could walk into a bar filled with scary mercenaries and pirates only to be laughing and drinking with them moments later. Deeper down, she is a skeptical person, not taking things how they are and always asking questions. Like most pilots of small, flimsy bits of metal that have somehow gotten off the ground, she is pretty carefree and calm, even in the most dangerous of situations. Not to extent of near suicidal ignorance, but just happens to hold herself together under a lot of pressure. Yet despite having this seemingly strong personality, there is something lurking in the depths of her mind... something waiting to come out. Backstory: It was a warm summers day on the small agricultural island of Pasteir. A little girl ran through the meadows, a kite in tow. It was her favorite thing to do that day when she didn't have to go to school. She watched the kite hover in the air as the wind held it in the sky, her eyes gleaming at the sight. "Katherine! There you are, I've been looking for you!" a male voice said behind her. Katherine turned to see her father walking over to her. "Ah, I see your flying the kite you made. I'm glad to see you haven't crashed it yet!" He said with chuckle. "Do you want to come into town with me for some errands? I here the airship is back." Katherine's eyes widened. "Really? Let's go, let's go!" she said, hastily reeling in her kite and running back towards the house. Her father shook his head and chuckled to himself. "My my.... I wonder if she will get the chance to fly?" Katherine was born into rural community of the island of Pasteir. It had remained out of reach from the oppressive Crucible, but was connected to the outside world just the same. It was closer to a cluster of islands that made up a small state, Pasteir serving as the agricultural district. Since she was a little girl, Katherine had always had some sort of natural attraction to flying. During her younger days, she would read books about modern day aviation, befriended the airship crew that would come periodically to pick up and trade goods with the island. As she grew, she soon had read every single book her library had to offer on flying. Heck, even her pet flies. A Kulca she named "Ava" that had stayed by her side ever since it was a little hatchling. When she finished school, she began full time work on the farm with her parents. Despite her parents fully supporting their daughter's dream of flying, being a farming family meant money was always tight. Regardless, she began to work and save up. Katherine had been drawing up designs for aircraft for years, but now she decided she would design an aircraft she herself could actually build and fly. She began drafting up compact, cost effiecient designs, making paper models to simulate their flight characteristics, and studying various engine types. Soon her relatively small community began to take interest in her little project as she began to buy the parts for her aircraft. People would stop by the farm to check up on her progress, talk to her about the plane, and even occasionally help her out. Whether it be a metal worker taking on a special order for a unqiue part, or a machinist mysteriously putting a few key items on sale, it seemed the whole town was excited to see this project take off. About a year or so later, she had finally finished the aircraft. A rugged, small, push engine aircraft that looked like a quilt thanks to the miss matched plate aluminum that made up the aircraft's fuselage. One the day she was going to take off in it for the first time, many towns people came to the farm to watch. The Aura engine sputtered to life and the aircraft began to shakily move down the strip of flattened dirt that acted as a makeshift runway. Her parents watched with baited breath as the aircraft began to lift off the ground. Everyone suddenly cheered when the plane took off successfully and for many hours after the crowd disperse did Katherine finally land. Her parents ran over to her and hugged her. "I'm so proud of you.... to have such an amazing daughter makes me the happiest father in the world..." A few weeks later with much testing, Katherine decided it was time she left home. Her aircraft had a great range thanks to its small, light design and highly efficient lift to weight ratio. At first her parents were hesitant, but they knew was pointless to stop the now young adult from following her dreams. On the morning of the day she was to leave, only her father came out to see her off. "Your mother couldn't stand to see the sight of you leaving... She always said she hates saying goodbye. But here, this is from both of us." He handed her a small case. Inside were a pair of flight goggles, good ones at that. "Please come visit us once and awhile. I want to hear about that world your about to explore." With that, they parted ways. Katherine has been traveling from island to island for nearly eight months now with nothing but her pet Ava to keep her company. She only arrived at the somewhat isolated island of Krukow a few days ago, taking a rest after a particularly long and dangerous flight through a storm. Skills: Natural Skill of Flying Incredibly knowledgeable of all things on flying Very open mind, can easily absorb information and new ideas Techniques: Erm.... Techniques...techniques... Oh uhh... Dogfighting maneuvers? She hasn't learned many as she has only encountered hostile airborne forces twice, but here are a few things she's picked up "The Double Take" When an enemy aircraft is on your tale, you can use their high speeds to your advantage. By cutting the engine, lowering flaps, and snapping up you can send your aircraft behind the attacker. It requires great timing and control over your aircraft to preform. "The Death Spiral" A counter to the Double Take, it requires both the knowledge of the double take and the reaction time to pull it off. When the defender pulls up to rapidly slow down, the counter is to quickly roll right or left then spin your aircraft in the opposite direction. This will position you into a firing position aimed at the belly of the Defender's aircraft. Equipment: This aircraft is the first custom made design by Katherine to be actually made. Powered by a battery driven Aura engine, it can recharge itself in low altitude flight thanks to the compact intake on the bottom of the aircraft. While not a high performance fighter, it remains to be fairly maneuverability and more importantly, durable. With its high lift to weight ratio, it can take off on pretty short runways/strips of land, making it very easy to find places to land. It has a small cargo hold where Katherine stores her supplies and a fairly roomy single seat cockpit that has enough room technically for two. This plane has served has her home for the past eight months, and has served her well. The aircraft is actually armed, on the account of being in unoccupied, remote territory. It is fitted with four, 12.7mm machine guns, two in the wings and two in the nose, however, it would be more fair to say three. one of the wing mounted guns constantly jams up due to a feeding problem and some shoddy craftmanship. It isn't a pretty plane either, resembling a patchwork quilt with the various sheets of aluminum its made up off. Despite its homegrown look, its a well rounded, rugged plane. A Luger like pistol Traveling Supplies (Food, water, ect.) A basic utility knife. Tools for working on the plane Other: Katherine's Pet Kulca named Ava: (The woman on the left is there to provide a comparison to get the idea of its usual size) The Kulca are a flying creature that is highly intelligent and curious (think dolphin level of intelligence). Living mainly on the "coasts" of far away islands, they feed off of smaller flying creatures and berries. They seem to have a novelty ambition for collecting useful scraps of metal and electronics, seemingly the more one collects, the higher it is favored by the community of Kulca. The children are usually 30cms in length and the adults are around 80cms in length, but this is a standard as individual sizes will vary. Still, much is not known about this creature. Ava in particular loves resting on Katherine's shoulder instead of flying, usually called "lazy" by Katherine. Position: Scout Theme Song: Parov Stelar - The Mojo Radio Gang
9,777	270	14	435	350	The sharp crack of the gunshot still rang in her ears, long after it passed. In an attempt to keep calm, Emery worked on isolating its source. It wasn't too far away, and it seemed to come from deep within the town—ah! The square! That's where the rift hunters from earlier were going, wasn't it? She chewed on her lower lip anxiously, trying not to rely too much on this newfound tiny sliver of hope, but ultimately failing. If the rift hunters were there, that means Mayor Vladimir had anticipated the Crucible's arrival, and that in turn means he must have a plan, right? Still, Emery couldn't help but be overly wary. She jumped at every little sound: at the store's metal sign clanging against the breeze, at the faint chirping of some bird perched atop the wall they'd just climbed, and even at Aubrey's voice when he spoke again. It took her a beat longer than normal to process what he had said, and by then, he was already scurrying off. "Okay! Go! I'll stay outside and keep watch!" Emery beckoned for Aubrey to hurry, but there hadn't been a need to. He'd had that resolute look on his face already, one that gave even her a boost in confidence. She remembered seeing that same look when she first saw him racing in Kuiper; he'd won even though the odds were stacked against him. Emery nodded to herself, finding solace in his determination. However worried she had been for Auntie Mel, she knew Aubrey was a hundred times that. There was no way he would let anything happen to his mother. What she had to do now was help them in however small way she could, and that meant steering clear as Aubrey helps her out the house. The last thing they needed was her stumbling about and slowing them down. Before she caught up to him, Aubrey had already disappeared inside. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he zoomed up the stairs, loud in the silence that draped over the streets once more. The quiet was unnerving now, but she refused to succumb to it. Instead, Emery grabbed the broomstick she found lying along the front of the Marshalls' house and held it close to her. She remained rooted to her spot by the front door, shaky hands gripping the makeshift weapon tightly, and waited for the two to come back down. With the help of her goggles, she would know when someone was coming from miles away. To keep herself busy, she laid out the best route they could take to the skiff waiting for them using her her accurate mental map of the town. They needed to take the least crowded path, but they also couldn't go anywhere with a steep incline, or Auntie Mel would have trouble. Emery had narrowed her choice down to two—one winding around the southern edge of the town, the other going straight through the woods—when Aubrey came back out. Alone. Where's Auntie Mel? she thought to ask, but somehow she already knew. Emery fought against the stir of dread at the pit of her stomach and forced herself to remain calm. She nodded absently as Aubrey told her the new plan, processing his words even though she felt like she hadn't heard anything said. It was as though she ran on autopilot. Her mind had been caught in a daze, but her body hadn't, and it compelled her to move. "I know the fastest way to get there," she said automatically. They'd barely moved when a red warning sign popped up in her goggles, blinking rapidly as it locked onto a moving target that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. A closer look showed her a brown-haired boy, probably not much older than them. He was approaching them! Unlike the soldiers she'd seen marching from the lake, he didn't wear a uniform, but that wasn't enough to placate her. Emery tightened her grip on the broomstick and stepped in front of Aubrey protectively. Odds were against them but it wouldn't be like her if she didn't try. What the mysterious boy yelled out caught her off guard, though. A mechanic, he'd said. Why was he looking for a mechanic at a time like this? Didn't he know they were in a brink of a possibly violent annexation? Emery looked to Aubrey for guidance, the confusion on her face blatant enough for him to pick up. Should they trust him? He was a far better judged of people than she was, and until he said so, she wouldn't be dropping her guard. "Who are you?" Emery tried to sound forceful, but her naturally soft voice didn't exactly allow her to sound menacing. She pointed the tip of the broomstick at the boy in a final, desperate attempt to look intimidating. "Why do you need a mechanic?"	Name: Emery Cooke Nickname: None yet. Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: Teenager; usually mistaken for someone younger Appearance: Emery is five foot nothing, though her strategically tied ribbon and heeled shoes give her at least four more inches. She might disappear in crowds every so often, but she's actually pretty easy to spot, thanks to her distinctive graceless gait. Let's just say, you probably won't see someone trip over her own feet (then quickly roll to safety) as much as Emery does. She's also very expressive and it takes but a second to discern what's currently going through her mind. Personality: Three parts sunshine and rainbows, one part frantic energy, topped off with an even layer of awkwardness, Emery stands out for all the wrong reasons. She has mastered the art of clumsy movements and ill timings to an unparalleled degree, and she's likely to fumble her way through many a circumstance on a daily basis. No longer the eternal optimist she was as a child, there are cracks in her rose-tinted glasses, but obstinacy compels her to remain enthusiastic and blithe. Emery is naturally soft-spoken, but she's not at all as meek as she appears to be. Simple-minded and almost embarrassingly genuine, she expresses herself freely and openly, heart on sleeves and everything. She dishes out everything straightforwardly, no sugarcoating or mincing words. If she hates you, she'll deliver the contempt upfront and make it known; if she likes you, she'll stick to you like a puppy. It's hard for Emery to lie, and not because of a lack of trying; her many attempts at deceit just tend to get foiled by her involuntarily expressive face (and her inability to improvise, but that's another matter entirely). In any case, it's very easy to get Emery riled up and she's impressionable to boot. Sob stories and motivational speeches, no matter how contrived, always seem to get her. Emery may easily be intimidated (especially of people who are 27.94cm taller than her), and she may have a habit of hiding behind people when she's frightened, but by no means is she a coward. If anything, she borders on reckless bravery. She does anything and everything for friends and family, wont to stubbornly disregard her own limits and well-being if the situation called for it. Emery might be a spaztastic ball of enthusiasm most of the time, but when things go from bad to worse, she can be surprisingly dependable. Backstory: Emery was born in Kuiper, to parents who hardly fit the title. She doesn't remember who they are, but she knew of them and their abusive habits. It was her older sister, Arden, who took care of her in their stead. Arden had ran away from home when she was only fourteen, but as soon as she had found out her mother had birthed her a sister, she returned home immediately to save Emery from suffering as she had. She confronted her parents and forcibly took the five-year-old Emery, then visibly malnourished and littered with bruises. They hardly put up a fight and even seemed relieved to be free of the responsibility. Arden took Emery to Krukow, fifty miles away, and have since settled there, vowing never to let Emery know of the hardships she had to suffer through. Growing up, Emery never wanted for anything. Her sister saw through her promise; she provided her with everything she could possibly need, and even doted on and coddled her most of her life. Arden watched over her, as diligent the proverbial hawk, protecting her from all the dangers of the world, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The people of Krukow have helped them considerably as well, and many of them have come to regard the two as family. It was a peaceful life, one she wouldn't have traded for anything. Krukow was like her own giant playground; Emery moved about the island like she lived there all her life. The townspeople have even come to rely on her mechanical abilities. While her sister was busy with Rift Hunting, she helped earn a living repairing what's been broken around town. Emery couldn't have known that soon, she would be faced with something even she couldn't fix. She was fourteen when her sister disappeared, leaving only a hastily scribbled note behind. Be back soon. Emery returned home from a particularly boring day of school to an empty house, still in the same state as it had been in the morning. Breakfast dishes were set on the table, the flower vase she accidentally knocked over still on the floor, its broken pieces scattered around it. Everything was as she left it that morning, except for the bright yellow note left on the table. Ever the optimist, Emery brushed off premature worries and waited obediently, confident her sister would return just as suddenly as she left. Arden said she would be back soon, after all. She could have been called by the mayor for some emergency Rift Hunting duty even though it was her day off. Or, she could have gone to Kuiper to watch that concert she was talking about—Arden tended to be impulsive like that. If there was one thing Emery was certain of, it was that Arden would never, ever leave her behind. So she waited. But then hours turned into days, to weeks, to months. After the week of her disappearance, their neighbor took her in, unwilling to leave accident-prone Emery alone. The first couple of months were hardest on her, and they passed her by in a haze of tears and listlessness. She had very nearly given up hope of ever seeing her, but then she received a message from an unknown sender, only three words but more than enough for her. Be back soon. Emery would receive the same message every couple of weeks, and it was the only thing that gave her solace. The sporadic messages snapped her out of her despair and returned her to her chipper self. No more moping, no more crying, she decided. Instead, Emery channeled her pent up energy and busied herself with what she liked to call productive distractions as she waited for her sister's return. On her sixteenth birthday, she received another message, one that spurred her like never before. Find me soon. Mage: N/A Skills: Spatial and visual acuity: Emery has keen eyesight and can process, generate, and retain well-structured visual cues easily. Basically, she can accurately measure distances and lengths without using instruments and she's pretty good with puzzles. Still, it's always been a wonder how someone who can walk a straight line with her eyes closed can trip over her feet so often. Fine motor skills: For all of her daily struggles with keeping upright, Emery has unexpectedly dexterous hands. Mechanical Inclinations: Put both her skills together and you have the makings of a natural mechanic. Emery discovered her unexpected affinity for machines when she realized she could take apart anything without rendering it irreparable. Her inherent understanding of machinery is not something she can explain; all she knows is that what she can disassemble, she can just as easily fix. Techniques: None yet. Equipment: - A wrist communicator that she never takes off. - Goggles fitted with an optical head-mounted display. It has 50x magnification and can be used to analyze a target by recording its movements and recognizing any discernible patterns. Her sister said it was from the Crucible, but how she came to acquire it remains a mystery to this day. She has since tweaked it, enhancing its scanners and sensors in order to help her gather data more efficiently. Position: Mechanic Theme Song: ✿
9,778	270	15	425	1,026	Pansy She was right. They couldn't escape the island without a ship of some kind. Pansy licked his lips nervously and stared into the younger girls face. She was just as scared as him. He looked around him briefly, terrified that a man with a gun would jump out from behind a corner before revealing a crude plan he had come up with moments before "We need to get out of this town and hide somewhere. If there are...men with guns around, we can escape into the countryside or something until it dies down, then we can go to Kuiper and get help. We can't stay in Krukow town, though. It's much too dangerous, especially for people like you and me". It was a silly plan and he could already see several flaws in it. But it was the best they had. Escaping the island was an issue, though. If they could get to Kuiper, where Pansy's mother worked, perhaps they could escape the entire archipelago together and set up shop somewhere else. Pansy, like everyone else, had heard stories of the Crucible and their harsh treatment of dissent on the new islands. Something else scared the baker more about the Crucible, however. It was rumoured that their treatment of people with black skin, such as Pansy and his family, was a lot rougher than with people with lighter skin. Whether this was true or not, Pansy didn't want to find out. Now that the Crucible was here, he needed to escape. "My Mum has a shop in Kuiper. When we make it there, we should be safe" he smiled weakly, trying to calm both his nerves and hers. "Now come on...." He paused, realising he didn't know the girls name yet. He shook those thoughts out of his head. They couldn't waste anymore time. "Come on, follow me. I know a way out of the town" he whispered, darting down a nearby alley. Pansy just hoped they could escape before they were caught.	Name: Pansy Jermaine Spitz Gender: Male Age: 23 Age Appearance: Early 20's. Appearance: Picture Looks can be deceiving and this certainly is the case for Pansy Spitz. With black skin, a well-toned abdomen and powerful arms, some would take Pansy to be a large thug or even a fighter of some kind. How wrong they are. Growing up, Pansy shaved his head and muscled up his body for one reason only - to stop the teasing. His rather timid and feminime personality meant that he was often made fun of as a child. When he grew to his adolescence, he began bulking up and acting tough to stop the teasing. However, he was much more comfortable in the kitchen with an apron around his waist than in the wilderness lifting rocks. At the age of 23, he has become comfortable in his own skin and now wears what he wants and does what he wants. As such, his clothing is often loose and of lighter colours, such as blues and occasionally pinks. His keeps his face clean-shaven but has allowed his hair to grow into light dreadlocks that go no further than his shoulders. He still has a rather well-toned body but has long given up weight lifting in favour of baking and flowers. He stands at an impressive 6'2" and can give off an intimidating vibe to those who don't know him. But he is often more scared of you than you are of him. Personality: Pansy is, ironically, a rather big pansy. If you met him in a dark alley at night it's more likely he would get scared of you and hand over his wallet. A timid boy growing up, he was often teased for his love of nature as a child, which often lead to him running home to his mother. Thus, Pansy is a huge mumma's boy and was rather sheltered growing up, compared to his wild sister. His mother taught him to cook, to look after a home, to dress himself properly and most importantly of all, flower magic. As a result of spending so much time with his mother, he is the polar opposite to what you'd expect of a large, muscled black man. He is open with his emotions and rather intelligent, if naive. He is not afraid to cry and is often berated by his sister, Tulip, for being ''a freaking pussy''. Although shy went meeting new people, he is polite, friendly and an overall nice person when you get to know him. Backstory: 23 years ago, on the island of Krukow, Pansy Spitz was born to a local flower mage mother, Maggie Token, and another local Rift Hunter known as Jermaine Spitz. His early memories of his father are foggy, to say the least, as Jermaine was often out killing Monsters and keeping the town safe. Jermaine would disappear for months on end and only come back occasionally to give the family money or get Maggie pregnant again. The family was rather well-off due to Jermaine's Rift Hunting and Pansy had a comfortable childhood. But shortly before his younger sister, Tulip, was born, Maggie Spitz received news that her husband had been killed while on the job. The funeral was short but not something Pansy remembers well. The birth of his sister he remembers much better, as he was there holding his mothers hand the whole time. Despite the sadness of his fathers death, the small family unit crowded together at the birth of his sister and Maggie put on a brave face for her children, despite the crippling sadness that she kept for years after. Maggie was excited to learn Pansy possessed profieciency in flower magic and excitedly taught him all she could. Tulip, though, had little interest in the magic and instead went into mechanics head first. Pansy loved his flower magic and nature in general but the other children weren't so open to the idea of a boy playing with flowers. He was teased mercilessly as a child and became rather withdrawn because of it. His mother subsequently pulled both him and Tulip from school and gave them both professions. Pansy worked in a local bakery while Tulip went to a mechanic and worked on skiffs/flying machines. In his adolescence, Pansy became interested in changing his appearance to please his former bullies. It worked, for a while. He shaved his head, built up muscles and hid his interests. It only resulted in making him unhappy and it took years for him to eventually become comfortable in his own skin. Now, at the age of 23, he looks to the future with glee. He has a great job in the bakery, gets on well with his sister and mother and is even considering going to an academy for cooking in Kuiper. But with the increasing boldness of monsters, the poor health of his mother and the aggression from the Crucible, things are starting to look more and more bleak for the young black baker from Krukow. Mage: Flower Mage Skills: Cooking, Flower Magic, botany. Techniques: Daisy Chain A chain of flowers forms from his palms to loop around it's target and hold on tight. This is a rather powerful technique that takes a lot energy to use and can't really be used offensivly. Petal Swipe Using a cloud of razorsharp petals, he swipes at his target. The technique is powerful enough to cut through tree branches and can leave nasty looking cuts. Nectar Shield Dragging nectar up from a flower, it can be slathered across a wound and form a hard shell, comparable to a cast. It is again rather powerful and repeatedly hitting it will cause it to shatter. Position: Cook Theme Song: Gorgeous George - Kredo
