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<|description|>ERRANT Mina Han is a plain, somewhat mediocre student with the polar opposite of a work ethic. She's lazy, selfish, judgemental, and complains about nearly everything, with few if any friends. That's not to say she'd a bad person, she could even be described as having a kind and gentle heart in the right circumstances! She's not even an especially... unpleasant person. She's just an irritating pain in the ass. Dame Theophania was a knight-errant of old, quiet and forthright, with a strong sense of duty and justice. Born to humble beginnings, she earned everything she had, fighting tooth and nail to earn her knighthood. In life, Theophania was possessed of a peculiarity which allowed her to stride across a battlefield in a single step - as she would explain it, it isn't that she is particularly fast, but rather that the world is simply... smaller for her.</s> <|message|>Shaman "Dad, I'm home!" Sam called into the house. Her voice echoed through the front room, past the kitchen, up the stairs, around the bedrooms, and finally bounced off the closed door of her father's studio. A moment of silence in response let her know he was sealed in and busy with his latest project. Sam sighed as she slipped her shoes off. If he'd been lost in his art all day, he probably hadn't eaten again. Or taken the list Mom had left him and gone shopping. She carefully padded up the stairs to drop her bag off in her room, then made her way toward the closed door to his art studio. "Dad?" she asked, not particularly loudly. No reply came. "I'm borrowing the car to run to the store, okay? I'll have your card, too, so… Well, you can't really leave if I have the car anyway, huh," she mumbled quietly to herself as she turned away. She poked into her parents' bedroom just far enough to grab his wallet and the car key off the dresser, then went back downstairs to grab Mom's shopping list off the fridge. The door opened just as she was slipping her shoes back on. Diana pushed her way in, volleyball bag in one arm and schoolbag in the other. Their eyes met, and the sisters shared a smile. "Back early today?" Sam asked, tapping the heel on her sneaker to help it settle. "A little. Coach said she was feeling unwell, so she cut practice short. Back late?" "The festival planning meeting ran long. Dad's not making a sound, so I'm running to the store. Go ahead and shower up; start on your homework, too. I'll be back in half an hour or so to start dinner." "Thanks, Sam. Heard anything from Mom?" "Nope. And you know what they say-" "- 'No news is good news.' Yep. As long as nothing sudden appears to keep her at work." "Right? How hard can it be for a major headline to not happen in the next two hours?" Diana slipped up the stairs and Sam stepped out the door. Dad's car was parked in the driveway, a two-door compact that somehow still ran–largely on miracles and spite by now. He'd had the thing in college when he and Mom first started dating, for crying out loud. But for all Sam complained about the old thing, it got the job done. She liked that about it. With a rumble and sputter, she backed the car out the driveway, pushed in the clutch, and started into town.</s> <|message|>ERRANT The boy found a quiet spot, away from the crowds on the street, tucked away in the lot behind the stores. He sat on a pile of discarded pallets, humming softly to himself as he watched the crows and pigeons gather around him, drawn in by the millet bread in his hands. He tore it into small pieces, bit by bit, throwing them out to the birds just far enough to draw them in closer. He smiled as he listened to their chatter - their voices were familiar, their petty arguments as they squabbled for food endearing. He almost wished he could have more time to sit and chat with them, but alas. "Kore kara oni no…" the boy sang softly to himself, tearing up the last of the bread. There was a good sized flock now, he thought. A dozen or so. Enough to get some work done. He crumpled the paper bag the bread had come in and tossed it over his shoulder, then rose slowly enough off the pallets that he didn't startle the birds, his hand grabbing something next to him and bringing it with him. The charms hanging off the hilt of his sword clattered together faintly as he raised it in front of him. "I hope you guys don't hold this against me," he said, almost sounding genuine. One of the phone charms started to glow ominously. "But I'm gonna have to put you to work for me, alright?" --- Screams from the end of the street. People running, confusion and panic echoing through the air. Heads turn, drawn by the clamor, curious about what could be happening. A fight? An accident? Some begin to step toward it, wanting a closer look, only for eyes to widen in shock, legs rooted in fear. Monsters, like huge, humanoid birds begin to spill out from behind the shops down the road, pursuing the fleeing crowd. They are clumsy, crashing into storefronts and flapping awkwardly through the air, like children struggling to adjust to take their first steps, but they're learning quickly, getting faster, more agile with each moment. Some learn faster than others, sprinting on distended limbs after their victims while others swoop in from above, grabbing people off the streets and lifting off with them - or so it seems, but no. Their bodies fall to the floor, unresponsive, the creatures clutching some amorphous ball of violet energy in their clawed hands. The Witch of the Waters waded through the crowd in long strides, hair flowing freely behind her like a cloak. They had moved quickly, much more quickly than she had expected - or perhaps she'd awoken much too late. No matter; she was here now, and that was all the difference. She squared her feet in the middle of the road, dark hair shining like gold as the early dusk light filtered through it. One of the creatures had knocked over a red cylinder on the roadside in its clumsiness, and pillars of water poured out of it. She smiled at her good fortune as she threw one arm out to the side, a gnarled coral staff coming quickly at her call. She raised it high over her head before her, the water filling the street circling gracefully around her as she did so, and the words came just as easily to her lips now as they had so long ago. "Oh warriors of ages past, lost to time," she intoned, her voice grandiose and beseeching. The water around her churned faster, more aggressively, rising around her like a curtain as she spoke. "Darkness encroaches, and the music of calamity sounds. I call to you who would stand as bulwark against the tide, to offer your strength to those with the will to fight. Rise now, and lend thy aid to those you deem worthy, that this world may yet be safeguarded from those who threaten it! Come!!" Her staff struck the ground with a thunderous crack, the water around her bursting forth as the spirits within shot free, taking to the sky and rocketing in different directions. They moved too quickly for her to get a count - perhaps half a dozen, perhaps more. It would have to be enough. She only hoped they weren't picky.</s>

<|message|>ERRANT What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? What the hell was going on? People were running, screaming, some were lying in the street. Were they dead? Where did those monsters come from? What the hell was happening? Where was Martin? That bastard! He'd totally ditched her! Was he hiding? Should she hide? Where even would she? "Gaaah!" Mina grabbed her head and mussed up her hair, trying to clear the questions racing through her mind as she crouched hidden behind decorative shrubbery. She looked down the street where the monsters were; her house was in that direction. Maybe if she could slip past? They looked distracted by the crowd, maybe if she was quiet it would be possible? She crouched low, casting a quick glance around before slipping out of the bushes. There weren't a lot of places to use for cover, but if she kept close to the storefronts, maybe- Nope! Nope nope nope! One of the creatures with a bug-eyed pigeon face lunged for her, and she broke into a sprint, getting out of the way just in time for it to slam head-first into the glass window. This was a terrible idea! She should not have done this! Maybe she could still get away and hide? Where? In a dumpster? Could she hide in a dumpster? How would she even get away?! They'd already spotted her! Mina's shoes pounded hard against the asphalt as she ran, lungs burning like fire in her chest. She had always slacked off in P.E., and now it was really starting to bite her in the ass. She still had her bag with her, and its weight was becoming harder and harder to ignore - ugh, why hadn't she just dropped it yet?! Sure, it had her phone, and her wallet, and her- gaah, this didn't matter, she should just- One of the creatures let out a shriek in the air above her, and as if on instinct Mina spun on the ball of her foot while her arm swung around, slamming her bag against the side of its ugly crow face as it dove toward her. It went sprawling to the side and all her stuff went scattering across the ground after it as her bag tore open from the impact. Her eyes traced the path of her stuff as it fell; ugh, seriously, what the hell kind of a day was thi- This… this was some kind of joke, right? It had to be. A weird street performance, or a nightmare, or- She swallowed hard, her eyes locked tight on the flash of pink hair across the street, cowering against a wall as a pair of creepy birdmen closed in on the girl. No, this- this was Mina's chance, she could run while they were distracted, before that crow guy got back up, she could just turn and… and… Why wouldn't her legs move? "Which way would you run, child?" A voice spoke from nowhere, in some kind of European accent. "...What?" Mina's mind felt heavy and sluggish. "Would you flee, or save this girl?" Everything felt like it was running in slow motion. Mina's throat felt so, so dry. "I don't- I don't under-" "Look with your eyes, child," the voice reprimanded sharply. The enemy lies before you, threatening your people. You could flee for yourself, aye, but your soul balks at the idea, does it not? You wish for the will to act. To move, and show your strength. Is that not so?" "I- I don't know, I-" Her eyes were still fixed on that flash of pink. She was becoming vaguely aware that she was shaking. "Would you like to find out?" There was a sword, now. A long hilt, suspended in the air unsupported. "If it is the courage to act you seek, child, accept my power and make it yours. Draw my blade, and step forward." This- this was crazy, right? She was crazy? There was no way any of this was happening. Did she get sucked into some kind of- of- Clawed hands reached toward the girl by the wall in slow motion, inch by torturous inch. Mina didn't think, couldn't think. She saw the monsters about to grab that stupid pink soccer girl, pictured those bodies lying in the street- The sword was lighter than Mina had expected. A zweihander, perhaps five or six feet in length - no, just over five feet, not quite longer than she was tall. It swung through the air like a guillotine, bisecting the creatures in the same instant she had stepped forward. Across the street in one step? Some kind of instant transmission ability, like in Dragonball? The creatures faded like smoke, without blood. Mina glanced down at the girl - at Tamaki. She looked back up at her, stupefied, unrecognizing. Panic maybe? Whatever. "Run for safety!" she commanded, before the stupid b- before the girl realized who she was looking at. To Mina's relief, Tamaki complied without hesitation. Mina looked back down the street, toward the other monsters and their chaos. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and a quick glance revealed the visage of a silver-haired knight in a blue hood standing behind her, a large, empty scabbard slung over one shoulder. "We have yet more to contend with, child," the knight said. "Worry not the distance; simply step forward, and the wind will carry you forth. Now, go!" Mina wasn't sure exactly when she became this lady's gofer, or when exactly her clothes had changed, but in for a penny, she supposed. She turned her face forward, gripping the sword firm in both hands. May as well see how long this lasted. "Right then!" she announced, and stepped forward once more.</s>

<|description|>ERRANT Mina Han is a plain, somewhat mediocre student with the polar opposite of a work ethic. She's lazy, selfish, judgemental, and complains about nearly everything, with few if any friends. That's not to say she'd a bad person, she could even be described as having a kind and gentle heart in the right circumstances! She's not even an especially... unpleasant person. She's just an irritating pain in the ass. Dame Theophania was a knight-errant of old, quiet and forthright, with a strong sense of duty and justice. Born to humble beginnings, she earned everything she had, fighting tooth and nail to earn her knighthood. In life, Theophania was possessed of a peculiarity which allowed her to stride across a battlefield in a single step - as she would explain it, it isn't that she is particularly fast, but rather that the world is simply... smaller for her.</s> <|message|>ERRANT The pigeon-faced monster clutching the ball of purple energy landed on the street, spinning its head this way and that while its walnut brain burned black trying to remember where it was supposed to go. Another one with a crow's head swooped down behind it, smacking its fellow upside the head with one clawed hand and scolding it with loud, angry caws. The pair bickered in the street, the pigeonhead nearly dropping its cargo in the scuffle, before the crowhead finally won out, forcing the stupider of the two to head in the right direction. It fluttered clumsily down a separate street before turning into an alley leading behind the storefronts. This area would ordinarily be used as a loading zone for product delivery or staff smoke breaks, but now it lay eerily silent, its only visitors the bird-headed aberrations attacking the neighborhood. Sitting in the center of the lot, out of place in both location and time, sat a large pithos urn, glowing unnaturally from inside. The monster approached the vessel with its loot, holding it at nearly eye level to clear the rim of the five-foot urn. Footsteps drew the pigeonhead's attention back toward the entrance of the lot. It had been followed? It was so clever and careful though. What trickery they must possess! It squawked loudly, flapping its wings hard enough to kick up the dust around it as it forgot all about what it was supposed to be carrying and got ready to attack. "What the hell are you doing, idiot? Don't drop the anima." The pigeonhead started at the sudden rebuke, scrambling to catch the ball of energy before it hit the ground. Mina looked to see where the voice came from, resting her sword back on her shoulder. Halfway down the lot squatting on the edge of the roof above them was a young man who seemed to be about their age - Mina assumed the viking guy was around her same age, anyway. He wore beach sandals and jorts, and a tacky neon green and yellow windbreaker left unzipped to show off the mesh crop top underneath. Around his neck he wore a sharktooth necklace and a plain iron crucifix like she vaguely remembered being fashionable when her mom was in high school. A piercing glinted in his navel, and two more at the end of his right eyebrow. When he spoke an additional piercing could be glimpsed on his tongue, and his hair, though bleached aside from the roots, had been anachronistically tied in a traditional Japanese topknot. His right hand rested on a katana which he used to support himself as he squatted on the roof, and the trio of phone charms he'd tied to the hilt - a dog, a bird, and a monkey - clattered lightly against each other in the breeze. "Two… no, I can still here someone fighting," he mused to himself, looking up at the sky thoughtfully as he did his mental arithmetic. "At least three of you, then? Man, how annoying."</s> <|message|>Flip "At least three of you, then? Man, how annoying." "Thanks, I get that a lot." Diarmi didn't even sound sarcastic, clambering to the top of the building he'd been clinging to. The other rooftop wasn't far at all, and the only other way to reach him felt a bit too much (like, ok, maybe it was a matter of 'hey that guy's human-shaped. that feels like murder' and maybe that wasn't entirely fair considering Diarmi had no issue swinging the ax through the bird-monsters, but flinging the ax at him just felt wrong). He crossed the gap to the next building with ease and took a moment to survey the gap between the current rooftop and the next, where the stranger stood. "We'll be better when we can be face to face. Think we can put him to sleep." Agmundr sounded thoughtful, likely surveying the situation alongside the still-living boy. "Though there's a lot to be said for the element of surprise." Diarmi would've shrugged, if it wouldn't look like to everyone else he was shrugging at nothing. He was best at being the center of attention And it'd be wise to make the most of this chance. "So, the purple stuff's anime?" he asked, purposefully mispronouncing the word in hopes of activating the man's "well actually" mode - the way people got when they knew better than you and you were so ignorant that it somehow managed to hurt them. "It's interchangeable, right? Because I saw some get scooped out of a woman and get put back in a guy when I axed one of your bird-people, let me tell you." He tried to casually swing the ax, nearly dropped it, and hoped the action went unnoticed. And also hoped that the knight-girl was doing something with the vase, and that he was holding the guy's attention successfully. "Those aren't the best you got, right?" The second the words exited his mouth, he regretted them - he'd read enough comics to know that only encouraged the bad guy to do something worse. Uh, salvaging, while he waited for Agmundr to tell him how to actually throw a punch so he could knock the guy out. "Because they're way too good for you, really." Yup. Nailed it. "If you're done chatting with the enemy, check your other hand," Agmundr said. Diarmi tried to shrug casually to steal a glance. "I mean, that hair and outfit? Come on." He still had the ax, unchanged, in his left hand, but in his right hand were now... grains? He closed his fingers over them as he let his arms drop, fingers closing over the grains. They felt more like flour than sand. "Those should incapacitate him." Oh, heck yeah. No cracking bones here, he wasn't quite ready for that. "But, anyways, so if you-" Diarmi cut himself off, taking the long-planned (by his standards) jump and flinging the spores at the stranger.</s> <|message|>Kagura Kasuke What the hell was happening? Kagura was currently taking shelter behind a dumpster, at the end of an alley. She had been with her friends, it had been an ordinary day. But as soon as the screaming started, and the bird creatures swarmed the streets, she remembered very little. It was chaos. She remembered running. She saw people in front of her get knocked down by the monsters and not get back up. She had no time to think about that. She ran right past them. She lost track of how many twists and turns she had taken. She didn't even know if she'd been actively chased or not. All she could think about was getting to safety. So now here she was, having hit a dead end, now hiding behind a dumpster. She felt so powerless. She was such a coward. There were people out there who needed help. But she was too... "Are ye scared?" Kagura looked to her left, to see a lady in a white frilly ghile shirt and a brown waistcoat, with beige breeches and knee-length black boots. She was resting with both her feet up, and a tricorn hat pulled over her eyes. Her hair was long, with the color and appearance of staw. She stood up and readjusted her hat. "Still, young lass, ye should probably get out of 'ere. This is not a good place to face monsters. Follow." Kagura found it bizarre there was a woman dressed in a pirate costume, talking like a pirate, but she was desparate for any help she could get, so she listened. Then, something bizarre happened; the woman phased right through a door. Kagura stared in disbelief, before she called out from the other side. "Lock's fair old! Just give 'er a few bashes!" Kagura looked back to the main street, to see that two of the bird monsters were at the other end, and they'd seen her. They started running down the alley, straight at her. Kagura, in desperation, shoulder barged the door with all her strength and sure enough, it gave way. The pirate lady grinned, before racing up the stairwell. Kagura followed. She now found herself on a roof, with no way off or back down, and she could hear the birds shrieking and flapping at the bottom of the stairwell. She turned back to the Pirate. "We're trapped up here!" "Nah!" Replied her guide. "This is just a more advantageous place for us to fight them! Look up!" Kagura looked up at the sky, and to her surprise a small yet very dark storm cloud was gathering directly above her. "Now," continued the woman. "Pull the Storm down to us." It was a very strange, nonsensical phrase, but for some reason, Kagura knew exactly what she meant...almost like....she could feel the lightning. Like it was part of her already. "Am I dreaming?" she whispered to herself, before she reached up with her hand, and then, using her instict, willed the lightning to her. The lightning striking the building could be seen and heard the entire surrounding mile around, as could the dark cloud immediately disippating. Back on the rooftop, Kagura found that she was now wearing yellow knee length boots not dissimilar to the lady's, a yellow skirt, a white corset with red lace, and over that, a yellow sil longcoat with bright, round brass buttons. Her hair was now also tied up with a ribbon. The most noticeable addition, though, was there was now a cutlass in her hand. At that moment, the two birds finally reached the roof and charged Kagura. Her eyes narrowed and she strode cocksure towards them, slightly drunk off the power she now felt. She dispatched them with one slice each, before turning back to the Pirate, who was grinning. "Aye, we'll need to teach you how to fight, lass, but you've got the spirit. Now, we just got to find who's in charge o' these birds."</s>

<|message|>ERRANT "So the purple stuff's anime?" "Sure." "It's interchangeable, right? Because I saw some get scooped out of a woman and get put back in a guy when I axed one of your bird-people, let me tell you." The boy clicked his tongue, watching the viking almost fumble his weapon. Mina stood spectating from the entrance of the lot, trying to figure out what this guy was trying to accomplish. He probably had some kind of plan, right? She felt like she should probably just leave it to him if so. "Probably?" The boy answered with a shrug. Everything about his tone and posture conveyed a sense of "ugh, what a drag." Mina could relate. He waved his hand dismissively. "Of course those aren't the best I-" "Because they're way too good for you, really." "Excuse me?" The boy rose to his feet, his eyes like daggers. His right hand gripped around the scabbard of his katana, tight enough to blanch his knuckles white. "Reconsider your words carefully, boy. If you had any idea who you were speaking to-" "He's distracted," the knight whispered in Mina's ear. She almost jumped at the unexpected voice, nearly giving herself whiplash with the effort it took not to look around. "Look for the ideal moment, then act quickly." "I mean, that hair and outfit? Come on." The boy was visibly shaking with rage, teeth bared like fangs and face turning chili-pepper red. His left hand flew to the hilt of his sword, muscles bulging and the tiles under his feet becoming cracked and splintered. "You… you… you…!!" He shot from the roof like a bullet, lunging for the viking in the same instant he began to draw his sword. His face contorted with feral rage was replaced with dull surprise however as a lightning bolt lit up the sky, drawing his gaze off to the side mid-leap. The viking threw his hand out, a cloud of something Mina couldn't identify flying from his hand and catching the katana boy full in the face. "Now, girl!" the knight commanded, pressing a hand against her shoulder. "R-right!" Mina had nearly forgotten what she was supposed to be doing, distracted by the sudden flash of lightning from an otherwise clear sky just as the boy had been. She stepped toward the pigeonhead and the urn, sailing across the lot in the same instant. She thrust with her blade as she did so, skewering through the monster and the pithos in the instant the boy went tumbling across the roof, coughing and trying to get back to his feet. "Y-you…! You…!" The boy shook his head, trying to clear his mind and regain focus, but to no avail as his body became more and more lethargic. His sword fell from his grasp, and with a final splutter of curses and growls, his body hit the rooftop, dead asleep. Mina bounced from foot to foot, trying to avoid the anima spilling out of the broken urn as if it were dirty water. It flowed over the ground, hovering ever so slightly in the air as it trailed its way back out to the street, seeking to return to physical form. Out in the neighborhood proper, the remaining monsters began to bulge and bubble before finally bursting into the same smoke as their former fellows. The clouds of smoke from where the creatures had fallen throughout the battle began to coalesce on themselves, becoming denser before finally reforming into a flock of very confused crows and pigeons. A silence fell following the chaos, before those who had hidden began to finally creep back out to the street. A few of the fallen, restored sooner than the others, began to stir and rise, rubbing their eyes as if they had just awoken from a nap. The Witch of the Waters stood in the street, a smile playing on her lips as she hugged her staff to herself. This had ended far faster than she had anticipated; the warriors had chosen well, it seemed. Her role in the event was not yet over, however; raising her staff into the air, she called the water from the broken hydrant to her once more, sending it up into the sky to form a great cloud over the neighborhood. A brief moment passed in quiet expectation, then, one drop at a time, a rain started to drizzle over the area, lightly dampening everyone caught in the chaos. For the Witch's summoned warriors and their chosen, it was just an ordinary drizzle, but for the others gathered it would gently dull the memory of the afternoon, allowing them to resume their ordinary lives without fear or panic. With that completed, the Witch let her staff turn back into a puddle of water before turning to the fire hydrant and offering it a small bow in thanks for its assistance before stepping off the road and back onto the sidewalk. What a useful tool it had been!</s>

<|description|>ERRANT Mina Han is a plain, somewhat mediocre student with the polar opposite of a work ethic. She's lazy, selfish, judgemental, and complains about nearly everything, with few if any friends. That's not to say she'd a bad person, she could even be described as having a kind and gentle heart in the right circumstances! She's not even an especially... unpleasant person. She's just an irritating pain in the ass. Dame Theophania was a knight-errant of old, quiet and forthright, with a strong sense of duty and justice. Born to humble beginnings, she earned everything she had, fighting tooth and nail to earn her knighthood. In life, Theophania was possessed of a peculiarity which allowed her to stride across a battlefield in a single step - as she would explain it, it isn't that she is particularly fast, but rather that the world is simply... smaller for her.</s> <|message|>ERRANT "So the purple stuff's anime?" "Sure." "It's interchangeable, right? Because I saw some get scooped out of a woman and get put back in a guy when I axed one of your bird-people, let me tell you." The boy clicked his tongue, watching the viking almost fumble his weapon. Mina stood spectating from the entrance of the lot, trying to figure out what this guy was trying to accomplish. He probably had some kind of plan, right? She felt like she should probably just leave it to him if so. "Probably?" The boy answered with a shrug. Everything about his tone and posture conveyed a sense of "ugh, what a drag." Mina could relate. He waved his hand dismissively. "Of course those aren't the best I-" "Because they're way too good for you, really." "Excuse me?" The boy rose to his feet, his eyes like daggers. His right hand gripped around the scabbard of his katana, tight enough to blanch his knuckles white. "Reconsider your words carefully, boy. If you had any idea who you were speaking to-" "He's distracted," the knight whispered in Mina's ear. She almost jumped at the unexpected voice, nearly giving herself whiplash with the effort it took not to look around. "Look for the ideal moment, then act quickly." "I mean, that hair and outfit? Come on." The boy was visibly shaking with rage, teeth bared like fangs and face turning chili-pepper red. His left hand flew to the hilt of his sword, muscles bulging and the tiles under his feet becoming cracked and splintered. "You… you… you…!!" He shot from the roof like a bullet, lunging for the viking in the same instant he began to draw his sword. His face contorted with feral rage was replaced with dull surprise however as a lightning bolt lit up the sky, drawing his gaze off to the side mid-leap. The viking threw his hand out, a cloud of something Mina couldn't identify flying from his hand and catching the katana boy full in the face. "Now, girl!" the knight commanded, pressing a hand against her shoulder. "R-right!" Mina had nearly forgotten what she was supposed to be doing, distracted by the sudden flash of lightning from an otherwise clear sky just as the boy had been. She stepped toward the pigeonhead and the urn, sailing across the lot in the same instant. She thrust with her blade as she did so, skewering through the monster and the pithos in the instant the boy went tumbling across the roof, coughing and trying to get back to his feet. "Y-you…! You…!" The boy shook his head, trying to clear his mind and regain focus, but to no avail as his body became more and more lethargic. His sword fell from his grasp, and with a final splutter of curses and growls, his body hit the rooftop, dead asleep. Mina bounced from foot to foot, trying to avoid the anima spilling out of the broken urn as if it were dirty water. It flowed over the ground, hovering ever so slightly in the air as it trailed its way back out to the street, seeking to return to physical form. Out in the neighborhood proper, the remaining monsters began to bulge and bubble before finally bursting into the same smoke as their former fellows. The clouds of smoke from where the creatures had fallen throughout the battle began to coalesce on themselves, becoming denser before finally reforming into a flock of very confused crows and pigeons. A silence fell following the chaos, before those who had hidden began to finally creep back out to the street. A few of the fallen, restored sooner than the others, began to stir and rise, rubbing their eyes as if they had just awoken from a nap. The Witch of the Waters stood in the street, a smile playing on her lips as she hugged her staff to herself. This had ended far faster than she had anticipated; the warriors had chosen well, it seemed. Her role in the event was not yet over, however; raising her staff into the air, she called the water from the broken hydrant to her once more, sending it up into the sky to form a great cloud over the neighborhood. A brief moment passed in quiet expectation, then, one drop at a time, a rain started to drizzle over the area, lightly dampening everyone caught in the chaos. For the Witch's summoned warriors and their chosen, it was just an ordinary drizzle, but for the others gathered it would gently dull the memory of the afternoon, allowing them to resume their ordinary lives without fear or panic. With that completed, the Witch let her staff turn back into a puddle of water before turning to the fire hydrant and offering it a small bow in thanks for its assistance before stepping off the road and back onto the sidewalk. What a useful tool it had been!</s> <|message|>Flip Diarmi, a bit too focused with the sword flying at his face, had managed to miss the moment of the lightning bolt - not its existence, fully, something else had distacted katana-guy after all, but he hadn't seen what it was. A blade being pulled with the intention of cutting off one's face had a way of focusing one's attention like that. He practically held his breath as the spores began to take effect, making the young man stumble and swap. When he finally collapsed, Diarmi was quick to catch him before he cracked his head on the rooftop, then finished setting him down. Well. Best to disarm him. As he grabbed at the katana's sheath, he asked aloud, "So what was that?" "The spores of a mushroom from my time. They have magical effects." "They do?" The sheath came loose with another tug. Diarmi thought about it, and then fiddled with the necklaces around the young man's throat. Hey, something let him summon and control those bird-monsters. He didn't know what, but magic charm or magic sword seemed like the best bet, and he wasn't sure what was enchanted. "Yes. For some, the mushrooms force them to sleep. For others, they bring them into the berserker's rage." "They what?" Diarmi's voice cracked. "I coulda had that guy go into a fit of rage at me? He was kinda already in one!" Rage squared, he supposed. But that was beside the point. "Hardly. But, I will tell you, a berserker is immune to the power of metal and fire. Unless he used his sword like a club, he would not have been able to harm you." Oh, this was not a train of thought Diarmi had ever anticipated. But here he was, wondering at what point being bludgeoned would be worse than being sliced or pierced. Maybe it was best to let that train go on its own, and he'd re-board it later, figure out the answer. For now, a drizzle had started and he'd heard the sound of broken pottery. The katana and possible charms secured on his person, he jumped, caught a lamp post, and slid downwards. Thank god(s?) he wasn't climbing up in the rain. "Hey, hey, that was awesome!" He ran towards the knight girl, holding his hand up for a high five. "We gotta check on bear-hand lady, I know, but-?" He gestured with his free hand. "High five?"</s> <|message|>Shaman Just as Sam was rushing the next monster, it burst into smoke on its own. She glared at the haze skeptically, trying to figure out what the trick was–until it reformed as an ordinary pigeon. The girl's skepticism turned to confusion, which only deepened when she looked around and saw the other monsters turning into perfectly ordinary birds. And in the middle of the street, no longer behind any aberrations, stood a woman. She had a definitely magical staff raised overhead. And suddenly it began to rain. Not a hard rain; it was a light drizzle easily shielded by holding her paws over her head. It still wasn't a normal rain. Not with how that cloud overhead had come out of nowhere sometime during the…oh no, during the battle. She'd just fought a battle. 'Worry later; work now.' Tamping down a rising panic, Sam ran after the woman as she dropped her staff into a puddle and stepped off the road. "Excuse me! Ma'am! Do you…" Sam stopped her words at the same time she stopped in front of the strange woman. What did she want to ask? Would this woman even have answers? Certainly she looked antiquated enough to know something; but then again, Sam didn't normally wear red hide and tribal tattoos. Appearances were far from a useful metric. Still, something about the woman felt older, and far more confident, than Sam did. With a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "What happened here? What are those birds, are they still dangerous, and where did everyone else-?"</s>

<|message|>ERRANT Mina looked up as the viking boy called out to her, letting the tip of her sword rest against the ground. She gave him a weird look as he raised his hand to request a high-five. Was- was that it? They beat the bad guy stealing souls and his army of evil bird monsters, yay, go team? Like they were some kind of sports club? Like true she was a totally amazing badass who had just saved the world or whatever, but still! Mina felt someone nudge her shoulder, turning her head briefly to catch sight of the knight lady. "You shouldn't leave your comrade hanging," she said, and Mina would almost swear she was smiling at her. Seriously? This girl too?! Did they even have high-fives in the dark ages? Geez! Well, whatever. Mina raised her hand in defeat, wincing slightly as the boy's palm slapped against her own. Yay, go team. --- The Witch of the Waters raised one finger to halt the girl's flood of questions. "All things in their order," she said before lowering her hand. "The birds are harmless, I believe. You needn't worry over them. As for the rest, we should have the others join us, first. If I am to field questions, they should be present to hear the answers." She clapped her hands together, a bright grin spreading across her face. "Now! I don't suppose there is a suitable place nearby for a private gathering of heroes?" --- The man folded his arms over his broad chest, leaning against the wall out of sight of the street. He had watched much of the battle unfold from here, leaving the boy to his own work as he had requested. A foolish mistake, as he had expected from the start. "What's to be done, then?" he asked, paying no mind to the pigeon cooing by his feet. The boy's capture was his own fault, not the man's, but it still needed correcting. His eyes narrowed at the words echoing in his mind - leave him? He was a fool, true, but- Ah. "Very well," he relented, lowering his head at nothing. An understandable if unfortunate decision. They hadn't been aware of any warriors prior to this, and it would be prudent to gauge their total strength moving forward. The stormcaller in particular was concerning - she had done little thus far to demonstrate the extent of her power, and their ignorance of that matter made her dangerous. He would withdraw for now. If further action were to be taken, it would not be today.</s>

<|description|>Flip Diarmi 'Dimi' Carlevaro At 14 years old, 5'5", and maybe 130 pounds sopping wet, Dimi is the last person to intimidate anyone. Perhaps he's aware, as he's slow to anger and even then such anger quickly dissipates. He's quite chatty and quick to talk with strangers in hopes of striking up a friendship. It doesn't matter how often he's turned down, he'll bounce right back up in an instant. Perhaps that's fitting, as when his family performs for the streets, he does acrobatic tricks and parkour. [So of course he's fascinated when he's attached to this hulking, giant, quiet man who's apparently from centuries ago.] Considering how ragtag, ill-matching, and ill-fitting his attire is, it may come as no surprise that Dimi's 6-member family lives out of a small RV, which is an uprade from the van that pulls it around. If given a chance (his youngest sister is busy, there's no performance going on, and who really cares about school, right?), he could spend all day at a bookstore, library, or comic book store, reading graphic novels and comics. Agmundr What does one do after having been raised to fight, joining multiple battles as part of the berserker squad, and getting an arrow to the throat? Become attached to a teenager, apparently. It's a struggle to leave behind the mindset he lived with for so long. Contrary to what one might expect, Agmundr is not overwhelmed by the modern world, mostly because he's able to shut it out, only paying attention for possible threats and planning for battle. Oh, and when his kid calls, probably to show him something like 'ice cream'. Apparently. When working together, Dimi is already granted the core powers of a mahou shoujo - increased strength and endurance, quicker healing - though Agmundr is able to supplement the first two to greater levels. In addition, Dimi is granted immunity from damage by fire or by any kind of metal weapon, as per the tradition of berserkers. Finally, Dimi is able to produce and release spores that can either put a person to sleep or leave them in a delirious state. Neither Agmundr nor Dimi know how to predict the spore's effects currently.</s> <|message|>Flip Diarmi knew he'd been quick enough - he hadn't been granted superspeed by any means, but the horizontal distance hadn't been that large either - and he knew he'd stood in the right spot, because, technically, the purple substance HAD landed in his hands. It was just that it ran through his fingers like water. Like warm, viscous, colored water. More like blood, really. Diarmi had never understood the cliche of "a shiver running down your spine" before that moment, but that sudden connection forced understanding on him. It didn't help that it wasn't clear if the bird monster had killed that lady or not, and if it had, what good had felling it done? What was- He was disrupted from his spiraling thoughts by the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, extending from a bare, muscular, translucent arm. "Look," the disembodied-no-longer voice said, now coming from a young man with a serious-looking gash across his stomach, barely covered by a bear's pelt (that, Diarmi realized, looked an awful lot like the one now slung over his own shoulder). He pulled himself out of his thoughts to observe the purple energy snaking about just above the asphalt and dive into - a man. Huh. Hopefully that stuff was interchangeable. More notably, it was now clear somehow that the man was alive. He couldn't put his finger on it - the man didn't have color return to his cheeks, it wasn't like he was now heaving for breath, he still wasn't moving. It was just that sort of instinct, the kind that told people whether or not they were looking at a corpse, and Diarmi knew he was not looking at a corpse. Good. He ran to retrieve his ax and quickly moved to cover for a fleeing civilian, wondering if he could throw his ax in such a way that it'd return to his hand. "-y!" "Hrm?" The ghostly young man seemed curious about the cry, taking Diarmi's attention with him. Diarmi didn't regret looking - there was another fighter! She carried with her a massive sword, dressed more for battle than Diarmi - well, had been. He hadn't paid much attention to his own outfit change. (He missed his jacket and scarf, sure, but the bearskin was pretty awesome now that he reflected on it.) Wait, she was still speaking. "Hey! Try and see if you can find something they're bringing that purple stuff to!" "Sure! That one has a 'purple stuff' with it!" And another voice! Diarmi turned to see another fighter! And she was fighting with her bear hands. She was gesturing upwards, further down the road - ah, right, yeah. Still fighting. Be starstruck later. "I got it!" He didn't have the quickstep the first fighter seemed to have (superspeed? Some kind of variation on that?), but he wasn't slow to begin with, and he could spare the energy. Besides, he was still trying to figure out if he could throw the ax like a boomerang, and that seemed to distress the injured spirit so maybe focusing on something else would be a good idea. He left the road, going up the sidewalk and up the buildings alongside it to keep from tripping over bird-monsters and Schrodinger's corpses. He made a mental note: this whole deal seemed to have afforded him some more stamina. Neat. He perched on a building's ledge (if you could call that 2-inch-wide molding between stories a 'ledge'), watching the bird-monster to see where it was going. One hand clung to the corner of the building for balance as he crouched, trying to get a tiny bit closer to see and hear better, while the other clutched at the ax he'd been given. Several other bird-monsters had come this way as well. Oh, man, how many had there been? How in the world were three of them meant to clean all this up? "This all feels familiar." Once again, the spirit knocked Diarmi from his spiraling. He kept quiet, though, doubting he had any way to speak with the spirit that couldn't be overheard. "I've done this before. Not this specifically, but fighting a battle like this. I think I recall it ending well, at least." Well, that was a surprisingly uplifting sentiment. "Thanks, ghost," Diarmi whispered back. "My name is Agmundr. Kindly try to remember it." Diarmi simply nodded in response, preparing to move with the bird monsters.</s> <|message|>ERRANT The pigeon-faced monster clutching the ball of purple energy landed on the street, spinning its head this way and that while its walnut brain burned black trying to remember where it was supposed to go. Another one with a crow's head swooped down behind it, smacking its fellow upside the head with one clawed hand and scolding it with loud, angry caws. The pair bickered in the street, the pigeonhead nearly dropping its cargo in the scuffle, before the crowhead finally won out, forcing the stupider of the two to head in the right direction. It fluttered clumsily down a separate street before turning into an alley leading behind the storefronts. This area would ordinarily be used as a loading zone for product delivery or staff smoke breaks, but now it lay eerily silent, its only visitors the bird-headed aberrations attacking the neighborhood. Sitting in the center of the lot, out of place in both location and time, sat a large pithos urn, glowing unnaturally from inside. The monster approached the vessel with its loot, holding it at nearly eye level to clear the rim of the five-foot urn. Footsteps drew the pigeonhead's attention back toward the entrance of the lot. It had been followed? It was so clever and careful though. What trickery they must possess! It squawked loudly, flapping its wings hard enough to kick up the dust around it as it forgot all about what it was supposed to be carrying and got ready to attack. "What the hell are you doing, idiot? Don't drop the anima." The pigeonhead started at the sudden rebuke, scrambling to catch the ball of energy before it hit the ground. Mina looked to see where the voice came from, resting her sword back on her shoulder. Halfway down the lot squatting on the edge of the roof above them was a young man who seemed to be about their age - Mina assumed the viking guy was around her same age, anyway. He wore beach sandals and jorts, and a tacky neon green and yellow windbreaker left unzipped to show off the mesh crop top underneath. Around his neck he wore a sharktooth necklace and a plain iron crucifix like she vaguely remembered being fashionable when her mom was in high school. A piercing glinted in his navel, and two more at the end of his right eyebrow. When he spoke an additional piercing could be glimpsed on his tongue, and his hair, though bleached aside from the roots, had been anachronistically tied in a traditional Japanese topknot. His right hand rested on a katana which he used to support himself as he squatted on the roof, and the trio of phone charms he'd tied to the hilt - a dog, a bird, and a monkey - clattered lightly against each other in the breeze. "Two… no, I can still here someone fighting," he mused to himself, looking up at the sky thoughtfully as he did his mental arithmetic. "At least three of you, then? Man, how annoying."</s>