9,779	270	16	1,105	2,351	"Yeah, that's our ship," the more older of the two guards answered, crossing his arms over his chest. "The solar rails finally gave out and the aura generator hasn't turned on in years. We coasted for miles to make it here and survive." "That's quite an astounding feat for an older model airship." Katherine said with a genuinely impressed tone. The crew may be living up to the rumors and legends after all to sail a powerless, more ship than air vessel and make a... controlled landing. The man motioned for Katherine to follow him as he continued walking toward Krukow. "Would you happen to know any mechanics or people who know a thing or two about generators?" he asked as the party exited the woods and began crossing a grassy field. "I can pay, though sadly not much. Thankfully it isn't a rush job." "Oh sadly I can't help you there. You see, much like you and your group, I am not a native of these lands. I'm simply a wandering pilot, seeing what the world has to offer." As the three walked through the field, the man stopped and looked to his left as if he heard something. Katherine tilted her head slightly, pondering what he may have heard. For a few seconds he continued staring at the ground several meters away but soon relented and continued walking. "As I was saying, we aren't under any pressure to-" The sound of a distant gunshot echoed across the field. It was hard to hear, given the distance from Krukow, but the low ambience let it carry easily. The man paused when he heard it and looked to Katherine. "That came from the town," he commented. "Is everything okay here?" Katherine gave a nervous shrug. "I wouldn't know. It was quiet when I left the place... There was a sleek looking airship coming in for a landing while I was heading towards you guys..." One of the younger guards who had remained relatively quiet the whole walk volunteered to scout ahead. Almost right as he left did her pet, Ava, return, flustered and distraught. "Ava! Calm down, calm down. What's up?" The panicked Kulca motioned and pushed Katherine in the direction of her plane, now somewhat visible as they neared the outskirts of the town. "Uh oh... Um sir, usually when my friend here wants me to get to my plane as soon as possible, we can safely assume that something terrible has moved into town. I'm gonna go get my plane started if you don't mind! Wish I could help, but I'm no good with aura engines bigger than a dog, so best of luck!" With that, Katherine gave a short wave and began to jog towards her aircraft in a field next to the town. She now had a better view of the airship parked over the town and her eyes began to widen. "The Crucible...."she muttered aloud, staring blankly at the airship as she ran towards her own aircraft. "Dammit! I really need to get the hell out of here!" she thought, now sprinting towards her craft.	Name: Aubrey Marshall Nickname: Hasn't obtained one yet. Gender: Male Age: 17 Age Appearance: Teenager Appearance: Personality: Aubrey was always one to stand out from the crowd. Whether by being loud and boisterous or by performing some daring act, he has a way of getting attention. He will often take on a tough, cool persona to make himself appear "cooler", particularly around attractive girls. However, most of his flashy behavior hides a compassionate side. In fact, most of his bravery is actually a well made lie, with a good example being his pathological fear of the dark. While he does pursue admiration, he also aspires for fortune. Though most see that behavior as selfish, the truth behind it links to his hidden compassionate nature. Though he can be quite a scrappy and energetic fellow, when the odds are against him he tends to be more cowardly. This results in him often starting fights that he ends up running from. Backstory: Though he was born into Crucible territory, Aubrey and his mother moved far away soon after his birth. This led to them living on Krukow. Though Aubrey would often ask about his father, his mother Melanie would simply say he was a good man and that Aubrey would be able to meet him one day. At the age of six, Melanie grew ill and was bed ridden. At first, the two relied on the support of the town to even survive. But as Aubrey grew older, he took it upon himself to take care of his mother. He had to forfeit his education to be able to have the time for oddjobs he needed to stay afloat. At the age of ten he began working in the lumber industry on Krukow island. Though his mother felt that he was being too risky with his own health, no misfortune related to his job ever came to be. However, one night as he walked home from the mill on a particularly dark night, a Rift opened right next to him. Due to the darkness, he failed to notice the danger in time and was attacked by several Rift Monsters. He was saved by the local Rift Hunter guild, Maximus, and brought home with only minor injuries. But what stayed with him was the fear of being attacked in the night. No longer willing to work the long hours, due to not wanting to come home late at night, Aubrey quit the job. At the age of fourteen he quit to pursue a surprisingly more childish endeavor: racing. The neighboring island of Kuiper was more industrial and had more money. The underground racing circuit appealed to his youthful and thrill-seeking nature. Though it was a gamble, one his mother also didn't approve of, Aubrey found that he could actually make a living this way. Soon afterwards he told his mother he quit racing, but in reality that was a lie. While she believes he works in the lumber yard, Aubrey has actually spent the past few years going to Kuiper once a week to win money. His skills on an air bike, one of the more risky and entertaining forms of racing, had made him a local superstar on Kuiper. And with that fame came problems. Though he quickly learned how to fight and to defend himself, there would be nights he would go home to his mother with cuts and bruises and not a penny in his pocket. But for the most part, he has been keeping her alive with the ultimate dream he could save up enough money to take his mother somewhere that could properly treat her. Mage: N/A Skills: Boxing, Flying Techniques: -To Be Determined- Equipment: Aviator Shades - Can't leave home without these babies. Red Key - The key to his race bike, the Danger Close mk2. Hidden Blade - A tiny knife hidden in his right boot. Position: Cabin Boy Theme Song: I've Got This
9,780	270	17	156	2,749	Marlies “Great, I have to rely on you.” Despite her scathing words, Enna followed after him. Her chest heaved and her legs shook, but it was mostly from fright than exhaustion. And then, to make matters worse, she saw a looming silhouette by a building. Enna grabbed at Beefcakes arm and attempted to pull him back, but she mostly just fell over herself due to her lack of strength. “Beefcakes, wait here.” She whispered to him, pressing a single white finger to her pink lips and shhing lowly. Enna crept forward a little bit, pressed against a few buildings, and inched closer until she saw the outline of a Crucible leaning lazily against the shop of some sort, his gun resting easily in his arms. It was like her heart dropped to her stomach. Enna stood there in shock, not even bothering to hide anymore, as it suddenly became real. Krukow was going to be taken by the Crucible. There was no chance of fighting. All she could do was run, run and leave everything behind. Leave her parents behind. But she would have to. The Crucible solider shifted and jarred Enna from her fear-induced daze. Enna stumbled backwards, a sudden urge to get as far away from him as possible, but her foot collided with a can and accidentally kicked it. CLANK! Then she was off, because, undoubtedly, behind her was a Crucible solider chasing after her. Because, undoubtedly, Krukow was behind her now. There was just her. And Beefcakes. With that last thought, a disgruntled Enna shifted her running so she was running towards Beefcakes and not away from him. “Beefcakes, let’s go. Now.” She said once she was close enough, grabbing his wrist and running forward. “There’s a Crucible behind me, so we’re gonna haf’ta lose him. I suggest we run t’the woods. We know it like the back of our hands, he doesn’t.” Without waiting for his answer, she began running for the woods.	Name: Ennabeth Marlies Nickname: Enna Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: 16 Appearance: Enna is a tall girl who stands around 5’8” and is neither curvy nor stick-like. The only remarkable thing about her, really, is her super pale skin that has never been tan in her life, but other than that, Enna is average. Personality: Enna is a snarky, sarcastic bitch. Well, that’s the easiest way to describe her when you first meet her. She seems to love to point out the faults in others and is constantly complaining. She is not very affectionate and is actually quite the opposite; when in the few relationships she had, Enna could be described as distant and cold, just generally un-clingy. She loves to run her mouth and is never not talking, even in great times of danger. She has a pessimistic point of view and sees everything as bad or not-as-bad. The biggest fear she has is having her island be taken by the Crucible. Enna is also a perfectionist and needs everything to be nice and tidy; she can be described as a neat-freak and almost has OCD tendencies. She favors things to even, not odd, and everything needs to be in order so as she can find it easily. In her free time, Enna likes to alphabetize her vast amount of books on her shelf or read. Many might assume that Enna is violent when faced with her confrontational, opinionated and argumentative personality, but Enna is actually a pacifist and gets scared at the sight of blood. Backstory: Enna was born to a lawyer mother named Merrybeth and a lumberjack father named, ironically, Jack in Krukow. Enna mostly resembles her mother in the snarky attitude she has and learned all of her arguing from her mother’s constant arguments with her father. And Merrybeth had many arguments with Jack. Due to the fact that Merrybeth had a greater intelligence than simple Jack, Merrybeth constantly felt superior which would cause the two to get in a quarrel which affected Enna negatively. Enna began seeing arguing as an everyday, no-escape thing. However, she yearns for peace and harmony in her home. Enna didn’t have a lot of friends growing up because of her rather distasteful personality and so she mostly spent her time reading – she especially liked Merrybeth’s books. While Enna studies her mother’s lawyer books, she also helps out her father in chopping down trees and carrying logs to the house. Merrybeth has lately been urging Jack into getting into the farming business in order to bring in more money and more arguments have been stirred up because of it. Mage: N/A Skills: Arguing, organization, sarcasm Techniques: None as of yet since she is lacking many skills Equipment: Leather gloves Position: Quartermaster Theme Song: Novocaine by Fall Out Boy
9,781	270	18	425	1,026	Pansy "What?" asked Pansy, watching as the girl raced past him. He let her hand slip off his wrist easily as she ran ahead, confused at these frantic movements. She looked terrified but it didn't take long to see why. A man in full Crucible uniform turned the corner and for the first time in his life, Pansy stared into the eyes of a veteran killer. The baker fell back in surprise, yelping loudly as he did so. The Crucible soldier stumbled in surprise and Pansy took his chance. He tore down the street, his companion just metres ahead. All other thoughts were gone as his primordial 'fight-or-flight' instincts took over and a shot of adrenaline stained the back of his throat. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the Crucible soldier. "Get back here! No one is allowed to leave!" he commanded, his voice echoing down the empty streets. Pansy glanced behind him and saw the Crucible was gaining ground quickly. Despite the heavy-looking armour, he was no doubt accustomed to chasing down his prey. A gun bounced off his hip, which made the situation seem so much more real. "Oh, gods!" he cried as his legs pumped faster and he ran straight passed the girl. The forest...she said the forest...that's a good idea.. Glancing behind again, he saw the Crucible soldier just an arms length away from the girl who's name no longer mattered. She was going to get caught if he didn't do something. So Pansy does what Pansy does best - he panicked. He picked up a stone mid-step and flung it blindly behind him. It crashed straight through a shops front window and glassy shards scattered across the inside. The baker winced as he thought of the poor soul who'd had their front window broken but the effect worked - somehow. As the glass smashed, the Crucible soldier assumed he was being fired upon and instinct won over reason as he immediately dove for cover. This allowed the girl took start taking ground back from him and pull ahead. This didn't last for long, however, as the soldier drew his pistol and began the chase again. "Stop!" he roared, firing a warning shot into the air. The desired effect of stopping his targets didn't work, however and instead made them run even faster. Pansy tore down the street, desperately trying to remember his way out of town. His legs were beginning to tire by now and his lungs screamed for him to stop. If it wasn't for the adrenaline, Pansy knew he would of given up long ago. The town slowly began to fall into countryside as they raced through the streets. There was a stretch of fields just before getting to the greater forests that covered the north of the island, where Pansy hoped they would lose themselves in. He jumped a field gate with one hand and ran across the field, his feet moving wildly in the grassy terrain. It'd be far harder to run away through the fields but it'd also be harder to catch them in. Once again, he swung his head behind and saw the girl just steps behind him. The Crucible soldier was behind a bit, probably starting to tire and unsure of what to do in this unfamiliar terrain. Long grasses brushed against Pansy's hands as he stumbled and almost fell. One more fence, then we can lose him in the forest. The fence approached quickly and Pansy jumped it with relative ease. His loose shirt sleeve, however, got caught in the fence and refused to budge. With the soldier approaching quickly and the girl beside him, he decided to cut his losses and tore the sleeve with strength that would be impossible were he not pumped with adrenaline. The trees of the forest were just a few hundred feet away when Pansy made another mistake. His foot went straight into a small hole in the ground and the baker tumbled to the ground, covering himself in cold mud as he planted straight into a muddy puddle. He gave a cry of discomfort as the girl raced by and picked himself up. His shirt was soaking wet and felt heavy on his back as he continued running, catching up with his companion again. The soldier had stopped just short of where Pansy had fallen for a second time and took aim with his pistol. A quick glance over his shoulder caused Pansy panic once again and grab his companions arm. Together, they dived through the opening trees of the forest and rolled across the ground. A piece of bark flew off a tree as a bullet entered it and the Curcible soldier unloaded an entire round blindly into the trees of the forest, shouting obscenities at his escaped targets in frustration. He didn't seem too content in following them into the forest and turned away, trudging back towards the town. As Pansy pulled himself to his feet, he gave a sigh of relief. The last ten minutes had practically flew by and his short-term memory was a blur of gunshots, his shoes slapping off of the paved streets of Krukow and the sound of his heart pumping in his ears. The town of Krukow was barely a mile away but Pansy had never felt so far away from it. What would happen to Carmena, the people he'd grown up with or the mayor? But covered in wet muck with a slight pain in his right foot and his heart feeling like it'd explode, he decided not to worry for now. He gave a reassuring smile at the girl who had escaped with him into the forest and fell to the ground in a heap beside her, his chest rising and falling quickly. He took deep lungfuls of air through his mouth and nose, starting to feel slightly sick. His head was swimming due to the lack of oxygen but he knew that'd pass after a little while. Despite his mind feeling dazed, one thought popped into his head. "Gods...My name is Pansy, not beefcakes" groaned Pansy between breathes, covering both eyes with the palms of his dark hands.	Name: Pansy Jermaine Spitz Gender: Male Age: 23 Age Appearance: Early 20's. Appearance: Picture Looks can be deceiving and this certainly is the case for Pansy Spitz. With black skin, a well-toned abdomen and powerful arms, some would take Pansy to be a large thug or even a fighter of some kind. How wrong they are. Growing up, Pansy shaved his head and muscled up his body for one reason only - to stop the teasing. His rather timid and feminime personality meant that he was often made fun of as a child. When he grew to his adolescence, he began bulking up and acting tough to stop the teasing. However, he was much more comfortable in the kitchen with an apron around his waist than in the wilderness lifting rocks. At the age of 23, he has become comfortable in his own skin and now wears what he wants and does what he wants. As such, his clothing is often loose and of lighter colours, such as blues and occasionally pinks. His keeps his face clean-shaven but has allowed his hair to grow into light dreadlocks that go no further than his shoulders. He still has a rather well-toned body but has long given up weight lifting in favour of baking and flowers. He stands at an impressive 6'2" and can give off an intimidating vibe to those who don't know him. But he is often more scared of you than you are of him. Personality: Pansy is, ironically, a rather big pansy. If you met him in a dark alley at night it's more likely he would get scared of you and hand over his wallet. A timid boy growing up, he was often teased for his love of nature as a child, which often lead to him running home to his mother. Thus, Pansy is a huge mumma's boy and was rather sheltered growing up, compared to his wild sister. His mother taught him to cook, to look after a home, to dress himself properly and most importantly of all, flower magic. As a result of spending so much time with his mother, he is the polar opposite to what you'd expect of a large, muscled black man. He is open with his emotions and rather intelligent, if naive. He is not afraid to cry and is often berated by his sister, Tulip, for being ''a freaking pussy''. Although shy went meeting new people, he is polite, friendly and an overall nice person when you get to know him. Backstory: 23 years ago, on the island of Krukow, Pansy Spitz was born to a local flower mage mother, Maggie Token, and another local Rift Hunter known as Jermaine Spitz. His early memories of his father are foggy, to say the least, as Jermaine was often out killing Monsters and keeping the town safe. Jermaine would disappear for months on end and only come back occasionally to give the family money or get Maggie pregnant again. The family was rather well-off due to Jermaine's Rift Hunting and Pansy had a comfortable childhood. But shortly before his younger sister, Tulip, was born, Maggie Spitz received news that her husband had been killed while on the job. The funeral was short but not something Pansy remembers well. The birth of his sister he remembers much better, as he was there holding his mothers hand the whole time. Despite the sadness of his fathers death, the small family unit crowded together at the birth of his sister and Maggie put on a brave face for her children, despite the crippling sadness that she kept for years after. Maggie was excited to learn Pansy possessed profieciency in flower magic and excitedly taught him all she could. Tulip, though, had little interest in the magic and instead went into mechanics head first. Pansy loved his flower magic and nature in general but the other children weren't so open to the idea of a boy playing with flowers. He was teased mercilessly as a child and became rather withdrawn because of it. His mother subsequently pulled both him and Tulip from school and gave them both professions. Pansy worked in a local bakery while Tulip went to a mechanic and worked on skiffs/flying machines. In his adolescence, Pansy became interested in changing his appearance to please his former bullies. It worked, for a while. He shaved his head, built up muscles and hid his interests. It only resulted in making him unhappy and it took years for him to eventually become comfortable in his own skin. Now, at the age of 23, he looks to the future with glee. He has a great job in the bakery, gets on well with his sister and mother and is even considering going to an academy for cooking in Kuiper. But with the increasing boldness of monsters, the poor health of his mother and the aggression from the Crucible, things are starting to look more and more bleak for the young black baker from Krukow. Mage: Flower Mage Skills: Cooking, Flower Magic, botany. Techniques: Daisy Chain A chain of flowers forms from his palms to loop around it's target and hold on tight. This is a rather powerful technique that takes a lot energy to use and can't really be used offensivly. Petal Swipe Using a cloud of razorsharp petals, he swipes at his target. The technique is powerful enough to cut through tree branches and can leave nasty looking cuts. Nectar Shield Dragging nectar up from a flower, it can be slathered across a wound and form a hard shell, comparable to a cast. It is again rather powerful and repeatedly hitting it will cause it to shatter. Position: Cook Theme Song: Gorgeous George - Kredo