<|message|>Flip "At least three of you, then? Man, how annoying." "Thanks, I get that a lot." Diarmi didn't even sound sarcastic, clambering to the top of the building he'd been clinging to. The other rooftop wasn't far at all, and the only other way to reach him felt a bit too much (like, ok, maybe it was a matter of 'hey that guy's human-shaped. that feels like murder' and maybe that wasn't entirely fair considering Diarmi had no issue swinging the ax through the bird-monsters, but flinging the ax at him just felt wrong). He crossed the gap to the next building with ease and took a moment to survey the gap between the current rooftop and the next, where the stranger stood. "We'll be better when we can be face to face. Think we can put him to sleep." Agmundr sounded thoughtful, likely surveying the situation alongside the still-living boy. "Though there's a lot to be said for the element of surprise." Diarmi would've shrugged, if it wouldn't look like to everyone else he was shrugging at nothing. He was best at being the center of attention And it'd be wise to make the most of this chance. "So, the purple stuff's anime?" he asked, purposefully mispronouncing the word in hopes of activating the man's "well actually" mode - the way people got when they knew better than you and you were so ignorant that it somehow managed to hurt them. "It's interchangeable, right? Because I saw some get scooped out of a woman and get put back in a guy when I axed one of your bird-people, let me tell you." He tried to casually swing the ax, nearly dropped it, and hoped the action went unnoticed. And also hoped that the knight-girl was doing something with the vase, and that he was holding the guy's attention successfully. "Those aren't the best you got, right?" The second the words exited his mouth, he regretted them - he'd read enough comics to know that only encouraged the bad guy to do something worse. Uh, salvaging, while he waited for Agmundr to tell him how to actually throw a punch so he could knock the guy out. "Because they're way too good for you, really." Yup. Nailed it. "If you're done chatting with the enemy, check your other hand," Agmundr said. Diarmi tried to shrug casually to steal a glance. "I mean, that hair and outfit? Come on." He still had the ax, unchanged, in his left hand, but in his right hand were now... grains? He closed his fingers over them as he let his arms drop, fingers closing over the grains. They felt more like flour than sand. "Those should incapacitate him." Oh, heck yeah. No cracking bones here, he wasn't quite ready for that. "But, anyways, so if you-" Diarmi cut himself off, taking the long-planned (by his standards) jump and flinging the spores at the stranger.</s>

<|description|>Flip Diarmi 'Dimi' Carlevaro At 14 years old, 5'5", and maybe 130 pounds sopping wet, Dimi is the last person to intimidate anyone. Perhaps he's aware, as he's slow to anger and even then such anger quickly dissipates. He's quite chatty and quick to talk with strangers in hopes of striking up a friendship. It doesn't matter how often he's turned down, he'll bounce right back up in an instant. Perhaps that's fitting, as when his family performs for the streets, he does acrobatic tricks and parkour. [So of course he's fascinated when he's attached to this hulking, giant, quiet man who's apparently from centuries ago.] Considering how ragtag, ill-matching, and ill-fitting his attire is, it may come as no surprise that Dimi's 6-member family lives out of a small RV, which is an uprade from the van that pulls it around. If given a chance (his youngest sister is busy, there's no performance going on, and who really cares about school, right?), he could spend all day at a bookstore, library, or comic book store, reading graphic novels and comics. Agmundr What does one do after having been raised to fight, joining multiple battles as part of the berserker squad, and getting an arrow to the throat? Become attached to a teenager, apparently. It's a struggle to leave behind the mindset he lived with for so long. Contrary to what one might expect, Agmundr is not overwhelmed by the modern world, mostly because he's able to shut it out, only paying attention for possible threats and planning for battle. Oh, and when his kid calls, probably to show him something like 'ice cream'. Apparently. When working together, Dimi is already granted the core powers of a mahou shoujo - increased strength and endurance, quicker healing - though Agmundr is able to supplement the first two to greater levels. In addition, Dimi is granted immunity from damage by fire or by any kind of metal weapon, as per the tradition of berserkers. Finally, Dimi is able to produce and release spores that can either put a person to sleep or leave them in a delirious state. Neither Agmundr nor Dimi know how to predict the spore's effects currently.</s> <|message|>Flip Diarmi, a bit too focused with the sword flying at his face, had managed to miss the moment of the lightning bolt - not its existence, fully, something else had distacted katana-guy after all, but he hadn't seen what it was. A blade being pulled with the intention of cutting off one's face had a way of focusing one's attention like that. He practically held his breath as the spores began to take effect, making the young man stumble and swap. When he finally collapsed, Diarmi was quick to catch him before he cracked his head on the rooftop, then finished setting him down. Well. Best to disarm him. As he grabbed at the katana's sheath, he asked aloud, "So what was that?" "The spores of a mushroom from my time. They have magical effects." "They do?" The sheath came loose with another tug. Diarmi thought about it, and then fiddled with the necklaces around the young man's throat. Hey, something let him summon and control those bird-monsters. He didn't know what, but magic charm or magic sword seemed like the best bet, and he wasn't sure what was enchanted. "Yes. For some, the mushrooms force them to sleep. For others, they bring them into the berserker's rage." "They what?" Diarmi's voice cracked. "I coulda had that guy go into a fit of rage at me? He was kinda already in one!" Rage squared, he supposed. But that was beside the point. "Hardly. But, I will tell you, a berserker is immune to the power of metal and fire. Unless he used his sword like a club, he would not have been able to harm you." Oh, this was not a train of thought Diarmi had ever anticipated. But here he was, wondering at what point being bludgeoned would be worse than being sliced or pierced. Maybe it was best to let that train go on its own, and he'd re-board it later, figure out the answer. For now, a drizzle had started and he'd heard the sound of broken pottery. The katana and possible charms secured on his person, he jumped, caught a lamp post, and slid downwards. Thank god(s?) he wasn't climbing up in the rain. "Hey, hey, that was awesome!" He ran towards the knight girl, holding his hand up for a high five. "We gotta check on bear-hand lady, I know, but-?" He gestured with his free hand. "High five?"</s> <|message|>Shaman Just as Sam was rushing the next monster, it burst into smoke on its own. She glared at the haze skeptically, trying to figure out what the trick was–until it reformed as an ordinary pigeon. The girl's skepticism turned to confusion, which only deepened when she looked around and saw the other monsters turning into perfectly ordinary birds. And in the middle of the street, no longer behind any aberrations, stood a woman. She had a definitely magical staff raised overhead. And suddenly it began to rain. Not a hard rain; it was a light drizzle easily shielded by holding her paws over her head. It still wasn't a normal rain. Not with how that cloud overhead had come out of nowhere sometime during the…oh no, during the battle. She'd just fought a battle. 'Worry later; work now.' Tamping down a rising panic, Sam ran after the woman as she dropped her staff into a puddle and stepped off the road. "Excuse me! Ma'am! Do you…" Sam stopped her words at the same time she stopped in front of the strange woman. What did she want to ask? Would this woman even have answers? Certainly she looked antiquated enough to know something; but then again, Sam didn't normally wear red hide and tribal tattoos. Appearances were far from a useful metric. Still, something about the woman felt older, and far more confident, than Sam did. With a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "What happened here? What are those birds, are they still dangerous, and where did everyone else-?"</s> <|message|>ERRANT Mina looked up as the viking boy called out to her, letting the tip of her sword rest against the ground. She gave him a weird look as he raised his hand to request a high-five. Was- was that it? They beat the bad guy stealing souls and his army of evil bird monsters, yay, go team? Like they were some kind of sports club? Like true she was a totally amazing badass who had just saved the world or whatever, but still! Mina felt someone nudge her shoulder, turning her head briefly to catch sight of the knight lady. "You shouldn't leave your comrade hanging," she said, and Mina would almost swear she was smiling at her. Seriously? This girl too?! Did they even have high-fives in the dark ages? Geez! Well, whatever. Mina raised her hand in defeat, wincing slightly as the boy's palm slapped against her own. Yay, go team. --- The Witch of the Waters raised one finger to halt the girl's flood of questions. "All things in their order," she said before lowering her hand. "The birds are harmless, I believe. You needn't worry over them. As for the rest, we should have the others join us, first. If I am to field questions, they should be present to hear the answers." She clapped her hands together, a bright grin spreading across her face. "Now! I don't suppose there is a suitable place nearby for a private gathering of heroes?" --- The man folded his arms over his broad chest, leaning against the wall out of sight of the street. He had watched much of the battle unfold from here, leaving the boy to his own work as he had requested. A foolish mistake, as he had expected from the start. "What's to be done, then?" he asked, paying no mind to the pigeon cooing by his feet. The boy's capture was his own fault, not the man's, but it still needed correcting. His eyes narrowed at the words echoing in his mind - leave him? He was a fool, true, but- Ah. "Very well," he relented, lowering his head at nothing. An understandable if unfortunate decision. They hadn't been aware of any warriors prior to this, and it would be prudent to gauge their total strength moving forward. The stormcaller in particular was concerning - she had done little thus far to demonstrate the extent of her power, and their ignorance of that matter made her dangerous. He would withdraw for now. If further action were to be taken, it would not be today.</s> <|message|>Kagura Kasuke Kagura was starting to realise that she couldn't see anymore birds. Nor could she hear them anymore. She looked over at the pirate, who was standing on the building's ledge. The pirate was smiling, looking out over the city, with her loose ghile shirt billowing in the wind. Kagura had to admit, she looked cool "Looks like whoever was in charge got taken out. And I think I just spotted somebody who might give us more answers. C'mon!" she commanded, before dropping from the roof and landing unhurt on the ground below. She grinned up at Kagura, who rolled her eyes and headed back to the stairwell. Once they were united, Kagura tutted and glared at her companion. "Yes, you can jump off the roof. Very impressive. I couldn't do that!" "You know, lass, I wouldn't be so sure..." "What? What are you-" "Anyway, you see those three? Two knights and a wet lady with a staff? I don't think they belong here, same as I don't. This world is so familiar, yet so strange at the same time. I think I recognise the language from scrolls the Dutch brought with them from the Far East. This is Japan, isn't it?" "Hold on. If you can't read Japanese, how are we speaking?" "Honestly, lass? I couldn't tell ye." The pirate and the...magical girl who looking more like she was complaying a pirate-themed idol when stood side by side with a real one, approached Mina and the Witch of the Waters.</s> <|message|>Tomoyo 'Tomtom' Melody-Chiba "You're just going to, what, wait over here…? Really, [fire-child]? You would avoid the… Ah… Group of them?" Asked a tall woman, draped in ancient looking armor. It reminded the more modern-dressed, punk-styled girl of a resistance fighter. From ancient Egypt! "Yes. Yes I would! They're fuh— I mean— Look I don't know WHATS happening down there and I do NOT want in. Not yet. Not right now, okay?" Replied Tomoyo. The spirit sighed, standing next to Tomoyo in silence for a long, long moment… Before smirking. They were standing under the drizzle some non-insignificant distance away. Apparently, her charge enjoyed the feeling of water on her skin. Rain was… Not necessarily new, but nice and interesting nonetheless. She stepped forward, then, looking directly in 'TomTom's eyes as she spoke again. "I am Usai. We have known eachother very, very briefly… But I believe we need more than eachother to survive." And to that, Tomoyo panicked, as so named 'Usai' vanished from sight. She shuffled in place, gasping at the sight. "Hey! What the crap?!" She hissed, desperately looking about. She was not prepared for Usai to reappear bedside the Viking boy and his companion. Unseen by them, not to Tomoyo's knowledge. She was further unprepared when 'Usai' simply smiled. Usai clapped, before 'speaking' calmly and yet somehow with a fire that was eager to leap out. Tomoyo couldn't hear what Usai said, but her face was rapidly burning up. This was embarrassing! Usai turned, glancing directly at Tomoyo. " I apologize for, ah, interrupting. My charge is… Very shy." She whispered, to absolutely no one in particular.</s>

<|message|>Flip Diarmi seemed giddy, hissing out a small 'yes!' after they'd high-fived. Agmundr meanwhile seemed to share some of Mina's dispproval, but it was more concern than distaste written in his features. He floated a bit closer to her and her spirit, and offered both a careful nod. "I trust you will help me keep him safe?" "What? I'm - ow." Diarmi paused, looking at his foot and pulling the sliver of cracked road from where it had managed to lodge itself, horizontally. "Bad timing. I'll be fine. We'll all be fine, I bet." Not that he had much to bet, but he doubted she was like Loris. "I trust you will help me keep him safe," Agmundr repeated. "And I shall act to help keep you safe as well. I will not witness another child falling in battle." His tone was level, betraying none of the concern still visible on his face. "Um." Diarmi bit his lip. Yeah, he had mentioned something like that before, hadn't he? The very moment they met, even. He still hardly counted himself, or either of the two he'd witnessed, as a child, but Agmundr did seem older, had probably survived longer than either of them had been lived for. How much longer anyways? That was probably a sensitive question, but Diarmi's filter never was the best. "How old were you when you died?" To his surprise, while Agmundr did not seem interested in answering, it didn't feel as awkward as he was sure it should've (Filter: broken. Hindsight: 20/20). Diarmi hummed. "Gotcha, moving on." He hefted up the katana and necklace. "So, lifted these off that guy - I'm like 90% at least one of them's magical, but I can't tell for sure." (And his timing made it seem like he was in conversation with Usai as well.) "I don't suppose you can tell? Maybe bear-paw girl's more magic-magic? Being able to transform and stuff-" He nearly dropped the items. "We gotta still catch up with bear-paw girl!" Agmundr seemed to see where this was going, moving forward. "Let me get a headstart before you flash-step?" Diarmi pointed fingerguns towards the knightly girl. "See you over there!" With that, he ran around the corner and down the road towards the witch and the other fighters.</s>

<|description|>Shaman Samantha Walters is the type who takes on responsibility. A teacher needs help with handouts? She'll hand 'em out. The student council needs a reliable secretary? She'll step forward. The city will be destroyed if nobody fights the monsters? Well, that's a new one; but since it's something that needs doing, Sam will do it. Doesn't seem like anybody who's supposed to deal with this sort of thing will, after all. Way to leave it to a 16-year-old girl. Jeez. Kammu was part of a tribe of the Apache. He spent his life fighting against foreign invaders who claimed manifest destiny. He followed Geronimo into the thick of conflict, until one time he couldn't follow him back out. Now a powerful leader once more calls on him to fight against the invaders. He stands just as ready to defend as he did then–even if the people he fights for are nearly as strange as those he fights against.</s> <|message|>ERRANT The darkness was close, she could feel it; one of his servants must be nearby, and she would have to act quickly if they were to repel their machinations. The Witch of the Waters, stepped briskly down the street, her long hair sweeping over the concrete like a cloak. As she was now, after her long slumber, she did not think she would be able to repel them alone, yet she knew not where to find suitable warriors to stand in her stead. Perhaps… Perhaps a summoning was in order. Draw strength from the past, to find and aid those with the capacity to act in the present. Yes, that would present a viable solution for now - though, how many would answer? And in her current state, how many could she really call forth? She supposed it would depend on how readily she could find a source of power to draw from, but aside from the fountain she'd found herself in, the Witch wasn't sure of where she could look. A river, a lake, a pond - surely there must be some sizeable body of water to draw from, she could feel it. This street she was on was lined with merchants and eateries, offering luxuries she had never seen before. Somehow, she could feel the flow of water all through this place, in a thousand tiny streams she couldn't see. Were they buried in the ground, beneath the buildings? Perhaps. Even so, she may be able to call on their power to fuel her magic - she need only find a place strong enough to channel it, and then… Yes, with the power on this street, she may be able to call forth some few warriors. Hardly a match for the armies the adversary would call to his will, but it would provide a starting point. It would be enough, for now. She would make sure of it. That just left the question… from where would his servant launch an attack? And when? --- --- The lights of the arcade cabinet reflected off his sunglasses, his hand flying across the buttons in impenetrable combo techniques that were probably just mindless button mashing. Sure he probably wasn't that great, but did that matter? It was fun. It was a game, and he loved games. This one was something called a "fighting game", which he thought was kind of funny. It had bright, flashing colors, and the characters looked cool. Not as cool as him, but still cool. "Oi." He ignored the large man leaning against the wall next to him. He was totally about to wipe the floor with his opponent at the opposite cabinet, he didn't have time to entertain his companion's nagging. The man looked at him sidelong, crossing his arms. "Ugh, piss off, man," he groaned, waving the man away. "Can't you see I'm busy right now? I can do it later, just let me- Agh!" He cried out in frustration as the words YOU LOSE flashed across his screen. "One more time!" he insisted, reaching into the pocket of his jorts for more coins. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see a line had formed behind him without him noticing. He grimaced at each of the students behind him in turn, then looked back at his companion to see the large man smirking at him. "Ugh, fine, I'll do it. Man, what a pain." He pushed past the line of arcade gamers, paying no mind to their shouts of indignation as he stepped on their feet or pushed them away, making his way back out onto the street outside. He stretched and cracked his neck, casting his gaze around for somewhere suitable. "So many noisy kids here, geez," he muttered, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jorts. He chose to ignore the look his companion gave him. There were a lot of birds on this street. Yeah, he supposed he could start here- at least he wouldn't have to walk that far. "Alright, I got this covered," he said with a yawn. "You can piss off for now. You're cramping my space." The larger man crossed his arms again, each the size of a tree trunk. "Ugh, don't give me that look!" he complained, kicking the man in the shin with the size of one flip flop-clad food. "I said I'd do it, so I'll do it! Geez!" "Dick," he muttered, after his companion vanished. Now to find a quiet place to hang out and nap. Or uh, work.</s> <|message|>Flip "Who wants to bet my brother can't reach that window ledge? Any takers?" Diarmi posed confidently, glancing upwards at the second-story window ledge his little sister had pointed to. Maybe three inches wide, a foot and a half long, set into the brick exterior of some deli he knew nothing about (though its broad windows certainly invited inspection). Yeah. He could make that. He stretched, feeling the familiar popping of bones shifting around their joints, as his little sister collected bets. Some were genuine, he knew, though others were 'betting' just for the pleasure of seeing him either fall flat on his face, or out of spite towards those people. Most people were betting against him, and Zola absolutely did not carry enough cash to pay out if he failed. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't fail. And when she said 'Dimi?', off he went. Personally, he thought leaping at the deli window without actually smacking into it was far more impressive than getting up to a second-story window, but that's not what the people were betting on, was it? Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone, probably an employee, startle at his presence, but he refused to allow it to distract him. It took only a slight bend of the knee to launch himself up, grab the upper ledge, and twist his body to land above it. This next part would be tricky, but it was simple to him: just move quick enough and gravity would lag behind. His fingers, callused from hours of stunts like these, gripped onto the rough bricks and he skittered along the surface, grabbing the ledge from beneath, and pushing off the wall to flip up onto the ledge, where he turned and waved down to the crowd, in varying states of flabberghast (was that a word?), amusement, and awe. His parents, who'd been watching with only mild interest, gave a polite applause in contrast to the whoops and cheers from the crowd. Zola went among them to pay out the handful of winners. And in the back of the crowd, he could see his two oldest siblings moving about. His stomach dropped, but his grin didn't. He stood, catching the top of the window, and bowed, encouraging their excitement and their attention on him. Better him than Zola, he'd decided all those months ago. Let her stay innocent in all this. He leaped off from the ledge, taking the second to pose in the air before landing in a tumble and springing back to his feet. The crowd went nuts - well, most. Some were beginning to leave, down the street or into the deli where he suspected they'd tell that poor employee about the stunt that weird kid had just pulled. While it wasn't like the family couldn't hold people captive, them leaving was never good. It meant less money, and, to his own disgust, fewer targets. Not that such feelings showed on his face. Instead, he bowed and gestured to his parents - his mother had already drawn out the old in-desperate-need-of-a-polish fiddle to play, and his father was promising "magic like you've never seen before!" Which, Diarmi supposed, was a fair claim to make. How often did money vanish from people's wallets anyways?</s>

<|message|>Shaman "Dad, I'm home!" Sam called into the house. Her voice echoed through the front room, past the kitchen, up the stairs, around the bedrooms, and finally bounced off the closed door of her father's studio. A moment of silence in response let her know he was sealed in and busy with his latest project. Sam sighed as she slipped her shoes off. If he'd been lost in his art all day, he probably hadn't eaten again. Or taken the list Mom had left him and gone shopping. She carefully padded up the stairs to drop her bag off in her room, then made her way toward the closed door to his art studio. "Dad?" she asked, not particularly loudly. No reply came. "I'm borrowing the car to run to the store, okay? I'll have your card, too, so… Well, you can't really leave if I have the car anyway, huh," she mumbled quietly to herself as she turned away. She poked into her parents' bedroom just far enough to grab his wallet and the car key off the dresser, then went back downstairs to grab Mom's shopping list off the fridge. The door opened just as she was slipping her shoes back on. Diana pushed her way in, volleyball bag in one arm and schoolbag in the other. Their eyes met, and the sisters shared a smile. "Back early today?" Sam asked, tapping the heel on her sneaker to help it settle. "A little. Coach said she was feeling unwell, so she cut practice short. Back late?" "The festival planning meeting ran long. Dad's not making a sound, so I'm running to the store. Go ahead and shower up; start on your homework, too. I'll be back in half an hour or so to start dinner." "Thanks, Sam. Heard anything from Mom?" "Nope. And you know what they say-" "- 'No news is good news.' Yep. As long as nothing sudden appears to keep her at work." "Right? How hard can it be for a major headline to not happen in the next two hours?" Diana slipped up the stairs and Sam stepped out the door. Dad's car was parked in the driveway, a two-door compact that somehow still ran–largely on miracles and spite by now. He'd had the thing in college when he and Mom first started dating, for crying out loud. But for all Sam complained about the old thing, it got the job done. She liked that about it. With a rumble and sputter, she backed the car out the driveway, pushed in the clutch, and started into town.</s>

<|description|>Shaman Samantha Walters is the type who takes on responsibility. A teacher needs help with handouts? She'll hand 'em out. The student council needs a reliable secretary? She'll step forward. The city will be destroyed if nobody fights the monsters? Well, that's a new one; but since it's something that needs doing, Sam will do it. Doesn't seem like anybody who's supposed to deal with this sort of thing will, after all. Way to leave it to a 16-year-old girl. Jeez. Kammu was part of a tribe of the Apache. He spent his life fighting against foreign invaders who claimed manifest destiny. He followed Geronimo into the thick of conflict, until one time he couldn't follow him back out. Now a powerful leader once more calls on him to fight against the invaders. He stands just as ready to defend as he did then–even if the people he fights for are nearly as strange as those he fights against.</s> <|message|>Flip His parent were halfway through what Diarmi had nicknamed 'the Conjuring set' (a nickname which had gotten some disapproval from his older siblings until they learned he knew nothing about the film at which point the discussion had shifted to how were they going to get him caught up on pop culture and how much of his ignorance was due to the family constantly traveling and how much was due to him reading comic books ragged instead of doing anything else) when everything went sideways. His first thought at the scream was that Alessa and Loris had been seen with their hands where they shouldn't have been, and he needed to get Zola back away from the crowd before she heard anything. He moved to grab her shoulder when he realized the shriek had come from further down the road. So good news, his family had nothing to do with that. Bad news, what in the hell of hells was going on? It was like something out of one of his comic books, the older ones. Everything was normal and then, next panel, people were being attacked by aliens. Well, maybe that was what was happening too? They looked more like someone had managed to stretch pigeons over human skeletons and then sharpened everything for good measure, but it wasn't like he knew what aliens looked like. Of course, more likely than an alien invasion was that he was daydreaming again, but a pinch to his upper arm and the fact that everyone was now visibly moving away from the bird-things suggested this was incorrect. His brain felt like it was working at lightning speed as he watched them attacking people, leaving them unconscious – or dead? He couldn't tell this far away, but he'd seen enough. "We need to go." He grabbed Zola and pushed her towards their mother, who picked her up handily and bolted, fiddle set down in favor of her child. Alessa and Loris were nowhere to be seen, meaning they'd probably bolted too. His dad was packing up the few props and fiddle before he'd take Diarmi by the hand and get them both away too. That felt wrong, though. Diarmi glanced down the street again. He already looked the other way with what his family did. No one got hurt, he told himself, so it was okay to look away. Well, now people were getting hurt. And he was going to look away again. He more felt his hands tighten into fists than made the decision to do so. He couldn't turn away from this, not if he could do something, anything to help. He bolted down the street towards the bird-like monsters, ignoring his father crying his name in shock and horror. One bird monster was swooping down on a young woman, and her scream rang in his ears. Okay, first person to help. He jumped at a building's side for some height, pushed off for momentum, moved to swing his fist- And the bird beast, turning likely out of curiosity to the movement in its peripheral vision, smacked Diarmi out of the air with a wing and no effort. Diarmi tumbled along the ground, groaning as he skidded to a stop. He was almost certain the right side of his face was scraped up - yup, that was a tear in his pants, Mom was going to kill him - he was pretty sure that was road rash on his left forearm - all in all, a failure. He glanced back to see the bird monster taking off with... something, and the young woman lying disturbingly still on the sidewalk. His eyes watered, and he tried telling himself it was from pain. "Even if you had landed the blow, you would've been more likely to break a bone of your own." The deep rumbling voice was foreign to Diarmi, with an accent he didn't recognize. He wiped at his face before looking at the person who spoke - to no avail. "Um." "It's not how you should shape your hand when you land such a blow. Even then, the sheer force could have knocked bones out of place." Whoever the voice belonged to, they sounded old - not grandparent old, more like old recordings. They also sounded knowledgeable. The world seemed to slow down for Diarmi. "Can you show me?" "Hm?" "Show me." Diarmi staggered to his feet. "I wanna do it right." "Child, this will be a war, not a single battle I have been summoned for. I have seen boys your age die, bleeding out from grievous wounds-" "I'll do better, I promise! I - just let me help people for once." Diarmi flinched as his voice cracked mid-sentence. That probably wasn't going to help prove he wasn't a 'boy' that the speaker needed to worry over. The resulting silence seemed interminable. "...I see. If I cannot dissuade you-" That was when the axe materialized before Diarmi. Well, he called it an 'axe', though one side was heavy and blunt while the other curved sharply and wickedly. "-then may we fight together and enter Valhalla together." Oh, hey, Diarmi recognized that reference. It would be nice if the voice was more positive, but he decided it didn't matter. Instead, he took the axe and felt the energy flow into him. Something about himself - no, about the whole world shifted six inches right. The axe weighed lightly in his hand now. He looked up to the bird still flying away, and already he knew what to do. The voice's eye seemed to somehow overlay his, and he could see if he threw it at this angle, with this force, it should land in an area of road safely without risk to others. That worked for him - them, he supposed, he wasn't exactly alone in this. He flung the axe, watching it smash the bird and reduce it to smoke, and then ran forward to catch whatever it was it had taken from the young woman. Or to retrieve the axe. Maybe it'd be magical and fly right back to her, but no point risking that, right?</s> <|message|>ERRANT Ugh, she was sweating! Well, not really, but she felt like she should be sweating, and that was just as bad! How many more of these bird things were there?! Well, actually, looking around, there weren't really that many, maybe over a dozen? Wait, that was a lot, right? Or not really? They didn't seem that tough now that she thought about it, raising her sword out of a cloud of smoke that used to be one of them. Maybe she was just really strong? Wasn't she kind of awesome? Like, she had knocked that one crow guy out with her backpack. He'd gotten up after, but still. Wasn't she just a total badass? "Don't get complacent," the knight woman rebuked, knocking Mina out of her own head. Turning her head to look at the woman was weird. It was like she was there, but not. Was she a ghost? Was she possessed? "Focus, girl!" Oh. Right. Mina turned her eyes back to the front, bringing her zweihander up just in time to block a downward swipe from one of the birdmen. She stepped forward, turning her block into a sideways slash and carving a line across the monster's chest, turning it into yet another dissipating cloud of smoke. What were these things even made out of? Were they toxic? She wasn't gonna get mesothelioma from breathing this stuff in, right? She wasn't sure how she'd collect financial compensation from this if she did. She put one armored hand over her nose and mouth, just in case. Mina looked around the street, taking stock of the situation. There were fewer bird people around now, and most of those that were left seemed to have split their focus between the fleeing civilians and… wait, were those other fighters? She wasn't the only one? She didn't even have to be doing this?! Ugh! Mina wished she'd noticed them before getting herself drafted into this mess. She saw some guy with a giant viking axe bring down one of the pigeon dudes that had snatched some of that weird purple stuff. What even was that? Mina watched it snake along the ground after its courier turned to smoke, like some kind of will o' wisp. It moved kind of sluggishly, coming to hover over the body of some guy before slowly sinking into him. "I see…" the knight lady mused quietly. Mina didn't think she saw anything, and was just trying to sound smart. A lot of people did that, in her experience. "New plan, girl," the woman spoke again, the feel of her hand pressing against Mina's shoulder. "Focus on the ones carrying the violet energy. Perhaps if it is returned to its origin, these people will recover." "Really?" Mina asked skeptically. "How do you know that?" "I don't," The knight replied simply. " But that's all we can hope for for now." "What about the ones that are already gone, then?" Mina pressed, planting the tip of her sword in the street and crossing her arms. The knight was silent for a moment, apparently in thought. "If these creatures are collecting this energy, they are likely bringing it somewhere," she answered finally. "If we find where they're holding it, we can retrieve what's been taken." "Well then, how do we do that?" "Must you question everything?" the knight snapped at her. "Just act. It must be nearby, else you would have spotted the creatures flying afield, yes? Start your search where they're densest, or perhaps follow those you see bearing the energy in their arms. This is not a difficult conundrum to solve, girl." Mina bristled at the reprimand, but pulled her sword free from the ground anyway. She lifted it up onto her shoulder, glancing around for where the monsters were most concentrated. She began to step forward, then hesitated and turned to look for the other two fighter's she'd seen. "Hey!" she called out, before she'd found either of them again. Oh, there they were. Actually, would they even be able to hear her? Oh well. "Hey! Try and see if you can find something they're bringing that purple stuff to!" she pointed her sword at the monsters, as if they could be confused about who she was possibly referring to.</s>

<|message|>Shaman The second mutant puffed away into nothing. Sam took a deep breath as she lifted her sword again. There was one bird-thing left in front of her, but it was being more careful than the others had been. Its head cocked to one side, far enough Sam felt like her own was going to crack, and watched her curiously. "Look, can you explain now?" Sam begged the bare-chested warrior. "Hm. That weapon you hold…" he started slowly. Sam nodded along, not taking her eyes off the monster before her. Right, what was this weapon? "...it's a blade. You swing it like a club." Sam staggered, narrowly avoiding face-planting. "Well gee, thanks! I hadn't realized! It's not like this is the first time I've ever used a sword or anything!" The pigeon rushed forward while Sam was distracted. She cursed and dove beneath its attack, narrowly avoiding a beak, but couldn't bring her weapon to bear in time to counterattack. The creature was over her then, and it decided to keep going after far easier prey. Sam cursed again, jumping up to give chase. "Then don't use it. Put away the blade. Use the claws." "The what?" "Put away the blade." Sam grunted in frustration, but she did as instructed. She grabbed the sheath tied to her belt and slid the sword into it. Then she looked to her other side, where a pair of bear claws hung. "You mean these? How do I use stuffed bear claws?" "Put them on." "How do I put them on?!" The things were stuffed! Solid! Not gloves! "Pick them up. Don them. You can do it. You haven't struggled with the pants, you can handle the claws." "What about my-" Sam began, but then she saw what she was wearing. She'd missed it in the moment–fighting giant mutant pigeons takes a lot of focus from other things–but she wasn't wearing her casual skirt and jacket anymore. Her chest was wrapped in a piece of brown leather that didn't come close to her shoulders or navel; and her legs were covered by the baggiest set of pants she had ever seen. It was only by pure magic they weren't already around her ankles; the material maintained at best two points of contact with her skin, and usually only kept one. The sight was so unnerving, she stopped running for a moment. With how loose the trousers were, she could see none of what she was wearing was what she had put on that morning. These were an attractive red, not the plain white her drawer was filled with. A renewed bout of screaming forced Sam to look up and start running again. The monster had grabbed someone as she stepped out of a shop. It took… something out of her, a purplish, glowy ball that definitely wasn't a person's soul, and left her body to flop to the ground. "Claws!" the warrior ordered. Sam ground her teeth, but without any time to spare she just grabbed the claws and yanked them off her belt. And suddenly her hands were a pair of bear claws. The pigeonman took wing and flapped over Sam's head, moving back to the street it had come from. Sam pivoted as well, chasing after the monster. Her new paws left her feeling unbalanced, but she wasn't about to let the thing get away with…whatever it was trying to get away with. Unfortunately, one more hopped around the corner to block her as the monster with the definitely not a soul fled. "NO! YOU! DON'T!" Sam screamed, launching herself at the new enemy and swinging her giant claws down on it. She felt it resist for a fraction of a moment, before it wisped away in a puff of smoke. "Like a club," her partner nodded sagely. "Much better for you." "Not helping! Where did-" And now that Sam was around the corner, she saw more costumed crazies cutting down the creatures. Closest to her was the world's smallest viking, and further down the street was a miniature Joan of Arc. And the monster she was pursuing was carefully flying above both. "Hey! Try and see if you can find something they're bringing that purple stuff to!" little Joan called out. Sam did a double-take as the girl then lifted a sword bigger than she was and moved. It wasn't like a teleport, or vanishing; Sam could see her go from point A to point B. She just did so…instantly. Like space had bent for her so she wouldn't lose time. "Sure! That one has a 'purple stuff' with it!" Sam shouted back, pointing at the creature quickly moving toward the other end of the street. Now that it was past the others, it was descending and glancing around in search of something. "Grab it, I'll handle the ones still out here!"</s>

<|description|>Shaman Samantha Walters is the type who takes on responsibility. A teacher needs help with handouts? She'll hand 'em out. The student council needs a reliable secretary? She'll step forward. The city will be destroyed if nobody fights the monsters? Well, that's a new one; but since it's something that needs doing, Sam will do it. Doesn't seem like anybody who's supposed to deal with this sort of thing will, after all. Way to leave it to a 16-year-old girl. Jeez. Kammu was part of a tribe of the Apache. He spent his life fighting against foreign invaders who claimed manifest destiny. He followed Geronimo into the thick of conflict, until one time he couldn't follow him back out. Now a powerful leader once more calls on him to fight against the invaders. He stands just as ready to defend as he did then–even if the people he fights for are nearly as strange as those he fights against.</s> <|message|>Kagura Kasuke What the hell was happening? Kagura was currently taking shelter behind a dumpster, at the end of an alley. She had been with her friends, it had been an ordinary day. But as soon as the screaming started, and the bird creatures swarmed the streets, she remembered very little. It was chaos. She remembered running. She saw people in front of her get knocked down by the monsters and not get back up. She had no time to think about that. She ran right past them. She lost track of how many twists and turns she had taken. She didn't even know if she'd been actively chased or not. All she could think about was getting to safety. So now here she was, having hit a dead end, now hiding behind a dumpster. She felt so powerless. She was such a coward. There were people out there who needed help. But she was too... "Are ye scared?" Kagura looked to her left, to see a lady in a white frilly ghile shirt and a brown waistcoat, with beige breeches and knee-length black boots. She was resting with both her feet up, and a tricorn hat pulled over her eyes. Her hair was long, with the color and appearance of staw. She stood up and readjusted her hat. "Still, young lass, ye should probably get out of 'ere. This is not a good place to face monsters. Follow." Kagura found it bizarre there was a woman dressed in a pirate costume, talking like a pirate, but she was desparate for any help she could get, so she listened. Then, something bizarre happened; the woman phased right through a door. Kagura stared in disbelief, before she called out from the other side. "Lock's fair old! Just give 'er a few bashes!" Kagura looked back to the main street, to see that two of the bird monsters were at the other end, and they'd seen her. They started running down the alley, straight at her. Kagura, in desperation, shoulder barged the door with all her strength and sure enough, it gave way. The pirate lady grinned, before racing up the stairwell. Kagura followed. She now found herself on a roof, with no way off or back down, and she could hear the birds shrieking and flapping at the bottom of the stairwell. She turned back to the Pirate. "We're trapped up here!" "Nah!" Replied her guide. "This is just a more advantageous place for us to fight them! Look up!" Kagura looked up at the sky, and to her surprise a small yet very dark storm cloud was gathering directly above her. "Now," continued the woman. "Pull the Storm down to us." It was a very strange, nonsensical phrase, but for some reason, Kagura knew exactly what she meant...almost like....she could feel the lightning. Like it was part of her already. "Am I dreaming?" she whispered to herself, before she reached up with her hand, and then, using her instict, willed the lightning to her. The lightning striking the building could be seen and heard the entire surrounding mile around, as could the dark cloud immediately disippating. Back on the rooftop, Kagura found that she was now wearing yellow knee length boots not dissimilar to the lady's, a yellow skirt, a white corset with red lace, and over that, a yellow sil longcoat with bright, round brass buttons. Her hair was now also tied up with a ribbon. The most noticeable addition, though, was there was now a cutlass in her hand. At that moment, the two birds finally reached the roof and charged Kagura. Her eyes narrowed and she strode cocksure towards them, slightly drunk off the power she now felt. She dispatched them with one slice each, before turning back to the Pirate, who was grinning. "Aye, we'll need to teach you how to fight, lass, but you've got the spirit. Now, we just got to find who's in charge o' these birds."</s> <|message|>ERRANT "So the purple stuff's anime?" "Sure." "It's interchangeable, right? Because I saw some get scooped out of a woman and get put back in a guy when I axed one of your bird-people, let me tell you." The boy clicked his tongue, watching the viking almost fumble his weapon. Mina stood spectating from the entrance of the lot, trying to figure out what this guy was trying to accomplish. He probably had some kind of plan, right? She felt like she should probably just leave it to him if so. "Probably?" The boy answered with a shrug. Everything about his tone and posture conveyed a sense of "ugh, what a drag." Mina could relate. He waved his hand dismissively. "Of course those aren't the best I-" "Because they're way too good for you, really." "Excuse me?" The boy rose to his feet, his eyes like daggers. His right hand gripped around the scabbard of his katana, tight enough to blanch his knuckles white. "Reconsider your words carefully, boy. If you had any idea who you were speaking to-" "He's distracted," the knight whispered in Mina's ear. She almost jumped at the unexpected voice, nearly giving herself whiplash with the effort it took not to look around. "Look for the ideal moment, then act quickly." "I mean, that hair and outfit? Come on." The boy was visibly shaking with rage, teeth bared like fangs and face turning chili-pepper red. His left hand flew to the hilt of his sword, muscles bulging and the tiles under his feet becoming cracked and splintered. "You… you… you…!!" He shot from the roof like a bullet, lunging for the viking in the same instant he began to draw his sword. His face contorted with feral rage was replaced with dull surprise however as a lightning bolt lit up the sky, drawing his gaze off to the side mid-leap. The viking threw his hand out, a cloud of something Mina couldn't identify flying from his hand and catching the katana boy full in the face. "Now, girl!" the knight commanded, pressing a hand against her shoulder. "R-right!" Mina had nearly forgotten what she was supposed to be doing, distracted by the sudden flash of lightning from an otherwise clear sky just as the boy had been. She stepped toward the pigeonhead and the urn, sailing across the lot in the same instant. She thrust with her blade as she did so, skewering through the monster and the pithos in the instant the boy went tumbling across the roof, coughing and trying to get back to his feet. "Y-you…! You…!" The boy shook his head, trying to clear his mind and regain focus, but to no avail as his body became more and more lethargic. His sword fell from his grasp, and with a final splutter of curses and growls, his body hit the rooftop, dead asleep. Mina bounced from foot to foot, trying to avoid the anima spilling out of the broken urn as if it were dirty water. It flowed over the ground, hovering ever so slightly in the air as it trailed its way back out to the street, seeking to return to physical form. Out in the neighborhood proper, the remaining monsters began to bulge and bubble before finally bursting into the same smoke as their former fellows. The clouds of smoke from where the creatures had fallen throughout the battle began to coalesce on themselves, becoming denser before finally reforming into a flock of very confused crows and pigeons. A silence fell following the chaos, before those who had hidden began to finally creep back out to the street. A few of the fallen, restored sooner than the others, began to stir and rise, rubbing their eyes as if they had just awoken from a nap. The Witch of the Waters stood in the street, a smile playing on her lips as she hugged her staff to herself. This had ended far faster than she had anticipated; the warriors had chosen well, it seemed. Her role in the event was not yet over, however; raising her staff into the air, she called the water from the broken hydrant to her once more, sending it up into the sky to form a great cloud over the neighborhood. A brief moment passed in quiet expectation, then, one drop at a time, a rain started to drizzle over the area, lightly dampening everyone caught in the chaos. For the Witch's summoned warriors and their chosen, it was just an ordinary drizzle, but for the others gathered it would gently dull the memory of the afternoon, allowing them to resume their ordinary lives without fear or panic. With that completed, the Witch let her staff turn back into a puddle of water before turning to the fire hydrant and offering it a small bow in thanks for its assistance before stepping off the road and back onto the sidewalk. What a useful tool it had been!</s> <|message|>Flip Diarmi, a bit too focused with the sword flying at his face, had managed to miss the moment of the lightning bolt - not its existence, fully, something else had distacted katana-guy after all, but he hadn't seen what it was. A blade being pulled with the intention of cutting off one's face had a way of focusing one's attention like that. He practically held his breath as the spores began to take effect, making the young man stumble and swap. When he finally collapsed, Diarmi was quick to catch him before he cracked his head on the rooftop, then finished setting him down. Well. Best to disarm him. As he grabbed at the katana's sheath, he asked aloud, "So what was that?" "The spores of a mushroom from my time. They have magical effects." "They do?" The sheath came loose with another tug. Diarmi thought about it, and then fiddled with the necklaces around the young man's throat. Hey, something let him summon and control those bird-monsters. He didn't know what, but magic charm or magic sword seemed like the best bet, and he wasn't sure what was enchanted. "Yes. For some, the mushrooms force them to sleep. For others, they bring them into the berserker's rage." "They what?" Diarmi's voice cracked. "I coulda had that guy go into a fit of rage at me? He was kinda already in one!" Rage squared, he supposed. But that was beside the point. "Hardly. But, I will tell you, a berserker is immune to the power of metal and fire. Unless he used his sword like a club, he would not have been able to harm you." Oh, this was not a train of thought Diarmi had ever anticipated. But here he was, wondering at what point being bludgeoned would be worse than being sliced or pierced. Maybe it was best to let that train go on its own, and he'd re-board it later, figure out the answer. For now, a drizzle had started and he'd heard the sound of broken pottery. The katana and possible charms secured on his person, he jumped, caught a lamp post, and slid downwards. Thank god(s?) he wasn't climbing up in the rain. "Hey, hey, that was awesome!" He ran towards the knight girl, holding his hand up for a high five. "We gotta check on bear-hand lady, I know, but-?" He gestured with his free hand. "High five?"</s>

<|message|>Shaman Just as Sam was rushing the next monster, it burst into smoke on its own. She glared at the haze skeptically, trying to figure out what the trick was–until it reformed as an ordinary pigeon. The girl's skepticism turned to confusion, which only deepened when she looked around and saw the other monsters turning into perfectly ordinary birds. And in the middle of the street, no longer behind any aberrations, stood a woman. She had a definitely magical staff raised overhead. And suddenly it began to rain. Not a hard rain; it was a light drizzle easily shielded by holding her paws over her head. It still wasn't a normal rain. Not with how that cloud overhead had come out of nowhere sometime during the…oh no, during the battle. She'd just fought a battle. 'Worry later; work now.' Tamping down a rising panic, Sam ran after the woman as she dropped her staff into a puddle and stepped off the road. "Excuse me! Ma'am! Do you…" Sam stopped her words at the same time she stopped in front of the strange woman. What did she want to ask? Would this woman even have answers? Certainly she looked antiquated enough to know something; but then again, Sam didn't normally wear red hide and tribal tattoos. Appearances were far from a useful metric. Still, something about the woman felt older, and far more confident, than Sam did. With a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "What happened here? What are those birds, are they still dangerous, and where did everyone else-?"</s>

<|description|>Kagura Kasuke Kagura is the daughter of a very rich family, who grow up the youngest child of a large family. Though she was spoiled and sheltered, she was unusually short, not as naturally pretty a child as her older sisters (though still not bad-looking) and grew up with the feeling she had a lot to prove. The resulting girl lies somewhere between an ojou-sama and a stuck-up brat. She's confrontational and abrasive, a living paradox between acting like she's better than you but also acting insecure because she believes the opposite. Captain Joanna Hawke - "The Storm of the Seas" Growing up in Cornwall, England in the late 17th Century, Joanna was also the youngest child of a large family, albeit a poor family of sailors. She rebelled against her family's desire for her to enter the Sisterhood, and at 15, snuck away on a trading ship. Ten years later, during the beginning of the Gold Age of Piracy, 'The Storm of the Seas' was already a fearsome captain of her own ship where grew her crew, reputation and wealth for over seven years before she was finally arrested and hanged. Her first mate, Edward "Red Ed" Crawford assumed the position of Captain before going on to become one of the most notorious, famous and legendary Pirates who ever roamed the seven seas. Joanna's role in history was relegated to a mere footnote in his origin story. On top of the standard array of Magical Girl abilities, Kagura is also granted the ability to summon and control lightning, and her transformation sequence (which is of course being struck by lightning) can also summon Joanna's cutlass if she so needs it</s> <|message|>ERRANT "So the purple stuff's anime?" "Sure." "It's interchangeable, right? Because I saw some get scooped out of a woman and get put back in a guy when I axed one of your bird-people, let me tell you." The boy clicked his tongue, watching the viking almost fumble his weapon. Mina stood spectating from the entrance of the lot, trying to figure out what this guy was trying to accomplish. He probably had some kind of plan, right? She felt like she should probably just leave it to him if so. "Probably?" The boy answered with a shrug. Everything about his tone and posture conveyed a sense of "ugh, what a drag." Mina could relate. He waved his hand dismissively. "Of course those aren't the best I-" "Because they're way too good for you, really." "Excuse me?" The boy rose to his feet, his eyes like daggers. His right hand gripped around the scabbard of his katana, tight enough to blanch his knuckles white. "Reconsider your words carefully, boy. If you had any idea who you were speaking to-" "He's distracted," the knight whispered in Mina's ear. She almost jumped at the unexpected voice, nearly giving herself whiplash with the effort it took not to look around. "Look for the ideal moment, then act quickly." "I mean, that hair and outfit? Come on." The boy was visibly shaking with rage, teeth bared like fangs and face turning chili-pepper red. His left hand flew to the hilt of his sword, muscles bulging and the tiles under his feet becoming cracked and splintered. "You… you… you…!!" He shot from the roof like a bullet, lunging for the viking in the same instant he began to draw his sword. His face contorted with feral rage was replaced with dull surprise however as a lightning bolt lit up the sky, drawing his gaze off to the side mid-leap. The viking threw his hand out, a cloud of something Mina couldn't identify flying from his hand and catching the katana boy full in the face. "Now, girl!" the knight commanded, pressing a hand against her shoulder. "R-right!" Mina had nearly forgotten what she was supposed to be doing, distracted by the sudden flash of lightning from an otherwise clear sky just as the boy had been. She stepped toward the pigeonhead and the urn, sailing across the lot in the same instant. She thrust with her blade as she did so, skewering through the monster and the pithos in the instant the boy went tumbling across the roof, coughing and trying to get back to his feet. "Y-you…! You…!" The boy shook his head, trying to clear his mind and regain focus, but to no avail as his body became more and more lethargic. His sword fell from his grasp, and with a final splutter of curses and growls, his body hit the rooftop, dead asleep. Mina bounced from foot to foot, trying to avoid the anima spilling out of the broken urn as if it were dirty water. It flowed over the ground, hovering ever so slightly in the air as it trailed its way back out to the street, seeking to return to physical form. Out in the neighborhood proper, the remaining monsters began to bulge and bubble before finally bursting into the same smoke as their former fellows. The clouds of smoke from where the creatures had fallen throughout the battle began to coalesce on themselves, becoming denser before finally reforming into a flock of very confused crows and pigeons. A silence fell following the chaos, before those who had hidden began to finally creep back out to the street. A few of the fallen, restored sooner than the others, began to stir and rise, rubbing their eyes as if they had just awoken from a nap. The Witch of the Waters stood in the street, a smile playing on her lips as she hugged her staff to herself. This had ended far faster than she had anticipated; the warriors had chosen well, it seemed. Her role in the event was not yet over, however; raising her staff into the air, she called the water from the broken hydrant to her once more, sending it up into the sky to form a great cloud over the neighborhood. A brief moment passed in quiet expectation, then, one drop at a time, a rain started to drizzle over the area, lightly dampening everyone caught in the chaos. For the Witch's summoned warriors and their chosen, it was just an ordinary drizzle, but for the others gathered it would gently dull the memory of the afternoon, allowing them to resume their ordinary lives without fear or panic. With that completed, the Witch let her staff turn back into a puddle of water before turning to the fire hydrant and offering it a small bow in thanks for its assistance before stepping off the road and back onto the sidewalk. What a useful tool it had been!</s> <|message|>Flip Diarmi, a bit too focused with the sword flying at his face, had managed to miss the moment of the lightning bolt - not its existence, fully, something else had distacted katana-guy after all, but he hadn't seen what it was. A blade being pulled with the intention of cutting off one's face had a way of focusing one's attention like that. He practically held his breath as the spores began to take effect, making the young man stumble and swap. When he finally collapsed, Diarmi was quick to catch him before he cracked his head on the rooftop, then finished setting him down. Well. Best to disarm him. As he grabbed at the katana's sheath, he asked aloud, "So what was that?" "The spores of a mushroom from my time. They have magical effects." "They do?" The sheath came loose with another tug. Diarmi thought about it, and then fiddled with the necklaces around the young man's throat. Hey, something let him summon and control those bird-monsters. He didn't know what, but magic charm or magic sword seemed like the best bet, and he wasn't sure what was enchanted. "Yes. For some, the mushrooms force them to sleep. For others, they bring them into the berserker's rage." "They what?" Diarmi's voice cracked. "I coulda had that guy go into a fit of rage at me? He was kinda already in one!" Rage squared, he supposed. But that was beside the point. "Hardly. But, I will tell you, a berserker is immune to the power of metal and fire. Unless he used his sword like a club, he would not have been able to harm you." Oh, this was not a train of thought Diarmi had ever anticipated. But here he was, wondering at what point being bludgeoned would be worse than being sliced or pierced. Maybe it was best to let that train go on its own, and he'd re-board it later, figure out the answer. For now, a drizzle had started and he'd heard the sound of broken pottery. The katana and possible charms secured on his person, he jumped, caught a lamp post, and slid downwards. Thank god(s?) he wasn't climbing up in the rain. "Hey, hey, that was awesome!" He ran towards the knight girl, holding his hand up for a high five. "We gotta check on bear-hand lady, I know, but-?" He gestured with his free hand. "High five?"</s> <|message|>Shaman Just as Sam was rushing the next monster, it burst into smoke on its own. She glared at the haze skeptically, trying to figure out what the trick was–until it reformed as an ordinary pigeon. The girl's skepticism turned to confusion, which only deepened when she looked around and saw the other monsters turning into perfectly ordinary birds. And in the middle of the street, no longer behind any aberrations, stood a woman. She had a definitely magical staff raised overhead. And suddenly it began to rain. Not a hard rain; it was a light drizzle easily shielded by holding her paws over her head. It still wasn't a normal rain. Not with how that cloud overhead had come out of nowhere sometime during the…oh no, during the battle. She'd just fought a battle. 'Worry later; work now.' Tamping down a rising panic, Sam ran after the woman as she dropped her staff into a puddle and stepped off the road. "Excuse me! Ma'am! Do you…" Sam stopped her words at the same time she stopped in front of the strange woman. What did she want to ask? Would this woman even have answers? Certainly she looked antiquated enough to know something; but then again, Sam didn't normally wear red hide and tribal tattoos. Appearances were far from a useful metric. Still, something about the woman felt older, and far more confident, than Sam did. With a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "What happened here? What are those birds, are they still dangerous, and where did everyone else-?"</s> <|message|>ERRANT Mina looked up as the viking boy called out to her, letting the tip of her sword rest against the ground. She gave him a weird look as he raised his hand to request a high-five. Was- was that it? They beat the bad guy stealing souls and his army of evil bird monsters, yay, go team? Like they were some kind of sports club? Like true she was a totally amazing badass who had just saved the world or whatever, but still! Mina felt someone nudge her shoulder, turning her head briefly to catch sight of the knight lady. "You shouldn't leave your comrade hanging," she said, and Mina would almost swear she was smiling at her. Seriously? This girl too?! Did they even have high-fives in the dark ages? Geez! Well, whatever. Mina raised her hand in defeat, wincing slightly as the boy's palm slapped against her own. Yay, go team. --- The Witch of the Waters raised one finger to halt the girl's flood of questions. "All things in their order," she said before lowering her hand. "The birds are harmless, I believe. You needn't worry over them. As for the rest, we should have the others join us, first. If I am to field questions, they should be present to hear the answers." She clapped her hands together, a bright grin spreading across her face. "Now! I don't suppose there is a suitable place nearby for a private gathering of heroes?" --- The man folded his arms over his broad chest, leaning against the wall out of sight of the street. He had watched much of the battle unfold from here, leaving the boy to his own work as he had requested. A foolish mistake, as he had expected from the start. "What's to be done, then?" he asked, paying no mind to the pigeon cooing by his feet. The boy's capture was his own fault, not the man's, but it still needed correcting. His eyes narrowed at the words echoing in his mind - leave him? He was a fool, true, but- Ah. "Very well," he relented, lowering his head at nothing. An understandable if unfortunate decision. They hadn't been aware of any warriors prior to this, and it would be prudent to gauge their total strength moving forward. The stormcaller in particular was concerning - she had done little thus far to demonstrate the extent of her power, and their ignorance of that matter made her dangerous. He would withdraw for now. If further action were to be taken, it would not be today.</s>

<|message|>Kagura Kasuke Kagura was starting to realise that she couldn't see anymore birds. Nor could she hear them anymore. She looked over at the pirate, who was standing on the building's ledge. The pirate was smiling, looking out over the city, with her loose ghile shirt billowing in the wind. Kagura had to admit, she looked cool "Looks like whoever was in charge got taken out. And I think I just spotted somebody who might give us more answers. C'mon!" she commanded, before dropping from the roof and landing unhurt on the ground below. She grinned up at Kagura, who rolled her eyes and headed back to the stairwell. Once they were united, Kagura tutted and glared at her companion. "Yes, you can jump off the roof. Very impressive. I couldn't do that!" "You know, lass, I wouldn't be so sure..." "What? What are you-" "Anyway, you see those three? Two knights and a wet lady with a staff? I don't think they belong here, same as I don't. This world is so familiar, yet so strange at the same time. I think I recognise the language from scrolls the Dutch brought with them from the Far East. This is Japan, isn't it?" "Hold on. If you can't read Japanese, how are we speaking?" "Honestly, lass? I couldn't tell ye." The pirate and the...magical girl who looking more like she was complaying a pirate-themed idol when stood side by side with a real one, approached Mina and the Witch of the Waters.</s>

<|description|>Serena Jat ______________________________________ "Isn't any voice I use my inside voice if we're not outdoors?" ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Female A G E : 16 O C C U P A T I O N : Jo Long Apprentice A P P E A R A N C E : At 5'0, shy of 100 lbs, Serena is a slip of a girl with Asian features. She has dark almond eyes and dark hair. She's fond of wearing two pig tails which gives her the appearance of being younger than she is. She generally wears shorts or short skirts and pastel colors or oversized black T-shirts which belong to her surrogate brother. Her idea of 'cute' often clashes with her brothers' ideals. H O M E P L A N E T : Space Born on a Ship S K I L L S E T : Serena has not mastered any of the five fighting styles of the Shaolin, but she does know enough to defend herself. She proclaims her fighting style is "Bunny", which involves a lot of kicking and running. She's been training with knives and studying tessenjutsu by watching videos. She is proficient in neither. She has a good memory for things she hears. Aside from that, being spaceborn, she makes sure to keep herself useful on a ship. E Q U I P M E N T : Chun Double knives which she is not yet proficient in, and twin tessens. P E R S O N A L I T Y : Serena is friendly and outgoing, and will talk your ear off. She'll often speak on Vas' behalf. She doesn't filter much of what she says, and since her brain spins faster than the words come out, she'll often talk in circles which can be misleading until you get to know her. She's scattered, flighty and immature. She often takes things literally, and Serena has long ears - eavesdropping is more than a hobby, it's a way of life B I O : Serena was spaceborn as far as she knows, in her words "on account of I was little at the time I was born and don't remember that part." She doesn't remember her family, but there are vague bits and pieces about being boarded and people being separated and it just being how it was. At 14, she met/befriended a mohawked young punk who would soon become like an older brother. She adopted him and his last name, and in turn, he introduced her to the rest of his family. Two years later, she continues to be an apprentice of sorts. Leaving the temple for real-world experience, She and her brother Vas were found by Deckard running a scam in a pit fighting ring. Their scam was caught and they got jumped. Vas was able to take care of himself, and Serena made 'fast friends' (in her opinion) with Deckard. Deckard offered them a job doing semi-honest work. They accepted. How better to see the verse? | | Jago Deckard | "Aye Aye Captain Greybeard! I hope he didn't hear me!" | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | "He told me a story about a ghost with a golden arm. It still haunts the ship. Beware of both." | | Enid Pritchard | "Do NOT go to the med-bay, it's not safe. She'll use iodine just on account of it stings more." | | Vas Jat | "Onii Onii Onii! My somebody. <3 <3 <3 | | Serena Jat | "Sixteen is drinking age on a lotta planets." | | Kinneas Reed | "Wanna read my fanfic about Kinneas?" | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Serena Jat Ready Or Not Part 6 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | Serena giggled. Sometimes her brother was more monk than others. She'd enjoy this while it lasted. "You think so?" She asked. "Think what?" Vas blinked confused as he helped her up. "Me and Kinneas?" She asked. Vas was even more confused. "You and Kinneas what?" Feeling like he was being led along to the punchline of a joke. "Oh, Onii," Serena giggled. "Maybe they don't write that in your books." Vas continued his streak of cluelessness. "I am so lost. Are we even speaking the same language?" He huffed. Serena tried to take advantage, launching an attack. "Focus! Pay attention!" She chided. Vas sidestepped, slapping Serena upside the head and poking her twice in the side with his wooden dagger. He left his foot out for her to trip on. "Guile over strength any day of the week. Congrats you are a pincushion!" He was still suspicious over what Serena had been babbling about but he would press it out of her later. The unceremonious fall knocked the giggle out of her, and Serena cursed as she sprawled on the ground. "Next time," she promised, picking herself back up. "Ha! Keep dreaming Mei Mei, you still have a lot to learn. I was small too at one point, brute strength? It's not the key that always fits the lock." He said putting his wooden weapon down. "Speed, precision, deception … there will never be a fair fight. They will be bigger, meaner, they have guns and come at you in a group." Vas said taking a low stance, arms undulating slightly, his finger pointed and straight. "Would you rather a 'fair fight' or one you survive?" "One you survive," the teen parroted. "Like you said." "Survival ain't fair." Vas reminded her. "They plead their case, wave to their wife, their children, Gran Gran or whoever … they will promise you anything and everything." He said moving forward smoothly, his snake-like movement striking forward. Serena kept her eyes on him, and backed up, away from the knife, taking a swipe at him when he came close before darting to the other side. "Because they won't think twice about killing me." Vas dodged and continue to press in. Taking advantage of his long arms, he jabbed his fingers into a nerve in Serena's shoulder that made her entire arm tingle and weak. He didn't let up, he locked her other arm and instead of throwing her to the ground, held her bent over his knee to where she was on her toes and her head touching the floor, his elbow holding her in place. "Exactly. Don't give them that chance. Even a rabbit can surprise you when cornered."</s> <|message|>Vas Jat Ready Or Not Part 7 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | Serena struggled, frustrated. "Dammit," She said dejectedly, trying to shrug him off. "Relax. Take a breath. Think. Are your legs pinned?" Vas asked calm as ever. "No," Serena grumbled, letting out a breath to relax. "Well my arms are full aren't they? What's stopping you?" Serena gathered her strength and waited a few seconds before kicking out, with both feet, like a rabbit, trying to catch Vas in the face with a knee. Her one knee made contact with Vas's cheek as barely caught herself with her free leg to slip out completing the flip, granted a bit wobbly but no one was giving out points for gracefulness. "See." Vas rubbing his now tender cheek. Serena went for another strike with the knife, rather than waiting for him to reset or recover from the blow. Vas leaned back letting the gleaming knife sim by before whipping for way into a roll moving to a sweep from behind Serena. Serena yelped as Vas's foot connected with the back of her right knee. Caught off balance, she fell with zero grace, her left foot inadvertently catching Vas on the chin on the way down. "You know you keep hitting me in the face. At some point I'm going to take it personally." Vas joked. "Definitely hitting harder …" He complimented. "Sorry, Onii-San," She giggled, picking herself up off the ground, trying to catch her breath. Vas chuckled and waved it off. "Take a break, you earned it." Serena sat on her tail and nursed her bruised ribs and ego. "I gotta hit harder on account of like you said, I'm ready. " Vas laughed. "Naw … I mean don't get me wrong, hitting hard is good but knowing where to hit maximizing your effort? More important. Don't go and fight like me, fight like you. You're small, they're going to underestimate you … take advantage." He said, passing her a water bottle. "Still you are miles away from where you started. You earned this opportunity." Serena grunted as she reached for the watter bottle. "I can't help but fight like me," She said. "You got a better reach so I gotta try and fight closer ranged, and then get way out of the way. You're a lot taller. And 'course! We practice near every day."</s>

<|message|>Serena Jat Ready Or Not Part 8 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | "See. Already thinking the way you should." Vas said, sitting next to the growing apprentice. "Soon you'll be jetting off on your own exploring the 'Verse starting your own ear collection." Serena crinkled her nose and shook her head. Her Onni's collection was gross enough without her adding to it. "How about I collect somethin' else, Onni? Like… shoelaces." "You can collect whatever you want. I don't recommend fingers. That's just messy and awkward." Vas smirked. "Gross," she giggled, swatting at him. Vas laughed. "Don't judge, I have seen some messed up collections … one guy I know, totally cracked. Like in the worst way. Would decapitate the 'pretty ones' ripped the skin of the gorram skulls and made himself one of them shrunken heads. Had a whole head hunter collection." He said with a nod. "He had problems." "Maybe my mission won't have anything to do with… that," she said, waving a hand dismissively before taking a sip of water. "I mean, there's other stuff to do, right?" "Like I said that guy had issues, he didn't do it for the mission he did it for fun. Like it was some kind of art project." Vas elaborate. "I just meant in general," Serena clarified. "I mean… there's not always something like that to 'collect,' right?" "Oh … no not like that. I mean it is not common by any stretch. I've only done two. An eye extraction and tooth, not from the same person. Missions like that are complicated, too many things can go wrong." Vas shrugged. Serena rubbed the back of her neck. "What was your first solo mission?" "Mine … it was … was different for me." Vas said reluctantly. "I wasn't like you. My mentor was … strict … and I was already used to this kind of thing, not nearly as skilled, I was still a messy clumsy dumbass. It was an assassination. Some mob lieutenant, no weapons, just me dressed like a waiter jumping him in the bathroom." Vas snorted. "Buddha there were probably so many better ways I could have done that." "Yeah, but like you said. It was different. Mine won't be like that, right?" She asked raising both eyebrows. "No, definitely not. Not saying anything against your skill but some folk are more talented at one thing and suck at the others. No one is good at everything." Vas explained.</s>

<|description|>Kinneas Reed "Got creds, will travel - on your creds. Half down." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 32 O C C U P A T I O N : Mercenary, sniper A P P E A R A N C E : Dark blonde sun-streaked long wavy hair, blue eyes, light beard, 6'7"; typically wears large, loose tees with form fitting jeans and black boots - always with his leather riding-style black jacket w/ hood (weather dependent) H O M E P L A N E T : Pelorum, Aphrodite - some Bellerophon; Valentine; Silverhold S K I L L S E T : Comes from Money: Schmoozing (begrudgingly), Observation/Recon/Research, Long-range Combat, Tactical (socially and professionally) E Q U I P M E N T : sniper rifle, gun cleaning kit, camouflage duds, personal cortex, microtransmitter P E R S O N A L I T Y : Tries to remain impartial and easy-going, but can be riled up if the right buttons are pushed; has a somewhat insatiable disposition for carnal pleasures so that he will earn enough credits to spend it all on a good time rather than waste material possessions; only really serious about his work when he is on the job, but doesn't curb his humbleness on how good he is at it; only takes on jobs against the entitled or oppressive; has a live-easy, but to the fullest; likes to put on the mask that he can't resist a pretty face and is a sucker for praise to get people to trust him or think he is shallow; has a problem with absolute authority or anything that tells him how to act or behave - will act against it for the sake of it depending on how oppressive the adversary is in their 'rules; sees rules more like guidelines and may or may not follow them if he disagrees; values experience over academic achievement B I O : Growing up wealthy with a home on two worlds could leave most with a sense of entitlement, and that was certainly the case with the handsome young Kinneas Revas. Born into a family firmly established in the mining wealth of the border planets, overseen at a distance, Kinneas wanted for nothing. He was shepharded from Pelorum to Aphrodite on the whims of his father's fancy. The first rift to his overly privileged lifestyle came when he discovered his mother was actually a concubine when his actual wife was scheming to upturn her husband's entire way of life. The agreement would be that The Child stay on Bellerophon with his mother, well kept and swept under a rug. The relationship with his father was neatly sliced away as well in that stroke of diplomacy but his teenage rebellion later made things stray back into choppy waters for them all. Kinneas was not denied the life he'd learned to live though, and grew into somewhat of a known figure in the high society of Bellerophon as a pretty face. He'd grown up handsome as his father with his mother's fair features, and all the years of observing his father had him know how to play that card well. Bellerophon was meant to be a testing phase before he returned to his true place in society. His father's wife caught wind of this, however, and he was shipped to Valentine as the lesser of two evils: either he and his mother would be destitute or he'd enlist in the military to teach him some much-needed discipline - and to learn his place, of course. Military life did nothing to change his disposition, however. He took an honorable discharge at the cost of his family name he used to pay for it with when he refused to fall in line - the final straw being his absolute refusal to join the Unificators, which he should have taken as an honor and privilege. Instead, he told him what he thought of their idea of honor and privilege and that was that. Unable to return to Bellerophon, he took a ship to Silverhold to oversee a mining operation - the last kindness his father could allot. While there, he found more enjoyment in time at the bars with the locals and soon fell in with some mercenaries that made more credits running jobs than he would a year at the mines. That military training had come in handy, got them out of some sticky spots. They made a pretty decent name for themselves on the border planets, his free time spent reveling in the fruits of his labor in the form of the variety of vices he once enjoyed. Life was going real nice until a job turned south, and Kinneas was the only one left. Since then, he hasn't stuck with the same team for more than one job. Easier to maintain his lifestyle that way without getting all the pesky feelings that killed his vibe. | | Jago Deckkard | The worst conversationist I've ever met. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | Only sane one on the ship, and isn't half bad. | | Enid Prichard | Doc's quirky, but decent. | | Vas Jat | The kid - he makes it easy. | | Serena Jat | A whole basket short of a picnic but keeps things interesting. | | Kinneas Reed | Winning smile and great head of hair. | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Serena Jat Merc's Of The Not Round Table Part 5 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinneas meets the crew. Wish him luck! | | | | | --- | --- | --- | | | | Kinneas lifted a brow, realizing he'd touched a nerve given the silence, but still smiled. Amused. "Must be the poor scrambled brain, but I think I'll pass on getting arrested if it's all the same to you." "Hmm-hmm." Jago said, chewing his own apple. "Suddenly see the difference now huh." "Yeah, we'll be prudent and say so," Kinneas said, entirely facetious. "Good," Jago said agreeably. "In the meantime, you can think on where you wanna step off, so long as it ain't out of our way it matters none to me." "New Kasmir," Serena offered in a whisper, peeking out from behind her brother. "The Summer Solstice fair is coming up." "New Kasmir is as good a place as any," Kinneas said and took another bite of his apple. He'd actually eat the thing now, as the reality of his situation settled with his words. Not being able to go back to Silverhold without the feds on him meant no job prospects, which meant no money. He'd have to find a new haunt and the Kalidasa system was as he said - as good a place as any. "Shiney. Make yourself comfortable, pick a room and we'll be there before you know it." Jago offered. "Pick a room? I didn't see a passenger attachment like other Fireflys I've been on. You're saying I get to choose who I share a room with?" He asked, eyebrow arching, a faint tickling at the back of his mind lost in all the earlier Serena chatter. Hadn't she mentioned something about this? Maybe his concussion really was worse than he thought. "No, we don't have passenger dorms, just crew quarters find an empty one and use that," Vas said slowly. "Right there…" He pointed with a thumb. Kinneas looked around the table at the four of the crew and mentally counted the doctor on the roster, leaning back against his chair. "Can't you just tell me which one is open? Or are you just going to enjoy me trying to find out for myself?" Vas gave a wry smile flashing a look to the Jago who just shrugged. "Imōto. Watashitachi no gesuto wa, teichō ni kare ni tsuā o teikyō shi, kare ga heya o mitsukeru no o tetsudau tame ni tewonigiru hitsuyō ga arimasu. (Sister. Our guest needs handholding respectfully give him a tour and help him find a room.)" Vas said to Serena. "Sonogo, renshū no tame ni kamotsu-shitsu ni kite kudasai. (Then come to the cargo bay for practice.) Mingbai?(understood)" "Mingbai," Serena replied. "C'mon, Kinneas, I'll show you to an open room. I think Tim made one up." She ticked her head for him to follow.</s> <|message|>Kinneas Reed Merc's Of The Not Round Table Part 6 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinneas meets the crew. Wish him luck! | | | | | --- | --- | --- | | | | Kinneas slid his chair back to stand, tossing the apple core away as he departed. "Nice having dinner with you. Thanks for the unexpected invite." Vas made a face as Kinneas trail after Serena mouthing 'Dinner?' Jago shrugged neither recalling any kind of invitation and if he thought an apple sufficed as dinner? Maybe his head really was scrambled. "Right, that's enough psychosis for one day. I'll be in the cargo bay." Vas said getting up. "Don't break anything." Jago joked. "Ha-ha." Vas said, turning the corner. "Have you been to New Kasmir?" Serena chattered, half walking backwards to make sure Kinneas was following. "We were to New Kasmir once but it was winter, so I can't wait to go to the Summer Solstace." An image of strolling through the orchards crossed his mind at the question, which he shook away as he followed. "Yeah, it's a pretty nice place. Relaxing. Not really my thing, though." "Really?" Serena said, with a spring in her step. "What is your thing then?" "Something… a little more exciting than a stroll through some trees or hiking up a mountain trail." He said with a slight grin. That was about all he'd give to the girl. "How about you?" "They gotta ferris wheel," she said, "And six different kinds of candy floss, and popcorn covered in sugar. That's better than hikin' up a mountain isn't is?" "I'm sure it could be." He allotted. "But, I'd say it's the fudge. Caramel apple fudge, since you're a fan of apples." "Do you think they'll have that?" She asked, her eyes growing wider. "Apples are pretty sweet as it is, but caramel AND fudge?" "They could." He speculated. "I haven't been there in a long while, and my circumstances were… different, then, so I can't say much about affordability." "What kind of circumstances?" She pressed. "I grew up." He grinned again. "Now which room is it?" "This one, " she said, pointing to a ladder down. "Do you need help gettin' down to your bunk?" "I think I can handle it." He said with a slight laugh. "Thanks for the guided tour." "My Onii and I are right over there, so if you need anything you can just holler, and I'll come help." She promised. "That's reassuring." He said as he started down the ladder. There was a lot to think about, and he couldn't quite do that with the chatterbox going. "Night Kinneas," She called down after him, before turning on her heel to head to the cargo bay. "Oh! And welcome aboard the Lunar Veil!"</s>

<|message|>Kinneas Reed First Impressions Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Finally alone Kinneas takes a moment to reflect on the whirlwind of events. | | | --- | When the hatch closed at Serena's departure, Kinneas felt a weight lift off his chest as he took a deep breath and let his head hang just a moment. The cool of the rung against his head was steadying as he focused on it, ordering his thoughts. It was easier away from the others, concussion aside. The familial feel he'd mocked, he never quite got it. Always the independent operator. And it seemed like it caught up to him. Interpol after him? He did figure it'd happen one day. Kinneas was the last one left from that job. But no, he laughed as he released the ladder and lifted his head. He was convicted of being a terrorist, blowing up another mine, the girl had said. The whole miner rebellion may have started because of something he sparked, he'd realized on his way to stop the chaos he'd heard about that had landed him here. There may have been some labor law and workers' rights talk over some drinks at the taphouse, tactical strike methods included. However, the sort of strike he'd discussed involved sit-downs and peaceful protests, maybe hunker down to stop production. Not to blow up - or hell, even take hostages. He ran a hand through the hair along his scalp as he sighed, feeling the knot again while he took in the room. When Serena had said Tim had fixed up the unoccupied bunk, he half expected a welcome banner given the oddity of the crew. But it was clean, functional, and bare aside from the made bed which he went to lie on and his large duffle that had also made the trip. He reached out and touched the canvas, a smirk coming to his lips as his mental image of the three hauling him away from the miner camp now including the large, heavy bag. First impressions often told you who a person really was, his father had told him. Serena was almost too genuine, in that adorable naive sort of way. Her brother, by contrast, was genuine in a way as well, but definitely not the same. He seemed older than his age, but not by much. Being responsible for someone else, he had seen once before, did that to a kid. There was a level of responsibility there. Like the doc. Barbed as she was, she didn't seem truly resentful of her work. Otherwise, why stick to it? He could be wrong though. He didn't know her or the rest of them. Especially the captain. Couldn't get a good read on him. Likely the stone cold type, a begrudging statue with an annoying little song bird that was Serena perched atop and Vas glaring in camaraderie beside. No, he smirked, amusing as it was, it wasn't quite right. The guy had been fine until pressed. Kinneas' thoughts strayed into what he'd do now, when the captain's words came back to him. 'Go about your merry way.' Silverhold wasn't an option, at least until he sorted whatever mess he was in out. If he even could. If Interpol was after him, he might find it hard to go anywhere for long. Not that he had a place to call home. Finding work was just difficult without a place for clients to find you, though, but usual haunts were also off the table. He'd have to update some folks, he thought, and reached for his bag again - maybe they could help sort out the mess. But first, Kinneas prioritized, some research was in order.</s>