9,782	270	19	1,129	1,908	Terms of Events Back at the Free Wind: It wasn’t the best morning to wake up to. There were far more peaceful stirrings, those which involved a few rolls in bed, mumbling calming words and facing the endearing sun head on. Unfortunately not a single window was present within in Drew’s room, in fact it barely deterred from how it appeared the day his two other cargo guards and himself were hired for a full time job. It was wellpaying and full of lethargicy, since at this juncture they had their new and young recruit doing most of the handywork. Yet he could feel no remorse for the poor teen, as his stomach was in enough turmoil to take presidence over anything else. His belly let out a loud rumbling, like a storm was brewing within him, soon to be expelled in one fail swoop. Thankfully, his room had its own bathroom, and not a moment was wasted before he lept his way into the tiny stall. After taking a few painstaking minutes to relieve himself, he slithered his way out of the laboratory and began to dress himself. He followed the required dress code his peers had instated when they first began this service. The guard draped himself in a cyanic bulletproof vest and a police uniform, one which belonged to the trio’s previous profession before being honorably discharged. Lastly, he slipped a helmet over his head, and made sure it was firmly fastened and tightened before slinging his marksman rifle over his shoulder. The man never got used to seeing the world through a visor. The small cutout of glass acted as a medium, a wall, something miscontruding his vision of his surroundings. But it kept his face and true identity from others eyes, yet he also never wrapped his mind around the fact that Varren always opted to wear his own outfit. No helmet, nothing protective, just a hoodie and bare flesh. Granted, he was quite the lanky individual, but bullets were bullets, through and through. He let out another groan as his stomach grumbled angrily while taking his first step out of the door. ”Damn it, bombs away!” He yelped as he dropped the firearm and dashed back into the bathroom to wage one more war against himself. ”Damn it, how did Varren know that food was bad?! Does he have a sixth sense or something?” After all, the young lad did recommend the trio to not feast upon unknown food. At their last stop, they had consumed quite the hefty amount, like a pack of gluttons. There must have been some poisonous factor, under the secret identity as a secret ingredient. Or maybe it was just that the boy’s picky as hell. Regardless, he was free of dietary distraught while the remaining three were left to writhe. After the firefight within the bathroom had ceased, Drew finally made his way to the top deck. There she was, standing with that ever so captivating expression as she ruthlessly kicked the short-circuited machinery. The elegant flow of her hair, the power surging with every kick, the spree of gunshots in the dis- Wait, Summer didn’t eminate those kinds of sounds, only curses and obscenities left her perfectly sculpted lips. A few muzzle flashes in the distance caught the guard’s attention, in response he drew his firearm and aimed down the stacked optics. He closed one eye while peering down with the other, keeping his breath reticent as he awaited the appearance of life. And not to his surprise two individuals broke through the evergreens, both seemed to be polar opposites of each other. One was tall, and appeared to have the strength to snap a human in two. With his pinky. They were unarmed and seemed to be fleeing from something, perhaps they were the receivers of those bullets. After a few moments he saw his sights upon the shooter, submerging from the forest cladded in a very familiar uniform and with a pistol in hand. The man came to an abrupt halt to take aim at the two escapees, but to his demise Drew was the quicker of the two. A silenced round wizzed past the two citizens and lodged itself in the man’s shoulder. The round entered and exited in one fluent movement, accompanied by an explosion of red liquid upon its egress. The soldier let out a pained cry as his hand rushed to take hold of the gash, yet another projectile to his chest ceased his existence. The two remaining individuals seemed peaceful enough, yet to be safe Drew kept his firearm trained on the two. ”They don’t appear to be armed, Summer. What is our choice of action?” He asked to his side, keeping the barrel trained on the two as they approached the freighter. Meanwhile back in Krukow: Varren wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face with a combatant trained in the art of broom combat. What else did this backwoods town have up its sleeve?! Building-lifting elders? Monsters in the lakes? Fair trading prices? The possibilities were endless, and the young guard was entirely cast out into the void of the unknown. Drastic times called for drastic measures, and a girl only a couple of years younger than himself qualified as lethal, especially one armed with a broom. A quick jab to the throat could collapse one’s airway instantly. Before Varren got his ass royally kicked by the broom ninja, a saving grace stood before the girl, a blonde boy of similar age. The guard let out a sigh of relief and shook his head in response, ”No, I’m proud to say I am not a conscript of the Crucible.” He arched his back an inch at the jutted finger, ”Why yes, I am from that crashed ship over the horizon. It wasn’t the softest landing, but it was… manageable.” The sound of crumbling concrete caught the teen’s attention, his eyes traced themselves to the sound and gazed upon the roof of a building collapsing. The boy grimaced at the sight and shook his head, ”Already begun… Damn it.” The guard cursed in remorse, wincing as he turned to the two teens, ”If you know how to repair damaged machinery, you’ve got the job. I’m sure Summer will gladly give a free ride off of this island. There’s not really an alternative plan, given the Crucible’s presence. My co-worker should keep them occupied.” He motioned his head in the direction of the forest and readied his SMG, ”Well, let’s get a move on. I’ll keep us out of danger, don’t worry.” He made a kind smile at the two, yet the greeting expression quickly faded away and was replaced with stern eyes. Varren raised the tecpatl and began to make his way down the blow, with Aubrey and Emery in tow. ”Oh, if you don’t mind me asking, what are your names? I’m Varren. Varren Yinyues, Ex-officer of the Lemnos Police Department. But currently, I’m an employee of the Free Winds. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”	Name: Varren Yinyues Nickname: N/A Gender: Male Age: 18 Age Appearance: Slightly younger than his given age, can be perceived as a 16 year old. Personality: Varren is eternally loyal to his comrades and through who are close to him, being taught the rights and wrongs at a young age. He has a natural sense of justice, and believes that those who commit crimes or horrible acts should be dealt with. The boy is compassionate,understanding and is driven by good morals; perfect qualities for a guard who serves for the crew. He never disagrees with orders and is always happy to lend a helping hand to crew members, even if it’s for minor tasks. Varren is good at defusing arguments and keeping others calm, since he cares more about the well-being of others, rather than his own. Overall, he acts kindly to those who deserve it, and operates as expected to those who are unethical or pose a threat to the crew. At least, that is the facade which he cowers behind. Internally, Varren is a complete mess of emotions and dishonest feelings. He uncontrollably has nightmares of his father’s demise, which haunt and torment him. Though he may look like sort of an airhead on the outside, he is actually a blunt realist, who sees the world for what it is. Yinyues lives off of an empty heart, which he tries to fill with a fake persona, to protect the shambled wreck which remains. When it comes to combat, Varren’s composure is a mixture of the two personalities. The compassion for fellow human beings goes straight down the drain, and he has mental control of himself. Due to the fact he mutes out his churning opinions and internal feelings, he is able to think rationally and realistically. If a comrade were to fall before him, he would rather finish the rest of the enemies before checking on the wounded. Whether or not the person survives is an outcome of battle, and only minimal time can be given to mourn, before moving on to the neck objective. Though, he treats his comrades as family, and would rather have any adversaries focus on him, since he is more agile than most individuals. Backstory: Varren was born on the island of Lemnos, within the main city, Myrina. The region was named after an island which existed a few centuries ago, ran by a civilization known as The Greeks. Unlike the original island which spanned 477 km, this one was only a minescule 22 km. It was renowned for its large metal deposits, and harbored a constantly bustling trading port. Education was based around mining rather than the normal plethora of subjects, there weren’t many jobs to choose from either than harvesting the island for its exports. Even though the island is only 22 km across, its vertical height is technically unknown. Though, as workers mine deeper into the land, the pressure increases as they descend. The job is dangerous, yet profitable. Varren was adopted by the chief of police at the age of two, a single man who had chosen to never marry. Inadvertantly, he chose to take a child under his wing instead, somebody he could trust to take the reins of the police force. Of course, it was a hassle and a very complicated job to raise a child, especially for a man who had to refer to his memories of how his mother raised him. He only knew the bare minimum; feeding, changing the baby’s diapers, taking him out for strolls. Though, off of this base, the chief was able to develop and enhance his abilities as a parent. Since the man was at the office most of the time, he had the tendency to frequently bring his son to work. His co-workers found it laughable how the brass-hearted boss cared for a helpless child. By the time Varren started his third year in school, he had been balancing his studies and training with firearms. Since Lemnos had a high-traffic port, the police had to constantly monitor each ship which entered and left the island. Anything was possible, which meant the officers had to train for any sort of scenario, and must be able to quickly adapt. This capability was something that Varren aspired to. Working in a unit, stopping crime, saving the day, it was all his dream. He intended to make it come true, as he practiced his accuracy with low-caliber firearms on a daily basis, observed cadet training sessions, and read up on previous combat situations. A majority of the time, the life of a Lemnos citizen was peaceful, since the crime rate wasn’t too high. Yet, once in a while, there were those who wished to end such lives, people who Yinyues learned to despise. By the time Varren was seventeen, he was close to graduating from high school, and had already passed cadet training under his father’s wing. A tradition for the school he attended was to go on an annual field trip to the city hall, the center hub which ran the mining industry and trading regularities. It wasn’t anything special to the student, as he had seen the inner walls of the grand building multiple times, more than he could count. It was just a cycle nearing its final revolution, soon he would be serving and supporting justice. Though, something out of the ordinary occurred. During the middle of their ordain tour, gunshots went off near the mayor’s room. Everybody within the hall stood motionless, unsure of how to react. They all watched the door of the office expectantly, waiting for something to pop out. After a few moments, armed individuals bursted out of the room, escorting the mayor with a rifle pointed at his back. It wasn’t long until the whole entire ordeal turned into a hostage situation. The unsuspecting guards who were stationed inside of the building were easily picked off, as they were vastly outnumbered. After a few minutes, the police finally responded. The extremists which had taken the hostages demanded that the highest ranking officer enter the building, unarmed. Even though all requests were made, the trigger-happy terrorists fell back on their deal and set off an pre-placed explosive charges. Afterwards, an intense firefight broke out between the police force and the gunmen. While all of this was happening, Varren and his classmates were taking reconciliation, out of harm’s way. After the firefight had finally came to a close, the police force breached the building and completely searched it. It was confirmed that only one officer was killed in action; Varren’s father. Varren simply could not stand living on the island which served as his father’s resting bed. He had to leave the island as soon as possible, for his own sanity’s sake. But before that, he had to secure a job which provided a steady income. Rumors spread that there was a small squad of ex-police from another island, who served as guards for a cargo ship. Yinyues believed he could employ his skills best in the profession. The police force granted him use of one of their rarely used PDWs, along with contact information to the ammunition provider. Once he acquired the necessities, Varren made his way to the arranged meeting place. He was not surprised that he was the only applicant, as it was only a mere rumor. But there they were, three men who were carrying advanced firearms and batons. The leader of the crew introduced himself as “James”, and after a tedious interview and review of the boy’s abilities, they let him into the team. Classification: The Young Guard - There is absolutely nothing magical about this man except for his ability to deal with lowly-regarded complaints from crew members, forced down upon him by his higher-ups. Skills: Close Quarters Combat: Since Varren’s firearm is a low-caliber PDW, it’s rightful home is close-up combat, where there are only a few yards between his opponent, and bullets must be dumped before he has to take cover. The user must adapt and work with the gun’s capabilities. Because of Varren’s sleek figure, he can run at higher speeds and close the gap between combatants. Maneuverability: Varren has a finesse when it comes to moving his body in the direction he wants it to go. Agile, nimble, and quick on his feet, he is able to adapt as the situation changes, and can find ways to flank or move out of his enemy’s line of sight. This also helps out when he is assisting crew members, such as getting into spaces without much breathing room. His body is scarily compatible, which he uses to his advantage. Techniques: None as of yet, either than simply pointing his firearm and shooting it. Equipment: Electric Baton: A standard issue detainment baton, used by guards and rule-enforcing personnel aboard The Free Wind. The blunt weapon is small, compact and lightweight; perfect for swift movements. FsW-24J Tecpatl: The Tecpatl SMG fires a 6.2x25mm caliber round, has a firing rate of 750RPM and is loaded with a 40 round arc magazine. The firearm is equipped with an iron sight and STANAG rail. The attributes of the gun are picked from predecessors from decades ago, the result was a well-rounded PDW with low recoil, employed by most sub-military professions. Of course, Varren is only authorized to use lethal rounds in certain situations, such as an attack by armed assailants. To compensate, he carries with him less-than lethal ball rounds. Magnetic Boots: Whenever fellow classmates paraded around their most modern and top-notch footwear, Varren could just mention these bad boys and make them shut their traps almost instantly. To an unacquainted user, the boots feel sluggish and heavy, and seem to inhibit one’s movement rather than enhancing it. He was given the pair of boots as a present for his sixteenth birthday. Yinyues would have never guessed that they would have been the last things he would receive from his noble father. To an experienced user, whose feet and leg muscles have adapted to moving swiftly with the extra weight, it opens up new possibilities and ways of movement. Position: Cargo Guard - One out of the four guards tasked with protecting the Free Wind’s precious cargo, Varren is considered the newest edition to the force. Being green out of training, the other guards find it odd how he obtained such a remarkable PDW. He is easily considered the odd one out for his age and amount of experience. The guards’ main objective is to watch any precious cargo and assist the crew members. They help by running errands, conveying messages and lending a hand. The guards themselves are ex-police, discharged for disobeying orders made by a corrupt force. The three original individuals are morally good, and specifically asked to not be paid in high quantities. Theme Song ”All forces are free to engage. Green light is given.” One Year Earlier - Colony of Lemnos Five minutes before The Battle of the Fourth Ward Varren jammed the magazine into his issued rifle and pulled back on the charging bolt, whilst peering out the open bay of the helicopter. He was barely able to think over the loud humming of the relic, a troop transport which was employed decades ago. Though, the heli was refurbished with an engine which ran off of aura reserves, making it environmentally clean. The Lemnos Police Department only had a few of them in their arsenal, since the island itself wasn’t that large in size, they were only deployed for high grade missions, where danger was at its highest. He stared at the rest of his squad, who were checking their gear and loading their weapons, prepared for a combat drop. ”How did it all go to shit so fast?” The young man thought to himself as his eyes strayed towards the Area of Operation. The formation of pave hawks was en route to the fourth ward of Miynura, which was under attack from multiple bombings, which were mostly followed through by the terrorist organization which murdered his father a few weeks ago. All Varren could feel for the organization was undying hatred and the unquenchable thirst to avenge the man. ”Alright, the terrorist group known as ‘Titan’s Hand’ has set off multiple bombs in the fourth ward, and is proceeding with their attack as we speak. The fighters have been confirmed to be utilizing low caliber arms, along with dumbfire APGs and other assorted launchers. The origin of their armnment has not been confirmed as of yet, but it is suspected that their weapons were supplied by external colonies. Our mission is to secure a LZ and extract as many civilians as possible. Ally colonies will be sending their own forces to assist in the next hour. Alright, get re-” The captain was cut off mid-sentence when an explosion went off inside of the formation, causing him to avert his eyes. A distressed voice came onto the comms, ”This is Phoenix 1-2! Our wings have been clipped, I repeat, our wings have been clipped! Our main rotor is out, we have no lights!” The pilot screamed through his microphone, Varren glanced to his side to capture the hawk’s status. The man’s analysis was an understatement, Yinyues stared with his mouth agape, taking in the scene before him. Half of the Phoenix 1-2’s rotor was completely blown off, the remaining portions of the blades were melted by a blueish residue. Varren lent away from the opened door, cuffing his hands over his lids as the heli broke into a barrel roll and plummeted to the earth, utterly left to gravity’s will. All he could hear was the hawk crashing into a building, followed by the sounds of crumbling rubble. Just in a span of a few seconds, roughly ten lives were already lost. The right side gunner of Varren’s helicopter traced the trail of energy left by the rocket, and sent a volley of rounds towards the area. This was Yinyues’ first operation as an officer of the LPD, a horrible way to start his career. Varren suddenly jumped out of surprisement when he suddenly felt a hand grab his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. ”Yinyues, get your head in the game! We are one klick out from the LZ.” His CO ordered him, then went off to check the other squad members. The young man nodded, grabbing onto his firearm tightly as the pave hawk decreased its altitude. ”This is Phoenix 1-3, no eyes on any survivors from 1-2. Splitting off to LZ Sierra.” The pilot notified Command of their change of course, sticking to the plan as the helicopter began to bleat its speed. Both door gunners were watching the ground, trying to spot any infantry awaiting them. ”We are landing at LZ Sierra now, all forces, free to hop out.” Phoenix 1-3 hovered a foot over the rooftop of the building, ”Go go go! The captain barked at the men, standing on the edges of the helicopter. Two squads consisting of four officers each deployed from the open bay. The combat armor weighed Varren down, along with the heavy helmet and restricting knee-guards. Overall, the young man was far out of his comfort zone, completely unprepared for the situation. As soon as he set foot on the roof, a comrade shouted ”Duck!”. Thanks to the extra weight of the protective gear, Varren fell flat to the concrete as a round flew over his head, deflecting off of the helicopter’s plating. The door gunner quickly acquired his target and sprayed into the adjacent building, Yinyues covered his ears from the deafening crackles of the expended rounds. The two squads took the chance to crawl towards the roof access door, and pushed down the building towards the street level. He found it challenging to calm himself in such a situation, adrenaline pumping through his veins as they ran through the hallway. ”This is Phoenix 1-3, we are spooling off from the LZ. We will remain in the AO and will continue with runs on marked enemy foot mobiles.” Varren’s commanding officer acknowledged the notification as they ran through the building, finally reaching the bottom floor. The resistance surrounding the complex was exterminated by Phoenix 1-3, giving the two squads the chance to break off and search for survivors on their pre-assigned routes. Gunfire was constantly echoing in the distance; thankfully it wasn’t directed towards Varren’s squad. Almost as frequent as the firing of bullets, was the organization’s demolition work, causing building to collapse and take out whole blocks. After thirty minutes of searching, the fireteam managed to locate a dozen survivors, and were proceeding to the extraction point. The squad moved up in a diamond formation, creeping through the streets with the civilians in tow. Each member was on high alert, as the group had to take multiple detours to reach their destination. Varren’s CO grabbed his radio and whispered into it, ”This is Sierra 1. My squad is en route to the extraction point. Phoenix 1-3, are you nearby?” It turns out the helicopter was about 1 klick, providing close-air support for an insertion team from an ally colony on the southern side of the ward. “Alright, we’re almost there, just remain calm everybody.” One of his squadmates reassured the civilians, trying to calm them down as they walked down the road. A majority of them were shivering out of fear and shock, finding comfort in eachother’s presence. The squad members were completely silent, diverting all of their attention to their assigned angle, keeping an eye out for any hostiles. It all happened in slow-motion through Varren’s eyes. The sound of the first shot being fired, followed by the deaths of two of his comrades. They were both lit up from multiple angles, as they were too late to react. The CO and Varren leaped behind cover, the former individual being closest to the enemy. The young man stood in front of the civilians behind a the confines of the of a collapsed building, whilst his squadmate took cover behind the only substance between him and the hostiles; a pair of small wooden crates. ”Varren, get down! APG!” The man called out from behind the boxes, until a round bursted through the crate, burrowing into his back. The man must have died instantly, as his body went limp the second Yinyues’ ears picked up the thumping of the bullet penetrating the wood. Though, the young man had no time to mourn for the loss of his squad, as he remembered his CO’s callout before he passed on. “Everybody, get down!” Varren screamed as the rocket propelled by aura of a cyanic hue flew past him, the heat and propulsion of the projectile caused him to lose his balance. The rocket came into contact with a surface, exploding behind him. It took him a bit to wipe away the grime and soot which covered his goggles, then quickly got to his feet. The young man felt his whole body tense on the spot, unable to comprehend the sight before him. The rocket spared Varren’s life, but instead took those of the civilians. “This is… Sierra 3, need assistance.” He was able to muster before running over to where the civilians were huddled up. In their place were the vaporized remains of bodies, though the one who was the farthest back was still alive. He instantly rushed to the woman, whose leg was blown off in the explosion. “Listen, miss, everything is going to be alright. I just need to quickly close up the wound.” The young man tried to say reassuringly, bullets ricocheted off the wall providing them cover. Bravo squad, along with Phoenix 1-3, responded over the comms and informed him that they were almost at the block. The woman was taking short gasps, trying to intake as much oxygen as possible. Varren dug into his kitbag and took out some gauze, tying it around her leg with his hands, which were uncontrollably shaking. The woman was attempting to make out some words, “Please don’t talk miss, save your breath.” She rolled over to her side, revealing the more grave wound. A shard from the APG had impaled her in the back, judging by the amount which was showing through the skin, it had been burrowed deeply into her lung. Varren already realized the woman was a lost cause, relenting himself to only holding her hands as she drew her last breath. With it, she managed to let the words ”Thank you…” roll off of her tongue. He grimaced and picked up his firearm, his eyes void of emotion. …aiming down the optics of his rifle, opening fire on the distracted troops. Along with the help of the other squad and the air support, the group which ambushed Sierra squad was eliminated. Phoenix 1-3 landed on a nearby rooftop and evacuated the survivors Bravo squad was able to find, along with Varren. He took his seat next to some of the civilians, staring blankly out the window at the raging battle. The young man slipped off his helmet and let out a sigh, unable to rationally describe his mentality. He stared down at his glovers, caked in the dry blood of the woman he failed to treat. ”This is command. Officer Varren, you will be given two hours of R&R, then you will be redeployed with Ken’s team.” The succinct voice told him over the comms, the young man stifled a cry and managed to drag the radio to his mouth, “Copy that, sir.”
9,783	270	20	156	2,749	"YOU THERE! HALT! HALT DAMMIT!" Katherine sprinted across the field towards her homegrown aircraft with Ava following in hot pursuit. It seemed that The Crucible had already started to fan out into the town to "secure" the location from potential "threats". A scout had spotted Katherine as she ran to her aircraft and was giving chase, only a hundred yards away. Her lungs burned in protest as Katherine ran, but she barely notice, too scared out of her mind by the fact she was spotted before even getting to her plane. The Songbird was only a few meters away now. "Come on Ava! Let's go, let's go!" Katherine said as she reached the plane. She practically threw open the cockpit door and leapt inside, her pet Kulca following in suit. The last thing she heard was the Crucible scout yelling some sort of warning of sorts. She quickly figured it out when she started the engine. PING! Bullets began to ricochet off the body of the aircraft as the propeller began to spin. Once the engine got warmed up, Katherine immediately slammed the throttle into WEP and the aircraft lurched forward, rapidly accelerating. Tracers flew dangerously close to her cockpit as she began to lift off the ground from her makeshift landing strip in the field. Glass suddenly broke to her left as a round passed way to close to comfort by her head. Though soon the gunfire subsided as she rapidly climbed into the sky over the island. Once she was in the air, and confirmed no fighters had come to meet her, Katherine and Ava let out a huge sigh simultaneously. "Damn that was close...." she thought, now circling over the island. Glancing back at the sleek white airship, she shook her head. "What the hell are the Crucible doing here?"	Name: Ennabeth Marlies Nickname: Enna Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: 16 Appearance: Enna is a tall girl who stands around 5’8” and is neither curvy nor stick-like. The only remarkable thing about her, really, is her super pale skin that has never been tan in her life, but other than that, Enna is average. Personality: Enna is a snarky, sarcastic bitch. Well, that’s the easiest way to describe her when you first meet her. She seems to love to point out the faults in others and is constantly complaining. She is not very affectionate and is actually quite the opposite; when in the few relationships she had, Enna could be described as distant and cold, just generally un-clingy. She loves to run her mouth and is never not talking, even in great times of danger. She has a pessimistic point of view and sees everything as bad or not-as-bad. The biggest fear she has is having her island be taken by the Crucible. Enna is also a perfectionist and needs everything to be nice and tidy; she can be described as a neat-freak and almost has OCD tendencies. She favors things to even, not odd, and everything needs to be in order so as she can find it easily. In her free time, Enna likes to alphabetize her vast amount of books on her shelf or read. Many might assume that Enna is violent when faced with her confrontational, opinionated and argumentative personality, but Enna is actually a pacifist and gets scared at the sight of blood. Backstory: Enna was born to a lawyer mother named Merrybeth and a lumberjack father named, ironically, Jack in Krukow. Enna mostly resembles her mother in the snarky attitude she has and learned all of her arguing from her mother’s constant arguments with her father. And Merrybeth had many arguments with Jack. Due to the fact that Merrybeth had a greater intelligence than simple Jack, Merrybeth constantly felt superior which would cause the two to get in a quarrel which affected Enna negatively. Enna began seeing arguing as an everyday, no-escape thing. However, she yearns for peace and harmony in her home. Enna didn’t have a lot of friends growing up because of her rather distasteful personality and so she mostly spent her time reading – she especially liked Merrybeth’s books. While Enna studies her mother’s lawyer books, she also helps out her father in chopping down trees and carrying logs to the house. Merrybeth has lately been urging Jack into getting into the farming business in order to bring in more money and more arguments have been stirred up because of it. Mage: N/A Skills: Arguing, organization, sarcasm Techniques: None as of yet since she is lacking many skills Equipment: Leather gloves Position: Quartermaster Theme Song: Novocaine by Fall Out Boy
9,784	270	21	425	1,026	Pansy "Okay, Enna, whatever you say" replied Pansy dryly, massaging his eyeballs with his palms. The pair sat in silence for several minutes as their pulses slowed and their own thoughts swirled around their heads. The baker wondered briefly about his next move - finding a way off of Krukow with Enna. How would they make it? Steal a ship? Smuggle themselves aboard a skiff bound for Kuiper? The possibilities were endless yet each was more unlikely than the next. He spent more of his thoughts on his family and friends. He didn't have many people he was close to - his overbearing mother who lived with him when not in Kuiper, his bratty sister who worked on skiffs, his kindly old boss in the bakery and the cat who sometimes came to his door looking for milk were the closest things to proper friends he had. There were others who he'd know by face and could talk to but at the end of the day, Pansy was a rather solitary figure. But he tried to stay positive no matter what. Even now, as the Crucible took over the island, he realised his family were on Kuiper. His mother had her shop and Tully was delivering parts to the mechanics over there. They'd surely hear about the annexation soon. This positive attitude had taken him through life and would take him further if he let it. Even in the dark times, he appreciated the good things about life. There was always a silver lining. Pansy pulled himself to his feet suddenly and looked down at his companion. "We'd best keep moving, Enna. We can't stick around this place for too long" he said, glancing through the gaps in the trees to the town below. He walked cautiously through the trees. On many an occasion, he'd walked through the forest, admiring nature. He loved the singing of the birds, the beautiful colours of the flowers and the springy grass. But now it felt different. It was if the entire forest was holding it's breath. The birds didn't sing, the trees didn't sway in the wind and the flowers had closed. It was if the island sensed what was happening and was holding it's own silent protest to the Crucible taking over. The baker bent down beside a wild daffodil, which grew comfortably in a tree stump. He delicately stroked the petals with one large finger. Pansy had been around flowers all his life but they never ceased to amaze him. The yellow petals, the bell shape of the flower, the delicate stalk - he loved all flowers. "My mother is a flower mage. She taught me some tricks" he smiled, giving a wink to Enna. He slowly slid his finger into the flower of the plant. When he withdrew the finger, just as slowly, he pulled a thin thread of glowing gold. "Nectar" he muttered. The nectar seemed to keep flowing from this thin thread as a bead of sweat appeared on Pansy's brow. "Useful for all sorts of things". He slowly roped the thread around his index finger, where it glistened in the sunlight. The thread of nectar disconnected from the tip of his finger and sucked its way back into the flower. Pansy examined the nectar that was wrapped around his finger for several moments and when happy, lifted it in the air to show Enna. "Give it a few hours. It'll harden and form a shell around my finger. It could stop me bleeding out if I was injured, depending on the flower and the amount of nectar I pull out. But it's kinda hard to pull loads out at once. If I do it too much, I'll start getting these crazy headaches. Gosh, they hurt like a bitch" he explained, slowly turning his index finger. Already, the thin layer of nectar was beginning to harden. "Tis the life of a flower mage". He stood to his feet unsteadily as a wave of dizziness went across his head. "Anyways, gods, we'd better keep moving. We need to find a ship or something. Those Crucible guys won't stand around the town all day". 15 minutes later... "Oh my gosh. Is that a ship?" grinned Pansy, staring through a gap in the foliage. He didn't wait for an answer A ship lay in the clearing, with people crawling across it. It was without Crucible insignia and looked like some kind of trade ship. He couldn't believe his luck. They could be anybody - pirates, traders, merchants or even rebels. But they weren't the Crucible and that was all that mattered. "Come on, Enna!" he said, grabbing the girl by the shoulder and attempting to drag her behind him. They exited the foliage, looking a mess but all sense of dignity had been lost by Pansy when he'd fell into a puddle. "Oh my gosh, people are here!" he began shrilly, practically skipping through the clearing towards the ship. "The Crucible are here! The Crucible are here! I thought we'd be killed out there, it was so terrifying! You've got to help us, oh please!"	Name: Pansy Jermaine Spitz Gender: Male Age: 23 Age Appearance: Early 20's. Appearance: Picture Looks can be deceiving and this certainly is the case for Pansy Spitz. With black skin, a well-toned abdomen and powerful arms, some would take Pansy to be a large thug or even a fighter of some kind. How wrong they are. Growing up, Pansy shaved his head and muscled up his body for one reason only - to stop the teasing. His rather timid and feminime personality meant that he was often made fun of as a child. When he grew to his adolescence, he began bulking up and acting tough to stop the teasing. However, he was much more comfortable in the kitchen with an apron around his waist than in the wilderness lifting rocks. At the age of 23, he has become comfortable in his own skin and now wears what he wants and does what he wants. As such, his clothing is often loose and of lighter colours, such as blues and occasionally pinks. His keeps his face clean-shaven but has allowed his hair to grow into light dreadlocks that go no further than his shoulders. He still has a rather well-toned body but has long given up weight lifting in favour of baking and flowers. He stands at an impressive 6'2" and can give off an intimidating vibe to those who don't know him. But he is often more scared of you than you are of him. Personality: Pansy is, ironically, a rather big pansy. If you met him in a dark alley at night it's more likely he would get scared of you and hand over his wallet. A timid boy growing up, he was often teased for his love of nature as a child, which often lead to him running home to his mother. Thus, Pansy is a huge mumma's boy and was rather sheltered growing up, compared to his wild sister. His mother taught him to cook, to look after a home, to dress himself properly and most importantly of all, flower magic. As a result of spending so much time with his mother, he is the polar opposite to what you'd expect of a large, muscled black man. He is open with his emotions and rather intelligent, if naive. He is not afraid to cry and is often berated by his sister, Tulip, for being ''a freaking pussy''. Although shy went meeting new people, he is polite, friendly and an overall nice person when you get to know him. Backstory: 23 years ago, on the island of Krukow, Pansy Spitz was born to a local flower mage mother, Maggie Token, and another local Rift Hunter known as Jermaine Spitz. His early memories of his father are foggy, to say the least, as Jermaine was often out killing Monsters and keeping the town safe. Jermaine would disappear for months on end and only come back occasionally to give the family money or get Maggie pregnant again. The family was rather well-off due to Jermaine's Rift Hunting and Pansy had a comfortable childhood. But shortly before his younger sister, Tulip, was born, Maggie Spitz received news that her husband had been killed while on the job. The funeral was short but not something Pansy remembers well. The birth of his sister he remembers much better, as he was there holding his mothers hand the whole time. Despite the sadness of his fathers death, the small family unit crowded together at the birth of his sister and Maggie put on a brave face for her children, despite the crippling sadness that she kept for years after. Maggie was excited to learn Pansy possessed profieciency in flower magic and excitedly taught him all she could. Tulip, though, had little interest in the magic and instead went into mechanics head first. Pansy loved his flower magic and nature in general but the other children weren't so open to the idea of a boy playing with flowers. He was teased mercilessly as a child and became rather withdrawn because of it. His mother subsequently pulled both him and Tulip from school and gave them both professions. Pansy worked in a local bakery while Tulip went to a mechanic and worked on skiffs/flying machines. In his adolescence, Pansy became interested in changing his appearance to please his former bullies. It worked, for a while. He shaved his head, built up muscles and hid his interests. It only resulted in making him unhappy and it took years for him to eventually become comfortable in his own skin. Now, at the age of 23, he looks to the future with glee. He has a great job in the bakery, gets on well with his sister and mother and is even considering going to an academy for cooking in Kuiper. But with the increasing boldness of monsters, the poor health of his mother and the aggression from the Crucible, things are starting to look more and more bleak for the young black baker from Krukow. Mage: Flower Mage Skills: Cooking, Flower Magic, botany. Techniques: Daisy Chain A chain of flowers forms from his palms to loop around it's target and hold on tight. This is a rather powerful technique that takes a lot energy to use and can't really be used offensivly. Petal Swipe Using a cloud of razorsharp petals, he swipes at his target. The technique is powerful enough to cut through tree branches and can leave nasty looking cuts. Nectar Shield Dragging nectar up from a flower, it can be slathered across a wound and form a hard shell, comparable to a cast. It is again rather powerful and repeatedly hitting it will cause it to shatter. Position: Cook Theme Song: Gorgeous George - Kredo
9,785	270	22	435	350	An ex-officer! How lucky were they? The trepidation that overwhelmed Emery just moments before had instantly been replaced with relief. Varren was not at all what she feared, and in fact had turned out to be their silver lining. He was armed and experienced and that meant they could rely on him. Already he had guaranteed them protection and a way out of the island; that was more than she could have hoped for. Even Aubrey had no qualms about following him, and that had been the definitive sign for her that they could trust this person. There was also something about the Free Winds that rang a bell, and for someone reason her sister's face came to mind, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it. She'll just have to ask about it when they weren't in immediate danger. "Nice… to… meet you… Mr. Varren," Emery said in between breaths as she tried to match his and Aubrey's pace. Her shorter legs had to move twice as much just to keep up, and she was already getting winded. If she hadn't been exerting so much focus and energy into keeping herself upright, perhaps she could have been a bit speedier. "I'm… Emery." Still, despite being extra cautious, she nearly stumbled a couple of times, tripping over her own feet yet again. Each time she'd managed to find a way to steady herself—that is to say, she had to yank at Aubrey's arm twice and Varren's once—and she was just lucky she didn't accidentally drag them down with her. Their path to the forest had been mostly uneventful, thank goodness. She tried to steer them through rarely trodden roads or ones that had the most cover; focusing on directions had been the only effective distraction from the worries starting to catch up with her. Emery tried not to think of the others left behind, of the mayor and the dangers he may be facing, of Auntie Mel, and diverted her attention to doing what she can to keep them out of trouble. It worked for the most past. The closest to trouble they had gotten was an almost encounter with two soldiers, but thankfully her goggles alerted them just in time. The three of them managed to avoid engaging in any sort of combat, and soon they would find themselves surrounded by thickets of green. They had made it to the forest, and now all they had to do was reach the airship. If her calculation were right, and they always were, that should be no more than a ten minutes' walk away. What's the worst that could happen then?	Name: Emery Cooke Nickname: None yet. Gender: Female Age: 16 Age Appearance: Teenager; usually mistaken for someone younger Appearance: Emery is five foot nothing, though her strategically tied ribbon and heeled shoes give her at least four more inches. She might disappear in crowds every so often, but she's actually pretty easy to spot, thanks to her distinctive graceless gait. Let's just say, you probably won't see someone trip over her own feet (then quickly roll to safety) as much as Emery does. She's also very expressive and it takes but a second to discern what's currently going through her mind. Personality: Three parts sunshine and rainbows, one part frantic energy, topped off with an even layer of awkwardness, Emery stands out for all the wrong reasons. She has mastered the art of clumsy movements and ill timings to an unparalleled degree, and she's likely to fumble her way through many a circumstance on a daily basis. No longer the eternal optimist she was as a child, there are cracks in her rose-tinted glasses, but obstinacy compels her to remain enthusiastic and blithe. Emery is naturally soft-spoken, but she's not at all as meek as she appears to be. Simple-minded and almost embarrassingly genuine, she expresses herself freely and openly, heart on sleeves and everything. She dishes out everything straightforwardly, no sugarcoating or mincing words. If she hates you, she'll deliver the contempt upfront and make it known; if she likes you, she'll stick to you like a puppy. It's hard for Emery to lie, and not because of a lack of trying; her many attempts at deceit just tend to get foiled by her involuntarily expressive face (and her inability to improvise, but that's another matter entirely). In any case, it's very easy to get Emery riled up and she's impressionable to boot. Sob stories and motivational speeches, no matter how contrived, always seem to get her. Emery may easily be intimidated (especially of people who are 27.94cm taller than her), and she may have a habit of hiding behind people when she's frightened, but by no means is she a coward. If anything, she borders on reckless bravery. She does anything and everything for friends and family, wont to stubbornly disregard her own limits and well-being if the situation called for it. Emery might be a spaztastic ball of enthusiasm most of the time, but when things go from bad to worse, she can be surprisingly dependable. Backstory: Emery was born in Kuiper, to parents who hardly fit the title. She doesn't remember who they are, but she knew of them and their abusive habits. It was her older sister, Arden, who took care of her in their stead. Arden had ran away from home when she was only fourteen, but as soon as she had found out her mother had birthed her a sister, she returned home immediately to save Emery from suffering as she had. She confronted her parents and forcibly took the five-year-old Emery, then visibly malnourished and littered with bruises. They hardly put up a fight and even seemed relieved to be free of the responsibility. Arden took Emery to Krukow, fifty miles away, and have since settled there, vowing never to let Emery know of the hardships she had to suffer through. Growing up, Emery never wanted for anything. Her sister saw through her promise; she provided her with everything she could possibly need, and even doted on and coddled her most of her life. Arden watched over her, as diligent the proverbial hawk, protecting her from all the dangers of the world, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The people of Krukow have helped them considerably as well, and many of them have come to regard the two as family. It was a peaceful life, one she wouldn't have traded for anything. Krukow was like her own giant playground; Emery moved about the island like she lived there all her life. The townspeople have even come to rely on her mechanical abilities. While her sister was busy with Rift Hunting, she helped earn a living repairing what's been broken around town. Emery couldn't have known that soon, she would be faced with something even she couldn't fix. She was fourteen when her sister disappeared, leaving only a hastily scribbled note behind. Be back soon. Emery returned home from a particularly boring day of school to an empty house, still in the same state as it had been in the morning. Breakfast dishes were set on the table, the flower vase she accidentally knocked over still on the floor, its broken pieces scattered around it. Everything was as she left it that morning, except for the bright yellow note left on the table. Ever the optimist, Emery brushed off premature worries and waited obediently, confident her sister would return just as suddenly as she left. Arden said she would be back soon, after all. She could have been called by the mayor for some emergency Rift Hunting duty even though it was her day off. Or, she could have gone to Kuiper to watch that concert she was talking about—Arden tended to be impulsive like that. If there was one thing Emery was certain of, it was that Arden would never, ever leave her behind. So she waited. But then hours turned into days, to weeks, to months. After the week of her disappearance, their neighbor took her in, unwilling to leave accident-prone Emery alone. The first couple of months were hardest on her, and they passed her by in a haze of tears and listlessness. She had very nearly given up hope of ever seeing her, but then she received a message from an unknown sender, only three words but more than enough for her. Be back soon. Emery would receive the same message every couple of weeks, and it was the only thing that gave her solace. The sporadic messages snapped her out of her despair and returned her to her chipper self. No more moping, no more crying, she decided. Instead, Emery channeled her pent up energy and busied herself with what she liked to call productive distractions as she waited for her sister's return. On her sixteenth birthday, she received another message, one that spurred her like never before. Find me soon. Mage: N/A Skills: Spatial and visual acuity: Emery has keen eyesight and can process, generate, and retain well-structured visual cues easily. Basically, she can accurately measure distances and lengths without using instruments and she's pretty good with puzzles. Still, it's always been a wonder how someone who can walk a straight line with her eyes closed can trip over her feet so often. Fine motor skills: For all of her daily struggles with keeping upright, Emery has unexpectedly dexterous hands. Mechanical Inclinations: Put both her skills together and you have the makings of a natural mechanic. Emery discovered her unexpected affinity for machines when she realized she could take apart anything without rendering it irreparable. Her inherent understanding of machinery is not something she can explain; all she knows is that what she can disassemble, she can just as easily fix. Techniques: None yet. Equipment: - A wrist communicator that she never takes off. - Goggles fitted with an optical head-mounted display. It has 50x magnification and can be used to analyze a target by recording its movements and recognizing any discernible patterns. Her sister said it was from the Crucible, but how she came to acquire it remains a mystery to this day. She has since tweaked it, enhancing its scanners and sensors in order to help her gather data more efficiently. Position: Mechanic Theme Song: ✿