<|description|>Kinneas Reed "Got creds, will travel - on your creds. Half down." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 32 O C C U P A T I O N : Mercenary, sniper A P P E A R A N C E : Dark blonde sun-streaked long wavy hair, blue eyes, light beard, 6'7"; typically wears large, loose tees with form fitting jeans and black boots - always with his leather riding-style black jacket w/ hood (weather dependent) H O M E P L A N E T : Pelorum, Aphrodite - some Bellerophon; Valentine; Silverhold S K I L L S E T : Comes from Money: Schmoozing (begrudgingly), Observation/Recon/Research, Long-range Combat, Tactical (socially and professionally) E Q U I P M E N T : sniper rifle, gun cleaning kit, camouflage duds, personal cortex, microtransmitter P E R S O N A L I T Y : Tries to remain impartial and easy-going, but can be riled up if the right buttons are pushed; has a somewhat insatiable disposition for carnal pleasures so that he will earn enough credits to spend it all on a good time rather than waste material possessions; only really serious about his work when he is on the job, but doesn't curb his humbleness on how good he is at it; only takes on jobs against the entitled or oppressive; has a live-easy, but to the fullest; likes to put on the mask that he can't resist a pretty face and is a sucker for praise to get people to trust him or think he is shallow; has a problem with absolute authority or anything that tells him how to act or behave - will act against it for the sake of it depending on how oppressive the adversary is in their 'rules; sees rules more like guidelines and may or may not follow them if he disagrees; values experience over academic achievement B I O : Growing up wealthy with a home on two worlds could leave most with a sense of entitlement, and that was certainly the case with the handsome young Kinneas Revas. Born into a family firmly established in the mining wealth of the border planets, overseen at a distance, Kinneas wanted for nothing. He was shepharded from Pelorum to Aphrodite on the whims of his father's fancy. The first rift to his overly privileged lifestyle came when he discovered his mother was actually a concubine when his actual wife was scheming to upturn her husband's entire way of life. The agreement would be that The Child stay on Bellerophon with his mother, well kept and swept under a rug. The relationship with his father was neatly sliced away as well in that stroke of diplomacy but his teenage rebellion later made things stray back into choppy waters for them all. Kinneas was not denied the life he'd learned to live though, and grew into somewhat of a known figure in the high society of Bellerophon as a pretty face. He'd grown up handsome as his father with his mother's fair features, and all the years of observing his father had him know how to play that card well. Bellerophon was meant to be a testing phase before he returned to his true place in society. His father's wife caught wind of this, however, and he was shipped to Valentine as the lesser of two evils: either he and his mother would be destitute or he'd enlist in the military to teach him some much-needed discipline - and to learn his place, of course. Military life did nothing to change his disposition, however. He took an honorable discharge at the cost of his family name he used to pay for it with when he refused to fall in line - the final straw being his absolute refusal to join the Unificators, which he should have taken as an honor and privilege. Instead, he told him what he thought of their idea of honor and privilege and that was that. Unable to return to Bellerophon, he took a ship to Silverhold to oversee a mining operation - the last kindness his father could allot. While there, he found more enjoyment in time at the bars with the locals and soon fell in with some mercenaries that made more credits running jobs than he would a year at the mines. That military training had come in handy, got them out of some sticky spots. They made a pretty decent name for themselves on the border planets, his free time spent reveling in the fruits of his labor in the form of the variety of vices he once enjoyed. Life was going real nice until a job turned south, and Kinneas was the only one left. Since then, he hasn't stuck with the same team for more than one job. Easier to maintain his lifestyle that way without getting all the pesky feelings that killed his vibe. | | Jago Deckkard | The worst conversationist I've ever met. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | Only sane one on the ship, and isn't half bad. | | Enid Prichard | Doc's quirky, but decent. | | Vas Jat | The kid - he makes it easy. | | Serena Jat | A whole basket short of a picnic but keeps things interesting. | | Kinneas Reed | Winning smile and great head of hair. | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Serena Jat Ready Or Not Part 8 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | "See. Already thinking the way you should." Vas said, sitting next to the growing apprentice. "Soon you'll be jetting off on your own exploring the 'Verse starting your own ear collection." Serena crinkled her nose and shook her head. Her Onni's collection was gross enough without her adding to it. "How about I collect somethin' else, Onni? Like… shoelaces." "You can collect whatever you want. I don't recommend fingers. That's just messy and awkward." Vas smirked. "Gross," she giggled, swatting at him. Vas laughed. "Don't judge, I have seen some messed up collections … one guy I know, totally cracked. Like in the worst way. Would decapitate the 'pretty ones' ripped the skin of the gorram skulls and made himself one of them shrunken heads. Had a whole head hunter collection." He said with a nod. "He had problems." "Maybe my mission won't have anything to do with… that," she said, waving a hand dismissively before taking a sip of water. "I mean, there's other stuff to do, right?" "Like I said that guy had issues, he didn't do it for the mission he did it for fun. Like it was some kind of art project." Vas elaborate. "I just meant in general," Serena clarified. "I mean… there's not always something like that to 'collect,' right?" "Oh … no not like that. I mean it is not common by any stretch. I've only done two. An eye extraction and tooth, not from the same person. Missions like that are complicated, too many things can go wrong." Vas shrugged. Serena rubbed the back of her neck. "What was your first solo mission?" "Mine … it was … was different for me." Vas said reluctantly. "I wasn't like you. My mentor was … strict … and I was already used to this kind of thing, not nearly as skilled, I was still a messy clumsy dumbass. It was an assassination. Some mob lieutenant, no weapons, just me dressed like a waiter jumping him in the bathroom." Vas snorted. "Buddha there were probably so many better ways I could have done that." "Yeah, but like you said. It was different. Mine won't be like that, right?" She asked raising both eyebrows. "No, definitely not. Not saying anything against your skill but some folk are more talented at one thing and suck at the others. No one is good at everything." Vas explained.</s> <|message|>Vas Jat Ready Or Not Part 9 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | "Ohhhh," Serena said with a giggle, visibly relieved. She rested her head against her brother's shoulder. "I didn't know they took that into considering." "Are you kidding I haven't been on a stealth mission in ages, not since I last grew a few inches. Not unless they were worried about heavy resistance. I'm too big and heavy now, not when they can send in someone smaller and quieter and I ain't ever done any type of honey pot." Vas shrugged. "I'm smaller!" she said happily. "And I could probably be even more quieter, And I think you'd make for a good honey pot, on account of you have pretty eyes." "Ha! No. They spend years learning how to do that kind of thing. It's treated just as much of an art." Vas giggled still hung up on the idea of doing that kind of thing. "I would be a disaster." "But you would catch 'em off guard!" She giggled, poking her brother in the ribs. "They would never see it coming!" "Buddha's belly I wouldn't see it coming." He laughed. "But I will keep it in mind next time I'm on the ropes. Not the strangest thing I did. One guy was apparently very ticklish. Just saying." "How would that help anything?" She asked. "Okay so I was getting the crap kicked out of me, this guy was huge, hit like a sledgehammer. He knocks my sorry pi gu down and he's on top just pummeling me. I was getting desperate and I took a huge gamble … and tickled his sides." Vas grinned chuckling. "I dunno who was more surprised, me or him." Serena laughed. "I'm going to try that next time we practice, when you least expect it." "Go on and try it. I would love to see how that works out for you." Vas said with a mischievous grin. "I will!" She said, just as mischievously. "That might be my thing." "Careful they may move you to become a torturer instead!" Vas said attacking Serena's ribs. Serena laughed and swatted him off, "Onii! I hope not." She dissolved into another giggle fit before leaning back against him. "Leave the fretting to me. You get a good mission and come out the other side stronger and wiser. Hopefully with nothing broken." Vas said with a reassuring smile. "On account of I'm ready," she said. "On account of you said. And I won't let you down, Onii, honest and swear." "I know so we best get you as prepared as we can." Vas said, getting up. "We're going to start practicing with your gear on. Get you more familiar with the feel of it since you are taking a more active role." Vas said, extending a hand to help her up. Serena took his hand and was yanked to her feet. "Okay," She agreed. "Just in case it's that sorta mission. But more than likely it's not, right?" "Never hurts to be prepared." Vas smirked. "That was the first thing you said," she remembered. "Now how about we stealth into the galley an' get some more red apples before they're all gone?" "I'll get the cinnamon." He said racing ahead his apprentice to the galley. "I'll start making tea!" Serena offered. "It's the best part of practice."</s>

<|message|>Kinneas Reed Looped Out Lunar Veil | Kinneas's Bunk Summary Kinneas is finally alone with nothing but his thoughts. | | | --- | Once the wave ended and all the life that had filled the empty room went away with it, Kinneas sat in the silence for a moment before tossing the communicator to the side table. The sounds of the ship were much more subtle, a soft hum of parts running smooth that he had no way of identifying. His father had taught him about ships, sure, but it was the sort that sailed on water. Though the mechanical components were left to others in that as well, of course. As it were, he let the steadiness of the humming fill his mind so thoughts did not get too wound up in there. It made it easier for him to look around the stark, utilitarian room and consider it a possibility. There was still the issue of talking things over with Deckard. The guy didn't seem like the type to just take an assigned crew member at the suggestion of convenience, but what did he know? Besides, Kinneas knew how to sell himself - especially after seeing the skill level of whoever their best marksmen was at the miners' camp. So, his freedom was secure. Maybe not carte blanche considering the whole Interpol issue that led him to this situation, but secure enough. He'd have to look into what the actual charges were, but his head was hurting from the last few hours. That 'nap' between here and the miners' camp hadn't helped either. It was time to relax. He could deal with the captain tomorrow. For now, he would try not to be upset at the sheer lack of personality this room had, and how entirely confining it was. So small. "Wǒ de mā…"</s>

<|description|>Kinneas Reed "Got creds, will travel - on your creds. Half down." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 32 O C C U P A T I O N : Mercenary, sniper A P P E A R A N C E : Dark blonde sun-streaked long wavy hair, blue eyes, light beard, 6'7"; typically wears large, loose tees with form fitting jeans and black boots - always with his leather riding-style black jacket w/ hood (weather dependent) H O M E P L A N E T : Pelorum, Aphrodite - some Bellerophon; Valentine; Silverhold S K I L L S E T : Comes from Money: Schmoozing (begrudgingly), Observation/Recon/Research, Long-range Combat, Tactical (socially and professionally) E Q U I P M E N T : sniper rifle, gun cleaning kit, camouflage duds, personal cortex, microtransmitter P E R S O N A L I T Y : Tries to remain impartial and easy-going, but can be riled up if the right buttons are pushed; has a somewhat insatiable disposition for carnal pleasures so that he will earn enough credits to spend it all on a good time rather than waste material possessions; only really serious about his work when he is on the job, but doesn't curb his humbleness on how good he is at it; only takes on jobs against the entitled or oppressive; has a live-easy, but to the fullest; likes to put on the mask that he can't resist a pretty face and is a sucker for praise to get people to trust him or think he is shallow; has a problem with absolute authority or anything that tells him how to act or behave - will act against it for the sake of it depending on how oppressive the adversary is in their 'rules; sees rules more like guidelines and may or may not follow them if he disagrees; values experience over academic achievement B I O : Growing up wealthy with a home on two worlds could leave most with a sense of entitlement, and that was certainly the case with the handsome young Kinneas Revas. Born into a family firmly established in the mining wealth of the border planets, overseen at a distance, Kinneas wanted for nothing. He was shepharded from Pelorum to Aphrodite on the whims of his father's fancy. The first rift to his overly privileged lifestyle came when he discovered his mother was actually a concubine when his actual wife was scheming to upturn her husband's entire way of life. The agreement would be that The Child stay on Bellerophon with his mother, well kept and swept under a rug. The relationship with his father was neatly sliced away as well in that stroke of diplomacy but his teenage rebellion later made things stray back into choppy waters for them all. Kinneas was not denied the life he'd learned to live though, and grew into somewhat of a known figure in the high society of Bellerophon as a pretty face. He'd grown up handsome as his father with his mother's fair features, and all the years of observing his father had him know how to play that card well. Bellerophon was meant to be a testing phase before he returned to his true place in society. His father's wife caught wind of this, however, and he was shipped to Valentine as the lesser of two evils: either he and his mother would be destitute or he'd enlist in the military to teach him some much-needed discipline - and to learn his place, of course. Military life did nothing to change his disposition, however. He took an honorable discharge at the cost of his family name he used to pay for it with when he refused to fall in line - the final straw being his absolute refusal to join the Unificators, which he should have taken as an honor and privilege. Instead, he told him what he thought of their idea of honor and privilege and that was that. Unable to return to Bellerophon, he took a ship to Silverhold to oversee a mining operation - the last kindness his father could allot. While there, he found more enjoyment in time at the bars with the locals and soon fell in with some mercenaries that made more credits running jobs than he would a year at the mines. That military training had come in handy, got them out of some sticky spots. They made a pretty decent name for themselves on the border planets, his free time spent reveling in the fruits of his labor in the form of the variety of vices he once enjoyed. Life was going real nice until a job turned south, and Kinneas was the only one left. Since then, he hasn't stuck with the same team for more than one job. Easier to maintain his lifestyle that way without getting all the pesky feelings that killed his vibe. | | Jago Deckkard | The worst conversationist I've ever met. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | Only sane one on the ship, and isn't half bad. | | Enid Prichard | Doc's quirky, but decent. | | Vas Jat | The kid - he makes it easy. | | Serena Jat | A whole basket short of a picnic but keeps things interesting. | | Kinneas Reed | Winning smile and great head of hair. | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Kinneas Reed The Morning After Part 3 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinneas adjusts to life with the rough and motley crew of the LV. | | | | --- | --- | Kinneas took a sip of the black coffee while the doctor had been musing at his conversational inquiry, immediately finding it too acidic for his taste. He glanced down at the cup, grimacing. "Kěpà de (Horrid)." The muttered assessment was followed with a look at the woman, so he clarified: "No, not the head - the head is fine. The coffee, is this really what you drink every morning?" "Well, your sense of taste seems just fine, so that's a plus." Doc laughed. She tucked the pencil into the page she was on and plopped the crossword book down on the table. "And since you didn't exactly make your way down to the med bay for your follow-up…" she said as she reached into her pocket, she pulled out her penlight. She made her way over to the big man and grabbed the side of his head, nearly knocking into his coffee cup hand, which might have been a mercy. She clicked on the light and started testing his pupil response. "There going to be a missed appointment fee?" Kinneas smirked as he moved the cup of hot coffee to a safe place on the counter, stilling and following at the doctor's direction. "If I'd have known…" "Mm-hm", Doc said, engrossed in her examination. "Well, bad news," she said as she clicked off her penlight, "you're fine." Kinneas grinned, obviously being factitious. "Gotta say, never had a doctor use that line on me before." Doc furrowed her brow and lightly punched Kinneas's shoulder. "Ass. I meant no fun or interesting injuries." She said as she made her way back to her seat and book. "Gonna be a dull trip is all. No one ever comes in with something serious, ya know?" She complained, sounding…almost wistful. Kinneas chuckled as he reached back for his coffee despite it being terrible. He supposed the entire crew wasn't half-bad. Though he wasn't sure how serious she was about the longing regard to injured patients, he said: "Don't be too sure. I have to go have a chat with your captain. Could result in something interesting, but no promises." "Don't go getting my hopes up, Blondie." Doc said, full of sarcasm. "Listen, if he shoots ya, tell him I said 'no arteries'. Get shot somewhere fleshy. You know…fun wound, not wound wound." She encouraged. "I'll be sure to mention it." Amusement laced his words before he took another grimacing sip of bitterness in a cup. He glanced towards the hatch he'd come through and to the opposite one. "Not that I'm rushing to potentially get shot at, but… you don't happen to know where he would be, would you?" "Be a short walk through there." Doc said as she pointed to the opposite door with her pencil. "Best a luck, huh?" She added with a grin, miming a gun with her hand and pretending to shoot herself in the arm. "Jìhuà (bottom's up)." He said taking a final gulp of the coffee before dumping the rest down the drain and setting the cup in the sink to deal with later. Barring a gunshot wound. Staying strapped when not on a job… He filed that away for the interview.</s> <|message|>Enid Prichard Hire me! Part 1 Lunar Veil | Cockpit Summary Kinneas ask for a job on the LV. Goes as well as you might think. | | | | | --- | --- | --- | Jago lounged in the co-pilot's seat looking over the cortex on the screen. " … not a lot going on but if it works out we'll have another fixer throwing jobs our way. But even a cozy town got something going on, hell, the Jat's got work." Jago said scratching his chin, the town was a small one so there was a creeping doubt other than taking on a bounty there would be call for their ilk other than schmoozing an up-and-coming fixer they were meeting up with. "I'm just saying every time we get a new fixer thrown in things go from bad to worse, and that one time, to really really worse." Tim reminded him, as the pilot pushed back some in his seat. "That makes my situation sound promising." Kinneas said from the doorway as he leaned against it, levity in his tone despite the fact that this arrangement was already living up to expectations. And, it wasn't a high bar. Jago didn't even look up from his screen. "And what situation would that be?" The Captain asked tapping the screen. "The one where I offer my services in exchange for extended stay on your ship." Kinneas said, more gusto in his tone than simple pragmatism though he remained in the doorframe. "I have to say, I think it's more than a fair trade given the quality of the coffee." "What's wrong with the coffee?" Jago asked, turning the chair to face Kinneas with a quivering eyebrow. "If you're in a bind, it can strip paint off your ship's hull?" Kinneas suggested by way of explanation, not bothering to comment on the captain's apparent lack of taste. "I told you to spring the extra credits for the Ariopolis blend," Tim said with a shake of his head. "And you said what do those Ariopolis assholes know about coffee . Well, there you have it." "Just cuz our coffee sucks doesn't mean they know shit about coffee." Jago defended. "Ariopolis blend is an overpriced bunch of burnt beans anyway." Tim held out his hand in an iffy gesture. "I'd respectfully disagree, but I'd also respectfully like my head to stay attached to my shoulders so I'll just pretend to look at a few of these fancy dials and let you all talk." "No, don't stop on my account - disagree. The doc was lookin' for something to do." Kinneas said with a grin. "Although, it involved less dismemberment and more gushy gunshot wound. Fleshy, I think she said." "That sounds like a word Enid would use," Tim said, making a face. "You'll get used to it, if you're sticking around for a bit."</s>

<|message|>Kinneas Reed Hire me! Part 2 Lunar Veil | Cockpit Summary Kinneas ask for a job on the LV. Goes as well as you might think. | | | | | --- | --- | --- | "That's what I'm here to find out," Kinneas said as he pushed himself from the frame of the doorway with his shoulder, standing upright once more. "Well, captain?" Jago sighed thinking. "Well why not make yourself useful, there's a chore list hanging in the galley." "I'm not signing on to be anyone's qìyuē yōnggōng (indentured servant)." Kinneas' expression darkened slightly, insulted by the first thought that came to Deckard's mind. Tim sucked a thin stream of air through his teeth, suddenly fascinated with one of the fuel cell indicators. He suppressed any nervous laughter that threatened to bubble up. "Oh I'm sorry princess but our janitorial staff sought employment elsewhere. So while I go and find a new maid so your pretty hands don't have to get dirty, everyone on this ship pulls their own weight. If you have a problem with that you can file a complaint in our suggestion box, conveniently located in the gorram airlock." Jago said flatly, giving Kinneas a level look. Tim's gage grew more fascinating by the minute, and he fought hard to not let out another wince. "I don't have a problem with -" Kinneas was interrupted, his gritted teeth over the word emphasized grinding to a halt. "Good." Jago said cutting Kinneas off. "Chore list is in the galley." "They're not all horrible," Tim promised. "I mean, some of them. Crew sometimes plays tall card for 'em, if you're a betting man." Kinneas was about to tell the captain where he could shove his chore list, but bitterly smirked at the notion of pawning them off on someone else if he won a hand or two of cards. "That makes it all better, sure. In the meantime, I'll just go hop right to that list. Can't think of a better way to spend the start of my time bound to this ship." Fuck if I will. He turned to go back to his bunk. Jago waited for the man to leave. "I swear Serena whines less than that man." He grumbled going back to the list on the cortex screen. Tim watched the new person leave, and rubbed his non-existent five-o-clock shadow. "Give him a little time," the pilot offered. "I know you're spoiled, what with me coming on board right out of the box amazing. " He raised his eyebrows a few times towards the captain, fishing for compliments he knew wouldn't come. "Time I got. Patience with another teen on the boat, less so." He paused, turning to Tim. "The coffee ain't that bad is it?" "It's like you melted brown crayons in swamp water," Tim replied. "I'll make a shopping run on New Kasmir, while you go and get us raked over by a new fixer." "Zero faith in your Captain." Jago tsked. "And spring for the nicer crayons." He joked.</s>

<|description|>Kinneas Reed "Got creds, will travel - on your creds. Half down." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 32 O C C U P A T I O N : Mercenary, sniper A P P E A R A N C E : Dark blonde sun-streaked long wavy hair, blue eyes, light beard, 6'7"; typically wears large, loose tees with form fitting jeans and black boots - always with his leather riding-style black jacket w/ hood (weather dependent) H O M E P L A N E T : Pelorum, Aphrodite - some Bellerophon; Valentine; Silverhold S K I L L S E T : Comes from Money: Schmoozing (begrudgingly), Observation/Recon/Research, Long-range Combat, Tactical (socially and professionally) E Q U I P M E N T : sniper rifle, gun cleaning kit, camouflage duds, personal cortex, microtransmitter P E R S O N A L I T Y : Tries to remain impartial and easy-going, but can be riled up if the right buttons are pushed; has a somewhat insatiable disposition for carnal pleasures so that he will earn enough credits to spend it all on a good time rather than waste material possessions; only really serious about his work when he is on the job, but doesn't curb his humbleness on how good he is at it; only takes on jobs against the entitled or oppressive; has a live-easy, but to the fullest; likes to put on the mask that he can't resist a pretty face and is a sucker for praise to get people to trust him or think he is shallow; has a problem with absolute authority or anything that tells him how to act or behave - will act against it for the sake of it depending on how oppressive the adversary is in their 'rules; sees rules more like guidelines and may or may not follow them if he disagrees; values experience over academic achievement B I O : Growing up wealthy with a home on two worlds could leave most with a sense of entitlement, and that was certainly the case with the handsome young Kinneas Revas. Born into a family firmly established in the mining wealth of the border planets, overseen at a distance, Kinneas wanted for nothing. He was shepharded from Pelorum to Aphrodite on the whims of his father's fancy. The first rift to his overly privileged lifestyle came when he discovered his mother was actually a concubine when his actual wife was scheming to upturn her husband's entire way of life. The agreement would be that The Child stay on Bellerophon with his mother, well kept and swept under a rug. The relationship with his father was neatly sliced away as well in that stroke of diplomacy but his teenage rebellion later made things stray back into choppy waters for them all. Kinneas was not denied the life he'd learned to live though, and grew into somewhat of a known figure in the high society of Bellerophon as a pretty face. He'd grown up handsome as his father with his mother's fair features, and all the years of observing his father had him know how to play that card well. Bellerophon was meant to be a testing phase before he returned to his true place in society. His father's wife caught wind of this, however, and he was shipped to Valentine as the lesser of two evils: either he and his mother would be destitute or he'd enlist in the military to teach him some much-needed discipline - and to learn his place, of course. Military life did nothing to change his disposition, however. He took an honorable discharge at the cost of his family name he used to pay for it with when he refused to fall in line - the final straw being his absolute refusal to join the Unificators, which he should have taken as an honor and privilege. Instead, he told him what he thought of their idea of honor and privilege and that was that. Unable to return to Bellerophon, he took a ship to Silverhold to oversee a mining operation - the last kindness his father could allot. While there, he found more enjoyment in time at the bars with the locals and soon fell in with some mercenaries that made more credits running jobs than he would a year at the mines. That military training had come in handy, got them out of some sticky spots. They made a pretty decent name for themselves on the border planets, his free time spent reveling in the fruits of his labor in the form of the variety of vices he once enjoyed. Life was going real nice until a job turned south, and Kinneas was the only one left. Since then, he hasn't stuck with the same team for more than one job. Easier to maintain his lifestyle that way without getting all the pesky feelings that killed his vibe. | | Jago Deckkard | The worst conversationist I've ever met. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | Only sane one on the ship, and isn't half bad. | | Enid Prichard | Doc's quirky, but decent. | | Vas Jat | The kid - he makes it easy. | | Serena Jat | A whole basket short of a picnic but keeps things interesting. | | Kinneas Reed | Winning smile and great head of hair. | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Kinneas Reed Hire me! Part 2 Lunar Veil | Cockpit Summary Kinneas ask for a job on the LV. Goes as well as you might think. | | | | | --- | --- | --- | "That's what I'm here to find out," Kinneas said as he pushed himself from the frame of the doorway with his shoulder, standing upright once more. "Well, captain?" Jago sighed thinking. "Well why not make yourself useful, there's a chore list hanging in the galley." "I'm not signing on to be anyone's qìyuē yōnggōng (indentured servant)." Kinneas' expression darkened slightly, insulted by the first thought that came to Deckard's mind. Tim sucked a thin stream of air through his teeth, suddenly fascinated with one of the fuel cell indicators. He suppressed any nervous laughter that threatened to bubble up. "Oh I'm sorry princess but our janitorial staff sought employment elsewhere. So while I go and find a new maid so your pretty hands don't have to get dirty, everyone on this ship pulls their own weight. If you have a problem with that you can file a complaint in our suggestion box, conveniently located in the gorram airlock." Jago said flatly, giving Kinneas a level look. Tim's gage grew more fascinating by the minute, and he fought hard to not let out another wince. "I don't have a problem with -" Kinneas was interrupted, his gritted teeth over the word emphasized grinding to a halt. "Good." Jago said cutting Kinneas off. "Chore list is in the galley." "They're not all horrible," Tim promised. "I mean, some of them. Crew sometimes plays tall card for 'em, if you're a betting man." Kinneas was about to tell the captain where he could shove his chore list, but bitterly smirked at the notion of pawning them off on someone else if he won a hand or two of cards. "That makes it all better, sure. In the meantime, I'll just go hop right to that list. Can't think of a better way to spend the start of my time bound to this ship." Fuck if I will. He turned to go back to his bunk. Jago waited for the man to leave. "I swear Serena whines less than that man." He grumbled going back to the list on the cortex screen. Tim watched the new person leave, and rubbed his non-existent five-o-clock shadow. "Give him a little time," the pilot offered. "I know you're spoiled, what with me coming on board right out of the box amazing. " He raised his eyebrows a few times towards the captain, fishing for compliments he knew wouldn't come. "Time I got. Patience with another teen on the boat, less so." He paused, turning to Tim. "The coffee ain't that bad is it?" "It's like you melted brown crayons in swamp water," Tim replied. "I'll make a shopping run on New Kasmir, while you go and get us raked over by a new fixer." "Zero faith in your Captain." Jago tsked. "And spring for the nicer crayons." He joked.</s> <|message|>Vas Jat Less Than Welcoming Lunar Veil | Kinneas's Bunk Summary Kinneas pissed off the the punk and Vas get's his and his sister's stuff back. | | | | --- | --- | The smell of something cooking started to drift around the ship from the galley. The sound of the crew going about their day had passed by Kinneas's hatch all day but suddenly one of them stopped and the sound of someone coming down the later broke the monotony of his day so far. Kinneas lay on his back, resting his head on an arm and staring at the ceiling. He'd expended all he could think to do as he went from boiling mad to a light simmer. But now that someone was inviting themselves in, he felt that heat turn up a notch as he glared up at the ladder. Vas climbed down matching Kinneas glare. He didn't wait or pause, he walked in like he owned the place to the dresser taking the brush and hair care bottles that belonged to Serena. Kinneas watched him do so, but didn't move from his position - not even to uncross his ankles. The punk walked back up the ladder, pausing for a moment. "Come in our room again pervert. I'll slit your throat in your sleep. Don't think a locked door will stop me either." He said coolly before climbing up and out. He paused again remembering why he originally was passing by his majesty's room. "Right, dinners almost ready …" He said down the hatch. "... biantai de chou jidan (perverted cracked rotten egg)." Vas muttered heading to his room to return the stolen stuff. As enticing as food sounded, Kinneas told himself there was no way in hell he was going to join that crazy bunch. It certainly wouldn't be pleasant. He'd gone a few days without food after he'd ended up on Silverhold the first go-round, and they'd be at the waystation soon enough. There were a few credits left in his account to get something there, but rationalizing it only made him madder since he had begun considering the merits of a prison cell if he was caught.</s>

<|message|>Kinneas Reed Mulligan Stew Lunar Veil | Kinneas's Bunk Summary Doc drop by to make sure Kinneas gets dinner since he didn't show up. | | | | --- | --- | About an hour had passed and the noise from the galley had died down signifying that dinner was likely finished. After a couple of minutes, a hollow metal knocking could be heard tapping on the hatch to Kinneas's bunk. Not exactly wanting any more guests, Kinneas debated ignoring the noise until whoever it was either barged on in or went away. But, he'd rather not give them the option of coming in, so he climbed up the ladder and opened the hatch. "What?" Doc smirked, holding a plate and a tin cup. "I see you've already got the disposition down pat for this boat." She pushed the items towards the new arrival for him to take. "Can't not eat or I'll look like I'm not doing my job." She paused waiting for the man to take his meal. "You're not gonna force me to break out the feeding tube, are ya?" Kinneas had taken the offered meal, his brows knit in confusion as he looked down at it a moment, then back to the doctor. His ire was momentarily broken, but only just. "No, that's ok. Thanks for making a house call, I guess. Is that it, though? No threat against my life or desire to see me suffer on the side?" Doc chuckled. "Nah. Suffering's for med bay." She grinned. "Sides, it's not so bad. Got rice and…I think that's protein paste enriched stew." She jutted her chin towards the plate. "Might even find a carrot if you got lucky." "I almost feel bad for not pushing for that gunshot wound now…" A faint hint of a smirk touched the corner of Kinneas' lips briefly after a glance at the plate. It sounded dreadful. "Oh and since you loved the coffee so much," Doc motioned to the tin mug, "gotcha a refill. Growing boy and all." "I thought the suffering was for the medbay." Kinneas glowered down at the tin cup, but sighed in miserable acceptance. "The thought is appreciated." Doc gave a shrug. "Just…quit making me look soft, alright?" She complained. "I got a reputation to think of." She stepped away from the hatch and gave Kinneas a lazy single finger temple salute before turning to leave. She wheeled around as if nearly forgetting something. "Oh and don't leave dirty dishes in your bunk," she advised, "space rats." She smirked and headed off in the direction of the cargo bay. Kinneas was already considering how to get a plate and tin down a ladder when the doctor gave him the alarming news of an infestation. Since he'd been in his bunk all day and hadn't seen anything, he chalked it up to her messing with him, but he hadn't planned on finding out.</s>

<|description|>Kinneas Reed "Got creds, will travel - on your creds. Half down." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 32 O C C U P A T I O N : Mercenary, sniper A P P E A R A N C E : Dark blonde sun-streaked long wavy hair, blue eyes, light beard, 6'7"; typically wears large, loose tees with form fitting jeans and black boots - always with his leather riding-style black jacket w/ hood (weather dependent) H O M E P L A N E T : Pelorum, Aphrodite - some Bellerophon; Valentine; Silverhold S K I L L S E T : Comes from Money: Schmoozing (begrudgingly), Observation/Recon/Research, Long-range Combat, Tactical (socially and professionally) E Q U I P M E N T : sniper rifle, gun cleaning kit, camouflage duds, personal cortex, microtransmitter P E R S O N A L I T Y : Tries to remain impartial and easy-going, but can be riled up if the right buttons are pushed; has a somewhat insatiable disposition for carnal pleasures so that he will earn enough credits to spend it all on a good time rather than waste material possessions; only really serious about his work when he is on the job, but doesn't curb his humbleness on how good he is at it; only takes on jobs against the entitled or oppressive; has a live-easy, but to the fullest; likes to put on the mask that he can't resist a pretty face and is a sucker for praise to get people to trust him or think he is shallow; has a problem with absolute authority or anything that tells him how to act or behave - will act against it for the sake of it depending on how oppressive the adversary is in their 'rules; sees rules more like guidelines and may or may not follow them if he disagrees; values experience over academic achievement B I O : Growing up wealthy with a home on two worlds could leave most with a sense of entitlement, and that was certainly the case with the handsome young Kinneas Revas. Born into a family firmly established in the mining wealth of the border planets, overseen at a distance, Kinneas wanted for nothing. He was shepharded from Pelorum to Aphrodite on the whims of his father's fancy. The first rift to his overly privileged lifestyle came when he discovered his mother was actually a concubine when his actual wife was scheming to upturn her husband's entire way of life. The agreement would be that The Child stay on Bellerophon with his mother, well kept and swept under a rug. The relationship with his father was neatly sliced away as well in that stroke of diplomacy but his teenage rebellion later made things stray back into choppy waters for them all. Kinneas was not denied the life he'd learned to live though, and grew into somewhat of a known figure in the high society of Bellerophon as a pretty face. He'd grown up handsome as his father with his mother's fair features, and all the years of observing his father had him know how to play that card well. Bellerophon was meant to be a testing phase before he returned to his true place in society. His father's wife caught wind of this, however, and he was shipped to Valentine as the lesser of two evils: either he and his mother would be destitute or he'd enlist in the military to teach him some much-needed discipline - and to learn his place, of course. Military life did nothing to change his disposition, however. He took an honorable discharge at the cost of his family name he used to pay for it with when he refused to fall in line - the final straw being his absolute refusal to join the Unificators, which he should have taken as an honor and privilege. Instead, he told him what he thought of their idea of honor and privilege and that was that. Unable to return to Bellerophon, he took a ship to Silverhold to oversee a mining operation - the last kindness his father could allot. While there, he found more enjoyment in time at the bars with the locals and soon fell in with some mercenaries that made more credits running jobs than he would a year at the mines. That military training had come in handy, got them out of some sticky spots. They made a pretty decent name for themselves on the border planets, his free time spent reveling in the fruits of his labor in the form of the variety of vices he once enjoyed. Life was going real nice until a job turned south, and Kinneas was the only one left. Since then, he hasn't stuck with the same team for more than one job. Easier to maintain his lifestyle that way without getting all the pesky feelings that killed his vibe. | | Jago Deckkard | The worst conversationist I've ever met. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | Only sane one on the ship, and isn't half bad. | | Enid Prichard | Doc's quirky, but decent. | | Vas Jat | The kid - he makes it easy. | | Serena Jat | A whole basket short of a picnic but keeps things interesting. | | Kinneas Reed | Winning smile and great head of hair. | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Kinneas Reed Mi Galley es Su Galley Part 4 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinnease finally comes out of his room, shares a drink and a game of tall card with Tim. | | | | --- | --- | Kinneas dealt the two cards, taking one for himself that he traded. "Both. I've been to nearly every inner planet, and around a few systems in this second-life. A few moons. Some are more my style than others. This gig keeps you drifting as well, I imagine." "Some," he said with a lopsided grin. "And same. Some it'll be too soon if I ever have to go back, some, I am counting the days til we go back. I consider it a perk, but it's not everyone's cup of whisky. If I hate somewhere, I know it's just for a few days. If I love it, won't be long 'fore we're back. Heavy Boat, 3 Dragons. What's your hand? "Well, look at that…" Kinneas said as he lay down his cards: "Heavy boat, three dragons. Tall." He grinned and slid his empty glass back to Tim with the tips of his fingers for his prize. "Well," Tim said, pouring another glass, "fuck my luck. Guess I'll ante up a new toothbrush and some soap that smells less like tires, and more like morning rain. Bartered for it on Greenleaf when we were picking up the Skye kids." "Oh yeah? Rainforest doesn't sound half-bad. Moderately better than sugary pomegranate." Kinneas grinned as he took back his glass. "But Greenleaf, that's a wild place. I'll have to ask the kids what they were doing there next time I get a wave from them. Wonder what Isaac possibly got his head stuck in there…" "Cannon," Tim said, matterof-fact. "I saw selfies. He was mighty proud of it too. We baby proofed the ship for when they call for a taxi." "They certainly know how to keep it interesting." Kinneas said in half amusement, half exasperation. "You'd think the kid would have learned by now… No sense of self-preservation, that one." "Good thing he's got people looking out for them then, eh?" Tim replied, shuffling the deck for the next deal. "He'd learn to do all right on his lonesome if he had to. I'm just glad he's got a choice." The amusement from his laugh died down as he pondered on the idea of choice, fingers of a hand steepled over the glass he twisted it. "Full circle, eh? I can do the whole dance, but prefer not to. It isn't a choice for me to stay here with a captain who thinks he knows me as a -" he waved his hand absently, "whatever he thinks, and a kid who's already out to murder me for a misunderstanding. You and the girl and the doc? Ain't half bad - less so with dinner and drink shared." "If we were dancing, I'd have on better music, shiny shoes, and preferably an outfit that the doc would call dapper," Tim assured him, fanning out the deck to shuffle, before taking another drink himself. "Don't worry - I'm not out to change any minds - if I were a better salesman, I likely wouldn't have ended up flyin' a Firefly class 'cross the verse. Fox trusts you, that's good enough for me. I know the Skye's talked you up. I figure we all got common ground somewhere. Least I can do is try an help find it. Berries are tall."</s> <|message|>Tim Casey Mi Galley es Su Galley Part 5 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinnease finally comes out of his room, shares a drink and a game of tall card with Tim. | | | | --- | --- | "Then I claim tall." Kinneas said, his jaw setting a little as he thought more than he shared. He blink it away once with a smile returning, leaning back slightly. It was done in sequence with the hand he looked at, but other thoughts were at play. "The Skyes talked me up, huh? I'll have to remember that. Got a card to swap, two actually." "Two for the player, dealer takes three," Tim decided. "They're good people. I mean, for bad people, depending on what lens you're looking through. Fox wouldn't keep 'em around otherwise. And he wouldn't be so concerned 'bout clearing your name if he didn't think you were good people. And Fox wouldn't keep sendin' work our way if he didn't think kindly of us. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that everyone Fox works with gets along, but he's pretty thorough 'bout vetting people out. 'Sides, it's a big boat. Plenty of elbow room for everyone." "So you're saying to play it like cards." Kinneas said slowly, laying down four shiny dragons and the berries. "Play the hand you're dealt strategically the best you can and hope luck's on your side for the rest." "I'll throw in a sugar scrub," Tim said, laying out a cratemaker countdown. "And I'll be honest, I wasn't sure where I was going with that or if I was making any sort of metaphor, but sometimes I get lucky." "Lucky sans sugar scrub. Guess it can be a peace offering for the kid." Kinneas said, finishing off his decidedly last glass. If he had any more, he'd probably go make things worse when it was starting to look marginally better. "Going to need it if I'm putting off finding that rich old lady on Pelorum for now." He picked up his glass, motioning to Tim's in asking if he were done, to be washed. He glanced at the chore list in passing, one he'd pointedly ignored until now. "Gotta say, half this stuff, you all would regret me doing and the other half I've never done." "You can mark your name down for Trash detail, owe you that fair and square. My advice, never sign up for anything with an L - Latrine, laundry, pass. Never wash dishes if drying is an option, there's more dignity in drying." Standing and focusing on the list, Kinneas started to feel those three drinks turn his brain as he read what passed as usual ship chores. Sweeping up the cargo bay and cleaning the toilets writing in utilitarian scrawl were a big 'no thanks.' He wrote a captain 'K' next to trash. "Dishes aren't so bad - but I'm guessing laundry is mass done to save on water? That's unfortunate. I'd rather not deal with anyone else's dirty sheets. Yours included, ace, and you seem best stocked on hygiene products." "No offense taken," Tim chuckled, putting the deck aside. "I seen what goes on in my bunk. I do my own laundry, my shorts are my business, and anything that close to my best bits, I don't entrust my crown jewels to just anyone. Breakfast isn't a bad gig if you're an early riser. I've made Tim Toast Tuesdays a staple."</s>

<|message|>Kinneas Reed Mi Galley es Su Galley Part 6 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinneas finally comes out of his room, shares a drink and a game of tall card with Tim. | | | | --- | --- | "Toast? Éryǐ? (That's it?)" Kinneas chuckled, his brows knit as he attempted to focus to see who had signed up for what. Trash was a free pass, but he had to figure out when this list went up for next time - if there was a next time. "Still, more than I know how to do." Recalling he had a glass in his hand, he went on his way to the sink again. "That's one of those things everyone will regret if I get assigned to." "Bread, toaster, press a button, pretty genius if you ask me," Tim said with a chuckle. "Besides, this is a Firefly. Open a can, heat, serve. Meals Ready to Eat, Protein paste, there's not much you can do to make 'em taste worse. That's why you'll see the first thing we do when we paid dockside? You go out and eat like a king." "Ah, that I can do." Kinneas said, not exactly enthused. His previous life included a chef on his father's boat where he'd always eaten like a king and he'd heard tales of Fireflys that were inexplicably well stocked with an abundance of rare treats. Not that he was hopeful for this one. The last twenty-four hours had taught him not to bother. "But, I warned you - I burn most things I've tried, and there's been attempts at ready-made. Usually, stick to protein powder after burning that paste… it was quite possibly the worst fucking thing I smelled in my life." "Easier to drink in the cockpit," Tim said agreeably. "We make do. That's why the apples are all gone.." "You know, you have to be the most agreeable guy I've ever met." Kinneas laughed as he sat the washed glass alongside the cup and plate from earlier. "This ship has some interesting Qi going on, that's for damn sure." "I'm much more contrary once you get to know me," Tim replied with a grin as he stood up to stretch his back. "Plenty of people on the boat happy to oblige if you're looking for a fight, but If you're looking for a drink, I'm usually in the cockpit. I'll see what I can dig up by way of some comforts of home and have pigtails drop 'em off." "That actually doesn't sound half bad." Kinneas mused as he returned to the damnedable chore list only to give it the side eye before leaning back against the wall. "Don't think I'm ready to be a cougar's kept wánjù (toy) just yet… so maybe I can stick around some."</s>