9,786	270	23	1,105	2,351	Aubrey felt uneasy about Varren's gun, but considering the circumstances it wouldn't be too terrible if the guard had to shoot one of the Crucible soldiers. He'd rather it be them than him. "My name's Aubrey," the blonde teenager responded, giving his own name in turn. He didn't have much else in regards to a title, given he wasn't even an adult yet. But now they all were able to communicate by name as they escaped they ran from the town. --- Speaking of the town of Krukow, the sounds of violence began to grow in volume and intensity. As the one-eyed first mate of the Free Wind walked away from the town square, battle began to ensue. His intimidation no longer kept the soldiers or the Rift Hunters at bay, and with the Crucible officers being defeated there was a golden opportunity for the townsfolk to fight back. Weston only let out a sigh as he left the scene, a scene which he was the cause. After a few seconds of walking, he began to pick up the pace. For a big guy starting to approach middle-age, he could sprint quite fast. His plan succeeded, now there was a window of opportunity for the Free Wind to escape. Provided Varren found a mechanic, that is. With the Crucible now forced to handle the townsfolk, the Interceptor wouldn't be manned in time to give chase once the Free Wind could get in the air. Despite the implications of his actions, Weston showed no signs of a burdened conscience. Something caught his attention and he skidded to a halt. As the dust from his sudden stop settled, Weston found himself in the middle of a field. The same one he and Varren had encountered Katherine earlier. Though he was now alone, but there was something new in the field. Just as he thought he had detected earlier there was a darkness in the air. A hole in the air, blacker than the darkest night. Wisps of black smoke flowed out the sides. Electrical pulses popped across the blackness every few seconds. The ominous portal made no sound, but that only made it more ominous. In all it was slightly larger than Weston himself. A rather large Rift, at least by Weston's uneducated standards. But something was strange about this Rift. Despite being more than big enough for human-sized monsters to fit through, nothing was coming out. And it seemed to be growing bigger. "Hmm..." he mumbled to himself, slowly picking up the pace again. As intriguing as the Rift was, it was only a distraction right now. Staying on this island any longer than he had to be was dangerous. Twofold, with the imminent threat of Rift Monsters arriving within the next few minutes. Now it was a rush to get off Krukow island. As Weston ran towards the forest a blue, ethereal glow began to radiate from his body. And interestingly enough: he began moving much inhumanly fast. --- The captain of the ship leaned over the rail along the top deck. Indeed there were two strange, random people shouting up at them. A look of annoyance took her face first, but after properly processing what Pansy was shouting she took a look of surprise. "What?" escaped her as she lost her balance. The momentary surprise was soon consumed by anger and she gritted her teeth. With a sharp kick to the Free Wind's deck, Summer began another one of her tantrums. "Of course the bloody Crucible has to show up now of all times! Today is just my lucky day!" Before she could begin cursing more, Varren arrived down below. Summer immediately recognized her first mate wasn't with him, and instead there was two teenagers. "I asked for a damn mechanic! And where the hell is Weston!?" Summer began to shout. Before Varren had a chance to explain himself, a port along the side of the ship opened up and a metal walkway extended out. Didn't quite reach the ground, due to the lopsided resting position of the ship, but it was close enough to step on easily. One of the other guards opened it, to let the passengers on board. Though this irked Summer greatly, she kept her mouth shut as letting the natives on board wouldn't have too much of an impact on their survival. Unless they could fix the Aura generator. Then letting them on greatly improved the odds. "We don't have much time before we're all dead or worse," Summer began, her tone already betraying the coming command. "So the whole lot of you better make yourselves useful and get this baby flying. Varren, take them to the engine room. I'll join you all in a moment. If we get enough monkeys in there we might get through this, but we aren't leaving without Weston."	Name: Aubrey Marshall Nickname: Hasn't obtained one yet. Gender: Male Age: 17 Age Appearance: Teenager Appearance: Personality: Aubrey was always one to stand out from the crowd. Whether by being loud and boisterous or by performing some daring act, he has a way of getting attention. He will often take on a tough, cool persona to make himself appear "cooler", particularly around attractive girls. However, most of his flashy behavior hides a compassionate side. In fact, most of his bravery is actually a well made lie, with a good example being his pathological fear of the dark. While he does pursue admiration, he also aspires for fortune. Though most see that behavior as selfish, the truth behind it links to his hidden compassionate nature. Though he can be quite a scrappy and energetic fellow, when the odds are against him he tends to be more cowardly. This results in him often starting fights that he ends up running from. Backstory: Though he was born into Crucible territory, Aubrey and his mother moved far away soon after his birth. This led to them living on Krukow. Though Aubrey would often ask about his father, his mother Melanie would simply say he was a good man and that Aubrey would be able to meet him one day. At the age of six, Melanie grew ill and was bed ridden. At first, the two relied on the support of the town to even survive. But as Aubrey grew older, he took it upon himself to take care of his mother. He had to forfeit his education to be able to have the time for oddjobs he needed to stay afloat. At the age of ten he began working in the lumber industry on Krukow island. Though his mother felt that he was being too risky with his own health, no misfortune related to his job ever came to be. However, one night as he walked home from the mill on a particularly dark night, a Rift opened right next to him. Due to the darkness, he failed to notice the danger in time and was attacked by several Rift Monsters. He was saved by the local Rift Hunter guild, Maximus, and brought home with only minor injuries. But what stayed with him was the fear of being attacked in the night. No longer willing to work the long hours, due to not wanting to come home late at night, Aubrey quit the job. At the age of fourteen he quit to pursue a surprisingly more childish endeavor: racing. The neighboring island of Kuiper was more industrial and had more money. The underground racing circuit appealed to his youthful and thrill-seeking nature. Though it was a gamble, one his mother also didn't approve of, Aubrey found that he could actually make a living this way. Soon afterwards he told his mother he quit racing, but in reality that was a lie. While she believes he works in the lumber yard, Aubrey has actually spent the past few years going to Kuiper once a week to win money. His skills on an air bike, one of the more risky and entertaining forms of racing, had made him a local superstar on Kuiper. And with that fame came problems. Though he quickly learned how to fight and to defend himself, there would be nights he would go home to his mother with cuts and bruises and not a penny in his pocket. But for the most part, he has been keeping her alive with the ultimate dream he could save up enough money to take his mother somewhere that could properly treat her. Mage: N/A Skills: Boxing, Flying Techniques: -To Be Determined- Equipment: Aviator Shades - Can't leave home without these babies. Red Key - The key to his race bike, the Danger Close mk2. Hidden Blade - A tiny knife hidden in his right boot. Position: Cabin Boy Theme Song: I've Got This
9,787	271	0	74	48	>There is a village, deep in the wild High Moors were nothing civilized should be known as Falconrest. I discovered it while ranging and upon investigating it closely I found the town was impossibly peaceful. Despite the fact that they should be fending off globlinoids, beasts, and barbarians almost every month, they have only one constable who does not seem to have any martial training that I could tell. Yet I have never seen so much as a wolf come within three mile of the town. That was until last night. While hunting I finally saw it, a barbarian raiding party heading straight for town it’s from sheer size it the town would have fallen in meer moments. However what I saw next explains the passiveness of the townsfolk and filled me with horrible dread. Fiends, appeared from the air and slaughtered the barbarian’s. As quickly as they appeared they simply vanished. >I do not believe this was an illusion, there was no trickery, fiends are appearing in Falconrest. They seem to be protecting the town, however I am not certain as to why yet. I need help to investigate this. Please find and send aid, I will wait for them on the at Gerrick’s dock on the south shore of High Star Lake for the last ten-day of Summertide. Do not let them delay, dark things are afoot. >-Korick the Rover The halfling Korick sat on the ruined beams that was known as Gerrick’s dock smoking from a stubby pipe. The rotted ruin of an old fisher’s pier that was now simply another landmark for the ferry-men who traveled the crystal clear waters of High Star Lake. Behind him Beth, a 900 pound bear, waited patiently for him on dry land. He kept his eyes trained on the water for boats, and glanced at the shore to either side of him often. Breaking up the monotony of his vigil with the occasional puff. The smoke helped keep him awake while keeping him calm as he waited for people to arrive.	Name: Markul Ferrn Age: 25 Race: Half-Orc Class: Wizard Abilities: Markul Ferrn is good with magic, especially evocation. He is fairly fit but is by no means a fighter. He is also very literate. Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: Markul Ferrn stands at 6' and weighs 164 lbs. He has dark skin, dark-red eyes and dark-brown hair worn in a low ponytail. His nose is somewhat broad and like most Half-Orcs (if not all) his two bottom canine teeth jut out a little. When traveling he wears dark robes of green and brown and wears boots. In more formal situations he dons blue robes fringed with white and wears matching blue shoes. Personality: Markul Ferrn is a fairly level-headed Half-Orc. He leans to a more Human disposition than Orcish disposition, and though he still holds strength in high regard he recognizes strength comes in many different forms. He enjoys a wide range of things from reading to wrestling. He gives strangers some degree of respect, though not nearly as much as if they earn it. He tends to be well spoken until he has had too much to drink. He does not like those who misuse their power and/or strength and is likely to step in if he feels someone is being mistreated. Inventory: Wizard robes, traveling robes, wizard-kit, traveling pack, dagger History: Markul Ferrn was born in Many-Arrows. He grew up being constantly picked on and beaten by other Orcs as he was somewhat weaker and therefore an excellent target. He left at a young age and was taken in by a Human family that lived near Silverymoon. This was the Ferrn family, of whom Markul Ferrn took his last name as he considers them his true family. Markul was an asset to the Ferrns, still being stronger than most Humans and being able to do much work. The kindess shown by the Ferrns made Markul much less prone to acts to prove his physical prowess and eventually he began to show interest in things more related to the mind. The Ferrns encouraged this interest and taught Markul how to read and write. Soon Markul became interested in magic and the Ferrns helped him find a willing teacher. So he learned of magic and eventually felt it was time to set out to learn more about the world.
9,788	271	1	74	48	Korick saw the half-orc quickly. His orcish appearance was enough to make Korick start reaching for his sling but Markul's dress was enough to stay his hand. No tribesman would dress like that. He stood up to full height and waved to Beth for her to relax, but in reality the bear showed no signs of ever being tense. "Hail there, and who sent you?" He asked, trying to understand which of his contacts actually acted on his letter.	Name: Markul Ferrn Age: 25 Race: Half-Orc Class: Wizard Abilities: Markul Ferrn is good with magic, especially evocation. He is fairly fit but is by no means a fighter. He is also very literate. Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: Markul Ferrn stands at 6' and weighs 164 lbs. He has dark skin, dark-red eyes and dark-brown hair worn in a low ponytail. His nose is somewhat broad and like most Half-Orcs (if not all) his two bottom canine teeth jut out a little. When traveling he wears dark robes of green and brown and wears boots. In more formal situations he dons blue robes fringed with white and wears matching blue shoes. Personality: Markul Ferrn is a fairly level-headed Half-Orc. He leans to a more Human disposition than Orcish disposition, and though he still holds strength in high regard he recognizes strength comes in many different forms. He enjoys a wide range of things from reading to wrestling. He gives strangers some degree of respect, though not nearly as much as if they earn it. He tends to be well spoken until he has had too much to drink. He does not like those who misuse their power and/or strength and is likely to step in if he feels someone is being mistreated. Inventory: Wizard robes, traveling robes, wizard-kit, traveling pack, dagger History: Markul Ferrn was born in Many-Arrows. He grew up being constantly picked on and beaten by other Orcs as he was somewhat weaker and therefore an excellent target. He left at a young age and was taken in by a Human family that lived near Silverymoon. This was the Ferrn family, of whom Markul Ferrn took his last name as he considers them his true family. Markul was an asset to the Ferrns, still being stronger than most Humans and being able to do much work. The kindess shown by the Ferrns made Markul much less prone to acts to prove his physical prowess and eventually he began to show interest in things more related to the mind. The Ferrns encouraged this interest and taught Markul how to read and write. Soon Markul became interested in magic and the Ferrns helped him find a willing teacher. So he learned of magic and eventually felt it was time to set out to learn more about the world.
9,789	271	2	74	48	It was not often that Batches activities deviated from her main objectives, when she did however it was with exceptionally good reason. News had travelled south of a village that should not be and protected by beings not of of mortal realm. While her Master was not one for performing dark arts himself, a means by which he could perfectly defend his private chambers would certainly be of interest to him, he very much valued his secrets. It was the very reason Batche was created after all. Be the source of the Fiends an artefact he would have certainly brought it back for scrupulous examination, although if were packs with ancient Gods he would not be so inclined to get involved. She wouldn't know till she were there, and neither would her Master. This was the sort of event her Master put to paper, the sort of muse he sought out. Following the path he took had always left the Golem 10 paces behind, it was time to take risks on new curiosities if she wanted to be by his side again. _By his side again._ Batches Reward Circulator Matrix kicked in and she felt the closest approximation to a warm fuzzy feeling a construct could feel. Voices. Batche awoke from her slumber and stretched awkwardly in her container. After a quick massage of her neck leathers, she started putting pressure on the front of the box. Slowly she eased the few nails that held her in out of their resting places until there was enough room to negotiate the act of stepping out onto the pier with the grace only a machine could in such a situation. After dusting the remaining hay that had adhered to her crystalline body, she offered a delicate curtsy to the first person she saw, the large Bear. "Its lovely to make your acquaintance, noble Druid. Pray tell, where are the others? I do wish to meet them." After a short pause of the Bear saying nothing, Batches continued slightly flustered, "Oh please forgive my rudeness mighty Druid, my name is Miss Batche but you can just call me Batche, if it pleases you... what should I call you?"	Name: Markul Ferrn Age: 25 Race: Half-Orc Class: Wizard Abilities: Markul Ferrn is good with magic, especially evocation. He is fairly fit but is by no means a fighter. He is also very literate. Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: Markul Ferrn stands at 6' and weighs 164 lbs. He has dark skin, dark-red eyes and dark-brown hair worn in a low ponytail. His nose is somewhat broad and like most Half-Orcs (if not all) his two bottom canine teeth jut out a little. When traveling he wears dark robes of green and brown and wears boots. In more formal situations he dons blue robes fringed with white and wears matching blue shoes. Personality: Markul Ferrn is a fairly level-headed Half-Orc. He leans to a more Human disposition than Orcish disposition, and though he still holds strength in high regard he recognizes strength comes in many different forms. He enjoys a wide range of things from reading to wrestling. He gives strangers some degree of respect, though not nearly as much as if they earn it. He tends to be well spoken until he has had too much to drink. He does not like those who misuse their power and/or strength and is likely to step in if he feels someone is being mistreated. Inventory: Wizard robes, traveling robes, wizard-kit, traveling pack, dagger History: Markul Ferrn was born in Many-Arrows. He grew up being constantly picked on and beaten by other Orcs as he was somewhat weaker and therefore an excellent target. He left at a young age and was taken in by a Human family that lived near Silverymoon. This was the Ferrn family, of whom Markul Ferrn took his last name as he considers them his true family. Markul was an asset to the Ferrns, still being stronger than most Humans and being able to do much work. The kindess shown by the Ferrns made Markul much less prone to acts to prove his physical prowess and eventually he began to show interest in things more related to the mind. The Ferrns encouraged this interest and taught Markul how to read and write. Soon Markul became interested in magic and the Ferrns helped him find a willing teacher. So he learned of magic and eventually felt it was time to set out to learn more about the world.
9,790	271	3	752	2,268	Korick took another drag from his pipe as he considered Vis's news. " The duke, it's good to have his support I was worried he wouldn't take my request seriously," He said calmly, " Well it's good to have you Vis, you too Markul, gods know you are needed. I uh, set up a small fire pit over there, got some dry wood stacked and tinder, so make yourself comfortable, or you can keep watch with me, either way we'll be here till nightfall. But before you go tell me what it is you do, and how much you know of the situation."	Name: Larris Milner Age: 26 Race: Human/Undead Class: Paladin Abilities: As a former warrior Larris is well versed in many weapons including the bow and sword. But with the sword and his fists Larris shines and there are few who are his equal, he used to have holy abilities granted to him by his god Illmater but lately those powers have abandoned him in his current state, as a member of the Companions of the Noble Heart he has gained a bit of skill within a few other things such as tracking. Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: !( "Larris") Height is 6'2 and weight is 195 lbs (in plate) Personality: Larris as of late has become somewhat of a withdrawn man, he doesn't say much and he seems broken as if fighting a internal struggle that no one seems to know about. But he still abides by his code as a paladin and is goes out of his way to help people who are suffering and in danger even if he has to put himself in harms way. In his current state he is in a constant need to feed on the flesh of the living, his soul is still within it's vessel but the more he resists the more it seems to pull away from him. It has gotten to the point where it affects him physically by slowing him down and making him paranoid. Inventory: He keeps a beautiful master crafted longsword with him at all times as it was a gift from his family and it seems to be the only thing holding him together, his armor is well made and very ordnate with with the bound hands of Illamter upon his breastplate just above his heart also wrapped around his gauntlets is red twine, perhaps the most important feature is his full face helmet which he wears during the day and takes off during the night, he is also oddly possessive of an amulet that he keeps with him at all times and never takes off. Brief History: Born to a noble family, Larris grew up to the politics and squabbling of noble families and the court and he hated it. So as soon as he could he left home and set out for a life of adventure, nobody except him knows how he joined the clergy of Illamater but he joined as a paladin and became quite the paladin. Eventually upon his 18th birthday he found a place within the Companions. Within the companions Larris went far and wide hunting down any who brought pain and suffering to the people with a vengeance, eventually as he grew older he slowed down and he decided to settle in a small village and protect the church of Illamater that was to spring up there. But things changed and a necromancer besieged the village and killed everyone within including Larris, but then Larris didn't stay dead for long instead he was brought back as a slave to the necromancer but stubbornly his soul held on to his mortal vessel and he wasn't quite enslaved fully and he escaped the necromancer to wander. Eventually Larris found an enchanter and upon explain his plight to the man he made the fallen paladin a amulet that during the night would disguise him in his normal form, but during the day he shifted into his usual undead form. After his meeting with the enchanter he pointed Larris to a town beset by a devil. Armed with his new amulet and the knowledge of what was going on in that town Larris set out to continue his duty as a paladin and save those in need. Notes: As a card carrying member of the nonliving Larris is: - Affected by turn undead, detect undead, and other spells that can sense or harm the undead - suffers a crippling need to feast upon living things - Animals react like there is a member of the undead nearby, so a paladins charger might get flighty with him while others might bolt - His magic no longer has any use and will not work for him. - During the day one can detect the faint scent of rotting from him but also during the day it is heavily covered - And finally He does not need to sleep, eat, or see. He does not get tired from running and jogging everywhere, he's able to shrug off a variety of wounds moreso than a usual paladian anyways, and he doesn't get sick.
9,791	271	4	501	259	Grrroowl? The bear that stood before her was not a druid, it was a real bear. Tamed, for it didn't seem likely that a wild bear would be so vigilant in its watch of an old the pier such as this, which could only mean its owner wasn't to far. As she guessed, four gentlemen were locked in conversation further down her pier. It was rude to interrupt them, but she had to make her presence known at least, lest they leave without her. Batche sashayed down the pier towards them, giving a friendly wave to her new party as she went. "Evening gentlemen! It is lovely to make your acquaintance also, I am Miss Batche and I am here about the fearsome flesh rending beasts from another dimension. Did I over hear that someone is injured? I brought Nettle and Skinbane infused bandages for just the occasion your mortal bodies decide to succumb to physical punishment." Batche smiled, already being so helpful, Master would be content.	- Name: Lily Beckett - Age: 20 - Race: Human - Class: Paladin - Abilities: As a knight Lily is physically strong, an excellent rider, and a superb swordsman, with ancillary training with polearms and bows. As a Paladin Lily is capable of channeling holy energy through her body to heal the living or harm the undead, focus her spiritual might through her holy symbol to repel evil forces, and focus the energies of righteousness through her sword to smite evil. The holy power coursing through her body grants her protection from many mystical attacks on her body and mind. Lily has been granted a limited ability to focus the power of Torm as spells, enabling her to perform blessings or ward an individual or small area against evil. Additionally as a Paladin Lily has the ability to sense the presence of supernatural evil, such as Fiends and the Undead. - Alignment: Lawful Good - Appearance: Lily stands at roughly 5'10, and has a lean, athletic build that is corded with muscle. Her hair is black and worn long, usually simply gathered together under her helm in battle. Her eyes are gray, and while she is well-calloused she has no scars, suggesting easy access to healing magic. About her shoulders she wears a hooded cloak of deep, dark red. - Personality: Lily is a Paladin, although not with all that implies. She lives her life by a simple code, dedicated to the Triad, the gods Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm - although Torm is her patron, and has her deepest devotion. The code she abides by is a simple one: A Paladin is a speaker and seeker of Truth. A Paladin does not prejudge, but instead keeps an open mind. A Paladin never shirks from speaking the truth under any circumstance. A Paladin is the arbiter of Justice. A Paladin will never allow the guilty to escape their Just punishment, nor the innocent to be trampled by injustice. A Paladin is Sacrificing. The Paladin will give up everything they have, even their lives in the defense of the innocent. A Paladin is Courageous, and does not shirk from battle with darkness but instead seeks it out and ends it. A Paladin is Compassionate, and is kind to those around them, whether they appreciate it or not. A Paladin is Merciful, and takes life only when there is no other choice. A Paladin is Faithful, to their Masters and to their peers. A Paladin can always be called upon, and will never abandon those in need. A Paladin is Humble, and does not seek personal glory or the adulation of others. Outside of the tenets of this code, Lily is a simple person - not stupid, she is quite learned and intelligent, but she is not subtle or cunning. She has a habit of believing the best of people who too often don't deserve it. She approaches every aspect of her life the way she approaches her labors as a Paladin - directly and relentlessly. She is, however, smart and wise enough to grasp that not everyone who is good at heart should be forced to abide by her way of life, say, by having her reject the promised reward for a task simply because she has no use for treasure. - Inventory: Lily's most prized possession is her sword, a longsword 46 inches in length, with a diamond-style blade and a cruciform crossguard, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a wheel-shaped pommel - she can wield the weapon one-handed if need be, but favors using it with both. The weapon is rather unremarkable, well-crafted but unenchanted and unnamed. With it she wields a suit of well-forged plate armor, similarly unadorned but nevertheless well cared for. The armor does bear a minor enchantment in that it is self-fastening, enabling Lily to quickly don and remove it in moments without assistance, rather than the minutes she would need even with a squire. In battle she adds a visored barbute. The gauntlets are special as well - each has been anointed by a Priest of Torm, and through them Lily can focus her Paladin capabilities. She also carries a similarly enchanted but much smaller and more maneuverable holy symbol on a silver chain around her neck, a simple circle of metal with a gauntlet etched upon it. Over her armor she has a simple, unadorned red cloak, unmagical but warm and protective from rain. Aside from her battle gear, she carries a light traveling pack holding rations, water, a small vial of blessed water, Tormite Holy Scripture, flints and tinder, fifty feet of rope, a grappling hook, and a utility knife. - History: Lily doesn't really know where she comes from, beyond probable Illuskan ancestry judging by her coloration. Twenty years ago she was found on the doorstep of the Temple of the Triad in Waterdeep, a crying infant in a basket. In a city like Waterdeep this wasn't a terribly uncommon incident, although people usually had the courtesy to hand the baby to a Priest. Being a temple dedicated to three of the most noble and heroic Gods they weren't complete dicks, and so took the child in, fostering her with a humble Tormite Priest by the name of Gabriel, who raised her as his own. Although little more than an apprentice priest, Gabriel was treated with great respect, and as Lily grew she soon discovered why. Gabriel was better known as Sir Gabriel Beckett, Knight and Paladin of the Tormtar, a legendary hero who had guarded the Sword Coast for decades. Upon learning this young Lily was inspired, and hounded the old knight to teach her the ways of the Paladin. Despite his reticence to see the girl he had come to call daughter take up the heavy burden of the Paladin he did not deny her, and her training began. To Lily's surprise the training involved much less sparring and much more deep contemplation and study. Gabriel and her would spend many hours, deep into the night discussing the nature of evil, and how to fight it. Gabriel taught her to use her sword as a last resort, to battle evil with her mind and heart, to offer peace before battle and mercy in victory, even to the wicked who seemed truly vile. "We are Paladins, not judges. Our place is not to lay judgment, but to prevent further evil. " At seventeen she began to shift from pure training to minor missions for the Temple - safeguarding travelers, guarding graveyards, laying to rest ghosts and spectres that came to rest in homes in Waterdeep. Her final mission - and final test - was to join a band of warriors led by Lord Tomas Gram, warrior of Tyr, and quiet the unrest within the tomb of the Nichos clan, a vast catacomb that had become a nest of the Undead in recent months. The mission was successful, and Lily earned her marks, her abilities equally effective at dissipating the angry ghosts and risen bodies and healing the wounds her comrades suffered, and demonstrating her courage and commitment to the cause. Upon their return to Waterdeep she was fully gifted her status as a Paladin of Torm, and granted her armor and sword for use. Within the temple the warriors had uncovered the reason behind the uprising - a book of dark lore had been stolen from a vault deep in the catacomb, the only trace of it a book-shaped patch of thinner dust on a pedestal. Concerned about the potential of such a dark book for it to be so heavily warded after so long the Temple began an investigation, sending Paladins to search out traces of evil magic. While most of the other twenty or so Paladins at the Temple ventured north or south, on Gabriel's advice - and on the word of an old contact in the Harpers - she ventured east, to the village of Falconrest on the edge of the High Moor. - Notes: Lily's Theme If we're doing character music
9,792	271	5	1,551	217	Up above, a pair of hawks circled the beach, soaring along the coast of the river. Seemed like there was a congregation accumulating around one of the disheveled docks. One of the hawks gave silent consideration towards the developing predicament. _"Well, the letter said to meet him here...or, I think it's here...right? There's some docks...and that looks like a lake, soooo..."_ As high up as he was, his hawk-eyed vision gave him clear sight of the many faces occupying the location, conversing amongst themselves. Also, there was a bear. By this point, the hawk felt the need to see what all the hubbub was about, especially if he was to meet up with his employer here. "SQUAAW! (_Let's dive!_)" The hawk cried before descending, with the other hawk following suit. Soon he landed, coming up beside the bear. One hawk slowly began changing form, morphing through a blob of light into something a little more anthropomorphic. As his posture straightened, and feathers faded, the end result resembled something closer to a dirty hobo than a majestic bird of prey. As Lamont took on his human form, the other hawk took perch on one of his shoulders. He approached the dormant bear. "You're a big girl, aren't ya?" He cooed and he bent to scratch behind the bear's ears before proceeding down the dock. There was a distinct aroma filling the air as he walked, something other than the smell of sea salt. A decrepit, despicable stench, one that put Lamont and Sheeva at unease. A ready hand tightened around his quarterstaff. He approached the group of various characters, taking note of the only one sitting down and smoking. Sheeva gave short regard of the shapely automaton. "SCREEEKK! (_She looks a bit too alluring to be out here, don't you think?_)" The bird of prey queried. "I dunno Sheev...maybe she's one of those courtesan golems? I'm sure those things are built to withstand _anything_." He whispered back, before greeting the folks with numerous questions. "Uhh, I'm here for the job? Something from a guy named Korick? Wanted us to meet at this river?" He looked about the individuals. "...I'm in the right place, right?" He looked lost, while Sheeva looked at the knight in overly ornate armor. "CAHHHWWWW! (_The scent-! That man-!_)" She began to feverishly flap her wings, prepared to go for his eyes with her talons. Lammy managed to hold on to her before she could attack. "Sheeva! Calm down girl!" Even then, he gave a look towards the knight. There was certainly something _off_ about the fellow. "I'm...Lammy...and this is my companion...Sheeva." He cautiously introduced himself, peeling his eyes away from peculiar paladin.	Name: Lamont "Lammy" LaSalle Age: 22 Race: Human Class: Druid Abilities: An established druid, Lammy is capable of transforming into multiple classifications of fauna. Whether it be a mighty bird of prey, a fearsome king cobra, or a lazy housecat, Lamont has a wide area of the animal kingdom at his disposal. Naturally, he can only turn into one animal once a day, and he's always thought about working on fixing that. Then again, the lazy housecat is his favorite animal to shift into. His sister always excelled where he didn't when it came to magic, so he's a little outclassed when it comes to that. He also carries a 4 foot long ironwood quarterstaff (that he uses more as a walking stick than anything) when he's in human form, and he's handy with that when he wants to be. At his side is his trusty pet, a Red-tailed Hawk named Sheeva. He can communicate with her when he needs to, which seems like all the time. She apparently tells great jokes, and her sass knows no bounds. Alignment: Neutral Good Appearance: It's been argued that Lammy's overall appearance reflects both his personality, and lifestyle. Moderately tan skin covered in dirty splotches, a disheveled, shaggy, black mop of tangled locks (with a seldom braid twisted in here and there) he considers "hair", an equally disheveled goatee, unnaturally bestial hazel irises that one could say sparkle in certain light, callous caked bare feet and hands, and a usually confused disposition. Standing at 6'0" and 155 lbs, Lammy's a tall, stringy fellow that looks like he needs a bath (and most likely does). Imagine if Tarzan was a slacker that could change into any animal he pleased. That's Lammy in a nutshell. Personality: His mom calls him lazy, but he considers himself "understandably uninspired". But no, he's mostly lazy. And a little aimless. He usually needs to be pushed in the right direction in order for him to get things done. That being said, his peculiar upbringing leaves him as a bit of a flower child. As the oldest sibling in a family of druids, Lammy's pretty in tune with nature. And if he's motivated enough, he'll always want to protect it. Inventory: It's already pretty challenging to carry his quarterstaff whenever he's flying across massive distances in his hawk form, would he really carry anything else? I mean, other than that and the clothes he'll wear (his trusty, raggedy, dirt brown cloth pants and equally dirty vest), he tends to travel light. Really light. No need for money or supplies when you can delve into animal instincts to hunt for food and resources. History: As noted prior, Lamont belongs to a family of druids. What started out as a adventuring duo sharing common interests, blossomed into a semi-popular family team gaining some groundswell in their hometown. As the kids got older, the mom and dad decide to settle down, with enough amassed funds (from successful quests) to convert their housing into a animal and nature sanctuary. The younger sister, Amaya, matured in a way differently than her older brother. Following in her parent's footsteps, she took up the adventuring mantle, and embarked on quests of her own. Lamont, on the other hand, opted on staying home to help tend to the sanctuary. It was appreciated at first, but his mom and pop began to realize just how directionless their son had become. He had no plans for the future, and was perfectly content with just living with his parents. There was no incentive, no fire in his eyes, no vigor. He'd only go into town if one of them wanted him to fetch something. His parents thought him lazy, but was it more to it than that? In truth, Lamont felt like he didn't have much to offer to the world at large. And because of that, he didn't do much to contribute to it. I mean, he was also lazy, but he also felt pretty powerless to the way of the world. "Why can't you be more like your sister?" His mother would plead at times. He couldn't always give her a straight answer, though he never liked being compared to Amaya. "For gods sake Lammy, you're not a bad druid, not even mediocre! We can all see the amazing potential you have, so why aren't you reaching for it?" He would shrug, or play coy when bombarded with these queries. Just once, he alluded at his case, just to see if his mother could catch on and show some understanding, but such a plea seemingly fell on deaf ears. I say seemingly, as one should never doubt a mother's intuition. One day she approached him with a short staff made of extremely durable ironwood. "I'm kicking you out~!" Her chipper serenade harshly contrasted such a drastic demand. Before he could properly protest, she began pushing him out the door. "You think moping around this sanctuary will make the world change? Wrong! That is something you have to do yourself! And if it doesn't feel like anything's changing, then you get angry, and you force it to!" She shoved him out into the front yard. "Go out into the world, find you a really big job, and don't come back until you've completed it...or give me grandchildren...preferably both!" She smiled all the while, she meant well for her son. ...And then she promptly slammed the door shut. Lamont sighed. "D'oh well." The least he could do was fly into town. Maybe there was something on offer at the bulletin boards. With a sharp whistle, his trusty hawk companion Sheeva glided to his side. "C'mon Sheev. Let's go find ourselves a job." He said, quickly taking on his own hawk form before flying off.
9,793	271	6	74	48	Markul smiled, people were arriving fast, and he liked company. Traveling wasn't very fun. He turned his attention to Korick to answer to his request, "I'm a wizard, evocation is my specialty but I dabble in other schools. What I know is that there is something quite strange going on out here, something about a town and fiends." he looked out to the moors, "I can't imagine a town being out here though, with all the dangers lurking out here. A mystery to be solved for sure."	Name: Markul Ferrn Age: 25 Race: Half-Orc Class: Wizard Abilities: Markul Ferrn is good with magic, especially evocation. He is fairly fit but is by no means a fighter. He is also very literate. Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: Markul Ferrn stands at 6' and weighs 164 lbs. He has dark skin, dark-red eyes and dark-brown hair worn in a low ponytail. His nose is somewhat broad and like most Half-Orcs (if not all) his two bottom canine teeth jut out a little. When traveling he wears dark robes of green and brown and wears boots. In more formal situations he dons blue robes fringed with white and wears matching blue shoes. Personality: Markul Ferrn is a fairly level-headed Half-Orc. He leans to a more Human disposition than Orcish disposition, and though he still holds strength in high regard he recognizes strength comes in many different forms. He enjoys a wide range of things from reading to wrestling. He gives strangers some degree of respect, though not nearly as much as if they earn it. He tends to be well spoken until he has had too much to drink. He does not like those who misuse their power and/or strength and is likely to step in if he feels someone is being mistreated. Inventory: Wizard robes, traveling robes, wizard-kit, traveling pack, dagger History: Markul Ferrn was born in Many-Arrows. He grew up being constantly picked on and beaten by other Orcs as he was somewhat weaker and therefore an excellent target. He left at a young age and was taken in by a Human family that lived near Silverymoon. This was the Ferrn family, of whom Markul Ferrn took his last name as he considers them his true family. Markul was an asset to the Ferrns, still being stronger than most Humans and being able to do much work. The kindess shown by the Ferrns made Markul much less prone to acts to prove his physical prowess and eventually he began to show interest in things more related to the mind. The Ferrns encouraged this interest and taught Markul how to read and write. Soon Markul became interested in magic and the Ferrns helped him find a willing teacher. So he learned of magic and eventually felt it was time to set out to learn more about the world.