<|description|>Kinneas Reed "Got creds, will travel - on your creds. Half down." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 32 O C C U P A T I O N : Mercenary, sniper A P P E A R A N C E : Dark blonde sun-streaked long wavy hair, blue eyes, light beard, 6'7"; typically wears large, loose tees with form fitting jeans and black boots - always with his leather riding-style black jacket w/ hood (weather dependent) H O M E P L A N E T : Pelorum, Aphrodite - some Bellerophon; Valentine; Silverhold S K I L L S E T : Comes from Money: Schmoozing (begrudgingly), Observation/Recon/Research, Long-range Combat, Tactical (socially and professionally) E Q U I P M E N T : sniper rifle, gun cleaning kit, camouflage duds, personal cortex, microtransmitter P E R S O N A L I T Y : Tries to remain impartial and easy-going, but can be riled up if the right buttons are pushed; has a somewhat insatiable disposition for carnal pleasures so that he will earn enough credits to spend it all on a good time rather than waste material possessions; only really serious about his work when he is on the job, but doesn't curb his humbleness on how good he is at it; only takes on jobs against the entitled or oppressive; has a live-easy, but to the fullest; likes to put on the mask that he can't resist a pretty face and is a sucker for praise to get people to trust him or think he is shallow; has a problem with absolute authority or anything that tells him how to act or behave - will act against it for the sake of it depending on how oppressive the adversary is in their 'rules; sees rules more like guidelines and may or may not follow them if he disagrees; values experience over academic achievement B I O : Growing up wealthy with a home on two worlds could leave most with a sense of entitlement, and that was certainly the case with the handsome young Kinneas Revas. Born into a family firmly established in the mining wealth of the border planets, overseen at a distance, Kinneas wanted for nothing. He was shepharded from Pelorum to Aphrodite on the whims of his father's fancy. The first rift to his overly privileged lifestyle came when he discovered his mother was actually a concubine when his actual wife was scheming to upturn her husband's entire way of life. The agreement would be that The Child stay on Bellerophon with his mother, well kept and swept under a rug. The relationship with his father was neatly sliced away as well in that stroke of diplomacy but his teenage rebellion later made things stray back into choppy waters for them all. Kinneas was not denied the life he'd learned to live though, and grew into somewhat of a known figure in the high society of Bellerophon as a pretty face. He'd grown up handsome as his father with his mother's fair features, and all the years of observing his father had him know how to play that card well. Bellerophon was meant to be a testing phase before he returned to his true place in society. His father's wife caught wind of this, however, and he was shipped to Valentine as the lesser of two evils: either he and his mother would be destitute or he'd enlist in the military to teach him some much-needed discipline - and to learn his place, of course. Military life did nothing to change his disposition, however. He took an honorable discharge at the cost of his family name he used to pay for it with when he refused to fall in line - the final straw being his absolute refusal to join the Unificators, which he should have taken as an honor and privilege. Instead, he told him what he thought of their idea of honor and privilege and that was that. Unable to return to Bellerophon, he took a ship to Silverhold to oversee a mining operation - the last kindness his father could allot. While there, he found more enjoyment in time at the bars with the locals and soon fell in with some mercenaries that made more credits running jobs than he would a year at the mines. That military training had come in handy, got them out of some sticky spots. They made a pretty decent name for themselves on the border planets, his free time spent reveling in the fruits of his labor in the form of the variety of vices he once enjoyed. Life was going real nice until a job turned south, and Kinneas was the only one left. Since then, he hasn't stuck with the same team for more than one job. Easier to maintain his lifestyle that way without getting all the pesky feelings that killed his vibe. | | Jago Deckkard | The worst conversationist I've ever met. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | Only sane one on the ship, and isn't half bad. | | Enid Prichard | Doc's quirky, but decent. | | Vas Jat | The kid - he makes it easy. | | Serena Jat | A whole basket short of a picnic but keeps things interesting. | | Kinneas Reed | Winning smile and great head of hair. | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Tim Casey Mi Galley es Su Galley Part 5 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinnease finally comes out of his room, shares a drink and a game of tall card with Tim. | | | | --- | --- | "Then I claim tall." Kinneas said, his jaw setting a little as he thought more than he shared. He blink it away once with a smile returning, leaning back slightly. It was done in sequence with the hand he looked at, but other thoughts were at play. "The Skyes talked me up, huh? I'll have to remember that. Got a card to swap, two actually." "Two for the player, dealer takes three," Tim decided. "They're good people. I mean, for bad people, depending on what lens you're looking through. Fox wouldn't keep 'em around otherwise. And he wouldn't be so concerned 'bout clearing your name if he didn't think you were good people. And Fox wouldn't keep sendin' work our way if he didn't think kindly of us. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that everyone Fox works with gets along, but he's pretty thorough 'bout vetting people out. 'Sides, it's a big boat. Plenty of elbow room for everyone." "So you're saying to play it like cards." Kinneas said slowly, laying down four shiny dragons and the berries. "Play the hand you're dealt strategically the best you can and hope luck's on your side for the rest." "I'll throw in a sugar scrub," Tim said, laying out a cratemaker countdown. "And I'll be honest, I wasn't sure where I was going with that or if I was making any sort of metaphor, but sometimes I get lucky." "Lucky sans sugar scrub. Guess it can be a peace offering for the kid." Kinneas said, finishing off his decidedly last glass. If he had any more, he'd probably go make things worse when it was starting to look marginally better. "Going to need it if I'm putting off finding that rich old lady on Pelorum for now." He picked up his glass, motioning to Tim's in asking if he were done, to be washed. He glanced at the chore list in passing, one he'd pointedly ignored until now. "Gotta say, half this stuff, you all would regret me doing and the other half I've never done." "You can mark your name down for Trash detail, owe you that fair and square. My advice, never sign up for anything with an L - Latrine, laundry, pass. Never wash dishes if drying is an option, there's more dignity in drying." Standing and focusing on the list, Kinneas started to feel those three drinks turn his brain as he read what passed as usual ship chores. Sweeping up the cargo bay and cleaning the toilets writing in utilitarian scrawl were a big 'no thanks.' He wrote a captain 'K' next to trash. "Dishes aren't so bad - but I'm guessing laundry is mass done to save on water? That's unfortunate. I'd rather not deal with anyone else's dirty sheets. Yours included, ace, and you seem best stocked on hygiene products." "No offense taken," Tim chuckled, putting the deck aside. "I seen what goes on in my bunk. I do my own laundry, my shorts are my business, and anything that close to my best bits, I don't entrust my crown jewels to just anyone. Breakfast isn't a bad gig if you're an early riser. I've made Tim Toast Tuesdays a staple."</s> <|message|>Kinneas Reed Mi Galley es Su Galley Part 6 Lunar Veil | Galley Summary Kinneas finally comes out of his room, shares a drink and a game of tall card with Tim. | | | | --- | --- | "Toast? Éryǐ? (That's it?)" Kinneas chuckled, his brows knit as he attempted to focus to see who had signed up for what. Trash was a free pass, but he had to figure out when this list went up for next time - if there was a next time. "Still, more than I know how to do." Recalling he had a glass in his hand, he went on his way to the sink again. "That's one of those things everyone will regret if I get assigned to." "Bread, toaster, press a button, pretty genius if you ask me," Tim said with a chuckle. "Besides, this is a Firefly. Open a can, heat, serve. Meals Ready to Eat, Protein paste, there's not much you can do to make 'em taste worse. That's why you'll see the first thing we do when we paid dockside? You go out and eat like a king." "Ah, that I can do." Kinneas said, not exactly enthused. His previous life included a chef on his father's boat where he'd always eaten like a king and he'd heard tales of Fireflys that were inexplicably well stocked with an abundance of rare treats. Not that he was hopeful for this one. The last twenty-four hours had taught him not to bother. "But, I warned you - I burn most things I've tried, and there's been attempts at ready-made. Usually, stick to protein powder after burning that paste… it was quite possibly the worst fucking thing I smelled in my life." "Easier to drink in the cockpit," Tim said agreeably. "We make do. That's why the apples are all gone.." "You know, you have to be the most agreeable guy I've ever met." Kinneas laughed as he sat the washed glass alongside the cup and plate from earlier. "This ship has some interesting Qi going on, that's for damn sure." "I'm much more contrary once you get to know me," Tim replied with a grin as he stood up to stretch his back. "Plenty of people on the boat happy to oblige if you're looking for a fight, but If you're looking for a drink, I'm usually in the cockpit. I'll see what I can dig up by way of some comforts of home and have pigtails drop 'em off." "That actually doesn't sound half bad." Kinneas mused as he returned to the damnedable chore list only to give it the side eye before leaning back against the wall. "Don't think I'm ready to be a cougar's kept wánjù (toy) just yet… so maybe I can stick around some."</s>

<|message|>Kinneas Reed Shared Space Part 1 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Kinneas adjusts to his situation. | | | --- | Though he was still wasn't one hundred percent sold on the idea of sticking with the motley crew that made up the Lunar Veil, Kinneas had not gotten off on the waystation between where they'd been when he woke up and New Kasmir. Instead, he'd spent the few days leading up to the final call weighing the pros and cons, and spending more time than usual on the cortex news waves. As of yet, his father had not made a statement despite all the attempts, but that wasn't surprising. Besides, anyone who'd ever crossed his path seemed more than willing enough to give character accounts, much to his amusement and annoyance. Between that and the weight of the fluctuating con list, his options truly were limited. Sure, he had contacts, but so far nearly all of them told him to stay where-ever he was. That just happened to be with the most dysfunctional family-type he'd ever come across, which he didn't share even with those that came close to trusted friends. The mystery was more attractive than the truth, anyway. Kinneas' only true hang-up had been how to get creds in this situation. The little he'd saved for downtime on Silverhold until the next job came along wouldn't last, and now he couldn't exactly go looking for another job with being a crazed arsonist and all. And his new captain hadn't quite let him speak for his skills that first day, so he was basically a freeloader at this point. It didn't bother him in the slightest given the ornery old man's demeanor, but that also meant no work aside from cleaning toilets - which he'd not been forced to do as of yet, thankfully. Like a handful of times in his past, he felt out of options. Trapped, regardless of being free to leave - because he wasn't, not exactly. Rather than spending the remainder of the trip to New Kasmir in his head once they departed the satellite station with him still on the ship, Kinneas wasted time exploring the common areas of the ship. He took Tim up on the offer to stop by the flight deck if it was captain-free, and for a drink and hand of cards, but spent most of his time in the designated gym area once he discovered it. Somewhere between then and touching down planet-side, Kinneas had a row with the laundry machine when his limited clothes ran low. He also regulated himself to trash duty and typically trailed in near the end of meal times to avoid any unnecessary extra time spent with half the crew. It was miserable - living on a ship, he decided on the seventh day. And so very boring. Granted, he was isolating himself for the most part, but pride and pettiness were still leading that decision. What he really needed was air - preferably salty sea air, but that wasn't an option just yet. Instead, he actually found himself looking forward to that earthy clear air of orchards despite himself and then shook away that notion. Fun was what he needed, not some bloody apple-scented air.</s>

<|description|>Vas Jat ______________________________________ "The cruelty is the point." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 19 O C C U P A T I O N : Jo Long Assassin A P P E A R A N C E : Vas stands at 6'1 and 175 pounds. He is slim, lean, and very well muscled, having spent his life as a disciplined combatant. Often it's easy to forget, given his height and physic, he is still a teenager. He is a mutt of the universe, with mocha skin, a straight nose, and bright blue almond-shaped eyes. Vas still has a youthful boyish face with some roundness to cheeks that have not yet matured. His hair is straight and black styled into a war hawk. Vas has an elaborate Japanese-style tattoo that covers his back. It consists of a highly detailed eastern dragon coming down from clouds of sakura and wisteria blossoms, with some of the flowers cresting to his shoulders. H O M E P L A N E T : Santos, Silverton S K I L L S E T : Vas is a fully trained assassin, and while he knows how to use various guns his more of a melee fighter. He is a trained Shaolin monk in the five animal styles, which he expanded to include the Dragon form. He knows how to use and manufacture various poisons and tranquilizers. Beyond that Vas is surprisingly well-read and knows proper etiquette (he just finds there is rarely a call for it) and can garden. Lastly, Vas can not cook. If it's in not soup (which might barely be edible), in a can or premade … it is basically poison and a crime against humanity in a plate. He can bake cookies but that is about all he can do. E Q U I P M E N T : Vas pride and joy is a Jian style sword with no tassel, black and silver inlay grip with a green jade crossguard and an etched blade. He owns a dragon scale armoire, it's thin and flexible and can easily be worn regularly under a shirt. He owns a variety of blades, tools, and poisons. He owns a tablet loaded with a variety of books. When on duty for the Temple Vas uses and black Kitsune mask and has specialized armor he can use when performing wetwork. Lastly, he always carries around a lighter and clove smokes. P E R S O N A L I T Y : Vas is quite self contained and a bit distant. Serena, his counterpart does enough talking for the both of them. He isn't shy or squeamish about violence nor is he about its application. It's more of the fact that he takes pride in his work. Oddly though he is a massive softie, finding joy in stupid little things and is surprisingly sensitive when it comes to people whose opinions he actually cares about. He comes off as childish and naive when it comes to and often is a little trusting with people ruining the tough punk look. He penchant for full-on honesty, he doesn't like to lie and actively avoids doing so. Vas had a temper that rarely comes out, it's more like a berserk button but basically, he has a hell of a chip on his shoulder when it comes to slavers. B I O : Vas often looks back at his youth and family with rose color lenses. Mostly because his life since the war was drowned in violence and loss. Like many left behind as children, he was scooped up into the slave trade and drafted to fight in the war. Sold as a child soldier he was shoved from one front to the next. Eventually, he was 'liberated' and fell into the shadow of Estaban, who turned out to be an assassin for the Jo Long. Having taken a shine to the kid he was eventually brought to the temple on Lilac and trained to become an assassin. For Vas, it was quite fulfilling … family, friends, job satisfaction. He fit in it, he was wanted and he excelled at his job. Eventually returning home from a mission Vas ran afoul of some slavers. It got ugly but eventually, Vas exacted his opinion on the captain's profession. This is how he met Serena and the pair bonded pretty quick out of the crisis. Two years later, she continues to be an apprentice of sorts, his apprentice. Leaving the temple for real-world experience, they were found by Deckard running a scam in a pit fighting ring. Their scam was caught and they got jumped. Vas was able to take care of himself, and Serena made 'fast friends' (in her opinion) with Deckard. Deckard offered them a job doing semi-honest work. They accepted. How better to see the verse? | | Jago Deckkard | Captain is fine, well meaning. Better then most I've run into. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | I would think better of him if he would stop filling Serena's head with scary stories! | | Enid Prichard | She likes needles a little too much. | | Vas Jat | I like duck! | | Serena Jat | My somebody. | | Kinneas Reed | How does he shoot with all that hair? | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Vas Jat Ready Or Not Part 5 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | "Grrrr!" She growled, selecting a shiny knife. "I got it Onii. Don't worry, I won't be scared. I'll scare them, like you. Just like you." "Naw kiddo. You find your own scary, that's how you do it, you'll figure it out. Arrite arm up well go through the motion, warm you up properly and well get the meat of it. Nick me and I'll throw you across the room Kay?" Vas smiled. He would absolutely toss her if she did. "Focus, and you won't get nicked," she giggled. "Fiiiine, I won't, I won't," She promised, checking over her shoulder once so Vas couldn't pull the same trick. "Honest and swear." Vas moved in to bonk the girl for looking away. Serena caught his movement out of the corner of her eye and deflected his arm, turning her wrist to block with the hilt side of the knife. She'd been put down once, twice was definitely off her agenda for the night! Vas moved quickly, stepping to hook kick snagging her behind the knee. He snaked an arm around her, twisting it behind her and threw her forward. "Always keep your eyes in the fight." He chided. "You're fighting me, not Goldilocks." "Goldilocks?" She giggled, preparing to take a swing at him as soon as she regained her balance. "Yeah you know cuz of the hair and the eating of our apples like it's no big deal. Guy doesn't look like he knows what it's like to live on protein paste for a full week." Vas snorted. "His hair's not gold," Serena corrected. "It's more the color of a sandy beach – nuh uh - you're trying to distract me," she accused. "I am." He said, stepping forward with a feint. "I'm sure he smells fabulous. With hair like that? Uses fancy soap I bet." "That's low, Onii!" she shot. "Making me think of him in the shower." She tried to focus after that… really. "No such thing Mei Mei!" He chortled and sent her flying. "Maybe you should go back to the wooden knives." He teased. "Till you can stop thinking about what shampoo the new guy uses." "It smells like coconut!" she said dreamily from the floor, giving herself just a split second to remember it. "But too bad for you, I'm 100% focused on this fight." "Too late you're dead." Vas said, tapping the tip of his wooden knife to her chest. "Well at least you've got a future being a meat sheath."</s> <|message|>Serena Jat Ready Or Not Part 6 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | Serena giggled. Sometimes her brother was more monk than others. She'd enjoy this while it lasted. "You think so?" She asked. "Think what?" Vas blinked confused as he helped her up. "Me and Kinneas?" She asked. Vas was even more confused. "You and Kinneas what?" Feeling like he was being led along to the punchline of a joke. "Oh, Onii," Serena giggled. "Maybe they don't write that in your books." Vas continued his streak of cluelessness. "I am so lost. Are we even speaking the same language?" He huffed. Serena tried to take advantage, launching an attack. "Focus! Pay attention!" She chided. Vas sidestepped, slapping Serena upside the head and poking her twice in the side with his wooden dagger. He left his foot out for her to trip on. "Guile over strength any day of the week. Congrats you are a pincushion!" He was still suspicious over what Serena had been babbling about but he would press it out of her later. The unceremonious fall knocked the giggle out of her, and Serena cursed as she sprawled on the ground. "Next time," she promised, picking herself back up. "Ha! Keep dreaming Mei Mei, you still have a lot to learn. I was small too at one point, brute strength? It's not the key that always fits the lock." He said putting his wooden weapon down. "Speed, precision, deception … there will never be a fair fight. They will be bigger, meaner, they have guns and come at you in a group." Vas said taking a low stance, arms undulating slightly, his finger pointed and straight. "Would you rather a 'fair fight' or one you survive?" "One you survive," the teen parroted. "Like you said." "Survival ain't fair." Vas reminded her. "They plead their case, wave to their wife, their children, Gran Gran or whoever … they will promise you anything and everything." He said moving forward smoothly, his snake-like movement striking forward. Serena kept her eyes on him, and backed up, away from the knife, taking a swipe at him when he came close before darting to the other side. "Because they won't think twice about killing me." Vas dodged and continue to press in. Taking advantage of his long arms, he jabbed his fingers into a nerve in Serena's shoulder that made her entire arm tingle and weak. He didn't let up, he locked her other arm and instead of throwing her to the ground, held her bent over his knee to where she was on her toes and her head touching the floor, his elbow holding her in place. "Exactly. Don't give them that chance. Even a rabbit can surprise you when cornered."</s>

<|message|>Vas Jat Ready Or Not Part 7 Lunar Veil | Cargo Bay Summary Vas and Serena are training in the Cargo Bay. Vas is worked up and on edge and Serena works to sus out why. | | | | --- | --- | Serena struggled, frustrated. "Dammit," She said dejectedly, trying to shrug him off. "Relax. Take a breath. Think. Are your legs pinned?" Vas asked calm as ever. "No," Serena grumbled, letting out a breath to relax. "Well my arms are full aren't they? What's stopping you?" Serena gathered her strength and waited a few seconds before kicking out, with both feet, like a rabbit, trying to catch Vas in the face with a knee. Her one knee made contact with Vas's cheek as barely caught herself with her free leg to slip out completing the flip, granted a bit wobbly but no one was giving out points for gracefulness. "See." Vas rubbing his now tender cheek. Serena went for another strike with the knife, rather than waiting for him to reset or recover from the blow. Vas leaned back letting the gleaming knife sim by before whipping for way into a roll moving to a sweep from behind Serena. Serena yelped as Vas's foot connected with the back of her right knee. Caught off balance, she fell with zero grace, her left foot inadvertently catching Vas on the chin on the way down. "You know you keep hitting me in the face. At some point I'm going to take it personally." Vas joked. "Definitely hitting harder …" He complimented. "Sorry, Onii-San," She giggled, picking herself up off the ground, trying to catch her breath. Vas chuckled and waved it off. "Take a break, you earned it." Serena sat on her tail and nursed her bruised ribs and ego. "I gotta hit harder on account of like you said, I'm ready. " Vas laughed. "Naw … I mean don't get me wrong, hitting hard is good but knowing where to hit maximizing your effort? More important. Don't go and fight like me, fight like you. You're small, they're going to underestimate you … take advantage." He said, passing her a water bottle. "Still you are miles away from where you started. You earned this opportunity." Serena grunted as she reached for the watter bottle. "I can't help but fight like me," She said. "You got a better reach so I gotta try and fight closer ranged, and then get way out of the way. You're a lot taller. And 'course! We practice near every day."</s>

<|description|>Vas Jat ______________________________________ "The cruelty is the point." ______________________________________ | ______________________________________ G E N D E R : Male A G E : 19 O C C U P A T I O N : Jo Long Assassin A P P E A R A N C E : Vas stands at 6'1 and 175 pounds. He is slim, lean, and very well muscled, having spent his life as a disciplined combatant. Often it's easy to forget, given his height and physic, he is still a teenager. He is a mutt of the universe, with mocha skin, a straight nose, and bright blue almond-shaped eyes. Vas still has a youthful boyish face with some roundness to cheeks that have not yet matured. His hair is straight and black styled into a war hawk. Vas has an elaborate Japanese-style tattoo that covers his back. It consists of a highly detailed eastern dragon coming down from clouds of sakura and wisteria blossoms, with some of the flowers cresting to his shoulders. H O M E P L A N E T : Santos, Silverton S K I L L S E T : Vas is a fully trained assassin, and while he knows how to use various guns his more of a melee fighter. He is a trained Shaolin monk in the five animal styles, which he expanded to include the Dragon form. He knows how to use and manufacture various poisons and tranquilizers. Beyond that Vas is surprisingly well-read and knows proper etiquette (he just finds there is rarely a call for it) and can garden. Lastly, Vas can not cook. If it's in not soup (which might barely be edible), in a can or premade … it is basically poison and a crime against humanity in a plate. He can bake cookies but that is about all he can do. E Q U I P M E N T : Vas pride and joy is a Jian style sword with no tassel, black and silver inlay grip with a green jade crossguard and an etched blade. He owns a dragon scale armoire, it's thin and flexible and can easily be worn regularly under a shirt. He owns a variety of blades, tools, and poisons. He owns a tablet loaded with a variety of books. When on duty for the Temple Vas uses and black Kitsune mask and has specialized armor he can use when performing wetwork. Lastly, he always carries around a lighter and clove smokes. P E R S O N A L I T Y : Vas is quite self contained and a bit distant. Serena, his counterpart does enough talking for the both of them. He isn't shy or squeamish about violence nor is he about its application. It's more of the fact that he takes pride in his work. Oddly though he is a massive softie, finding joy in stupid little things and is surprisingly sensitive when it comes to people whose opinions he actually cares about. He comes off as childish and naive when it comes to and often is a little trusting with people ruining the tough punk look. He penchant for full-on honesty, he doesn't like to lie and actively avoids doing so. Vas had a temper that rarely comes out, it's more like a berserk button but basically, he has a hell of a chip on his shoulder when it comes to slavers. B I O : Vas often looks back at his youth and family with rose color lenses. Mostly because his life since the war was drowned in violence and loss. Like many left behind as children, he was scooped up into the slave trade and drafted to fight in the war. Sold as a child soldier he was shoved from one front to the next. Eventually, he was 'liberated' and fell into the shadow of Estaban, who turned out to be an assassin for the Jo Long. Having taken a shine to the kid he was eventually brought to the temple on Lilac and trained to become an assassin. For Vas, it was quite fulfilling … family, friends, job satisfaction. He fit in it, he was wanted and he excelled at his job. Eventually returning home from a mission Vas ran afoul of some slavers. It got ugly but eventually, Vas exacted his opinion on the captain's profession. This is how he met Serena and the pair bonded pretty quick out of the crisis. Two years later, she continues to be an apprentice of sorts, his apprentice. Leaving the temple for real-world experience, they were found by Deckard running a scam in a pit fighting ring. Their scam was caught and they got jumped. Vas was able to take care of himself, and Serena made 'fast friends' (in her opinion) with Deckard. Deckard offered them a job doing semi-honest work. They accepted. How better to see the verse? | | Jago Deckkard | Captain is fine, well meaning. Better then most I've run into. | | --- | --- | | Tim Casey | I would think better of him if he would stop filling Serena's head with scary stories! | | Enid Prichard | She likes needles a little too much. | | Vas Jat | I like duck! | | Serena Jat | My somebody. | | Kinneas Reed | How does he shoot with all that hair? | | | | | ______________________________________</s> <|message|>Enid Prichard Hire me! Part 1 Lunar Veil | Cockpit Summary Kinneas ask for a job on the LV. Goes as well as you might think. | | | | | --- | --- | --- | Jago lounged in the co-pilot's seat looking over the cortex on the screen. " … not a lot going on but if it works out we'll have another fixer throwing jobs our way. But even a cozy town got something going on, hell, the Jat's got work." Jago said scratching his chin, the town was a small one so there was a creeping doubt other than taking on a bounty there would be call for their ilk other than schmoozing an up-and-coming fixer they were meeting up with. "I'm just saying every time we get a new fixer thrown in things go from bad to worse, and that one time, to really really worse." Tim reminded him, as the pilot pushed back some in his seat. "That makes my situation sound promising." Kinneas said from the doorway as he leaned against it, levity in his tone despite the fact that this arrangement was already living up to expectations. And, it wasn't a high bar. Jago didn't even look up from his screen. "And what situation would that be?" The Captain asked tapping the screen. "The one where I offer my services in exchange for extended stay on your ship." Kinneas said, more gusto in his tone than simple pragmatism though he remained in the doorframe. "I have to say, I think it's more than a fair trade given the quality of the coffee." "What's wrong with the coffee?" Jago asked, turning the chair to face Kinneas with a quivering eyebrow. "If you're in a bind, it can strip paint off your ship's hull?" Kinneas suggested by way of explanation, not bothering to comment on the captain's apparent lack of taste. "I told you to spring the extra credits for the Ariopolis blend," Tim said with a shake of his head. "And you said what do those Ariopolis assholes know about coffee . Well, there you have it." "Just cuz our coffee sucks doesn't mean they know shit about coffee." Jago defended. "Ariopolis blend is an overpriced bunch of burnt beans anyway." Tim held out his hand in an iffy gesture. "I'd respectfully disagree, but I'd also respectfully like my head to stay attached to my shoulders so I'll just pretend to look at a few of these fancy dials and let you all talk." "No, don't stop on my account - disagree. The doc was lookin' for something to do." Kinneas said with a grin. "Although, it involved less dismemberment and more gushy gunshot wound. Fleshy, I think she said." "That sounds like a word Enid would use," Tim said, making a face. "You'll get used to it, if you're sticking around for a bit."</s> <|message|>Kinneas Reed Hire me! Part 2 Lunar Veil | Cockpit Summary Kinneas ask for a job on the LV. Goes as well as you might think. | | | | | --- | --- | --- | "That's what I'm here to find out," Kinneas said as he pushed himself from the frame of the doorway with his shoulder, standing upright once more. "Well, captain?" Jago sighed thinking. "Well why not make yourself useful, there's a chore list hanging in the galley." "I'm not signing on to be anyone's qìyuē yōnggōng (indentured servant)." Kinneas' expression darkened slightly, insulted by the first thought that came to Deckard's mind. Tim sucked a thin stream of air through his teeth, suddenly fascinated with one of the fuel cell indicators. He suppressed any nervous laughter that threatened to bubble up. "Oh I'm sorry princess but our janitorial staff sought employment elsewhere. So while I go and find a new maid so your pretty hands don't have to get dirty, everyone on this ship pulls their own weight. If you have a problem with that you can file a complaint in our suggestion box, conveniently located in the gorram airlock." Jago said flatly, giving Kinneas a level look. Tim's gage grew more fascinating by the minute, and he fought hard to not let out another wince. "I don't have a problem with -" Kinneas was interrupted, his gritted teeth over the word emphasized grinding to a halt. "Good." Jago said cutting Kinneas off. "Chore list is in the galley." "They're not all horrible," Tim promised. "I mean, some of them. Crew sometimes plays tall card for 'em, if you're a betting man." Kinneas was about to tell the captain where he could shove his chore list, but bitterly smirked at the notion of pawning them off on someone else if he won a hand or two of cards. "That makes it all better, sure. In the meantime, I'll just go hop right to that list. Can't think of a better way to spend the start of my time bound to this ship." Fuck if I will. He turned to go back to his bunk. Jago waited for the man to leave. "I swear Serena whines less than that man." He grumbled going back to the list on the cortex screen. Tim watched the new person leave, and rubbed his non-existent five-o-clock shadow. "Give him a little time," the pilot offered. "I know you're spoiled, what with me coming on board right out of the box amazing. " He raised his eyebrows a few times towards the captain, fishing for compliments he knew wouldn't come. "Time I got. Patience with another teen on the boat, less so." He paused, turning to Tim. "The coffee ain't that bad is it?" "It's like you melted brown crayons in swamp water," Tim replied. "I'll make a shopping run on New Kasmir, while you go and get us raked over by a new fixer." "Zero faith in your Captain." Jago tsked. "And spring for the nicer crayons." He joked.</s>

<|message|>Vas Jat Less Than Welcoming Lunar Veil | Kinneas's Bunk Summary Kinneas pissed off the the punk and Vas get's his and his sister's stuff back. | | | | --- | --- | The smell of something cooking started to drift around the ship from the galley. The sound of the crew going about their day had passed by Kinneas's hatch all day but suddenly one of them stopped and the sound of someone coming down the later broke the monotony of his day so far. Kinneas lay on his back, resting his head on an arm and staring at the ceiling. He'd expended all he could think to do as he went from boiling mad to a light simmer. But now that someone was inviting themselves in, he felt that heat turn up a notch as he glared up at the ladder. Vas climbed down matching Kinneas glare. He didn't wait or pause, he walked in like he owned the place to the dresser taking the brush and hair care bottles that belonged to Serena. Kinneas watched him do so, but didn't move from his position - not even to uncross his ankles. The punk walked back up the ladder, pausing for a moment. "Come in our room again pervert. I'll slit your throat in your sleep. Don't think a locked door will stop me either." He said coolly before climbing up and out. He paused again remembering why he originally was passing by his majesty's room. "Right, dinners almost ready …" He said down the hatch. "... biantai de chou jidan (perverted cracked rotten egg)." Vas muttered heading to his room to return the stolen stuff. As enticing as food sounded, Kinneas told himself there was no way in hell he was going to join that crazy bunch. It certainly wouldn't be pleasant. He'd gone a few days without food after he'd ended up on Silverhold the first go-round, and they'd be at the waystation soon enough. There were a few credits left in his account to get something there, but rationalizing it only made him madder since he had begun considering the merits of a prison cell if he was caught.</s>

<|description|>Hazel Tamirnyev Nickname: Tusk Age: 34 Sex/Gender: Female Species: Human (Full-body Prosthetic) Height: 5'6/167 cm Appearance: Industrial and without frills, Hazel's chassis stands at 5'6, and is painted a utilitarian orange-yellow. Her usual outfits consist of a neutral-toned jumpsuit, heavy gloves, and a jacket, with a Pramanik Orbital patch on one shoulder, and a rebellion patch on the other. A third patch, depicting the elephant-headed Ganesha, stretches from one shoulder to the other across the jacket's back. Hazel is rarely seen without her engagement ring strung on a chain around her neck, although usually tucked into her jumpsuit to avoid snags. ART CREDIT Personal Qualities: Spacers, particularly those raised on the frontier or in deep space, often come off as strange to the average planet-born person, and Hazel is no exception. Energetic, and rather impish, she gained a new lease on life that she plans to make the most of. She often emotes with her hands, or signs along in pidgin while speaking, and is prone to taking risks due to her time in simulators, as well as a deep-seated desire to prove herself. Despite being physically accustomed to it, she feels self-conscious in her robotic body, and is prone to lashing out at those who mistake her for a common model workerbot. In the cockpit of her ship, all of her insecurity and anxiety melts away. She is solely focused on the task at hand, and her ship becomes an extension of herself. She is knowledgeable about the weak points of common ships due to her time as a shipbreaker. Moving in zero-g and EVA is second nature to her, and—like many a spacer—she feels strong (and a bit outlandish) affection towards her craft. Biography: Born on Pramanik Orbital to an FTL drive engineer and a linguist, the first few years of Hazel's life were uneventful. The majority of her adolescence was spent wandering the station's industrial tunnels and shipyards with her peers, stirring trouble wherever they went. Upon finishing her primary education, she went to work as a shipbreaker on the station. There she worked for several years, meeting her fiancee in the process. It wasn't until she was in her early-twenties when disaster struck; after several years of fatigue and strange symptoms, she was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that was slowly destroying her nervous system, and would ultimately leave her paralyzed. There was no cure, only prolonging the indefinite. Devastated, Hazel decided to keep working until it was no longer possible, in hopes some sort of treatment would emerge before she was fully paralyzed. The cure never came, and she was forced to quit her job a few years later once she was no longer able to move swiftly enough to continue. Spiraling into a depression, and relying on her fiancee now, she began shutting herself in more and more often, retreating into older flight sims, and strategy games that she used to enjoy as a teenager. Tensions were growing between the pair, and when Hazel was offered an experimental treatment as a last ditch effort to save her brain, she accepted it. The treatment, offered by medical corporation Biolink Dynamics, was unusual; her brain was to be transplanted into a robotic chassis, reliant on an integrated life support system and electricity. It was successful, and Hazel found herself in a new body. A new chance of life. Becoming acquainted with the new body was a long process, she had to relearn simple tasks, as well as navigate a life where those whom she interacted with assumed she was a synthetic lifeform. Her relationship with her fiance became even further strained as well. She ultimately decided to pursue pilotry as a new career, inspired by the flight simulators and strategy games she played while ill, and coming to a mutual agreement with her fiancee to spend some time apart while they both adjusted to the new body. Initially, she served hauling cargo, but her eye was always set on grander goals. As the resistance movement became more desperate, she was able to join a ragtag crew of fighter pilots, and quickly gained experience, rising through the ranks. She was offered a position on the Onyx Squadron after several years, a position she eagerly accepted. Hazel eagerly fights for her own rights, as well as for the freedom of Pramanik Orbital. Pramanik Orbital pictured in front of a planet shortly after its construction was completed. Named after the renowned explorer, Mahala Pramanik, who discovered the Al-Biruni asteroid belt in CE 2047, Pramanik Orbital serves as a hub for smaller stations on the resource-rich Al-Biruni belt, as well as a 'jumping off' point' for those brave souls venturing into deep space. The station itself features a long central hub, with two parallel habitation rings housing about 12,000 people each, and several solar panel arrays. Both habitation rings have partial artificial gravity. Economic divide between the mining barons, and the common workers of Pramanik Orbital is steep; resulting in tension between the two groups, and bouts of civil conflict. The common belter tends to be fiercely independent and utilitarian due to their distance from the core systems, and often have a stubborn sense of pride. Galactic Common, spacer sign language, and a pidgin language that mishmashes the former alongside Hindi, Bengali, and Russian loanwords are the most common languages spoken among the Al-Biruni belt. The belt, located in the frontier binary system Rusalka-305, is a cache of ice, valuable metals, and other materials key in building new habitats and vessels; given that one has the resources to mine and transport them. Because of its value, Pramanik Orbital was subject to several skirmishes with Hegarian forces, only holding its independence through the bodyguard fleets and threats of wealthy mining corporations who wished to operate freely, and without Imperial rule. After nearly a year of negotiation, the Al-Biruni was allowed to remain free, but not without cost; it would be to pay a material tithe to the Hegarian Empire. The belters, miners, and common people, of course, resented their work being taken by such means, and pockets of resistance began to stir. As of now, Pramanik Orbital and the belt pays its tithe, but covertly supplies the Commonwealth with resources in hopes that the Empire will be defeated in the near future. Fighter: AS-91 Thunderbolt Fighter Customisations: Hazel's Thunderbolt—affectionately nicknamed 'Grozit' <грозить>—is a venerable elder, even among its own kind. Used in some of Free System Alliance's first skirmishes, the ship has been passed from hand to hand countless times, and has been retrofitted as a true heavy hitter along the way: * Retrofitted Reactor: Grozit has been retrofitted with a more modern reactor in order to sustain energy needed to fire her railgun. The higher power comes at the cost of a larger heat signature on radar, but who was missing her anyway? * Retrofitted Railgun: Grozit's high-intensity laser cannon has been replaced with a formidable, heavy 40mm railgun, similar to that of the more modern Excalibur. * Reduced Life Support: To reduce the powerload, Grozit usually runs with her life support systems reduced to absolute minimum. Hazel uses an external oxygen tank to sustain herself while flying, and the lack of atmosphere within the ship reduces the likelihood of injury in the case of explosive decompression. * Livery: Grozit is painted in her original, grey-blue low-vis camouflage, with an older version of the Free System Alliance's emblem on its back fins. A newer addition, the Wandering Star's distinctive emblem, is painted under the cockpit, alongside Hazel's callsign. Misc: Theme Music - Hardspace Shipbreaker</s> <|message|>Asora Ebonwing The planet Edara was an icy, storm-tossed rock orbiting a dim star on the frontier of Commonwealth space. Once it had been an unremarkable planet, home to an automated mining station. Under Imperial rule, it had taken on a new guise; mining still it's main export, but now through convict labour. Edara was a penal colony, a final destination for anyone the Empire found guilty of dissension, trafficking secrets, or anything else that was cause for 'punishment'. Hanging in orbit of the planet, an Imperial Yeoman-class transport and its' escort of Lancer-class frigates lingered as the transport prepared to offload the latest cargo of prisoners and take on the latest shipments of ore from the world below. Between the orbit of Edara and its' moon, at the gravitationally stable LaGrange point, space twisted and ruptured as a hyperdrive exit point formed, and the Wandering Star catapulted into real space along with a marine assault carrier. Aboard the Star, klaxons sounded to signal the launch of Onyx squadron into action, along with the ships' marine assault teams. Their mission was clear; Onyx squadron was to shield the assault team as they made planetfall, engaging the fighters from the planet, and taking out the defence systems. The Wandering Star and the assault transport would tackle the frigates head on with their heavy weaponry, and shoot to disable the transport. The goal of the operation was to liberate the prison - based on intelligence received from resistance agents, a high-ranking imperial defector had been exiled to the prison, and was in posession of information that was high value. Strapped into her Excalibur's cockpit with her suit sealed, Asora hit her comm channel to the squadron as her fighters' engines spooled up to launch speed. "Listen in, Onyx. We've got to cover those marine dropships and gunships as they make their attack. Fighters will be scrambling from the garrison planetside, which is also armed with defence weapons. Here's the play; Cataract and Monarch you stick with me. We'll be engaging the fighters and giving top cover to the transports while Hatchet and Tusk, you take out the ground defences. Jade, you provide them with electronic jamming cover. They'll be searching the skies with all defences for targets; we'll need you in the SEAD role for certain. Tusk, in particular; you use that railgun to target the heavy cannons and any anti-capship weapons that pop up. The marine gunships will engage in close air-support for the troopers, but be alert for any sudden changes". She hesitated, beak half open, words half-formed in her throat, wanting to say something motivating, something to spur them on. Good luck sounded insincere, like it didn't trust their skills as pilots. Good Hunting too jaunty and irreverent. "Let's do this. See you all back on the ship," she finally said, her voice firm and even. With the words said, the voice of flight control sounded in the ears of all the pilots. "Onyx squadron, launch". The pressure of the electromagnetic launch tube accelerating the fighters so rapidly shoved the avian back into her pilots' seat like a massive pair of hands shoving back on her shoulders, the thundrous rumble dying away into the vibrations of the Excaliburs' engines and systems moving through her seat and body as the fighter moved into the vacuum. Gleaming points of light dispersed all around them as decoys and long-range missiles launched from the Wandering Star and the escort ship, others resolved into the shapes of angular gunships and transport dropships, drives flaring bright as they burned at high speed for the cold blue ball of Edara. "Stay in formation, Onyx and maintain speed. Let's get these grunts on the ground!"</s> <|message|>Astrid Weiss Engines - check, life support - check, ammo - check. Astrid tightened her shoulder straps, making sure she still had enough freedom of movement to look over her shoulders. Ejection capsule - armed. Let's hope that doesn't get used. "Allfather Odin, who art in Valhalla, may I prevail in the battle ahead and the damn sensors stay functioning throughout this sortie." She whispered a mock prayer under her breath, giving the Wildcat an encouraging pat on the dashboard "Hear me, you beautiful thing? Make your designers proud." And then, the wait. The worst part of any sortie, barring a few exceptions. Then sirens, ship weapons firing and instructions from the shooter. At last, they've arrived. With Ebony doling out some last minute orders, she keyed her mic twice in affirmative response and gave the shooter a salute and a thumb up. Thrown out of the Wandering Star by the invisible hand of the electromagnetic catapult, Astrid quickly turned and burned to form up on her lead. Having cleared the ship and planting her fighter half a klick off Ebony's five o'clock, she locked onto her fighter to better keep track of the wing leader and rolled her Wildcat so the bottom was facing the star to keep its rays out of her eyes. She spared a look of pity at one of the troop transports. Last time she'd flown a sortie during a planetary invasion, the Midgard War had just swung into its second month and she was on the other side. Over a third of her aerial victories of that war were transports making planetfall, interceptors having been sent up to put up token resistance and keep their escort fighters busy while the multiroles, supported by bombers hastily refitted to carry a large number of long range air to air missiles guided by AWACS planes, tore the sluggish transports apart. "One, you think they'll wait at high altitude to jump us while we're vulnerable during the descent, or try to meet us in orbit to get at the dropships as early as they can? How many do we expect anyway? The briefing was pretty sparse on details."</s>

<|message|>Hazel Tamirnyev HAZEL TAMIRNYEV — CALLSIGN TUSK --- The cockpit hatch shut with a ker-clunk, and there was a soft hiss as air was siphoned from the chamber. The outside sounds; the blaring klaxons, the shouting and bustle of the fighter bay, all faded away. All that remained was the vibration of the Thunderbolt's engines, and the occasional crackle of the radio. It was like a spacewalk in that way. She found it comforting. That, and knowing she wouldn't be forced through a hole the size of a credit if a stray shot breached the cockpit. Hazel sat strapped into the seat in the cockpit's center, illuminated by the glow of consoles. Having just finished the last few stages of her checklists, she glanced towards the small holo-projection of Saint Gagarin fixed to the dashboard and muttered a few words in pidgin—inaudible in the vacuum—but spacers are creatures fond of ritual. Asura's voice crackled over her headset partway through the prayer. Hazel didn't respond until she was done. "Understood, seventy-three.". Out of the side of the cockpit she could see the magpult spooling up, and could nearly imagine the deafening whir of it. Hazel leaned forwards in her seat (the little that her harness would allow) in anticipation of what was to come. And they were off! The robotic pilot cackled gleefully as she was launched, plastered against her seat like a fly on a windshield. With the perfusion fluid supplying her brain sealed into a closed system, she was at no risk of G-LOC. There was little to do but enjoy the ride, that which she intended to do. Hazel waited a few moments, allowing the gravity to subside before upping the throttle of the forward thrust, and nosing slightly downwards, falling into the rear of the formation alongside Hatchet.</s>

<|description|>Aeorin Rothsleigh Nickname: 'Monarch', Onyx 3 Age: 27 Sex/Gender: Male Species: Human Appearance: Physically, Aeorin is a fairly typical human. His physique is well-built without excessive bulk as a result of his training, enough to contend decently well with other humans and near-humans in physical confrontation. He has a small number of scars, including a prominent laceration just below his hairline on the left side of his head that he typically keeps hidden with his hair. He also has a few tattoos, including a Squadron tattoo from his old unit before his defection from the Empire. Off-duty, he typically wears casual but practical clothes like jeans or cargos, normally with a thermal undershirt and a red-brown leather jacket. He also wears the typical gear for active-duty combatants, but with the addition of an Imperial-style Vibro-Sabre, more as a symbol than for practical reasons. Height: 5'11"/180cm Personal Qualities: Diligent and Affable, but somewhat reserved. Aeorin is a typically likeable person, but he finds it difficult to form close bonds with others and tends to keep them at a distance. Biography: Aeorin was born into a life of wealth and privilege as the second son of a prominent political dynasty in the Hegara System, but the action and excitement of being a pilot had called to him for as long as he could remember. He was still young when the Imperial Coup and subsequent rise of the Empire occurred, his own family having a non-negligible role to play in those event, and he was soon groomed for loyalty to the new regime. Unable to shake his fascination with space-flight and the military, he became a career pilot as early as he could; private piloting lessons, then enrollment in the fledgling Imperial Cadet Corps before enlisting formally with the Imperial Military. He took easily to his duties, earning himself many small accolades and making himself as a name to remember while serving with honour and pride until the illusion was broken and he was the true face of the Empire; A small local dispute has spiraled from protests to rioting, and then into an localized uprising. His squadron was called in to clean up, but when he was ordered to level the civilian settlements, he began to doubt his orders. His commanding officer assured him that they were insurgent-held targets, but he later found out that his CO had lied and his squadron had been called in to slaughter innocent people just because there might have been Insurgents hiding there. He tried to convince himself that it had been a mistake, but he began to notice behind the propaganda and lost faith in the Empire he had been raised to champion. He tried to convince his squadron, but he was threatened with Insubordination charges. Given his family's influence in the Empire he likely would avoid any serious punishments, but he didn't care about that... His mind was made up and he knew what the Empire was doing was wrong, so he planned to defect to the resistance. He found his chance during a combat patrol near Resistance territory, damaging his squadmates' ships before making a series of blind FTL Jumps into known Resistance systems and broadcasting a coded signal declaring his intent to defect. He was picked up by Resistance Fighters, interrogated and detained for a while, until the ones in command decided that they could give him a chance to prove he could be trusted. He was rotated between fighter squadrons before eventually ending up in Onyx. Fighter: Archenar Systems AS-88 Rapier Fighter Customisations: Low-vis Slate Grey/Carbon Black Paintjob, ID and Callsign printed just below the Canopy, Personal Emblem resembling shattered glass in the shape of a butterfly painted just behind the canopy. EDIT: Formatting</s> <|message|>Asora Ebonwing The planet Edara was an icy, storm-tossed rock orbiting a dim star on the frontier of Commonwealth space. Once it had been an unremarkable planet, home to an automated mining station. Under Imperial rule, it had taken on a new guise; mining still it's main export, but now through convict labour. Edara was a penal colony, a final destination for anyone the Empire found guilty of dissension, trafficking secrets, or anything else that was cause for 'punishment'. Hanging in orbit of the planet, an Imperial Yeoman-class transport and its' escort of Lancer-class frigates lingered as the transport prepared to offload the latest cargo of prisoners and take on the latest shipments of ore from the world below. Between the orbit of Edara and its' moon, at the gravitationally stable LaGrange point, space twisted and ruptured as a hyperdrive exit point formed, and the Wandering Star catapulted into real space along with a marine assault carrier. Aboard the Star, klaxons sounded to signal the launch of Onyx squadron into action, along with the ships' marine assault teams. Their mission was clear; Onyx squadron was to shield the assault team as they made planetfall, engaging the fighters from the planet, and taking out the defence systems. The Wandering Star and the assault transport would tackle the frigates head on with their heavy weaponry, and shoot to disable the transport. The goal of the operation was to liberate the prison - based on intelligence received from resistance agents, a high-ranking imperial defector had been exiled to the prison, and was in posession of information that was high value. Strapped into her Excalibur's cockpit with her suit sealed, Asora hit her comm channel to the squadron as her fighters' engines spooled up to launch speed. "Listen in, Onyx. We've got to cover those marine dropships and gunships as they make their attack. Fighters will be scrambling from the garrison planetside, which is also armed with defence weapons. Here's the play; Cataract and Monarch you stick with me. We'll be engaging the fighters and giving top cover to the transports while Hatchet and Tusk, you take out the ground defences. Jade, you provide them with electronic jamming cover. They'll be searching the skies with all defences for targets; we'll need you in the SEAD role for certain. Tusk, in particular; you use that railgun to target the heavy cannons and any anti-capship weapons that pop up. The marine gunships will engage in close air-support for the troopers, but be alert for any sudden changes". She hesitated, beak half open, words half-formed in her throat, wanting to say something motivating, something to spur them on. Good luck sounded insincere, like it didn't trust their skills as pilots. Good Hunting too jaunty and irreverent. "Let's do this. See you all back on the ship," she finally said, her voice firm and even. With the words said, the voice of flight control sounded in the ears of all the pilots. "Onyx squadron, launch". The pressure of the electromagnetic launch tube accelerating the fighters so rapidly shoved the avian back into her pilots' seat like a massive pair of hands shoving back on her shoulders, the thundrous rumble dying away into the vibrations of the Excaliburs' engines and systems moving through her seat and body as the fighter moved into the vacuum. Gleaming points of light dispersed all around them as decoys and long-range missiles launched from the Wandering Star and the escort ship, others resolved into the shapes of angular gunships and transport dropships, drives flaring bright as they burned at high speed for the cold blue ball of Edara. "Stay in formation, Onyx and maintain speed. Let's get these grunts on the ground!"</s> <|message|>Astrid Weiss Engines - check, life support - check, ammo - check. Astrid tightened her shoulder straps, making sure she still had enough freedom of movement to look over her shoulders. Ejection capsule - armed. Let's hope that doesn't get used. "Allfather Odin, who art in Valhalla, may I prevail in the battle ahead and the damn sensors stay functioning throughout this sortie." She whispered a mock prayer under her breath, giving the Wildcat an encouraging pat on the dashboard "Hear me, you beautiful thing? Make your designers proud." And then, the wait. The worst part of any sortie, barring a few exceptions. Then sirens, ship weapons firing and instructions from the shooter. At last, they've arrived. With Ebony doling out some last minute orders, she keyed her mic twice in affirmative response and gave the shooter a salute and a thumb up. Thrown out of the Wandering Star by the invisible hand of the electromagnetic catapult, Astrid quickly turned and burned to form up on her lead. Having cleared the ship and planting her fighter half a klick off Ebony's five o'clock, she locked onto her fighter to better keep track of the wing leader and rolled her Wildcat so the bottom was facing the star to keep its rays out of her eyes. She spared a look of pity at one of the troop transports. Last time she'd flown a sortie during a planetary invasion, the Midgard War had just swung into its second month and she was on the other side. Over a third of her aerial victories of that war were transports making planetfall, interceptors having been sent up to put up token resistance and keep their escort fighters busy while the multiroles, supported by bombers hastily refitted to carry a large number of long range air to air missiles guided by AWACS planes, tore the sluggish transports apart. "One, you think they'll wait at high altitude to jump us while we're vulnerable during the descent, or try to meet us in orbit to get at the dropships as early as they can? How many do we expect anyway? The briefing was pretty sparse on details."</s> <|message|>Hazel Tamirnyev HAZEL TAMIRNYEV — CALLSIGN TUSK --- The cockpit hatch shut with a ker-clunk, and there was a soft hiss as air was siphoned from the chamber. The outside sounds; the blaring klaxons, the shouting and bustle of the fighter bay, all faded away. All that remained was the vibration of the Thunderbolt's engines, and the occasional crackle of the radio. It was like a spacewalk in that way. She found it comforting. That, and knowing she wouldn't be forced through a hole the size of a credit if a stray shot breached the cockpit. Hazel sat strapped into the seat in the cockpit's center, illuminated by the glow of consoles. Having just finished the last few stages of her checklists, she glanced towards the small holo-projection of Saint Gagarin fixed to the dashboard and muttered a few words in pidgin—inaudible in the vacuum—but spacers are creatures fond of ritual. Asura's voice crackled over her headset partway through the prayer. Hazel didn't respond until she was done. "Understood, seventy-three.". Out of the side of the cockpit she could see the magpult spooling up, and could nearly imagine the deafening whir of it. Hazel leaned forwards in her seat (the little that her harness would allow) in anticipation of what was to come. And they were off! The robotic pilot cackled gleefully as she was launched, plastered against her seat like a fly on a windshield. With the perfusion fluid supplying her brain sealed into a closed system, she was at no risk of G-LOC. There was little to do but enjoy the ride, that which she intended to do. Hazel waited a few moments, allowing the gravity to subside before upping the throttle of the forward thrust, and nosing slightly downwards, falling into the rear of the formation alongside Hatchet.</s>

<|message|>Aeorin Rothsleigh The whine and tremble of his Rapier's ignition sequence was a small comfort to Aeorin, otherwise known as Monarch, as he did a quick rundown of his last-minute checks. As the hermetic seal was completed on the cockpit, all of the problems that plagued him, his doubts and insecurities, were pushed to the back of his mind... Listening to the short briefing, he gave his affirmative and signaled his own readiness to the ground crew. He would never admit it but somewhere at the back of his mind was a tiny voice that rose up to whisper that one of them, the ground crew or even his wingmates, would betray him, but he squashed it back down. Asora had selected the pilots for Onyx herself, so she was obviously willing to put her faith in them all; If she was able to to that, then he'd put his faith in her decision in return... He didn't have time for his mind to wander very long, however, as the metaphoric launch timer ticked down to zero and he braced for the sudden onset of g-forces as he was flung into the void of space with rest of Onyx. Once his craft was clear of the Wandering Star's flight controlled area, his nimble interceptor had no difficulty catching up with the rest of the squadron. He knew that his Rapier was hardly the pinnacle of Starfighter technology even among the less well-equipped outfits of the Resistance, but he understood the reasonings of the higher-ups as for why that's the fighter he was assigned. He would never be able to completely escape the distrust stemming from his roots as an Imperial scion, but he had already resolved to strive for what's right regardless of the perceptions of the others. Even his callsign 'Monarch' was a reminder of that; Originally given to him by other Resistance members when was still freshly defected as a back-handed slight meant to isolate and 'other' him, he instead embraced the connotations as a way of proving that he could rise above where he had come from... It was a symbol of defiance against both the Empire and his detractors, and he preferred it over his old Imperial Callsign of 'Aspect'; that name was a reminder that he had no agency over his own life, that he was simply a part of his Family and the Empire. Sliding his ship into the formation ahead of the ground attackers and behind the Onyx Leader, he made sure to keep his eyes and sensors for any immediate threats approaching the group as he waited for the signal to break off and engage. He also wondered about Cataract's question, but didn't add any input; he was just as sparse on details as she was after all, and he didn't want to speculate just in case it made things worse. He hadn't run many defensive missions back in the Empire either, so he didn't have useful tactical they could benefit from...</s>

<|description|>Saya Koizumi Age: 14, 3rd year middle school Appearance: Saya is average in overall height and build. She obviously suffers from albinism, with characteristic pale skin, eyes that are a sort of pale pink or purple in color, and extremely light hair. She usually wears sunglasses when out and about, or wears glasses with lenses that tint automatically when exposed to bright light or UV. She isn't the sort to keep up with current fashion, and most of her clothes that aren't her school uniform are far behind the latest trends. Due to her illness, Saya has several surgical scars. History: Saya's family are caretakers and priests for one of the local shrines. As a result, she has an actual house that's a good size and something of a rarity in an arcology. Her parents are traditional and strict when it comes to duties to the shrine, but otherwise Saya can usually avoid trouble if she's got a good enough cover story and luck on her side. She has an older sister whom she adores. The two sisters get along well enough ,with the usual amount of friendly ribbing, and they split the household chores between them. They both have to work to maintain the shrine's grounds and help out during festivals. Saya wasn't really born healthy, and she wasn't born lucky, either. In addition to her lack of pigment and associated vision problems, she's struggled with illness for much of her life. Modern medicine keeps her living a surprisingly active lifestyle, but she still needs frequent hospital visits and surgery to replace failing organs or otherwise treat her frequent medical woes. Saya's school life is probably what one would consider unremarkable. She's not very smart, so she works hard for her grades. She has a few friends and hangs out with them. She watches weird shows and makes costumes based on the characters. Sometimes she tries to drag her friends into doing the same. Her unusual appearance alone is enough to set her apart, leading to the occasional odd look or people talking behind her back. Usually, it stops there, but sometimes things escalate into outright bullying. Saya putting up with things in as much good humor as possible likely does not help matters either. She met Nanami several years ago, when the older girl intervened to rescue her from some bullies. They've been friends ever since, even if they're something of an odd pair. Saya might struggle to keep up with Nanami at times, but she does her best to stay active as much as possible. If anything, she probably idolizes her friend a bit. Personality: Despite her weak constitution, Saya is energetic, outgoing, and positive. She works hard to get what enjoyment she can out of her good days, and rather than depend on others, tries to be someone they can depend upon. She helps others who she feels are suffering or in trouble, and she is perhaps a little too naively trusting. She is also delusional. She believes herself to be a magical girl, even if she is demonstrably not. Surely, she can rush headlong into danger and things will work themselves out just like she's the protagonist of some sort of show. This seems to be something of a coping mechanism for what's happened to her. Since her union with her symbiont, Saya has slowly become more cold-tempered, cruel, and violent. She's more intimidating than she has any right to be, and seems to enjoy frightening her enemies with displays of her own strength. Even if she wants to befriend or get through to an enemy, she's more than happy to beat them into submission first. Ta'ge Symbiont Natural weapons: * Talons: The nightmare's hands are tipped with long, deadly talons. * Tentacle sheathe: The nightmare grows a set of tentacles that are usually retracted into one forearm. They can be used to entangle or grapple an opponent as well as do damage. * Shoulder Pods: Each shoulder pod fires crimson bolts of energy capable of punching through walls. * Depthless Strike: A wave of energy fired by striking the ground or another surface. It travels along a physical plane and can even follow it around corners to strike foes out of sight or in cover. Limit Weapon: Mystic Blast - Both shoulder pods charge up and unleash a terrifying blast of energy 2 meters wide and as tall as the tager. This blast is capable of taking out walls and even powered armor, damaging anything in its path. Other supernatural Abilities: Standing a full head taller than most tagers, Nightmares are stronger and more terrifying. They can often lift and throw cars, or similar feats of extreme strength. Nightmares are just as quick as their brethren, they just hit a lot harder. As well armored as most combat tagers, nightmares regenerate very quickly, often returning from near death to deadly within the span of several minutes. Saya's has also manifested the ability to detect things by heat signatures. Personality traits: Aggressive, violent, and overconfident. Nightmares are menacing, bloodthirsty, and always ready to pick a fight. While not driven to be in charge, a nightmare is the sort to question authority, if not outright rebellious. Hybrid Form: Saya's eyes become solid black, she gains her thermal vision, and may sprout her claws.</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi Night An Eldritch Society ritual space, beneath a park in Kojiki Arcology, south. The Eldritch Society. A secretive group of like-minded individuals united in common purpose to protect humanity from the various other things that would do it harm. Unlike the government, however, they sought to do things their own way, and that way would often lead to conflict with the very same government, should they act too openly. Even if someone were to shout it from the rooftops, who would believe a man claiming one of the largest megacorporations was controlled by a dangerous cult and the physical avatar of their dark god? And they were far from the only threat, just the most obvious. It wasn't usual that the Society's underground activities were quite so literal, though. Like any arcology, Kojiki had plenty of space where one could hide something like an illicit space for practice of arcane rituals. The buildings were always an option, but just as easy were the many spaces for maintenance, movement of materiel and personnel, and other such things just below the surface. Arcologies were, almost inevitably, far more than they let on, and someone had to be able to access things to repair the moving sidewalks, anyway. So it was that after much careful planning, a ritual space was set up under a park in an apparently abandoned section of the underground. The ritual in progress had begun days ago. A long and grueling process for both the sorcerers and other participants, the Rite of Sacred Union demanded great asceticism and strength of will. It had been days since anyone present had had opportunity to eat or drink. But, the mystic energies gathering within the circle and poised to pierce the veil were well worth the effort and soon, with any luck, the candidates within would join the ranks of the Society's greatest warriors. Something began to...shift, subtly, in the flow of the ritual. No fault of the participants, but of some other influence. And then, the sounds of violence. Their enemies had found them, but there was little that could be done to stop things now. At best, it would be a waste of the opportunity until the next time conditions were right. And the ritual was almost over. The beings at the threshold were practically scratching at the door. The defenders would hold the line. Meanwhile, at the same park, on the surface It was a pleasant night in the arcology. Not too hot, not too cold. Truly a blessing of the season and not the controlled climate and civil engineering. The park was almost empty, although the lights were still on. This was one of the nicer parks for an evening walk, with some lovely water features, and nice wooded areas, carefully curated to even look like the products of natural growth. It was also pretty close to Saya's house, so that helped. She'd been doing well recently, so she and Nanami were out and about. It was getting pretty late, but things were still perfectly safe, so whatever. Neither of the young women would ever expect what would be in store for them that evening. "It's so nice to get out of the house," Saya observed. "Even if I feel like some sort of vampire, doing it when the sun's already down." She had just as much reason to fear the sun, to be fair. At least at night, no parasol was required on her part. "It's been a while since we got together to really run around like this, hasn't it, Nanami?" She didn't mention why, but even if she usually had no problem making fun of her illness, some things just weren't worth bringing up.</s> <|message|>Igarashi Nanami A relaxing evening in the park was just what Nanami and Saya needed. The sun had already set, turning the sky dark blue, the soft glow of lamps illuminating ponds and flower beds that lined the path. The trickling of a waterfall over rocks was particularly soothing right now. Nanami nodded. "Thought you'd want to," she said, strolling by Saya's side. Despite her health issues, or even because of them, Saya liked to get out and about when she could. Of course, it wasn't entirely for selfless reasons that Nanami was out here right now - the earlier argument with her parents still lingered in the back of her mind. Ever since her brother Aito had gotten that job at Chrysalis Corporation, they'd been on her case more than ever, pushing her to be more like him. Like that was going to happen. At least being around someone who appreciated her helped. "And hey." She grinned. "Isn't night the best time for a magical girl to be out? Just in case there's any monster butt to kick." Her mom kept saying it wasn't healthy to enable Saya's delusions, but if an active imagination was how her friend coped with being cooped up, what was the harm in that? Besides, Nanami knew the need for escapism, having held on to her own mermaid fantasies. "Can't say I'll be much help, but I'll keep a look out, and cheer you on. In the meantime, wanna train by racing me to that bench?" She pointed to a steel bench in the distance, under a canopy of trees. Saya could be pretty energetic on her good days, so would likely be up for some silly fun. "One-two-three-go!" With that, she was off, her pace a leisurely jog rather than a serious run. Her laughter carried on the breeze as she relished the feeling of freedom. For now, both she and Saya could leave all their worries behind.</s>

<|message|>Saya Koizumi "Yep, gotta go on patrol!" Saya was her usual chipper, gung-ho self. "One time I rescued a cat from a tree." She was happy to agree to the race, even if Nanami tended to win. "Sure, let's go!" Saya took off at her own pace, though she's definitely going harder than Nanami's leisurely jog. By the end of the race, she'd slowed down quite a bit, despite her best efforts. Panting and clearly running out of steam, Saya finished a bit behind her friend. "Jeez...I guess I'm still a little out of shape." She paused to catch her breath, keeping a smile on her face. It really wasn't about winning or losing. And there was conveniently a bench to flop onto, right there. --- Beneath the surface, the fighting continued. It shouldn't have been possible for several reasons. The Children of Chaos shouldn't have known this was happening, much less where. And even then, there were wards in place that would serve to keep their dhoanoids out. They must have some serious sorcerous support. And more importantly, they were winning. There was no rushing a ritual, but this one was almost complete. Monsters broke through, and rushed their way to the ritual site itself. They didn't dare step foot inside the circle itself, for fear of their own lives, but it was still a simple matter to deal with those present. Everyone involved was too exhausted and focused on the ritual to truly fight back. The lead sorcerer was the last to die, and in his final moments, did his best to prevent the ritual from simply shattering. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was that outside influence taking over, or at least trying to. Whatever the case, the magical energy didn't immediately fizzle away. Instead, it swirled, barely contained, and before long, burst upward. Perhaps the beings that were called knew there was no one waiting for them. Or they knew that some attempt at tampering was at work, and moved to escape it. The truth was likely far simpler: unwitting and unprepared as they were, the two girls were within the circle. Thus, they would be...considered.</s>

<|description|>Saya Koizumi Age: 14, 3rd year middle school Appearance: Saya is average in overall height and build. She obviously suffers from albinism, with characteristic pale skin, eyes that are a sort of pale pink or purple in color, and extremely light hair. She usually wears sunglasses when out and about, or wears glasses with lenses that tint automatically when exposed to bright light or UV. She isn't the sort to keep up with current fashion, and most of her clothes that aren't her school uniform are far behind the latest trends. Due to her illness, Saya has several surgical scars. History: Saya's family are caretakers and priests for one of the local shrines. As a result, she has an actual house that's a good size and something of a rarity in an arcology. Her parents are traditional and strict when it comes to duties to the shrine, but otherwise Saya can usually avoid trouble if she's got a good enough cover story and luck on her side. She has an older sister whom she adores. The two sisters get along well enough ,with the usual amount of friendly ribbing, and they split the household chores between them. They both have to work to maintain the shrine's grounds and help out during festivals. Saya wasn't really born healthy, and she wasn't born lucky, either. In addition to her lack of pigment and associated vision problems, she's struggled with illness for much of her life. Modern medicine keeps her living a surprisingly active lifestyle, but she still needs frequent hospital visits and surgery to replace failing organs or otherwise treat her frequent medical woes. Saya's school life is probably what one would consider unremarkable. She's not very smart, so she works hard for her grades. She has a few friends and hangs out with them. She watches weird shows and makes costumes based on the characters. Sometimes she tries to drag her friends into doing the same. Her unusual appearance alone is enough to set her apart, leading to the occasional odd look or people talking behind her back. Usually, it stops there, but sometimes things escalate into outright bullying. Saya putting up with things in as much good humor as possible likely does not help matters either. She met Nanami several years ago, when the older girl intervened to rescue her from some bullies. They've been friends ever since, even if they're something of an odd pair. Saya might struggle to keep up with Nanami at times, but she does her best to stay active as much as possible. If anything, she probably idolizes her friend a bit. Personality: Despite her weak constitution, Saya is energetic, outgoing, and positive. She works hard to get what enjoyment she can out of her good days, and rather than depend on others, tries to be someone they can depend upon. She helps others who she feels are suffering or in trouble, and she is perhaps a little too naively trusting. She is also delusional. She believes herself to be a magical girl, even if she is demonstrably not. Surely, she can rush headlong into danger and things will work themselves out just like she's the protagonist of some sort of show. This seems to be something of a coping mechanism for what's happened to her. Since her union with her symbiont, Saya has slowly become more cold-tempered, cruel, and violent. She's more intimidating than she has any right to be, and seems to enjoy frightening her enemies with displays of her own strength. Even if she wants to befriend or get through to an enemy, she's more than happy to beat them into submission first. Ta'ge Symbiont Natural weapons: * Talons: The nightmare's hands are tipped with long, deadly talons. * Tentacle sheathe: The nightmare grows a set of tentacles that are usually retracted into one forearm. They can be used to entangle or grapple an opponent as well as do damage. * Shoulder Pods: Each shoulder pod fires crimson bolts of energy capable of punching through walls. * Depthless Strike: A wave of energy fired by striking the ground or another surface. It travels along a physical plane and can even follow it around corners to strike foes out of sight or in cover. Limit Weapon: Mystic Blast - Both shoulder pods charge up and unleash a terrifying blast of energy 2 meters wide and as tall as the tager. This blast is capable of taking out walls and even powered armor, damaging anything in its path. Other supernatural Abilities: Standing a full head taller than most tagers, Nightmares are stronger and more terrifying. They can often lift and throw cars, or similar feats of extreme strength. Nightmares are just as quick as their brethren, they just hit a lot harder. As well armored as most combat tagers, nightmares regenerate very quickly, often returning from near death to deadly within the span of several minutes. Saya's has also manifested the ability to detect things by heat signatures. Personality traits: Aggressive, violent, and overconfident. Nightmares are menacing, bloodthirsty, and always ready to pick a fight. While not driven to be in charge, a nightmare is the sort to question authority, if not outright rebellious. Hybrid Form: Saya's eyes become solid black, she gains her thermal vision, and may sprout her claws.</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi "Yep, gotta go on patrol!" Saya was her usual chipper, gung-ho self. "One time I rescued a cat from a tree." She was happy to agree to the race, even if Nanami tended to win. "Sure, let's go!" Saya took off at her own pace, though she's definitely going harder than Nanami's leisurely jog. By the end of the race, she'd slowed down quite a bit, despite her best efforts. Panting and clearly running out of steam, Saya finished a bit behind her friend. "Jeez...I guess I'm still a little out of shape." She paused to catch her breath, keeping a smile on her face. It really wasn't about winning or losing. And there was conveniently a bench to flop onto, right there. --- Beneath the surface, the fighting continued. It shouldn't have been possible for several reasons. The Children of Chaos shouldn't have known this was happening, much less where. And even then, there were wards in place that would serve to keep their dhoanoids out. They must have some serious sorcerous support. And more importantly, they were winning. There was no rushing a ritual, but this one was almost complete. Monsters broke through, and rushed their way to the ritual site itself. They didn't dare step foot inside the circle itself, for fear of their own lives, but it was still a simple matter to deal with those present. Everyone involved was too exhausted and focused on the ritual to truly fight back. The lead sorcerer was the last to die, and in his final moments, did his best to prevent the ritual from simply shattering. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was that outside influence taking over, or at least trying to. Whatever the case, the magical energy didn't immediately fizzle away. Instead, it swirled, barely contained, and before long, burst upward. Perhaps the beings that were called knew there was no one waiting for them. Or they knew that some attempt at tampering was at work, and moved to escape it. The truth was likely far simpler: unwitting and unprepared as they were, the two girls were within the circle. Thus, they would be...considered.</s> <|message|>Igarashi Nanami With a breathless chuckle, Nanami sat down. "I say we've still both earned these though," she said, taking a box of strawberry pocky from her bag. The jog had been a fairly short one, but had cheered her up a great deal, and looked to have done Saya good. Flipping the box open, she held it out to share. A ripple in the nearby stream caught her attention. Her smile vanishing, Nanami stared. For just a moment, among the glimmers of reflected lamplight, she thought she'd seen eyes looking out. Several pairs of bulging, inhuman eyes. "What...?" Tensing, she craned her neck. The talk of magical girls and monsters had to be making her imagination go haywire. "Did you see that?" "No need to be afraid." "Ehhhhh?" At the voice in her head, she dropped the box, pocky sticks spilling all over the ground - which wavered before her, cast in thin blue-green light as if she were underwater. "Ok, either I'm losing it, or we've got ourselves some kind of actual monster. Let's get out of here!" She jumped up, only for a torrent of water to burst out of the stream, shifting like putty and taking on a solid form in front of her. An alien form, all fins and tentacles, those six yellow eyes fixed on her as she backed away. "You want to be the best, don't you?" That voice sounded in her mind again, eerily calm, and cold. Hearing it brought the sensation of ice water trickling down her spine. "You want to be special. Noteworthy. In that case, we can both help each other." The being reached out a hand, gripping Nanami's shoulder. Its form dissolved, seeping under her skin, permeating her very essence. Nanami's scream gave way to the gurgle of a drowning person as she collapsed, writhing. Her own body felt more liquid than solid, searing all over like she'd been plunged in acid. She could have sworn her flesh was melting, yet when she stretched out her arm like a frantic swimmer, she saw it was still whole. Her lungs burned for air - and drew in a sudden deep breath as she surfaced back into reality. The pain was gone. Shaking and panting, she brought herself to one knee. "W-What the hell just happened?" Everything looked normal once again, but she couldn't shake the presence of something else in the park. Something otherworldly, something wrong, like whatever she'd just encountered. Raising her head, she gasped. "Saya!"</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi "Yeah, we have." Saya reached for the offered snacks, but something out of the corner of her eye didn't seem right, either. Some sort of movement, and a shape like a strange, inky jellyfish. "I think so? I saw something." She also felt something. While Saya didn't hear a clear voice at first, there were some strange sounds beginning to impign upon her, like rushing of winds that weren't there, or scratching of ground glass. And there were these...probing sensations. And something deep within her was telling her to get away, some ancient memory of dark forests and things within them considering their next meal. "We should definitely get out of here." Saya stood up to run herself, and her vision swam. Was she really in that bad of a shape? Wild colors burst across her vision, and she could almost see some other world superimposed, like some sort of film projection, over the park: a strange sky with many planets or moons suspended within it, and the pillars of what could be a temple. That presence she had felt earlier was hurtling toward her, but she couldn't move to escape. Eyes, glittering coldly like gemstones in the dark, regarded her. "Small, weak." something that could almost be a dismissive snort echoed from all around her. "Refuses to die, at least. Not the one who called out, and yet..." The voice shifted its attention slightly, to actively address her. "What you need is strength. And you shall have it, unless you would be food." Saya didn't really have much choice in the matter, as at least in her vision, she was quickly surrounded by webs of flesh, bladed tentacles, and the eyes...those gleaming eyes. The pain was exquisite. Even to someone who was no stranger to pain, it was almost impossible to endure, feeling as if Saya was being flayed apart layer by layer and rebuilt, all raw nerves. Even her mind hurt, crushed under a wave of pressure and force as her body was alight in sheer suffering. She managed to hold onto herself, somehow. And then she was there, back in the park as if nothing had happened. "I'm okay! I...think. Just what the hell was that?" No reason to keep quiet as far as she could tell. "I think that thing was about to eat me or something."</s> <|message|>Igarashi Nanami Jumping to her feet, Nanami took a step towards Saya, who doubled over in clear agony. "Saya, what's happening?" Mouth dry, she gently grasped her friend's shoulder. "Are you ok? Can you hear me? Saya!" The monster was nowhere to be seen, but something lingered here, where Saya stood. That chaotic energy crackled around the two of them as if a storm were about to begin. It stabilised, but didn't fade completely, still thrumming in the air as Saya opened her eyes. Whatever had happened, she seemed to have shaken off the pain as quickly as Nanami had, but not the confusion. "I'm ok! I... think. Just what the hell was that? I think that thing was about to eat me or something." With a sigh of relief, Nanami shook her head, glancing all around. No alien creatures in sight, but she frowned as she noticed something else out of the ordinary. Had the lamps brightened, or had her vision sharpened a little? "No idea, all I know is it tried to either drown me or dissolve me. But let's not stick around to find out." She took off sprinting down the path, quickly realising she didn't have to look over her shoulder to check where Saya was. She could sense her, a short distance behind. "Huh?" She stopped, something else dawning on her. There was no strain in her muscles. Her athletic pursuits kept her in good shape, but that run had been as effortless as a leisurely walk. For someone who'd just had an apparent near death experience, she now brimmed with vitality, as if she'd had the best night's sleep of her life followed by an energy drink. She could chalk it up to adrenaline, although that didn't explain the radar-like sense. A shiver ran through her, equal parts fear and exhilaration, as she recalled the alien's words. "You want to be the best, don't you?" That creature... It had been real. And it had done something to them, but what exactly? Turning to face Saya, Nanami tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed. "Hey... Are you feeling different at all, by any chance?"</s>

<|message|>Saya Koizumi Saya nodded at the suggestion they leave. "Yeah." She followed shortly after Nanami. There really wasn't much reason to stick around, and if anything, it was better to try and process what had happened elsewhere. Was this the sort of thing they were supposed to report? She didn't notice anything odd like being able to tell where Nanami was without looking, but she could see the other girl, after all. That didn't mean she didn't feel things were plenty different as-is. For one, she felt truly healthy for the first time in her life. Like she actually could just run around for hours without worrying about anything. "I definitely am," she answered Nanami's question. "I've never felt better." Would that be a problem, though? She'd have to still pretend to be sick, or something? "Like, no pain or anything. Heck, I bet this is how you must feel all the time." She did feel like she could take on the world. "Wait a sec. Strange, uh, things, and all that...maybe we are magical girls now." Saya giggled. "Though until we run into some sort of monster, I guess we can't be sure."</s>