9,794	271	7	501	259	Eranah had gained safe passage for a modest fee, she had gravitated towards a ship with a sick crew member. In exchange for healing the man she had secured the trip for little more than the costs the crew would incur taking her across. She had done her work kindly and diligently, even helping some of the other crew members with various problems. Otherwise the trip was uneventful and she eventually stepped off. The land was actually rather lovely she found, with a few people already at the location speaking with who she assumed to be the one who had arranged all of this. Wearing very finely decorated chainmail armor she stepped off the boat with the grace expected of a Deva. She very calmly walked over to the one she assumed to be Korick. She was comforted somewhat by the presence of one who exuded an aura of light and good much as Eranah herself did. At least she was not the only creature here in service to the gods. "Ilmater has heard your request. I am here as his representative. You may call me Eranah." She said simply to the one she assumed to be Korik with a bow of her head. She however got a very unsettled feeling from something else nearby. It was a feeling she often got when confronting demons or the undead, however so far she could not place exactly where it was coming from. She was somewhat dismayed from the feeling actually. A feeling of death of and great pain was setting in.	- Name: Lily Beckett - Age: 20 - Race: Human - Class: Paladin - Abilities: As a knight Lily is physically strong, an excellent rider, and a superb swordsman, with ancillary training with polearms and bows. As a Paladin Lily is capable of channeling holy energy through her body to heal the living or harm the undead, focus her spiritual might through her holy symbol to repel evil forces, and focus the energies of righteousness through her sword to smite evil. The holy power coursing through her body grants her protection from many mystical attacks on her body and mind. Lily has been granted a limited ability to focus the power of Torm as spells, enabling her to perform blessings or ward an individual or small area against evil. Additionally as a Paladin Lily has the ability to sense the presence of supernatural evil, such as Fiends and the Undead. - Alignment: Lawful Good - Appearance: Lily stands at roughly 5'10, and has a lean, athletic build that is corded with muscle. Her hair is black and worn long, usually simply gathered together under her helm in battle. Her eyes are gray, and while she is well-calloused she has no scars, suggesting easy access to healing magic. About her shoulders she wears a hooded cloak of deep, dark red. - Personality: Lily is a Paladin, although not with all that implies. She lives her life by a simple code, dedicated to the Triad, the gods Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm - although Torm is her patron, and has her deepest devotion. The code she abides by is a simple one: A Paladin is a speaker and seeker of Truth. A Paladin does not prejudge, but instead keeps an open mind. A Paladin never shirks from speaking the truth under any circumstance. A Paladin is the arbiter of Justice. A Paladin will never allow the guilty to escape their Just punishment, nor the innocent to be trampled by injustice. A Paladin is Sacrificing. The Paladin will give up everything they have, even their lives in the defense of the innocent. A Paladin is Courageous, and does not shirk from battle with darkness but instead seeks it out and ends it. A Paladin is Compassionate, and is kind to those around them, whether they appreciate it or not. A Paladin is Merciful, and takes life only when there is no other choice. A Paladin is Faithful, to their Masters and to their peers. A Paladin can always be called upon, and will never abandon those in need. A Paladin is Humble, and does not seek personal glory or the adulation of others. Outside of the tenets of this code, Lily is a simple person - not stupid, she is quite learned and intelligent, but she is not subtle or cunning. She has a habit of believing the best of people who too often don't deserve it. She approaches every aspect of her life the way she approaches her labors as a Paladin - directly and relentlessly. She is, however, smart and wise enough to grasp that not everyone who is good at heart should be forced to abide by her way of life, say, by having her reject the promised reward for a task simply because she has no use for treasure. - Inventory: Lily's most prized possession is her sword, a longsword 46 inches in length, with a diamond-style blade and a cruciform crossguard, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a wheel-shaped pommel - she can wield the weapon one-handed if need be, but favors using it with both. The weapon is rather unremarkable, well-crafted but unenchanted and unnamed. With it she wields a suit of well-forged plate armor, similarly unadorned but nevertheless well cared for. The armor does bear a minor enchantment in that it is self-fastening, enabling Lily to quickly don and remove it in moments without assistance, rather than the minutes she would need even with a squire. In battle she adds a visored barbute. The gauntlets are special as well - each has been anointed by a Priest of Torm, and through them Lily can focus her Paladin capabilities. She also carries a similarly enchanted but much smaller and more maneuverable holy symbol on a silver chain around her neck, a simple circle of metal with a gauntlet etched upon it. Over her armor she has a simple, unadorned red cloak, unmagical but warm and protective from rain. Aside from her battle gear, she carries a light traveling pack holding rations, water, a small vial of blessed water, Tormite Holy Scripture, flints and tinder, fifty feet of rope, a grappling hook, and a utility knife. - History: Lily doesn't really know where she comes from, beyond probable Illuskan ancestry judging by her coloration. Twenty years ago she was found on the doorstep of the Temple of the Triad in Waterdeep, a crying infant in a basket. In a city like Waterdeep this wasn't a terribly uncommon incident, although people usually had the courtesy to hand the baby to a Priest. Being a temple dedicated to three of the most noble and heroic Gods they weren't complete dicks, and so took the child in, fostering her with a humble Tormite Priest by the name of Gabriel, who raised her as his own. Although little more than an apprentice priest, Gabriel was treated with great respect, and as Lily grew she soon discovered why. Gabriel was better known as Sir Gabriel Beckett, Knight and Paladin of the Tormtar, a legendary hero who had guarded the Sword Coast for decades. Upon learning this young Lily was inspired, and hounded the old knight to teach her the ways of the Paladin. Despite his reticence to see the girl he had come to call daughter take up the heavy burden of the Paladin he did not deny her, and her training began. To Lily's surprise the training involved much less sparring and much more deep contemplation and study. Gabriel and her would spend many hours, deep into the night discussing the nature of evil, and how to fight it. Gabriel taught her to use her sword as a last resort, to battle evil with her mind and heart, to offer peace before battle and mercy in victory, even to the wicked who seemed truly vile. "We are Paladins, not judges. Our place is not to lay judgment, but to prevent further evil. " At seventeen she began to shift from pure training to minor missions for the Temple - safeguarding travelers, guarding graveyards, laying to rest ghosts and spectres that came to rest in homes in Waterdeep. Her final mission - and final test - was to join a band of warriors led by Lord Tomas Gram, warrior of Tyr, and quiet the unrest within the tomb of the Nichos clan, a vast catacomb that had become a nest of the Undead in recent months. The mission was successful, and Lily earned her marks, her abilities equally effective at dissipating the angry ghosts and risen bodies and healing the wounds her comrades suffered, and demonstrating her courage and commitment to the cause. Upon their return to Waterdeep she was fully gifted her status as a Paladin of Torm, and granted her armor and sword for use. Within the temple the warriors had uncovered the reason behind the uprising - a book of dark lore had been stolen from a vault deep in the catacomb, the only trace of it a book-shaped patch of thinner dust on a pedestal. Concerned about the potential of such a dark book for it to be so heavily warded after so long the Temple began an investigation, sending Paladins to search out traces of evil magic. While most of the other twenty or so Paladins at the Temple ventured north or south, on Gabriel's advice - and on the word of an old contact in the Harpers - she ventured east, to the village of Falconrest on the edge of the High Moor. - Notes: Lily's Theme If we're doing character music
9,795	271	8	752	2,268	Larris nodded and spoke. "On second thought i think i will be fine, thank you for the offer though." And he turned to look down at the Halfling that was Korick he opened his mouth to say something about the enchanter who was supposed to be here but the arrival of someone else interrupted him, he chuckled as the cleric confused him for the little ranger. "I apologize miss but i am not who you think. But it is great to see another member of the clergy of Illmater has come to aid this rag tag band." He said, chuckling. Larris moved towards another side of the dock trying to avoid the hawk on the druids shoulder who seemed to be reacting to his presence, if Larris had been living he would be sweating. He fixed his helmet and with the tinge of nervousness to his voice he spoke. "I think i shall go for a walk." And with that the paladin moved down the dock and started walking along the shore.	Name: Larris Milner Age: 26 Race: Human/Undead Class: Paladin Abilities: As a former warrior Larris is well versed in many weapons including the bow and sword. But with the sword and his fists Larris shines and there are few who are his equal, he used to have holy abilities granted to him by his god Illmater but lately those powers have abandoned him in his current state, as a member of the Companions of the Noble Heart he has gained a bit of skill within a few other things such as tracking. Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: !( "Larris") Height is 6'2 and weight is 195 lbs (in plate) Personality: Larris as of late has become somewhat of a withdrawn man, he doesn't say much and he seems broken as if fighting a internal struggle that no one seems to know about. But he still abides by his code as a paladin and is goes out of his way to help people who are suffering and in danger even if he has to put himself in harms way. In his current state he is in a constant need to feed on the flesh of the living, his soul is still within it's vessel but the more he resists the more it seems to pull away from him. It has gotten to the point where it affects him physically by slowing him down and making him paranoid. Inventory: He keeps a beautiful master crafted longsword with him at all times as it was a gift from his family and it seems to be the only thing holding him together, his armor is well made and very ordnate with with the bound hands of Illamter upon his breastplate just above his heart also wrapped around his gauntlets is red twine, perhaps the most important feature is his full face helmet which he wears during the day and takes off during the night, he is also oddly possessive of an amulet that he keeps with him at all times and never takes off. Brief History: Born to a noble family, Larris grew up to the politics and squabbling of noble families and the court and he hated it. So as soon as he could he left home and set out for a life of adventure, nobody except him knows how he joined the clergy of Illamater but he joined as a paladin and became quite the paladin. Eventually upon his 18th birthday he found a place within the Companions. Within the companions Larris went far and wide hunting down any who brought pain and suffering to the people with a vengeance, eventually as he grew older he slowed down and he decided to settle in a small village and protect the church of Illamater that was to spring up there. But things changed and a necromancer besieged the village and killed everyone within including Larris, but then Larris didn't stay dead for long instead he was brought back as a slave to the necromancer but stubbornly his soul held on to his mortal vessel and he wasn't quite enslaved fully and he escaped the necromancer to wander. Eventually Larris found an enchanter and upon explain his plight to the man he made the fallen paladin a amulet that during the night would disguise him in his normal form, but during the day he shifted into his usual undead form. After his meeting with the enchanter he pointed Larris to a town beset by a devil. Armed with his new amulet and the knowledge of what was going on in that town Larris set out to continue his duty as a paladin and save those in need. Notes: As a card carrying member of the nonliving Larris is: - Affected by turn undead, detect undead, and other spells that can sense or harm the undead - suffers a crippling need to feast upon living things - Animals react like there is a member of the undead nearby, so a paladins charger might get flighty with him while others might bolt - His magic no longer has any use and will not work for him. - During the day one can detect the faint scent of rotting from him but also during the day it is heavily covered - And finally He does not need to sleep, eat, or see. He does not get tired from running and jogging everywhere, he's able to shrug off a variety of wounds moreso than a usual paladian anyways, and he doesn't get sick.
9,796	271	9	501	259	_"How long ago was that? Smells infected, I suppose you should let it, eh, her look at it," Korick said motioning towards Batch, " Greetings Miss, uhm, what exactly are you then."_ Batche beamed, she enjoyed meeting new people, they were always so nice. So confused, so simple. You'd think after meeting a few they'd get a bit boring but they were always a bit different and a bit special in there own little way. Probably why Master travelled so frequently, there were no new people in our home. They talked of forces beyond Batche's comprehension, of Gods and of ominious sensations. Her inablity to feel such things didn't worry her, but her inablity to take part in such a conversation did, no amount of study had ever helped. What she did know though was to curtsy to those who came in the name of higher beings; respect for others and their beliefs regardless if she could comprehend them or not, was paramount to getting on with such people. Fixing up the knight was going to a great bonding moment to start their journey, already in her debt he'd valiantly help her complete this mission and maybe more if she keeps up this friendliness. Everyone else will feel more comfortable around her too now they know she isn't a compassionless machine. It was sizing up to be a valuable use of her time already. _"On second thought i think i will be fine, thank you for the offer though... I think i shall go for a walk."_ The plan was falling apart aready. "But the fast induction of coagulation closes the wound quickly, Sire and its only mean to be excruitatingly painful while the antiseptic components ameliorate any infectious tissue, you could take it off in a matter of minutes! 45 minutes to be ex- Oh he's gone already..." Slightly deflated but by no means defeated, Batche returned to her first question. "I'm warforged, but I've been manufactured to be of greater benefit to my companions than simply brawn, I'm competent in many falcuties, not the least of which is my understanding herbology and first aid. I hope to be of much assistance on our expedition, Mister Korick."	- Name: Lily Beckett - Age: 20 - Race: Human - Class: Paladin - Abilities: As a knight Lily is physically strong, an excellent rider, and a superb swordsman, with ancillary training with polearms and bows. As a Paladin Lily is capable of channeling holy energy through her body to heal the living or harm the undead, focus her spiritual might through her holy symbol to repel evil forces, and focus the energies of righteousness through her sword to smite evil. The holy power coursing through her body grants her protection from many mystical attacks on her body and mind. Lily has been granted a limited ability to focus the power of Torm as spells, enabling her to perform blessings or ward an individual or small area against evil. Additionally as a Paladin Lily has the ability to sense the presence of supernatural evil, such as Fiends and the Undead. - Alignment: Lawful Good - Appearance: Lily stands at roughly 5'10, and has a lean, athletic build that is corded with muscle. Her hair is black and worn long, usually simply gathered together under her helm in battle. Her eyes are gray, and while she is well-calloused she has no scars, suggesting easy access to healing magic. About her shoulders she wears a hooded cloak of deep, dark red. - Personality: Lily is a Paladin, although not with all that implies. She lives her life by a simple code, dedicated to the Triad, the gods Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm - although Torm is her patron, and has her deepest devotion. The code she abides by is a simple one: A Paladin is a speaker and seeker of Truth. A Paladin does not prejudge, but instead keeps an open mind. A Paladin never shirks from speaking the truth under any circumstance. A Paladin is the arbiter of Justice. A Paladin will never allow the guilty to escape their Just punishment, nor the innocent to be trampled by injustice. A Paladin is Sacrificing. The Paladin will give up everything they have, even their lives in the defense of the innocent. A Paladin is Courageous, and does not shirk from battle with darkness but instead seeks it out and ends it. A Paladin is Compassionate, and is kind to those around them, whether they appreciate it or not. A Paladin is Merciful, and takes life only when there is no other choice. A Paladin is Faithful, to their Masters and to their peers. A Paladin can always be called upon, and will never abandon those in need. A Paladin is Humble, and does not seek personal glory or the adulation of others. Outside of the tenets of this code, Lily is a simple person - not stupid, she is quite learned and intelligent, but she is not subtle or cunning. She has a habit of believing the best of people who too often don't deserve it. She approaches every aspect of her life the way she approaches her labors as a Paladin - directly and relentlessly. She is, however, smart and wise enough to grasp that not everyone who is good at heart should be forced to abide by her way of life, say, by having her reject the promised reward for a task simply because she has no use for treasure. - Inventory: Lily's most prized possession is her sword, a longsword 46 inches in length, with a diamond-style blade and a cruciform crossguard, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a wheel-shaped pommel - she can wield the weapon one-handed if need be, but favors using it with both. The weapon is rather unremarkable, well-crafted but unenchanted and unnamed. With it she wields a suit of well-forged plate armor, similarly unadorned but nevertheless well cared for. The armor does bear a minor enchantment in that it is self-fastening, enabling Lily to quickly don and remove it in moments without assistance, rather than the minutes she would need even with a squire. In battle she adds a visored barbute. The gauntlets are special as well - each has been anointed by a Priest of Torm, and through them Lily can focus her Paladin capabilities. She also carries a similarly enchanted but much smaller and more maneuverable holy symbol on a silver chain around her neck, a simple circle of metal with a gauntlet etched upon it. Over her armor she has a simple, unadorned red cloak, unmagical but warm and protective from rain. Aside from her battle gear, she carries a light traveling pack holding rations, water, a small vial of blessed water, Tormite Holy Scripture, flints and tinder, fifty feet of rope, a grappling hook, and a utility knife. - History: Lily doesn't really know where she comes from, beyond probable Illuskan ancestry judging by her coloration. Twenty years ago she was found on the doorstep of the Temple of the Triad in Waterdeep, a crying infant in a basket. In a city like Waterdeep this wasn't a terribly uncommon incident, although people usually had the courtesy to hand the baby to a Priest. Being a temple dedicated to three of the most noble and heroic Gods they weren't complete dicks, and so took the child in, fostering her with a humble Tormite Priest by the name of Gabriel, who raised her as his own. Although little more than an apprentice priest, Gabriel was treated with great respect, and as Lily grew she soon discovered why. Gabriel was better known as Sir Gabriel Beckett, Knight and Paladin of the Tormtar, a legendary hero who had guarded the Sword Coast for decades. Upon learning this young Lily was inspired, and hounded the old knight to teach her the ways of the Paladin. Despite his reticence to see the girl he had come to call daughter take up the heavy burden of the Paladin he did not deny her, and her training began. To Lily's surprise the training involved much less sparring and much more deep contemplation and study. Gabriel and her would spend many hours, deep into the night discussing the nature of evil, and how to fight it. Gabriel taught her to use her sword as a last resort, to battle evil with her mind and heart, to offer peace before battle and mercy in victory, even to the wicked who seemed truly vile. "We are Paladins, not judges. Our place is not to lay judgment, but to prevent further evil. " At seventeen she began to shift from pure training to minor missions for the Temple - safeguarding travelers, guarding graveyards, laying to rest ghosts and spectres that came to rest in homes in Waterdeep. Her final mission - and final test - was to join a band of warriors led by Lord Tomas Gram, warrior of Tyr, and quiet the unrest within the tomb of the Nichos clan, a vast catacomb that had become a nest of the Undead in recent months. The mission was successful, and Lily earned her marks, her abilities equally effective at dissipating the angry ghosts and risen bodies and healing the wounds her comrades suffered, and demonstrating her courage and commitment to the cause. Upon their return to Waterdeep she was fully gifted her status as a Paladin of Torm, and granted her armor and sword for use. Within the temple the warriors had uncovered the reason behind the uprising - a book of dark lore had been stolen from a vault deep in the catacomb, the only trace of it a book-shaped patch of thinner dust on a pedestal. Concerned about the potential of such a dark book for it to be so heavily warded after so long the Temple began an investigation, sending Paladins to search out traces of evil magic. While most of the other twenty or so Paladins at the Temple ventured north or south, on Gabriel's advice - and on the word of an old contact in the Harpers - she ventured east, to the village of Falconrest on the edge of the High Moor. - Notes: Lily's Theme If we're doing character music
9,797	271	10	1,551	217	Between the paladin's panicked dismissal, and the halfling's stinging question, Lamont found himself a little stuck in disbelief as the group began moving closer to land. "Y-yeah...uh...Amaya...was away on another job...And our mom...basically kicked me out so I could do this job..." He was basically mumbling this to Korick's back, as he was already far off the pier. His hesitant rebuttal was dripping with disappointment. Sheeva, meanwhile, kept an hawkeyed glare on the knight practically running from the docks. "SCREEEEAW! (_That man was clearly not alive! How did you not smell that?!_)" She screeched, breaking Lammy from his lamenting. "I caught the smell, I just didn't think...I mean, he wasn't lunging for anyone's throats...I figured maybe he had fought some zombies before meeting us!" He sheepishly replied as he made his trudge of shame back to the shore. Seemed Sheeva wasn't just being paranoid, as Lammy could overhear the female knight expressing her own suspicions about the fellow. "Y'think so? Sheev said the guy might be an undead. But that can't be right...can it?" He queried, his expression equal parts unsure and uneasy.	Name: Lamont "Lammy" LaSalle Age: 22 Race: Human Class: Druid Abilities: An established druid, Lammy is capable of transforming into multiple classifications of fauna. Whether it be a mighty bird of prey, a fearsome king cobra, or a lazy housecat, Lamont has a wide area of the animal kingdom at his disposal. Naturally, he can only turn into one animal once a day, and he's always thought about working on fixing that. Then again, the lazy housecat is his favorite animal to shift into. His sister always excelled where he didn't when it came to magic, so he's a little outclassed when it comes to that. He also carries a 4 foot long ironwood quarterstaff (that he uses more as a walking stick than anything) when he's in human form, and he's handy with that when he wants to be. At his side is his trusty pet, a Red-tailed Hawk named Sheeva. He can communicate with her when he needs to, which seems like all the time. She apparently tells great jokes, and her sass knows no bounds. Alignment: Neutral Good Appearance: It's been argued that Lammy's overall appearance reflects both his personality, and lifestyle. Moderately tan skin covered in dirty splotches, a disheveled, shaggy, black mop of tangled locks (with a seldom braid twisted in here and there) he considers "hair", an equally disheveled goatee, unnaturally bestial hazel irises that one could say sparkle in certain light, callous caked bare feet and hands, and a usually confused disposition. Standing at 6'0" and 155 lbs, Lammy's a tall, stringy fellow that looks like he needs a bath (and most likely does). Imagine if Tarzan was a slacker that could change into any animal he pleased. That's Lammy in a nutshell. Personality: His mom calls him lazy, but he considers himself "understandably uninspired". But no, he's mostly lazy. And a little aimless. He usually needs to be pushed in the right direction in order for him to get things done. That being said, his peculiar upbringing leaves him as a bit of a flower child. As the oldest sibling in a family of druids, Lammy's pretty in tune with nature. And if he's motivated enough, he'll always want to protect it. Inventory: It's already pretty challenging to carry his quarterstaff whenever he's flying across massive distances in his hawk form, would he really carry anything else? I mean, other than that and the clothes he'll wear (his trusty, raggedy, dirt brown cloth pants and equally dirty vest), he tends to travel light. Really light. No need for money or supplies when you can delve into animal instincts to hunt for food and resources. History: As noted prior, Lamont belongs to a family of druids. What started out as a adventuring duo sharing common interests, blossomed into a semi-popular family team gaining some groundswell in their hometown. As the kids got older, the mom and dad decide to settle down, with enough amassed funds (from successful quests) to convert their housing into a animal and nature sanctuary. The younger sister, Amaya, matured in a way differently than her older brother. Following in her parent's footsteps, she took up the adventuring mantle, and embarked on quests of her own. Lamont, on the other hand, opted on staying home to help tend to the sanctuary. It was appreciated at first, but his mom and pop began to realize just how directionless their son had become. He had no plans for the future, and was perfectly content with just living with his parents. There was no incentive, no fire in his eyes, no vigor. He'd only go into town if one of them wanted him to fetch something. His parents thought him lazy, but was it more to it than that? In truth, Lamont felt like he didn't have much to offer to the world at large. And because of that, he didn't do much to contribute to it. I mean, he was also lazy, but he also felt pretty powerless to the way of the world. "Why can't you be more like your sister?" His mother would plead at times. He couldn't always give her a straight answer, though he never liked being compared to Amaya. "For gods sake Lammy, you're not a bad druid, not even mediocre! We can all see the amazing potential you have, so why aren't you reaching for it?" He would shrug, or play coy when bombarded with these queries. Just once, he alluded at his case, just to see if his mother could catch on and show some understanding, but such a plea seemingly fell on deaf ears. I say seemingly, as one should never doubt a mother's intuition. One day she approached him with a short staff made of extremely durable ironwood. "I'm kicking you out~!" Her chipper serenade harshly contrasted such a drastic demand. Before he could properly protest, she began pushing him out the door. "You think moping around this sanctuary will make the world change? Wrong! That is something you have to do yourself! And if it doesn't feel like anything's changing, then you get angry, and you force it to!" She shoved him out into the front yard. "Go out into the world, find you a really big job, and don't come back until you've completed it...or give me grandchildren...preferably both!" She smiled all the while, she meant well for her son. ...And then she promptly slammed the door shut. Lamont sighed. "D'oh well." The least he could do was fly into town. Maybe there was something on offer at the bulletin boards. With a sharp whistle, his trusty hawk companion Sheeva glided to his side. "C'mon Sheev. Let's go find ourselves a job." He said, quickly taking on his own hawk form before flying off.