<|description|>Igarashi Nanami Age: 15 Appearance: At 5'6", she's tall for a Japanese girl, with a leanly muscled figure. Her dyed-blue hair is kept short for practical reasons, and is usually messy. When not in school uniform or sports gear, she wears loose T shirts and shorts. History: Nanami is the classic middle child. With an older brother who's skilled at engineering and went on to study it at university, and a younger sister who's the top of her class, she always found it difficult to measure up to them. It was clear from a young age she wasn't academic like them. While her parents always showed her some affection, the other two were the ones who got all the praise, the ones they spoke about positively to family friends. And she was often expected to match their level of skill. The disappointment in her parents' faces when she fell short got to her every time. With the support of friends, she began to focus on something she enjoyed more, and was better at - athletics. She'd take part in swimming competitions and marathons. Not that it got her the same level of recognition as more "useful" skills would, but it was something, at least. She and Saya have been friends since childhood, having met when Nanami stepped in to stop some bullies, ending up with a bloody lip and a detention for her trouble. They often meet up outside of school, and Nanami keeps Saya's spirits up during her hospital stays. Recently, her brother has gotten a low level job at Chrysalis Corporation. Although envious of his career prospects, she's happy for him, unaware of the shady goings-on within the business. Personality: If Nanami could be described in three words, boisterous and energetic would be two of them. The third, depending who you asked, would either be "fun" or "annoying". She doesn't often realise when she's being too pushy while dragging her friends into her antics. Nonetheless, she means well and is overall a kind person. While she envies her more successful and academic siblings, she cares a great deal about them. Having experience with feeling inadequate, she won't stand for bullying. If she sees a friend getting mistreated, she'll step in, sometimes inadvertently escalating the situation and getting in trouble. Highly passionate, she adores sports. Swimming is her favourite, closely followed by running and volleyball. While she likes the friendly competition aspect of it, really she wants to prove herself - not that she'll let insecurity show. For all her tough, tomboyish front, she has a secret that only her best friend, Saya, knows. Throughout childhood, she was obsessed with mermaids, and still frequently fantasises about being one. After fusing with the Symbiont, she'll slowly become more and more emotionally detached, and will develop a smug side as she becomes the "superior" one for once. Expect this to cause plenty of conflict with her passion for life/hobbies, and her bonds with others. Ta'ge Symbiont Natural Weapons: * Electric tentacles: The tentacles protruding from a Thalassan's shoulders and hips are tipped with pincers that can deliver electric shocks on contact. These appendages are strong and dextrous, able to restrain enemies or deal a decent amount of damage even if the Thalassan doesn't use her electricity. * Darts: The Thalassan can fire small, thin darts like bullets from her hands and the tips of her head fin. Limit Weapon: A whirlpool-like vortex of water appears in front of her, from which a swarm of crustacean sea monsters appear, floating through the air and attacking enemies from all sides with their blade claws. They're more of a manifestation of her will than actual beings, and do as she wants. Other Supernatural Abilities: The most notable is the Thalassan's ability to manipulate water. Not in the bodies of organic beings, but she can draw it from the air, and from nearby pools, lakes etc. This takes concentration, but with enough of it she can shoot high-pressure jets at enemies, or simply soak them to make her electric attacks even more devastating. Other than this, Thalassans are extremely agile and flexible, particularly nimble in water, with a high tolerance to the cold. With their six eyes, they have a wide field of vision, and can see in the dark. When underwater, they can also use a sonar sense. Personality Traits: Thalassans are cold and calculating, analysing situations to their advantage. They tend to be arrogant, looking down on "lesser" beings. Humans, dhoanoids, even non-Thalassan tagers. As such, if the easiest solution to a problem requires the sacrifice of innocents, so be it. Hybrid Form: Nanami's eyes become pure yellow, sclerae and all. She gains her night vision and control over water.</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi Night An Eldritch Society ritual space, beneath a park in Kojiki Arcology, south. The Eldritch Society. A secretive group of like-minded individuals united in common purpose to protect humanity from the various other things that would do it harm. Unlike the government, however, they sought to do things their own way, and that way would often lead to conflict with the very same government, should they act too openly. Even if someone were to shout it from the rooftops, who would believe a man claiming one of the largest megacorporations was controlled by a dangerous cult and the physical avatar of their dark god? And they were far from the only threat, just the most obvious. It wasn't usual that the Society's underground activities were quite so literal, though. Like any arcology, Kojiki had plenty of space where one could hide something like an illicit space for practice of arcane rituals. The buildings were always an option, but just as easy were the many spaces for maintenance, movement of materiel and personnel, and other such things just below the surface. Arcologies were, almost inevitably, far more than they let on, and someone had to be able to access things to repair the moving sidewalks, anyway. So it was that after much careful planning, a ritual space was set up under a park in an apparently abandoned section of the underground. The ritual in progress had begun days ago. A long and grueling process for both the sorcerers and other participants, the Rite of Sacred Union demanded great asceticism and strength of will. It had been days since anyone present had had opportunity to eat or drink. But, the mystic energies gathering within the circle and poised to pierce the veil were well worth the effort and soon, with any luck, the candidates within would join the ranks of the Society's greatest warriors. Something began to...shift, subtly, in the flow of the ritual. No fault of the participants, but of some other influence. And then, the sounds of violence. Their enemies had found them, but there was little that could be done to stop things now. At best, it would be a waste of the opportunity until the next time conditions were right. And the ritual was almost over. The beings at the threshold were practically scratching at the door. The defenders would hold the line. Meanwhile, at the same park, on the surface It was a pleasant night in the arcology. Not too hot, not too cold. Truly a blessing of the season and not the controlled climate and civil engineering. The park was almost empty, although the lights were still on. This was one of the nicer parks for an evening walk, with some lovely water features, and nice wooded areas, carefully curated to even look like the products of natural growth. It was also pretty close to Saya's house, so that helped. She'd been doing well recently, so she and Nanami were out and about. It was getting pretty late, but things were still perfectly safe, so whatever. Neither of the young women would ever expect what would be in store for them that evening. "It's so nice to get out of the house," Saya observed. "Even if I feel like some sort of vampire, doing it when the sun's already down." She had just as much reason to fear the sun, to be fair. At least at night, no parasol was required on her part. "It's been a while since we got together to really run around like this, hasn't it, Nanami?" She didn't mention why, but even if she usually had no problem making fun of her illness, some things just weren't worth bringing up.</s> <|message|>Igarashi Nanami A relaxing evening in the park was just what Nanami and Saya needed. The sun had already set, turning the sky dark blue, the soft glow of lamps illuminating ponds and flower beds that lined the path. The trickling of a waterfall over rocks was particularly soothing right now. Nanami nodded. "Thought you'd want to," she said, strolling by Saya's side. Despite her health issues, or even because of them, Saya liked to get out and about when she could. Of course, it wasn't entirely for selfless reasons that Nanami was out here right now - the earlier argument with her parents still lingered in the back of her mind. Ever since her brother Aito had gotten that job at Chrysalis Corporation, they'd been on her case more than ever, pushing her to be more like him. Like that was going to happen. At least being around someone who appreciated her helped. "And hey." She grinned. "Isn't night the best time for a magical girl to be out? Just in case there's any monster butt to kick." Her mom kept saying it wasn't healthy to enable Saya's delusions, but if an active imagination was how her friend coped with being cooped up, what was the harm in that? Besides, Nanami knew the need for escapism, having held on to her own mermaid fantasies. "Can't say I'll be much help, but I'll keep a look out, and cheer you on. In the meantime, wanna train by racing me to that bench?" She pointed to a steel bench in the distance, under a canopy of trees. Saya could be pretty energetic on her good days, so would likely be up for some silly fun. "One-two-three-go!" With that, she was off, her pace a leisurely jog rather than a serious run. Her laughter carried on the breeze as she relished the feeling of freedom. For now, both she and Saya could leave all their worries behind.</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi "Yep, gotta go on patrol!" Saya was her usual chipper, gung-ho self. "One time I rescued a cat from a tree." She was happy to agree to the race, even if Nanami tended to win. "Sure, let's go!" Saya took off at her own pace, though she's definitely going harder than Nanami's leisurely jog. By the end of the race, she'd slowed down quite a bit, despite her best efforts. Panting and clearly running out of steam, Saya finished a bit behind her friend. "Jeez...I guess I'm still a little out of shape." She paused to catch her breath, keeping a smile on her face. It really wasn't about winning or losing. And there was conveniently a bench to flop onto, right there. --- Beneath the surface, the fighting continued. It shouldn't have been possible for several reasons. The Children of Chaos shouldn't have known this was happening, much less where. And even then, there were wards in place that would serve to keep their dhoanoids out. They must have some serious sorcerous support. And more importantly, they were winning. There was no rushing a ritual, but this one was almost complete. Monsters broke through, and rushed their way to the ritual site itself. They didn't dare step foot inside the circle itself, for fear of their own lives, but it was still a simple matter to deal with those present. Everyone involved was too exhausted and focused on the ritual to truly fight back. The lead sorcerer was the last to die, and in his final moments, did his best to prevent the ritual from simply shattering. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was that outside influence taking over, or at least trying to. Whatever the case, the magical energy didn't immediately fizzle away. Instead, it swirled, barely contained, and before long, burst upward. Perhaps the beings that were called knew there was no one waiting for them. Or they knew that some attempt at tampering was at work, and moved to escape it. The truth was likely far simpler: unwitting and unprepared as they were, the two girls were within the circle. Thus, they would be...considered.</s>

<|message|>Igarashi Nanami With a breathless chuckle, Nanami sat down. "I say we've still both earned these though," she said, taking a box of strawberry pocky from her bag. The jog had been a fairly short one, but had cheered her up a great deal, and looked to have done Saya good. Flipping the box open, she held it out to share. A ripple in the nearby stream caught her attention. Her smile vanishing, Nanami stared. For just a moment, among the glimmers of reflected lamplight, she thought she'd seen eyes looking out. Several pairs of bulging, inhuman eyes. "What...?" Tensing, she craned her neck. The talk of magical girls and monsters had to be making her imagination go haywire. "Did you see that?" "No need to be afraid." "Ehhhhh?" At the voice in her head, she dropped the box, pocky sticks spilling all over the ground - which wavered before her, cast in thin blue-green light as if she were underwater. "Ok, either I'm losing it, or we've got ourselves some kind of actual monster. Let's get out of here!" She jumped up, only for a torrent of water to burst out of the stream, shifting like putty and taking on a solid form in front of her. An alien form, all fins and tentacles, those six yellow eyes fixed on her as she backed away. "You want to be the best, don't you?" That voice sounded in her mind again, eerily calm, and cold. Hearing it brought the sensation of ice water trickling down her spine. "You want to be special. Noteworthy. In that case, we can both help each other." The being reached out a hand, gripping Nanami's shoulder. Its form dissolved, seeping under her skin, permeating her very essence. Nanami's scream gave way to the gurgle of a drowning person as she collapsed, writhing. Her own body felt more liquid than solid, searing all over like she'd been plunged in acid. She could have sworn her flesh was melting, yet when she stretched out her arm like a frantic swimmer, she saw it was still whole. Her lungs burned for air - and drew in a sudden deep breath as she surfaced back into reality. The pain was gone. Shaking and panting, she brought herself to one knee. "W-What the hell just happened?" Everything looked normal once again, but she couldn't shake the presence of something else in the park. Something otherworldly, something wrong, like whatever she'd just encountered. Raising her head, she gasped. "Saya!"</s>

<|description|>Igarashi Nanami Age: 15 Appearance: At 5'6", she's tall for a Japanese girl, with a leanly muscled figure. Her dyed-blue hair is kept short for practical reasons, and is usually messy. When not in school uniform or sports gear, she wears loose T shirts and shorts. History: Nanami is the classic middle child. With an older brother who's skilled at engineering and went on to study it at university, and a younger sister who's the top of her class, she always found it difficult to measure up to them. It was clear from a young age she wasn't academic like them. While her parents always showed her some affection, the other two were the ones who got all the praise, the ones they spoke about positively to family friends. And she was often expected to match their level of skill. The disappointment in her parents' faces when she fell short got to her every time. With the support of friends, she began to focus on something she enjoyed more, and was better at - athletics. She'd take part in swimming competitions and marathons. Not that it got her the same level of recognition as more "useful" skills would, but it was something, at least. She and Saya have been friends since childhood, having met when Nanami stepped in to stop some bullies, ending up with a bloody lip and a detention for her trouble. They often meet up outside of school, and Nanami keeps Saya's spirits up during her hospital stays. Recently, her brother has gotten a low level job at Chrysalis Corporation. Although envious of his career prospects, she's happy for him, unaware of the shady goings-on within the business. Personality: If Nanami could be described in three words, boisterous and energetic would be two of them. The third, depending who you asked, would either be "fun" or "annoying". She doesn't often realise when she's being too pushy while dragging her friends into her antics. Nonetheless, she means well and is overall a kind person. While she envies her more successful and academic siblings, she cares a great deal about them. Having experience with feeling inadequate, she won't stand for bullying. If she sees a friend getting mistreated, she'll step in, sometimes inadvertently escalating the situation and getting in trouble. Highly passionate, she adores sports. Swimming is her favourite, closely followed by running and volleyball. While she likes the friendly competition aspect of it, really she wants to prove herself - not that she'll let insecurity show. For all her tough, tomboyish front, she has a secret that only her best friend, Saya, knows. Throughout childhood, she was obsessed with mermaids, and still frequently fantasises about being one. After fusing with the Symbiont, she'll slowly become more and more emotionally detached, and will develop a smug side as she becomes the "superior" one for once. Expect this to cause plenty of conflict with her passion for life/hobbies, and her bonds with others. Ta'ge Symbiont Natural Weapons: * Electric tentacles: The tentacles protruding from a Thalassan's shoulders and hips are tipped with pincers that can deliver electric shocks on contact. These appendages are strong and dextrous, able to restrain enemies or deal a decent amount of damage even if the Thalassan doesn't use her electricity. * Darts: The Thalassan can fire small, thin darts like bullets from her hands and the tips of her head fin. Limit Weapon: A whirlpool-like vortex of water appears in front of her, from which a swarm of crustacean sea monsters appear, floating through the air and attacking enemies from all sides with their blade claws. They're more of a manifestation of her will than actual beings, and do as she wants. Other Supernatural Abilities: The most notable is the Thalassan's ability to manipulate water. Not in the bodies of organic beings, but she can draw it from the air, and from nearby pools, lakes etc. This takes concentration, but with enough of it she can shoot high-pressure jets at enemies, or simply soak them to make her electric attacks even more devastating. Other than this, Thalassans are extremely agile and flexible, particularly nimble in water, with a high tolerance to the cold. With their six eyes, they have a wide field of vision, and can see in the dark. When underwater, they can also use a sonar sense. Personality Traits: Thalassans are cold and calculating, analysing situations to their advantage. They tend to be arrogant, looking down on "lesser" beings. Humans, dhoanoids, even non-Thalassan tagers. As such, if the easiest solution to a problem requires the sacrifice of innocents, so be it. Hybrid Form: Nanami's eyes become pure yellow, sclerae and all. She gains her night vision and control over water.</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi "Yeah, we have." Saya reached for the offered snacks, but something out of the corner of her eye didn't seem right, either. Some sort of movement, and a shape like a strange, inky jellyfish. "I think so? I saw something." She also felt something. While Saya didn't hear a clear voice at first, there were some strange sounds beginning to impign upon her, like rushing of winds that weren't there, or scratching of ground glass. And there were these...probing sensations. And something deep within her was telling her to get away, some ancient memory of dark forests and things within them considering their next meal. "We should definitely get out of here." Saya stood up to run herself, and her vision swam. Was she really in that bad of a shape? Wild colors burst across her vision, and she could almost see some other world superimposed, like some sort of film projection, over the park: a strange sky with many planets or moons suspended within it, and the pillars of what could be a temple. That presence she had felt earlier was hurtling toward her, but she couldn't move to escape. Eyes, glittering coldly like gemstones in the dark, regarded her. "Small, weak." something that could almost be a dismissive snort echoed from all around her. "Refuses to die, at least. Not the one who called out, and yet..." The voice shifted its attention slightly, to actively address her. "What you need is strength. And you shall have it, unless you would be food." Saya didn't really have much choice in the matter, as at least in her vision, she was quickly surrounded by webs of flesh, bladed tentacles, and the eyes...those gleaming eyes. The pain was exquisite. Even to someone who was no stranger to pain, it was almost impossible to endure, feeling as if Saya was being flayed apart layer by layer and rebuilt, all raw nerves. Even her mind hurt, crushed under a wave of pressure and force as her body was alight in sheer suffering. She managed to hold onto herself, somehow. And then she was there, back in the park as if nothing had happened. "I'm okay! I...think. Just what the hell was that?" No reason to keep quiet as far as she could tell. "I think that thing was about to eat me or something."</s> <|message|>Igarashi Nanami Jumping to her feet, Nanami took a step towards Saya, who doubled over in clear agony. "Saya, what's happening?" Mouth dry, she gently grasped her friend's shoulder. "Are you ok? Can you hear me? Saya!" The monster was nowhere to be seen, but something lingered here, where Saya stood. That chaotic energy crackled around the two of them as if a storm were about to begin. It stabilised, but didn't fade completely, still thrumming in the air as Saya opened her eyes. Whatever had happened, she seemed to have shaken off the pain as quickly as Nanami had, but not the confusion. "I'm ok! I... think. Just what the hell was that? I think that thing was about to eat me or something." With a sigh of relief, Nanami shook her head, glancing all around. No alien creatures in sight, but she frowned as she noticed something else out of the ordinary. Had the lamps brightened, or had her vision sharpened a little? "No idea, all I know is it tried to either drown me or dissolve me. But let's not stick around to find out." She took off sprinting down the path, quickly realising she didn't have to look over her shoulder to check where Saya was. She could sense her, a short distance behind. "Huh?" She stopped, something else dawning on her. There was no strain in her muscles. Her athletic pursuits kept her in good shape, but that run had been as effortless as a leisurely walk. For someone who'd just had an apparent near death experience, she now brimmed with vitality, as if she'd had the best night's sleep of her life followed by an energy drink. She could chalk it up to adrenaline, although that didn't explain the radar-like sense. A shiver ran through her, equal parts fear and exhilaration, as she recalled the alien's words. "You want to be the best, don't you?" That creature... It had been real. And it had done something to them, but what exactly? Turning to face Saya, Nanami tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed. "Hey... Are you feeling different at all, by any chance?"</s> <|message|>Saya Koizumi Saya nodded at the suggestion they leave. "Yeah." She followed shortly after Nanami. There really wasn't much reason to stick around, and if anything, it was better to try and process what had happened elsewhere. Was this the sort of thing they were supposed to report? She didn't notice anything odd like being able to tell where Nanami was without looking, but she could see the other girl, after all. That didn't mean she didn't feel things were plenty different as-is. For one, she felt truly healthy for the first time in her life. Like she actually could just run around for hours without worrying about anything. "I definitely am," she answered Nanami's question. "I've never felt better." Would that be a problem, though? She'd have to still pretend to be sick, or something? "Like, no pain or anything. Heck, I bet this is how you must feel all the time." She did feel like she could take on the world. "Wait a sec. Strange, uh, things, and all that...maybe we are magical girls now." Saya giggled. "Though until we run into some sort of monster, I guess we can't be sure."</s>

<|message|>Igarashi Nanami "Huh... Maybe what happened wasn't so bad!" Nanami gave a shaky laugh. Her heart still hammered from the experience, but if Saya's health problems were cured, and she herself had grown stronger... "I mean, the way it happened certainly was, but that creature did say it wanted to help. And if you're feeling better, seems like it actually did!" Her eyes widened at Saya's next words. "Magical girls? Heh, anything's possible after that!" As bizarre as the idea seemed, it couldn't hurt to test whether it was true. Taking a deep, steady breath, she willed herself to transform. Water swirled around her. "Wha-?" Her body reshaped itself like liquid once more, but this time there was no pain. In fact, shifting came as naturally to her as walking or breathing. When the foamy whirls faded, she looked down at her new form and gasped. Well, this wasn't what came to mind when she thought of magical girls. Blue, yellow and white fishlike skin glinted in the lamplights, translucent patches showing mechanical-looking muscle and sinew. Fins lined her limbs, and tentacles trailed from her shoulders and hips, each one tipped with a metallic pincer. "Oh wow..." She raised and studied the tendrils, the new limbs moving just as easily as her arms and legs. She barely had to turn her head, her field of vision much wider, her eyesight so sharp she could see deep into the shadows of the trees. Running to a nearby pond, she crouched and stared at her reflection. Looking back was a being with only traces of herself, her form mostly that of the aquatic alien. "I'm..." Those six eyes blinked. She reached up, touching the smooth manta-like fin that had replaced her hair. "I'm an actual mermaid? Well, close to it anyway!" Through the whirl of bewildered thoughts, the word came to her. "A Thalassan." How had she even known that? She had no idea, but one thing was certain... this really wasn't so bad. Of course, if she could still blush, she would have done at the fact that she was naked, but at least scales covered everything. And while she was no conventional mermaid, a Thalassan seemed much cooler. Not that she'd want to be standing around where she could freak out passers-by. She hurried and hid under a shaded, leafy canopy. Insects fluttered and crawled in the corners of her expanded vision, in stark clarity despite the darkness. That was going to get distracting, but everything else had to make it worthwhile. "This is awesome!" She grinned at Saya, her ribs convulsing with joyous laughter. "We're real magical girls! Hey, let's see your magical form!"</s>

<|description|>Mana R. Septima "Airgetlam, switch on!" Age: 17 Title: Silver Flame Device: Airgetlam - An armed device taking the shape of a one-handed sword. Spells: Akashic Buster - Mana creates a magic circle and charges it with magical energy, then thrusts her sword through its center, releasing the energy and causing it to erupt in a powerful beam of energy. Mithral Wave - Mana charges her sword with magical energy and swings it, creating a shockwave of energy which races in the direction of her swing. Stardust Tears - Mana summons several spectral energy swords and fires them, either rapidly at a single target, or as an area-saturation attack. She can cause the energy blades to detonate for additional damage. Silverflame Blade - Mana channels magic into her sword, enhancing a strike with greater power and the ability to break through weaker magical barriers. Pinpoint Barrier - A defensive spell creating a shield in the form of a magic circle. Flight - Like many magical girls, Mana can fly pretty well. Telepathy - Another thing every mage can do. Mana can communicate telepathically with other mages. Personality: Protective of her friends, afraid of being alone, not a fan of the spotlight History: Mana is a mage hailing from the Balmar Empire. She's been part of the UGN for years, and made something of a name for herself. She's credited with taking down the EX-rank Bydo "Gravekeeper" during the Battle of Granzella. She lost several friends and was severely injured during the battle, and is now back in action. She is doing her best to live for the future, instead of dwelling on the past. Mana is a clone, as is often typical of Balmarian mages, just one of several in the "Septima" line. She doesn't usually bring it up, and hey, that sort of family is normal for her, but she does get upset if accused of being an artificial mage. As one might expect of someone designed for it, most of her life has been spent training to be a mage, and for combat. Fighting Style: Mana focuses on high-speed midair combat in close to mid range.</s> <|message|>Mana R. Septima Planet Shandoria Climate: Temperate A typical world with large oceans and continents supporting a variety of biomes. Shandoria's capitol, located on its northeastern continent, was experiencing another beautiful day. Although relatively close to the borders of human space, they haven't had any major incidents in some time. That was about to change. In the UGN base of operations, a space station located in low orbit, an alarm was blaring. "We're detecting a dimensional disturbance forming in the upper atmosphere," one of the technicians currently monitoring for such things relayed across the command deck. "It's got to be the Bydo, nothing else makes sense. From the size, it can't be a full-on invasion force." "What the hell are they doing here then? Did they get lost or something?" "That's really not for me to say, sir. It looks like there shouldn't be anything too big coming through, at least." "Well, who do we have planetside? Send an alert and start evacuating the area. Contact any UGN mages available and get them there ASAP." --- On the planet's surface, raid sirens that hadn't seen use in years began to wail to life. The sky darkened, clearly not from normal weather phenomena, as a crack scarred the heavens. The Bydo Incursion had begun. On a military base nearby, Mana had a call. "Hello? Mana speaking." "Good," the voice on the other end of the line was brusque, and one could hear some of he chatter going on in the room over the microphone. "The Bydo are here, we need every available soldier out there." "I noticed," Mana replied. "The old air raid sirens are pretty unmistakable. I'm ready, if you need me." "Thank you." A pause. "Are you sure you're up to it? If you need more time, I'm sure we can manage." Mana sighed theatrically. "Of course I'm good to go. I've had enough time to process things, and I'd rather be out there than hiding in a bunker anyway." "In that case, prepare for transport. We'll get you right there." Teleportation. Safe, convenient, and always a little disorienting when some station grabs you and throws you somewhere else. At least Mana was in uniform and had Airgetlam on her. Not that she wouldn't, unless for some reason she was caught in the shower or in bed by the enemy. There's a thought. She stood where she was in her room, to give the station's tech an easier time. They probably did just get a lock on her comms or device, but every little bit helps. It wasn't long before she was enveloped in the familiar cool light, and dropped on a city street. The young woman looked around. Things didn't look too bad, yet. Though, right up above, the pit the Bydo had crawled out of was just closing. Monsters were already swarming downward. It was time to go to work. "Arigetlam, switch on!" Mana shouted the activation key phrase for her device. Surrounded in silver light, the mage's clothing was replaced by the barrier jacket she wore, and her weapon likewise reformatted itself from its small, inactive form to that of a proper sword. "We need a barrier field," Mana said to her device. "Set it to link up with any others, but the more area we can cover, the better to minimize the collateral damage." "Yes sir," replied her device in its posh accented voice, "deploying temporal field." A hemispherical bubble of energy began to expand from where Mana was standing. Barriers like these were a mage's battleground, a magic circle that would keep anything inside slightly out of step with reality, protecting anyone who wasn't a mage themselves from the consequences of the fight. Mana sent out a general call via telepathy. <This is Mana Septima, preparing to engage. Anyone else out there?></s> <|message|>Tyra (pronounced "Tier-ah") Ares Tiera Ares wasn't exactly happy about her current assignment. Shandoria was a beautiful planet, and filled to the brim with different cultures and creatures, but working on the "hearts and minds" front of the UGN's fight against the Bydo Empire wasn't what she'd signed up for. And, given Raijin's behavior, her familiar wasn't thrilled that they weren't fighting. It was a trait bred into his species over hundreds of generations by the people of Austar, something that could be suppressed, but never eliminated. Raijin enjoyed a good scrap, and it had been too long since Tiera had gotten permission to let him run wild outside of simulations. That all changed when the sky darkened and the alarms began blaring. Tiera was in the park with Raijin. A couple of kids had insisted on getting a picture with her and the drake. She wasn't particularly well known as far as Mages went--a fact confirmed by a quick Gogol search--but the children had been so insistent. The children's expressions quickly shifted to one of worry as the sky darkened and cracked. Tiera knew what was about to come. She'd never seen it happen in person, but she'd seen enough footage of Bydo invasions in human space to know what was about to happen. "Get to the closest shelter!" she instructed. Tiera felt a change in the atmosphere. A sizable burst of magical energy. <This is Mana Septima, preparing to engage. Anyone else out there?> Tiera blinked. She still wasn't used to the usage of telepathy. Unlike with most Mages, it didn't come naturally to her. <<Tiera Ares, reporting,> she projected. It took some conscious effort, but she got the message sent. <I'm assisting civilians to a nearby shelter. Once they're safe I can assist.></s>

<|message|>Mana R. Septima <Got it.> Mana replied. I'm not the best with barriers, but I'll try to keep the Bydo off your back. Join up with me once you have those civilians safe.> She knew she'd be buying time, but that makes it a bit more pressing. Mana looked up at the Bydo streaming down, and it seemed that other mages had already moved to join the battle, as flashes of light were exchanged between flying opponents up above. Her grip on the hilt of her sword was hard, to stop her hand from shaking. Was she afraid of these small fry? Nonsense. Mana rocketed into the sky to meet the enemy. Most of the Bydo were some of the usual small mechanical craft. Small, mobile, and not very dangerous to any mage capable of paying attention, they were only a real danger in massed swarms, and even then wouldn't be much of a threat. Of course, the little guys usually were just a screen for something bigger. Hopefully, nothing bigger was going to drop down, or there could be real trouble. Mana met the first group she encountered head-on, cutting through several of them with a single wave of energy from her sword, before she had to flit out of the way of the ones trailing behind them. Big groups like these were never her strong suit, but did she feel up to a duel with something more dangerous? "Stardust tears," Mana shouted. "Full auto fire. Airgetlam, I'll leave the targeting to you." Blades of silver light formed around her, a few at a time, and launched themselves at nearby enemies as Mana focused on maneuvering around. As long as she could keep it up, that should put a dent into the enemy groups. At least enough to get their attention. Her real goal was to keep an eye out for anything falling right to the ground, because the last thing the city needed was some big ground-pounder running amok down there.</s>

<|description|>Vyandar Urthac Race: Dragonborn Age: 41 Envoy of: Anhur Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Class: Cleric Description: Stands at approximately 6'6". Is wide-shouldered and well-muscled. Scars line his body and his face, and one of his horns is chipped off, most likely as a result of battle. Skills: Veteran Combatant: Vyandar has skills and physique honed by a lifetime of battle. He is adept with all common martial weapons, and is in peak physical shape. Additionally, he has experience with a variety of battlefield tactics, and very little surprises him in a conventional fight anymore. Divine Magic: Being a priest of Anhur, Vyandar is blessed with the ability to cast a variety of divine spells. He specializes in enhancing the physical abilities of both himself and his allies, though he can also heal wounds and sap the strength of his foes if needed. Direct damage spells such as holy flames are also in Vyandar's repertoire, though he doesn't favor them, preferring to wade into melee with the effects of enhancement spells upon himself instead. Orator: As his mercenary company's sole clergyman, Vyandar was often called upon to deliver sermons and rites over the years, and became rather adept at public speaking as a result. After his ascension, Vyandar has taken to preaching in the street where he travels, seeking to exalt the necessity of conflict to all. He can also turn his gift of the gab towards other speaking pursuits such as debate or sophistry, but prefers to preach his patron god's dogma first and foremost. Flaws: Brute: Subtlety is not in this dragonborn's nature. At all. While Anhur's tenets state that pitched conflict is not the sole battlefield available to mortals, Vyandar still dislikes measures such as diplomacy and stealth when open battle is a viable option. Zealot: Having already been a man of faith before his exaltation, Vyandar is fanatically devoted to his patron deity. While he tolerates worshippers of other members of the Pantheon and even respects their priests, he is still liable to take any insults to Anhur or rejection of his dogma extremely poorly. In addition, his constant preaching and prayer can quickly grow tiresome to those who do not follow Anhur in every single aspect of their daily lives. Wrathful: Quick to lose his cool. Vyandar has a bad tendency to develop tunnel vision on those who anger him, causing him to focus on the object of his wrath above all else, especially in a fight. Background: Born in the frozen northern wastes of Malia, Vyandar of Clan Urthac found himself baptized in battle at a young age. At barely five years old, his village was raided by mercenaries paid off by a neighboring town that wanted the local fishing space completely uncontested. His family members were either slaughtered in the chaos or scattered to the winds, but Vyandar was abducted and taken in by the company after he showed an unusually spirited amount of resistance for a child, actually driving a knife into a sellsword's shin. The company chaplain, a cleric of Anhur, practically adopted Vyandar, seeing him as a worthy successor to the priesthood. Throughout his adolescence, Vyandar was immersed in both priestly and martial training. Though as an acolyte of Anhur, the two were practically the same at times. While at first, he resented his abductors and sought only to make them hurt during training, Vyandar eventually came around to his teacher's line of thinking that what happened to his village and his family was regrettable, but only natural. The coast around his birthplace couldn't support the needs of two towns, and so conflict was inevitable. If anything, it had been his own village's fault for not trying to be rid of their competition first. Vyandar eventually came of age to be both a full-fledged member of the mercenary company that took him in, as well as a cleric of Anhur, ordained in battle. He served for a decade in combat and as the company's secondary chaplain until his adoptive father and teacher fell in battle, causing Vyandar to take his place in full. The company took contracts both in Malia and in foreign lands where Malian mercenaries were in high demand, and Vyandar even served a tour of duty for the Twin Kingdoms against the Nuniel Empire at one point. However, it was on a job back in Malia where Vyandar fell, and subsequently ascended. The assignment was eerily similar to the one that had shaped his course in life decades ago: raid a village that was competing with their employers for hunting grounds in the nearby forest, and teach them a lesson. But it didn't pan out like it had thirty-six years ago: the target village had hired their own mercenaries to do the exact same thing, and both companies met in the middle. Having no knowledge of each other, both sides were caught off-guard, and the situation devolved into utter chaos as the two mercenary companies rushed each other in a disorganized, unplanned charge. The carnage was immense. By the time Vyandar succumbed to his numerous wounds, several arrows piercing his armor, the last thing he noticed was that both companies had wiped each other out nearly to a man. Despite being on the verge of death, he smiled. He would die honoring Anhur. What he didn't know, however, was that through his last hour of life, he had been chosen. When next he woke, the being that understood its host body's name to be Vyandar Urthac found his wounds miraculously healed, though the damage to his armor remained. Moreover, he had a mission to fulfill. Vyandar rose, callously brushing off the corpses of men he'd trained, fought beside, and feasted with for years, working out how long it would take to reach the nearest port that would sail him to the Twin Kingdoms. Gear: Holy Symbol: An iron catalyst crafted in the shape of Anhur's mark. Worn around Vyandar's neck beneath his armor at all times, and serves as his casting focus for divine magic. Full Plate: A suit of steel platemail, worn and dinged by decades of battle. Engraved across several parts of the armor are Anhur's mark, to represent devotion. Sword and Shield: A large, dragonborn-sized steel longsword with an accompanying kite shield to match. ???????? Misc. Voice claim: Steve Blum</s> <|message|>REAN WESTFALL Time passed as all things did and soon the group would have to come to a consensus and a decision. They seemed in agreement on their course of action overall, choosing to split up and cover more ground that way. Then there was that little snippet of conversation near the bar. Rean perked from those gathered words, noting how interesting that probably sounded. Imperial involvement? Surely there had to be something more to it than just that? But that ultimately wasn't her concern and she figured if it was important, someone else could pick up on it. Someone who was, preferably, exploring out of the city and into that matter of disappeared soldiers. "Alright gang, as fun as it's been for one big happy reunion, we really should get to work. I'm more than happy to stick around the city and look for information, especially around that huge library I spied on the way in. I wouldn't be much use adventuring anyway," Rean told the other Envoys. Lurched from her seat, she gave a healthy stretch before striding towards the tavern door. "Say, think we should use this place as our meetup? Would make sense since we all know where it is, hmm….food for thought~" She departed with a wave. It was far past evening by the time she exited and with it came the human, aching reminder that she still needed some form of rest. Envoy or not, there was little use continuing if her body turned vessel collapsed. Spotting a place to do just that, she'd rest for the remainder of the night and head for her destination the following day. She had little worry about being separated from her fellow Envoys; even apart, they were together in sense and purpose. At least, she liked to believe that. Off she went towards her library, said to be one of the largest in all of Coris. A scholar by heart and book handler by profession, it only made sense the Envoy would figure that was to be the best start in finding any clue. And, of course, she couldn't help but compare just how Coris stacked up to her family's own librarians and stores. The thought was giddy in her head even as she passed by the many temples erected in worship of the gods. Rean noticed several in display but, tellingly, none for the less favorable gods. Like herself. "Since when did I become such a bad guy?" she chuckled, finding little to no reference to Reemis in the public worship. Oh well. Soon, soon, soon enough there was time to spread the name of true Vengeance to the good people of the mortal realm. But for now…ah yes, the library. She'd heard the building was owned by a Lord Dunham, one so very protective of his scrolls and knowledge. Indeed, even as she spotted the library's entrance, she found it guarded from the outside by men in official-looking clothing. "What exactly is the point of having such a big place in daylight if no one can approach it?" she muttered with a sigh, real annoyance flicking over her features for once. She needed another way around. Or a plan to just break in. Rean spotted a water fountain nearby among the outcrop of buildings, deigning to sit on the edge of it and ponder in thought. She couldn't just brute force her way and cause a scene like Vyandar could she? No no, that was a fool's mistake. Maybe she could swiftalk the guards? Maybe. In hindsight, she realized the real mistake was leaving the group first without checking if anyone wanted to follow. Oh, the irony. "Ahaah, some teamwork we have…." ---</s> <|message|>Orial Librin As the activities and drink flowed through the tavern, Liora would slowly find herself growing more and more bored. A subtle agitation, a sense of desiring of movement. A desire to get off her ass and do something other than entertain herself with food and drink. No matter how pleasurable and lovely such things were, variety made for the best shows...and this show, was slowly starting to get stale. Even her fellow Envoys could only entertain her for so long. Thus, when Rean vocalized a desire to leave and split off, Liora was not far behind. "I think I'll take Rean's cue and leave." Liora would stand, sliding the coat she was holding onto over her shoulders. "As fun as that mission sounds, I think my talents are best suited for looking around the city." She'd pop a piece of hard candy into her mouth as she'd thusly make her way out of the tavern leaving the rest of the group with a playful wave and a grin as she'd step back out into the midday air of the city. She wasn't quite sure where she herself was heading, but eventually her steps would lead her to seemingly follow right along behind Rean who had elected to sit on a fountain not far away from the library. Quietly, Liora would slide herself right next to Rean, throwing an arm around her shoulder and snuggling up to her. "Why the long face? Miss me that much already?" She'd take a bite out of a rather juicy looking apple she had...pilfered on the way over here. "Or you thinking about something fun?"</s>

<|message|>Vyandar Urthac Damn it all, why had he agreed to be out here again? Vyandar grumbled in displeasure as he trudged along the riverbank, his eyes peeled for any sign of the unusual. The question was rhetorical, but the sheer tedium of the investigation was still getting to him. He'd thought that overhearing the guards the previous night meant that there would be imperial soldiers out and about in the farmlands, but so far, there'd been nothing. The dragonborn let a small wisp of flame loose from his lips in irritation as mud continued to splash over his greaves. It would have been one thing if he'd had a mount like his fellow Envoys on this case did, but he'd never been much of a rider in the first place. He'd spent too much time in his youth learning both clerical magics and martial combat as it was. Adding riding and cavalry training to the mix wouldn't have been feasible. Plus, not many mounts could hold a large dragonborn with full harness in the first place. In any case, hopefully either Kyra or Aurelian was having better luck in the search. Vyandar continued to slog along the riverbank upstream, resisting the urge to waste magical power on casting a sending spell just to check in with either of the other two.</s>