9,798	271	11	501	259	A Death Knight. Lily's voice was as steady as steel and as cold as ice, which sent a thrill of pride through her that belied the chill running through her guts. Was she ready to face a threat of that magnitude? It seemed the most probable explanation for him, the armor and symbols and his own words suggested he was a Paladin, which could only mean that. Death Knights were a terrible, greatly feared enemy, and the Knights of the Triad had tales of the horror and suffering brought at their hands, the nightmare of facing one of your brother or sister knights in battle, now twisted into a foul monster. "We should confront the monster before we proceed. Do what is necessary."	- Name: Lily Beckett - Age: 20 - Race: Human - Class: Paladin - Abilities: As a knight Lily is physically strong, an excellent rider, and a superb swordsman, with ancillary training with polearms and bows. As a Paladin Lily is capable of channeling holy energy through her body to heal the living or harm the undead, focus her spiritual might through her holy symbol to repel evil forces, and focus the energies of righteousness through her sword to smite evil. The holy power coursing through her body grants her protection from many mystical attacks on her body and mind. Lily has been granted a limited ability to focus the power of Torm as spells, enabling her to perform blessings or ward an individual or small area against evil. Additionally as a Paladin Lily has the ability to sense the presence of supernatural evil, such as Fiends and the Undead. - Alignment: Lawful Good - Appearance: Lily stands at roughly 5'10, and has a lean, athletic build that is corded with muscle. Her hair is black and worn long, usually simply gathered together under her helm in battle. Her eyes are gray, and while she is well-calloused she has no scars, suggesting easy access to healing magic. About her shoulders she wears a hooded cloak of deep, dark red. - Personality: Lily is a Paladin, although not with all that implies. She lives her life by a simple code, dedicated to the Triad, the gods Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm - although Torm is her patron, and has her deepest devotion. The code she abides by is a simple one: A Paladin is a speaker and seeker of Truth. A Paladin does not prejudge, but instead keeps an open mind. A Paladin never shirks from speaking the truth under any circumstance. A Paladin is the arbiter of Justice. A Paladin will never allow the guilty to escape their Just punishment, nor the innocent to be trampled by injustice. A Paladin is Sacrificing. The Paladin will give up everything they have, even their lives in the defense of the innocent. A Paladin is Courageous, and does not shirk from battle with darkness but instead seeks it out and ends it. A Paladin is Compassionate, and is kind to those around them, whether they appreciate it or not. A Paladin is Merciful, and takes life only when there is no other choice. A Paladin is Faithful, to their Masters and to their peers. A Paladin can always be called upon, and will never abandon those in need. A Paladin is Humble, and does not seek personal glory or the adulation of others. Outside of the tenets of this code, Lily is a simple person - not stupid, she is quite learned and intelligent, but she is not subtle or cunning. She has a habit of believing the best of people who too often don't deserve it. She approaches every aspect of her life the way she approaches her labors as a Paladin - directly and relentlessly. She is, however, smart and wise enough to grasp that not everyone who is good at heart should be forced to abide by her way of life, say, by having her reject the promised reward for a task simply because she has no use for treasure. - Inventory: Lily's most prized possession is her sword, a longsword 46 inches in length, with a diamond-style blade and a cruciform crossguard, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a wheel-shaped pommel - she can wield the weapon one-handed if need be, but favors using it with both. The weapon is rather unremarkable, well-crafted but unenchanted and unnamed. With it she wields a suit of well-forged plate armor, similarly unadorned but nevertheless well cared for. The armor does bear a minor enchantment in that it is self-fastening, enabling Lily to quickly don and remove it in moments without assistance, rather than the minutes she would need even with a squire. In battle she adds a visored barbute. The gauntlets are special as well - each has been anointed by a Priest of Torm, and through them Lily can focus her Paladin capabilities. She also carries a similarly enchanted but much smaller and more maneuverable holy symbol on a silver chain around her neck, a simple circle of metal with a gauntlet etched upon it. Over her armor she has a simple, unadorned red cloak, unmagical but warm and protective from rain. Aside from her battle gear, she carries a light traveling pack holding rations, water, a small vial of blessed water, Tormite Holy Scripture, flints and tinder, fifty feet of rope, a grappling hook, and a utility knife. - History: Lily doesn't really know where she comes from, beyond probable Illuskan ancestry judging by her coloration. Twenty years ago she was found on the doorstep of the Temple of the Triad in Waterdeep, a crying infant in a basket. In a city like Waterdeep this wasn't a terribly uncommon incident, although people usually had the courtesy to hand the baby to a Priest. Being a temple dedicated to three of the most noble and heroic Gods they weren't complete dicks, and so took the child in, fostering her with a humble Tormite Priest by the name of Gabriel, who raised her as his own. Although little more than an apprentice priest, Gabriel was treated with great respect, and as Lily grew she soon discovered why. Gabriel was better known as Sir Gabriel Beckett, Knight and Paladin of the Tormtar, a legendary hero who had guarded the Sword Coast for decades. Upon learning this young Lily was inspired, and hounded the old knight to teach her the ways of the Paladin. Despite his reticence to see the girl he had come to call daughter take up the heavy burden of the Paladin he did not deny her, and her training began. To Lily's surprise the training involved much less sparring and much more deep contemplation and study. Gabriel and her would spend many hours, deep into the night discussing the nature of evil, and how to fight it. Gabriel taught her to use her sword as a last resort, to battle evil with her mind and heart, to offer peace before battle and mercy in victory, even to the wicked who seemed truly vile. "We are Paladins, not judges. Our place is not to lay judgment, but to prevent further evil. " At seventeen she began to shift from pure training to minor missions for the Temple - safeguarding travelers, guarding graveyards, laying to rest ghosts and spectres that came to rest in homes in Waterdeep. Her final mission - and final test - was to join a band of warriors led by Lord Tomas Gram, warrior of Tyr, and quiet the unrest within the tomb of the Nichos clan, a vast catacomb that had become a nest of the Undead in recent months. The mission was successful, and Lily earned her marks, her abilities equally effective at dissipating the angry ghosts and risen bodies and healing the wounds her comrades suffered, and demonstrating her courage and commitment to the cause. Upon their return to Waterdeep she was fully gifted her status as a Paladin of Torm, and granted her armor and sword for use. Within the temple the warriors had uncovered the reason behind the uprising - a book of dark lore had been stolen from a vault deep in the catacomb, the only trace of it a book-shaped patch of thinner dust on a pedestal. Concerned about the potential of such a dark book for it to be so heavily warded after so long the Temple began an investigation, sending Paladins to search out traces of evil magic. While most of the other twenty or so Paladins at the Temple ventured north or south, on Gabriel's advice - and on the word of an old contact in the Harpers - she ventured east, to the village of Falconrest on the edge of the High Moor. - Notes: Lily's Theme If we're doing character music
9,799	271	12	501	259	His energies while disquieting certainly, should not automatically mark him for death. Should he become a threat, we will do as we must to protect the people. So far he has shown no signs of being a threat, while that does not place him above a watchful eye, it should stay our blades for the time being. Eranah gave her council, while she had been able to place the source of her troubled feeling as it looked her right in the eye it had not reacted as one would expect of a mindless undead killing machine. It had laughed and simply brushed it off. Nothing in her training or experience had prepared her for such a reaction. "In fact, the creature has been nothing but friendly if apprehensive. It has not reacted as any undead I have seen or heard of before. There may even be hope we could find a way to at the very least halt any deterioration of its condition."	- Name: Lily Beckett - Age: 20 - Race: Human - Class: Paladin - Abilities: As a knight Lily is physically strong, an excellent rider, and a superb swordsman, with ancillary training with polearms and bows. As a Paladin Lily is capable of channeling holy energy through her body to heal the living or harm the undead, focus her spiritual might through her holy symbol to repel evil forces, and focus the energies of righteousness through her sword to smite evil. The holy power coursing through her body grants her protection from many mystical attacks on her body and mind. Lily has been granted a limited ability to focus the power of Torm as spells, enabling her to perform blessings or ward an individual or small area against evil. Additionally as a Paladin Lily has the ability to sense the presence of supernatural evil, such as Fiends and the Undead. - Alignment: Lawful Good - Appearance: Lily stands at roughly 5'10, and has a lean, athletic build that is corded with muscle. Her hair is black and worn long, usually simply gathered together under her helm in battle. Her eyes are gray, and while she is well-calloused she has no scars, suggesting easy access to healing magic. About her shoulders she wears a hooded cloak of deep, dark red. - Personality: Lily is a Paladin, although not with all that implies. She lives her life by a simple code, dedicated to the Triad, the gods Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm - although Torm is her patron, and has her deepest devotion. The code she abides by is a simple one: A Paladin is a speaker and seeker of Truth. A Paladin does not prejudge, but instead keeps an open mind. A Paladin never shirks from speaking the truth under any circumstance. A Paladin is the arbiter of Justice. A Paladin will never allow the guilty to escape their Just punishment, nor the innocent to be trampled by injustice. A Paladin is Sacrificing. The Paladin will give up everything they have, even their lives in the defense of the innocent. A Paladin is Courageous, and does not shirk from battle with darkness but instead seeks it out and ends it. A Paladin is Compassionate, and is kind to those around them, whether they appreciate it or not. A Paladin is Merciful, and takes life only when there is no other choice. A Paladin is Faithful, to their Masters and to their peers. A Paladin can always be called upon, and will never abandon those in need. A Paladin is Humble, and does not seek personal glory or the adulation of others. Outside of the tenets of this code, Lily is a simple person - not stupid, she is quite learned and intelligent, but she is not subtle or cunning. She has a habit of believing the best of people who too often don't deserve it. She approaches every aspect of her life the way she approaches her labors as a Paladin - directly and relentlessly. She is, however, smart and wise enough to grasp that not everyone who is good at heart should be forced to abide by her way of life, say, by having her reject the promised reward for a task simply because she has no use for treasure. - Inventory: Lily's most prized possession is her sword, a longsword 46 inches in length, with a diamond-style blade and a cruciform crossguard, the hilt wrapped in black leather with a wheel-shaped pommel - she can wield the weapon one-handed if need be, but favors using it with both. The weapon is rather unremarkable, well-crafted but unenchanted and unnamed. With it she wields a suit of well-forged plate armor, similarly unadorned but nevertheless well cared for. The armor does bear a minor enchantment in that it is self-fastening, enabling Lily to quickly don and remove it in moments without assistance, rather than the minutes she would need even with a squire. In battle she adds a visored barbute. The gauntlets are special as well - each has been anointed by a Priest of Torm, and through them Lily can focus her Paladin capabilities. She also carries a similarly enchanted but much smaller and more maneuverable holy symbol on a silver chain around her neck, a simple circle of metal with a gauntlet etched upon it. Over her armor she has a simple, unadorned red cloak, unmagical but warm and protective from rain. Aside from her battle gear, she carries a light traveling pack holding rations, water, a small vial of blessed water, Tormite Holy Scripture, flints and tinder, fifty feet of rope, a grappling hook, and a utility knife. - History: Lily doesn't really know where she comes from, beyond probable Illuskan ancestry judging by her coloration. Twenty years ago she was found on the doorstep of the Temple of the Triad in Waterdeep, a crying infant in a basket. In a city like Waterdeep this wasn't a terribly uncommon incident, although people usually had the courtesy to hand the baby to a Priest. Being a temple dedicated to three of the most noble and heroic Gods they weren't complete dicks, and so took the child in, fostering her with a humble Tormite Priest by the name of Gabriel, who raised her as his own. Although little more than an apprentice priest, Gabriel was treated with great respect, and as Lily grew she soon discovered why. Gabriel was better known as Sir Gabriel Beckett, Knight and Paladin of the Tormtar, a legendary hero who had guarded the Sword Coast for decades. Upon learning this young Lily was inspired, and hounded the old knight to teach her the ways of the Paladin. Despite his reticence to see the girl he had come to call daughter take up the heavy burden of the Paladin he did not deny her, and her training began. To Lily's surprise the training involved much less sparring and much more deep contemplation and study. Gabriel and her would spend many hours, deep into the night discussing the nature of evil, and how to fight it. Gabriel taught her to use her sword as a last resort, to battle evil with her mind and heart, to offer peace before battle and mercy in victory, even to the wicked who seemed truly vile. "We are Paladins, not judges. Our place is not to lay judgment, but to prevent further evil. " At seventeen she began to shift from pure training to minor missions for the Temple - safeguarding travelers, guarding graveyards, laying to rest ghosts and spectres that came to rest in homes in Waterdeep. Her final mission - and final test - was to join a band of warriors led by Lord Tomas Gram, warrior of Tyr, and quiet the unrest within the tomb of the Nichos clan, a vast catacomb that had become a nest of the Undead in recent months. The mission was successful, and Lily earned her marks, her abilities equally effective at dissipating the angry ghosts and risen bodies and healing the wounds her comrades suffered, and demonstrating her courage and commitment to the cause. Upon their return to Waterdeep she was fully gifted her status as a Paladin of Torm, and granted her armor and sword for use. Within the temple the warriors had uncovered the reason behind the uprising - a book of dark lore had been stolen from a vault deep in the catacomb, the only trace of it a book-shaped patch of thinner dust on a pedestal. Concerned about the potential of such a dark book for it to be so heavily warded after so long the Temple began an investigation, sending Paladins to search out traces of evil magic. While most of the other twenty or so Paladins at the Temple ventured north or south, on Gabriel's advice - and on the word of an old contact in the Harpers - she ventured east, to the village of Falconrest on the edge of the High Moor. - Notes: Lily's Theme If we're doing character music

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