<|description|>official portrait of Princess Lutatia Eichenwald von Brudelor, Kyra Pfalz-Karstadt, Envoy of Agamemnon. Falconknight | Hybrid Lawful Neutral, Aasimar, 25. --- Skills Flaws Class Gear Background ?????</s> <|message|>Vyandar Urthac Vyandar Urthac It seemed his concerns were unfounded. From the moment the first aasimar walked into the tavern, Vyandar instinctively knew she was a fellow Envoy. Then the obvious devotee to Sol in the fancy armor. Another aasimar. Two more humans. His fellow creations of the gods certainly weren't very imaginative in choosing their hosts by race, were they? Not even an elf or even half of one among them. And it seemed a few had heard his little sermon in the city center. It was wasted on them, of course. Converting a fellow Envoy to the sole worship of another god was unthinkable, if not impossible. Agamemnon, Sol, Qhalus, Reemis, and Astarte. What an...eclectic bunch of choices. "It's good to be appreciated, though I was hoping for converts." The dragonborn grunted back to the apparent Envoy of Agamemnon, examining her for a moment. "Hm. You're clearly not the Empress of Brudel. Odd. If your patron would have had anyone represent him, I'd figured it would have been her." He said quietly before taking a swig of ale. No sense in sounding like a lunatic by saying that they were all envoys of the gods as loudly as he could. Vyandar continued to eat and drink as he examined his fellow Envoys. Of course, first impressions mattered little in the long run, especially considering he'd yet to see how they fared in battle. But at a first glance...well, at the very least, the one known as Orial damn well couldn't be trusted with the party's funds, if she squandered her own so readily on a pint for the house. Especially considering she was Qhalus's Envoy. The innkeeper's interruption brought some thought to Vyandar's mind. He wanted to reject the offer outright, if only because it wasn't a guaranteed battle on top of the fact that missing militiamen had little to do with Sol or the Ancients. But...they'd been called to this tavern specifically for a reason. Was this seemingly trite job divine intervention, perhaps? But why? A chance to speak to this city's marshal? Was that it? The cleric waited for the innkeeper to leave their earshot before speaking, finishing one last bite of his meal. "Vyandar Urthac. Was already a cleric of Anhur before all this began. He grunted, introducing himself. "In any case, it's likely not coincidence that we were called here specifically. Unless Sol's champion understands more of our orders than the rest of us do, I'm to believe that this is divine providence. Either we find something to help us along this path, or the reward of speaking to that lord leads us somewhere." Vyandar rasped his two coppers, jerking a finger in Aurelian's direction. "In any case, outside of taking that job, I've no other ideas at the moment. Unless we all care to raid the Empire." He stated, entirely serious. "Look at our domains. Empires, the Sun, Debauchery, Vengeance, and both representatives of War. Evidently, our patrons had something especially violent for us in mind."</s> <|message|>Sir Aurelian Asellius, The Last Knight of Nuniel Sir Aurelian Asellius "I am Sir Aurelian Asellius, paladin and servant of Sol," Aurelian replied to the boisterous aasimar, removing his helmet. "We appreciate your generosity, Oriel." Her deed of buying everyone a around was definitely in line with her patron god Qhalus, Aurelian thought. While Aurelian followed a path that was very different and in most cases quite mutually exclusive with the ways of the god of hedonism, it did not mean that he had to reject their generosity when offered. If anything, it'd be a discourteous insult unfitting of a knight to refuse it. The next envoy to show up was the envoy of Reemis, taking the form of a human woman wearing fine red clothing. She appeared to be a mage or a scholar, carrying a sword and book with her. She certainly didn't appear as Aurelian would've imagined the god of vengeance, even if the striking red colors of her clothes and eyes seemed fitting for Reemis. Other than what he observed, Aurelian know nothing about her, and she had not yet revealed her name. The sixth envoy was the final one- Aurelian could feel no others pulling at him beyond these five. It was a human man in leather armor with a rapier and magiarm pistol. Was he perhaps from Nuniel like Aurelian? Or was he someone from the Twin Kingdoms who managed to obtain a magiarm pistol through trade or on the battlefield? The fact that the man was the envoy of the war goddess Astarte strongly suggested that he was a veteran of the war. Aurelian couldn't help but be curious as to what the young man's story was, what he did in that slow, brutal meat grinder of a conflict to be chosen as Astarte's envoy. It was around this time that the tavern keeper, having taken note of the many curious guests in his establishment, had approached them with the suggestion to do some hired work. What particularly caught his attention was the dwarf's plea that the small folk needed some hired help, suggesting that the jobs were noble, worthwhile causes. When the knight took a closer look at the board, it was clear what sort of help the people needed- guard duty, investigating disappearance, and so on. If he had all the time in the world, there were a few that Aurelian would gladly do. However, there was one that stood out the most. It was not a job from a lowly farmer, it was a decree from the Marshal of Coris himself, seeking help to find a patrol that had gone missing along the Trifork River. Aurelian wasn't too surprised that the Marshal had posted such a simple request- even when the knight served Nuniel, he had heard of how Lord Dunham was a good and honorable man. Assuming the other envoys were on board, this could be both easy money and a good way to endear themselves to Coris, which could greatly help their mission in the long run. Once the innkeeper was gone, the dragonborn spoke up, voicing his belief that it was no coincidence that they were brought here, that the gods had perhaps guided them to this exact job posting. Aurelian felt the same way, but there was another matter that had caught his attention. That chipped horn...that armor....I've seen him before. Now that he had a good look at the envoy of Anhur's face and armor, Aurelian recognized him as a foe whom he had fought to a standstill during the war. During one battle, he had found himself in combat with a formidable dragonborn cleric of Anhur, a scarred dragon-man with a distinctive broken horn, serving with a mercenary company. Aside from the battle where he had actually gotten killed, it had probably been the toughest fight of the knight's life. The dragonborn, enhanced by his magic and clearly very experienced in the art of swordplay, proved to be a far more formidable melee combatant than the paladin had anticipated of a cleric. In hindsight, it was fortunate that neither managed to kill the other in the battle, because it'd have made this reunion far more awkward. "I'm afraid I was given no further information on our...directives than any of you," Aurelian replied, surmising that based on the dragonborn's words singling him out, the other envoys had been given the same vague instructions to find Sol. "But I agree with him, there has to be a reason why we were called to this specific location, and this may very well be the reason why. And whatever that reason may be, I do know that having the gratitude and favor of the Marshal would be very valuable." "What do the rest of you think of this proposed course of action?" he asked, turning to each of the other four envoys.</s> <|message|>Orial Librin Liora --- "No need to be so stiff, Aurelian." She replied with a laugh. "We're all friends here, aren't we? Might as well let loose a little." Or perhaps rather, if she was going to be doing something she found incredibly grating and unfun, she was going to make her own fun with it. The rest of the Envoy's certainly didn't seem like they'd be easy to have a good time with anyways. Paladin? Pfft, he'd probably try and make her become a nun or something. The dragonborn seemed just as fun in all honesty. Shame. "No worries friend. Pull up a chair. Don't worry, I only bite if you ask." She'd say towards Arthur, the last apparent Envoy to arrive back in her seat, propping her own boots up on the table as she'd take a long swig of a drink. He didn't seem particularly entertaining in the bedroom...but perhaps she could get some fun martial practice with all of them? Hm, she didn't really care for such things but there was always that annoying nagging feeling in the back of her head...at least that Envoy of Reemis seemed like they might provide a bit of entertainment for her. "And if you want more of a spectacle, I could definitely give you one if I get drunk enough." She flashed a smile to Rean. It was about this time the Tavern owner approached. It was a good thing she had distracted everyone with some drink. By the time all of them showed up the atmosphere had already started to turn a bit sour. Needing work, huh? Well, not her favorite sort of work. She could think of much better ways to get some morale up, if that's what they were worried about. Leave all the complicated stuff to other more qualified people. Though, she supposed she was one of the other, more qualified people. Tsk, maybe she could find someone that could entertain her... "If our purpose is to kill me with boredom, then sure." Liora said with a sigh. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise you know. I'm much more suited towards you know, affairs of the bedroom and parties despite what Vyandar here seems to expect." She'd pull her feet off the table, leaning towards the others instead now as she'd rest her arms on its surface. "...unless the culprit is someone I can out-drink, heh. Might not be too terrible then." Getting on the Marshall's goodside was a good thing to have too...being able to pull some strings in case she got carried away would definitely help her...and them. The rest of them, too. "I'm fine with it. When do we wanna head out? I might need to restock on the good stuff before we go..."</s>

<|message|>official portrait of Princess Kyra Pfalz-Karstadt,most definitely not Lutatia Eichenwald von Brudel --- A dark expression momentarily flashed across the envoy of Agamemnon's face before she affected a strained smile. She would not admit how close the envoy of Anhur had been in his guess. "Obviously not. Otherwise, would be meeting at the Empress's court in Brudel." Shrugging, she took a deep sip of her beer, but not uncouth enough to do so in an unrefined manner. Her attention soon turned as she felt the other envoys trickle into the establishment, not that she needed her newfound envoy sense to detect most of them. It seemed the gods had been discerning, for each of the other envoys were remarkable in their own ways, the manner of dress being the more obvious. In fact, the envoy of Qhalus arrived in such an ostentatious manner that Lutatia wasn't even sure why she had ever bothered to stay lowkey with her attire and choice of food. She decided to ignore the paltry lump of bread in front of her in favor of the banquet the hedonistic girl had ordered up. She'd never turn down a free meal, although she decided that she would be having words with the girl over their future finances and spending habits. Still nursing her smallbeer, she glanced up as a red-robed scholar approached. "Ha," Lutatia barked out a small laugh at her greeting. "Kyra. I'm a local here," she said simply, by way of introduction, pitching her voice loud enough so that the other envoys at the nearby table could hear. "I think you'll find that I subscribe to the more elegant intent of noblisse oblige than silly spectacle, even if I can appreciate one from time to time." She offered a hand out in greeting. "Besides, He can also represent the restraint of the crown and the tedious realities of administration." She couldn't help but to give her a searching glance at her last statement. Anhur was right, why were people booing him? Lutatia acknowledged the innkeeper's arrival with a nod, mulling over the information. Along with Aurelian, she had taken the time to slip over to briefly examine the board. Frankly, the job was beneath them, even if it had come from high places and from a good man. She'd never met Lord Dunham, never had a reason to, but she knew he had his heart in the right place and was alright in her books. The high reward struck her as strange, though, and she had to wonder if there was more to it than a simple patrol lost in the wilderness. As the conversation turned back towards the mission and the urge that compelled them all to meet in this city, she couldn't help but to comment. "It could be," she ventured cheekily, "That my patron prefers the others travel to him?" She then shook her head. "No, the obvious answer is that our lead is here, but I'm not so sure that a search-and-rescue mission is it," she replied, inclining her head in agreement towards Liora. Granted, she was a Pegasus knight, so she was uniquely suited for running this sort of mission. But as the envoy of Qhalus had so kindly noted, it would probably kill her with boredom, even if it was easy money. "I'm not against taking the job. In fact, I'm a Pegasus flier, I can do it by my lonesome while the rest of you look into other avenues of investigation. We're in the merchant capital of the world, after all," she continued, spreading her arms out in gesture. "If we're to find rumors of prophecy, here is the place to find it."</s>

<|description|>official portrait of Princess Lutatia Eichenwald von Brudelor, Kyra Pfalz-Karstadt, Envoy of Agamemnon. Falconknight | Hybrid Lawful Neutral, Aasimar, 25. --- Skills Flaws Class Gear Background ?????</s> <|message|>REAN WESTFALL Time passed as all things did and soon the group would have to come to a consensus and a decision. They seemed in agreement on their course of action overall, choosing to split up and cover more ground that way. Then there was that little snippet of conversation near the bar. Rean perked from those gathered words, noting how interesting that probably sounded. Imperial involvement? Surely there had to be something more to it than just that? But that ultimately wasn't her concern and she figured if it was important, someone else could pick up on it. Someone who was, preferably, exploring out of the city and into that matter of disappeared soldiers. "Alright gang, as fun as it's been for one big happy reunion, we really should get to work. I'm more than happy to stick around the city and look for information, especially around that huge library I spied on the way in. I wouldn't be much use adventuring anyway," Rean told the other Envoys. Lurched from her seat, she gave a healthy stretch before striding towards the tavern door. "Say, think we should use this place as our meetup? Would make sense since we all know where it is, hmm….food for thought~" She departed with a wave. It was far past evening by the time she exited and with it came the human, aching reminder that she still needed some form of rest. Envoy or not, there was little use continuing if her body turned vessel collapsed. Spotting a place to do just that, she'd rest for the remainder of the night and head for her destination the following day. She had little worry about being separated from her fellow Envoys; even apart, they were together in sense and purpose. At least, she liked to believe that. Off she went towards her library, said to be one of the largest in all of Coris. A scholar by heart and book handler by profession, it only made sense the Envoy would figure that was to be the best start in finding any clue. And, of course, she couldn't help but compare just how Coris stacked up to her family's own librarians and stores. The thought was giddy in her head even as she passed by the many temples erected in worship of the gods. Rean noticed several in display but, tellingly, none for the less favorable gods. Like herself. "Since when did I become such a bad guy?" she chuckled, finding little to no reference to Reemis in the public worship. Oh well. Soon, soon, soon enough there was time to spread the name of true Vengeance to the good people of the mortal realm. But for now…ah yes, the library. She'd heard the building was owned by a Lord Dunham, one so very protective of his scrolls and knowledge. Indeed, even as she spotted the library's entrance, she found it guarded from the outside by men in official-looking clothing. "What exactly is the point of having such a big place in daylight if no one can approach it?" she muttered with a sigh, real annoyance flicking over her features for once. She needed another way around. Or a plan to just break in. Rean spotted a water fountain nearby among the outcrop of buildings, deigning to sit on the edge of it and ponder in thought. She couldn't just brute force her way and cause a scene like Vyandar could she? No no, that was a fool's mistake. Maybe she could swiftalk the guards? Maybe. In hindsight, she realized the real mistake was leaving the group first without checking if anyone wanted to follow. Oh, the irony. "Ahaah, some teamwork we have…." ---</s> <|message|>Orial Librin As the activities and drink flowed through the tavern, Liora would slowly find herself growing more and more bored. A subtle agitation, a sense of desiring of movement. A desire to get off her ass and do something other than entertain herself with food and drink. No matter how pleasurable and lovely such things were, variety made for the best shows...and this show, was slowly starting to get stale. Even her fellow Envoys could only entertain her for so long. Thus, when Rean vocalized a desire to leave and split off, Liora was not far behind. "I think I'll take Rean's cue and leave." Liora would stand, sliding the coat she was holding onto over her shoulders. "As fun as that mission sounds, I think my talents are best suited for looking around the city." She'd pop a piece of hard candy into her mouth as she'd thusly make her way out of the tavern leaving the rest of the group with a playful wave and a grin as she'd step back out into the midday air of the city. She wasn't quite sure where she herself was heading, but eventually her steps would lead her to seemingly follow right along behind Rean who had elected to sit on a fountain not far away from the library. Quietly, Liora would slide herself right next to Rean, throwing an arm around her shoulder and snuggling up to her. "Why the long face? Miss me that much already?" She'd take a bite out of a rather juicy looking apple she had...pilfered on the way over here. "Or you thinking about something fun?"</s> <|message|>Vyandar Urthac Vyandar Urthac Damn it all, why had he agreed to be out here again? Vyandar grumbled in displeasure as he trudged along the riverbank, his eyes peeled for any sign of the unusual. The question was rhetorical, but the sheer tedium of the investigation was still getting to him. He'd thought that overhearing the guards the previous night meant that there would be imperial soldiers out and about in the farmlands, but so far, there'd been nothing. The dragonborn let a small wisp of flame loose from his lips in irritation as mud continued to splash over his greaves. It would have been one thing if he'd had a mount like his fellow Envoys on this case did, but he'd never been much of a rider in the first place. He'd spent too much time in his youth learning both clerical magics and martial combat as it was. Adding riding and cavalry training to the mix wouldn't have been feasible. Plus, not many mounts could hold a large dragonborn with full harness in the first place. In any case, hopefully either Kyra or Aurelian was having better luck in the search. Vyandar continued to slog along the riverbank upstream, resisting the urge to waste magical power on casting a sending spell just to check in with either of the other two.</s> <|message|>Arthur Lupin Arthur Lupin --- As Arthur and his fellow Envoys discussed their plans, he noticed the group of soldiers enter the tavern. Upon instinct, he tensed and grazed his fingers across his rapier but relaxed as they seemed to be off duty. Even though he was no longer a soldier, he had spent a great deal of time avoiding contact with the Twin Kingdoms' forces out of fear of being mistaken for a spy for the Empire. He shuddered at the memories of those long cold nights before brushing them off and watching the off-duty soldiers sit at the counter to order their drinks. Tapping on the table and drowning out the others around him, Arthur listened to their conversation, frowning in thought as they mentioned apparent disappearances out in the farmlands. A slight smirk of amusement came to his face as he heard them talking about metal monsters from the Empire. In a sense, those things were pretty monstrous in the field, but they were nothing more than Nuniel's newest toys to throw at their enemies. Arthur was soon removed from the guard's conversation as Rean and Liora excused themselves to begin their investigations. A small sigh escaped him as he watched them leave, figuring it was best to get started, even though he wanted to rest a bit longer. "Might as well follow suit and take a look around the city," Arthur muttered before forcing himself from his seat with a groan. "Good luck to the rest of you," he said with a firm nod to the remaining party members before taking his leave from the table and exiting the tavern. A long breath left the tired Envoy and looked around the docks, his hand resting atop his rapier as he pondered where to start investigating. Soon his eyes fell upon the city's temple peeking over the buildings surrounding it, and he gripped his weapon tighter. But, of course, they were sent here by their masters, so perhaps there was something to be found on holy ground. Deciding to visit his Goddess and seek her aid, Arthur began to make his way to the temple. Walking in silence through the streets of the capital, he did his best to ignore the weight growing heavier on his shoulders, a frown coming to his face as his tired eyes kept a wary gaze on his surroundings. Even here in the city, he couldn't help but feel on edge, waiting for the slightest shadow he passed to lunge out at him. Luckily he arrived at the temple with no issues and stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the smaller temples erected for worship. A slight chill ran up his spine as he began to climb the stairs, the already heavy weight on his shoulders growing even greater until he finally reached the top. His eyes widened with slight awe as he saw the statues of different gods. It took him a few minutes to remember why he was here, and he continued. It took him little time to find the temple of Astarte and came to a stop before the statue. A heavy breath escaped him before he fell to his knees and bowed his head before his goddess. For a moment, a strange feeling filled his chest, a sense he couldn't figure out, and he decided to shake it off once it started making him uneasy. "My Goddess, I have arrived at my destination and found my kin like you had instructed. Together we will carry out the God's will and claim victory," he swore in a calm voice before bowing his head lower and planting his hands on the stone below her altar. "Your loyal servant begs of you, Astarte, where must we go to find our next task? What evils must we face?" he pleads under his breath as he keeps his head low before Astarte. Arthur was unsure if praying to his Goddess for help would work, but it was better to try than not.</s>

<|message|>official portrait of Princess Kyra Pfalz-Karstadt,most definitely not Lutatia Eichenwald von Brudel --- Lutatia yawned, giving an affectionate pat on Lede's mane. Soaring through the air at an altitude of several thousand feet, the Pegasus rider nursed a strapped bottle of hot tea, enjoying the warmth of the dawn light. She silently thanked her past self for having drank in moderation last night; otherwise, it would be far too early in the morning to be both flying and nursing a hangover headache. Last night, in between rounds, they had all agreed to split up to tackle the tasks the group had decided upon. Half of the newly formed team of envoys would remain in the city to check for leads, while the other half was to take the rescue mission. While part of it could end up as a lead, what with the strange happenings around the Kingdoms lately, part of it also was the opportunity to get a proper audience with the lord of Goldshore, or to get an easy crack at his library. It was frustrating how protective that man was of his books. As a landed citizen of Coris of good reputation, she had paid out the nose in the past for access to his library, and that was for a temporary pass. It offended her Brudelian sensibilities to be nickel-and-dimed so, but as good as the man was, he was still a lord in a merchant kingdom, she supposed. It wasn't like she would ruin a decade's work and use her royal upbringing as an in, anyway. That was why she was out today, together with Aurelian and Vyandar, to do their good deed for the day. Lutatia had been sorely tempted to show the other envoys the city as their resident guide, but there was a time and place. So, after getting a good night's rest at home, she rose early in the morning to prep Lede for flight before meeting the two armored men at the city gates. As expected, it was dull, mind-numbing work. She couldn't even do something more engaging, like fancy aerial maneuvers that she enjoyed during training and practice, because at its core, the mission was search-and-rescue. Lutatia was able to do the bare minimum to mix things up, at least. Instead of flying the parallel track search that Brudelian Pegasus knights favored, she flew her search in the expanding square pattern that airships from Nuniel had been observed to use. If anything, it was more engaging. She wasn't sure how well-versed sir Aurelian was with his former country's air forces, but he would probably be familiar with the patterns she was making in the sky if he was interested enough to pay attention to her. It perhaps was slightly less optimal considering they were following a river, but… small things. As it was right now, things were still pretty boring. East and North-east of Coris, along the Trifork river—that was a landscape that Lutatia was intimately familiar with. As far as she could see, it was simple river traffic, the boats and ships like little ants from the sky, with the farms and their fields of green stretching out into the greater horizon, broken only by the occasional groupings of trees. If there was a lost or indisposed patrol out there, she wasn't seeing it.</s>

<|description|>REAN WESTFALL Envoy of Reemis | Scholar | 26 | Human | Neutral Good SKILLS: • Unspoken Scripture: First and foremost, above all else, Rean is a scholar. Although she dabbles in the arcane and has even picked up the blade to better defend herself, her true passions and skills lie in the texts. Years of experience have made her adept in transcribing, translating, and overall making clear what is unknown from common knowledge. She has a unique specialty for language, though how much of this is of her own making and not boons from the gods remains to be seen. • Arcane Nature: Despite her inherent nature for the finer things in life, Rean's life has taken her down the arcane path. All of this can be traced back to her initial interest in the Devulga and through it she's able to channel a number of fascinating spells to her quarry. Although she is no fighter, she's adept in magic enough to get by and keep herself alive when her scholarly antics lead her to less than savory explorations. Because all of her spells are channeled through the Devulga, they manifest as a deep crimson coloration befitting of the scholar's preferred fashion choice. It's very coincidental. • Culinary Arts: The pitfalls of any scientist, tutor, or really individual of the learning craft are universal. It is not uncommon for those devoted to their work to neglect their own mental state and health for the pursuit of their studies. Thankfully, Rean has enough foresight to at least keep herself fed. As such she's become quite the remarkable chef by upbringing and her own curiosities in what meals were efficient. Despite the near-callous nature of her meal preparation, she's actually had little complaint when her dishes are tried by others. Had she any more foresight she might consider a secondary career in the culinary arts. GEAR: • Devulga: A magical tome bound in "wine-soaked leather", the Devulga is a family keepsake for the Westfalls. Rean herself doesn't quite understand its origins or its secrets, but it remains both a journal of recording for her studies and as a magical conduit for her spells. The tome itself sometimes acts as if it holds a mind of its own, though Rean holds theories for this explanation. The most prominent speculation is the tome acts as a possible link for Reemis to contact her through the physical world. Whatever the case, the Devulga is Rean's most faithful companion with a variety of spells of which include summoning crimson bursts of fire and energy, conjuring red winds, creating blood-soaked spectral "limbs", and finally a darker breed of magic whose contents are whispered only in hushed tones. • Steel Sword: Very aware of the dangers of a changing world, it wasn't unreasonable for Rean to pick up the art of combat. Thus, she carries with her a prim steel sword for those rare occasions when words have no effect and magic cannot simply erode away the obstacle in front of her. • Crimson Coat: A red coat gifted by her family. Rean is seldom seen without it as it is her usual choice of travel attire over her outfit. The coat is properly taken care of whenever Rean gets the chance with little crease or wear to show for it. It's a rather reliable and robust piece of companionship, able to power its owner through the most incremental of weather. FLAWS: • Curiosity Kills: Strictly speaking, Rean is no fighter. When faced with anything requiring physical needs she'll often deviate the work to others much more capable. Indeed, she only learned basic swordsmanship as a necessary survival tool. Although she specializes in magic more than other forms of combat, all of her spells are mitigated and channeled through the Devulga. Should a dangerous situation present itself to her, you'll find Rean the first to flee or at the very least, let someone else handle the problem. • Misplaced Devotion: Sadly, even Rean may fall to the seduction of her own work. Like any alchemist on the break of a new miracle or a magician grafting a new spell, Rean is also prone to losing herself devotedly in her studies. More prominently, if she has her mind on a goal or something to achieve, she will toss away whatever else she's doing in the pursuit of that new boon. The results often lead to messy outbreaks in her wake as well as quite a few people more than annoyed with her, from their perspective, unapologetic ways. Being a successful people person is often a fifty-fifty shot with her. • Double Nature: Rean is, for the most part, a law abiding citizen. While she can be ignorant of other's feelings or even headstrong into her own goals, she's often more eccentric than outright malicious. However, there are times where her curiosity and interest in whatever she's studying briefly override her morals. It's so much more interesting, so much more efficient to take certain paths that may be frowned upon by others. But what is the sake of the individual to the greater good? Sometimes, sometimes Rean may cross a line to gain her answers. How much of this is of her own choosing or of a result by Reemis remains to be seen like many things about her. BIOGRAPHY: • For as long as anyone could remember, the Westfalls have always been a respectable family who pooled their life's works and resources into the many libraries they hold monopoly over. Thriving within the Nuniel Empire, the Westfalls were acknowledged in no short part due to their wealth of information. The majority of libraries that dotted the empire, of course, listed their name as owner and benefactor. Despite being looked down upon by the military culture of Nuniel elites and higher-ranked families, the Westfalls remained a popular household name for the poor and others deemed as such. Thus, Rean-if she could even be called that-was surrounded by family books and scriptures for as far back as she could remember along with the numerous other texts the Westfalls coveted and collected. She didn't know when it happened, when the Envoy of Reemis, God of Vengeance, melded into her flesh and became one with her being. And yet, it must have been extremely early in her life, of this much she reasons. There was always something off about her, even among the rest of her family. Whereas the Westfalls were a mostly private bunch, sticking to their texts and dusty libraries, Rean always sought more, to explore more, to seek out more. It wasn't very long before such ambitions grew out of hand and she felt compelled to leave the empire's territory for her own purpose. Of course, such purpose was by the hand of Reemis, of the Envoy that puppeted her flesh. The desire to find this prophecy, to contain it, to learn more about it fueled her harder than any other passion in her life. Driven by her own curiosities and compelled by this prophecy, Rean eventually found herself in Latis. Oh, she was curious indeed to meet her fellow Envoys, to discover what the gods truly had in store for her. Curious indeed…or perhaps it was some desire of selfishness and respite just as the god who claimed a piece of her denoted. Whatever the case, she was sure it'd no doubt at least be amusing. Still, she wonders, why would the God of Vengeance ever find any interest in her… ???: Secrets of a time yet to come.</s> <|message|>Vyandar Urthac Vyandar Urthac Vyandar's focus sharpened as he finally came across something. A small camp in the middle of the forest. A tarp and a stick forming a lean-to, a fire pit, and...ah. A corpse. There was something, at long last. The dragonborn knelt down next to the body and began to inspect it. For one, it was wearing a Nuniel uniform. That explained some things. Cause of death...well, likely a wild beast, given that the corpse had clear bite marks and was nearly torn in two. Vyandar frowned. Some more investigative work around the campsite might yield one lead or another, but the chance was slight. Of course, as a wielder of divine magics, there was another option... The cleric reached into his armor and yanked his holy symbol out, holding it over the corpse as he began to channel magic through it. "In the name of Anhur, let your spirit return to this broken body. Provide answers to my questions, soldier." Vyandar chanted, casting a spell to allow him to temporarily converse with the dead. It wasn't perfect, of course. He had five questions, at most, and the corpse's spirit was under no compulsion to tell him the truth. But it was a more viable option than fruitlessly searching around the camp. As the spell took hold, Vyandar looked the corpse in the eyes before beginning to speak. "Answer these questions, in order: what killed you? What were you doing this far into Coris's territory? Did you encounter a patrol of Corissian militamen?"</s> <|message|>Orial Librin Liora --- "Hmm, well I don't have another one, but..." Liora would offer the apple she had already bitten to Rean, pressing the fruit to the other girls lips. "I don't mind sharing a bite or two with you." She'd glance over to the library. Her past life as a pirate and noble only gave so much information on those sorts of things. Often, it was brute force she used to really break and enter into places. Finesse wasn't really her forte, after all...and well, she was definitely certain as it stood out in broad daylight there was probably no chance of her getting inside with such a method. "Library, huh? Can't say they're the most fun of places...except, maybe, when looking for maps or sea charts that might have clues to more hidden places." She'd idly comment, holding a hand to her chin. Heavily defended. She doubted she had enough coin in the world to bribe someone, too. Thus, the only thing left that seemed to make sense in terms of getting at least one of them in. Was causing a scene. Or causing a 'scene'. "Hmm...lets see, alright. The only visible way in seems to only be trying to scale the walls from a nearby building." While she was pretty confident in her physical ability, she wasn't particularly agile. "Let me go distract the guards, hm? You try and sneak in if you want in that badly, yeah?" Standing up from her seat and giving Rean a pat on the head as she'd leave. What could go wrong? Well, hopefully everything. Where was life without some excitement? "Heeeey~!" She'd strut up to the guards with a confident demeanor a usual friendly, charming smile plastered on her lips. "Don't suppose you guards have a moment to spare hm?"</s> <|message|>Sir Aurelian Asellius, The Last Knight of Nuniel Sir Aurelian Asellius Something had definitely happened at this humble farmhouse. The occupants were nowhere in sight, and it looked like there had been a struggle. Most worriesome, however, was the tracks leading to the fields, which were heavily damaged. It didn't look like Nuniel's handiwork- whatever did this was monstrous enough to plow through crops as if they weren't there, yet simple-minded enough to leave the peasant's dwelling unscathed. There was no sign that the patrol could've been here, but whatever attacked this place could potentially be connected to their disappearance. Even if it wasn't, Aurelian felt a duty to root out and eliminate this threat before it could prey on more innocent peasants. Besides, removing whatever monster was lurking about might curry some favor with the Marshal even if they didn't find any evidence of the patrol. It appears as though some sort of monstrous creature had attacked this place, and judging from the damage to the crops, it was something big. I don't see any damage to the home, so perhaps there could be a survivor within. Aurelian cast a spell, conjuring a bright light about 50 feet above him to signal to Kyra that he had found something important and needed her at his location. He wasn't sure if Vyandar would be able to see it, but didn't expect that the dragonborn would be close enough or have a suitable vantage point to notice. I wonder if he's found anything, he pondered as he watched the radiant sphere reach its full intensity. After the spell was cast and his beacon of light was in place, the paladin opted to take a closer look around while his companion was descending down to the ground. He dismounted, walked over to the house and knocked on the door. "Hello? Is anyone in here? I am Sir Aurelian, Paladin of Sol. I chanced upon your dwelling, and if anyone's still here, I'll help you however I can." If there was no answer, Aurelian would tentatively open the door, but not step through the threshold. Rather, he would peer into the interior, attempting to gauge whether or not anyone was within, dead or alive. With his eyes acclimated to the bright light of the spell that he had cast, however, it might take a few moments for him to see anything within. This</s>

<|message|>REAN WESTFALL "Eh? No, I will do no such thihnff." Rean lightly glared at the other girl but her stomach kept her from denying Liora's apple. Whether she liked it or not, she needed to eat something. Begrudgingly, and refraining from pointing out the probable germination such an act entailed, she munched on the fruit even as the other girl was lost in her own thoughts. Good, because she didn't fancy Liora catching her flustered expression or caring for her apple because soon enough Rean devoured the fruit, core and all. It seemed she was hungrier than she thought. Wiping her lips with her sleeve, she was just about to suggest they go look for Arthur before Liora took it upon herself to act as the "distraction." It was a plan they hardly agreed to. Rean was left agape, hair slightly frazzled from Liora's headpats. "Wait, we can't just…Liora that's reckless, you fool!" But she was already up and near the guards. Rean cursed, an action that was probably unfavorable with the other gods but more than in-character for her patron. What, did Liora think she was some sort of thief? Was she even dressed like one? Why couldn't they have gotten someone more suited for the task to sneak around, like Arthur. She idly felt his presence nearby but not close enough to be of real assistance. Rean sighed and got to moving before the guards realized what they were doing. Scanning around for a higher vantage point, she spotted the closest building to the library. First step was first, just getting onto this building was going to be a hassle. Luckily, she had the merits of a small open window…and magic. Rean unstrapped the Devulga at her hip, flipping through the pages and muttering some soft but subtle words to the tome. She intended to conjure up crimson winds, just enough to elevate her to the window without causing a panic. It would be just their luck she summoned a crimson tornado instead but she doubted she had the energy for that anyway. Getting to the window was the easy part of course. Next remained scaling the library from this building. </s>

<|description|>George Pendragon III Gender: Male Age: 16 Background: George was born and raised in Mercer Town, and is from a long line of Dragon Tamers, including his father and grandfather who he shares a name with. They were the strongest trainers George had ever seen! He begged his parents for a Dragon of his own, but his parents felt he wasn't ready for that responsibility. Eventually, after he turned 16, he was finally given the opportunity to get a Dragon of his own from Professor Cypress. His goal was to deafeat the Overseers, make it to the top of Mt. Calagon, and meet the legendary dragon Pokémon that created the region. That would definitely prove to his family that he was a worthy successor of the Pendragon legacy. Pokemon: Bagon Items: None yet.</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg Flame @Suicharte This wasn't how Oriana had envisioned her first battle. She'd imagined it'd be a friendly match against a travelling companion. Not an actual serious fight against a criminal. One who undoubtedly had much, much more experience than either her or George. Just as she'd feared, the boy didn't back down, exuding confidence and belittling them instead as he sent out two canine Pokemon. "She's a Roggenrola, NOT a rock! Carnelian, use, uh..." Before Oriana could give a command, the Yamper rubbed its sparking face against Carnelian. The Roggenrola tried to kick out, but toppled onto her back, twitching, sparks dancing across her rocky carapace. Paralysed. "Ah! Carnelian!" Oriana crouched and helped the Roggenrola back up, yelping as pain shot through her hands from the static. Flexing her fingers, she stood, at a loss for what to do. Realisation dawned like a weight sinking through her that she didn't even know Carnelian's moveset. For a second, she found herself as immobilised as her Pokemon, but pushed through the panic and jabbed at her DexWatch. Her entire body tensed as she knew just how pathetic she looked, her inexperience plain to see, but she had no choice. "Fire versus rock, huh?" Trying to hide her fear by talking tough, she glanced from the Houndour to the screen - and her stomach dropped. Carnelian had yet to learn a rock type move. More painfully aware than ever of her newbie status, Oriana nonetheless forced her expression into one of confident resolve. "You can do this! Tackle the Houndour!" For one awful moment, Carnelian looked unable to move, but she shook off the convulsions long enough to launch herself at the Houndour. Oriana watched, fists clenched, hoping against hope she and George had a chance against this thug. * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>George Pendragon III The boy sneered at him, and George had to wonder what this guy's problem was. After all, he was the one robbing a clothing store. He was probably upset he got caught. Whatever the case, it looked George was going to get the action he wanted. Then, Oriana came running in with her rock, telling George to be careful. "Relax. I got this!" Regardless, the battle had begun, and it was a double battle. The guy sent out two canine Pokémon, a Houndour and a Yamper. The Yamper had targeted Oriana's Pokémon, while the Houndour used Smog on Devastator. The small dragon was enveloped in the poisonous gas, and started flailing his arms and coughing. George furrowed his brows. "Again with this poison shit?" Devastator had already been poisoned by Venom earlier, and now this? Well, not this time. He rolled his eyes. "Shake it off Dev! Break through the Smog, and fire an Ember at the Yamper." In between coughs, Devastator opened his mouth, and fired a small ball of fire in the direction of the Yamper. * Bagon (Devastator) * Ekans (Venom) * Pokeball x4 Cosmos@LuckyBlackCat</s> <|message|>Timothy Thorne Timothy Thorne – Team Star Recruit Unlike these pampered kids, Tim didn't have time to talk during the fight; no time to make unnecessary comments or to encourage his Pokémon. All of his focus was spent on keeping track of the four Pokémon on the field and all of his words needed to be spent giving clear and concise orders, barking them out in short bursts to keep everyone moving at the right pace. "Hades, block the fire." The Houndour didn't hesitate to jump in front of the ember heading towards the Yamper and take the hit instead. Why would he, when his ability made him immune and even powered him up when hit by fire type moves? The flames flickered over his black fur and might even have looked like they were being absorbed into it as his eyes took on a newly energised glint. Then the Roggenrola slammed into him, unable to both avoid the incoming tackle and protect Storm at the same time. "Shake it off! Storm, bite the rock. Hades, show them a real ember!" The Yamper bounded forward again, this time opening its mouth and flashing little fangs at his opponent, while the Houndour turned back to the Bagon and shot forth a fire ball of its own; bigger, stronger, both because Hades was an actual Fire-type and because of the boost from the Bagon's own flames. Flame@LuckyBlackCat</s> <|message|>Darlene King Darlene angrily strode up to the large man who was directing the thieves. With her mother behind her, the young woman threw her Pokeball, releasing Arthur. The Granbull growled as it picked up it's trainer's anger. "Hey, you! What's going on here?! This is official Venus Threads property! If you don't stop what you're doing, you're going to have to face us in battle!" As if to illustrate her point even further, a large shadow appeared behind Darlene and as much larger Pokémon took the stage, Norah's Kingbull. The sight of the large dog alone caused several of the Team Star grunts to stop what they were doing right away, but the tall man was unfazed. In fact, he seemed totally emotionless. That alone caused a sense of worry to rush through Darlene, but she had to be strong. They were stealing from her and her mother. If she backed down now then she could practically hear Norah telling her she didn't have what it took to be an Overseer. By her side, Darlene could see Arthur shuddering as well. This actually made her smile a bit. Arthur's Rattled ability meant that he'd get a power up whenever he was scared or on edge. That would be a huge boost for this fight. Seeing the man grip a Pokeball of his own, Darlene steeled her nerves as the battle was about to commence. Meanwhile, Rory had long since left town, taking a short drive of his own. Thankfully, due to having collected Marks of his own years prior, he had the freedom to travel the region as he pleased. He was supposed to meet a contact in Hesperus, but an emergency call out to the mines had prevented this. Rather than wait around, Rory took matters into his own hands. He'd been driving for a few hours when the Terran Mines came into view. Pulling the jeep over to a spot, he jumped out and smirked as a certain figure in a cowboy getup stepped out. "Sorry to just turn up out of the blue like this, but I trust you understand why I'm here?" When the figure looked up, Rory offered a handshake, "Always good to see you... Overseer Steele." Flame@LuckyBlackCat@Mistress Dizzy@Suicharte@King Cosmos@Chev</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg Flame @King Cosmos Oriana looked on in horror as the Houndour absorbed Devastator's fire attack, and spewed an even bigger flame jet of his own, the air heating up from its sheer power. Meanwhile, the Yamper bared his fangs and leapt at Carnelian, biting down on her foot. Although he couldn't pierce through her tough carapace, the Roggenrola looked ready to topple again as she struggled. "Stop calling her a rock!" Oriana's fists clenched tighter. No way could Carnelian use Tackle or anything of the sort like this. "Carnelian, resist with Harden!" The Roggenrola's body glowed blue, facets gleaming like those of a polished sapphire, as even with her limited movement she tried to wriggle free of Storm's jaws. * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>Darren Steele "Always good to see you... Overseer Steele." Overseer Darren Steele of Terran Town let a small grin form on his face as he took the offered hand and shook it. "Rory Bennett, Good to see you again." Darren said as the grin widened. The grin faded somewhat as muffled cursing and yelling began to make itself known as four burly mine workers dragged two men unfamiliar to Darren out through the entrance of the mine. "Give me a minute here, Rory. Gotta take care of something real quick." Darren turned away from Rory and stared down at the two men who had been dragged out of the mine. "What's all this about?" He asked calmly. One of the unfamiliar men managed to get himself free from the grasp of the mine worker and took a threatening step towards Darren who calmly threw a Pokeball into the air and a moment later, a large red Pokemon appeared in a blaze of light. The Camerupt growled and two pillars of flame shot into the air. As the demonstration was intended to do, the unfamiliar men froze up. "I'll ask again. What is this about?" he asked calmly. "Found em trying to make off with a bunch of ore, boss." The largest of the mine workers said. "Caught em red-handed." "It wasn't like tha-!" One of the men started to say only for the Camerupt to growl at him. "Okay, so maybe it was what it looked like. We've got nothing right now! We blew everything we had last night!" Darren's eyes turned cold and a frosty smile formed. "So you blew all your money so you decided to steal from us, Hmmm?" "Yea-...uh...no." Darren put his arms around the shoulders of the two men and motioned towards the mine. "Today is your lucky day, my friends. Just so happens two of our men were just promoted today. We have an opening for two new mine workers. Its honest work and you'll get to make all sorts of new friends and your probably going to gain a lot of muscle over the next few months!" The two men looked helplessly at Darren and then back at the mine. "What if we refuse?!" "Then you will never be allowed in this town again. I know everyone here, fellas. They'll tell me if you show your faces around here if you decide to decline this opportunity." The two men looked at one another and then at the mine and sighed and headed towards the entrance. "Good choice!" Darren called after them. He looked at the two larger of the four who had brought the men out. "Rocky, Slade, consider yourselves promoted. Your new job is to keep an eye on those two. Don't let em run off with anything." Rocky nodded. "Got it, Boss. They won't get away with anything with us watching em." The four headed back to the mine and Darren grinned before turning back to Rory. "Sorry about that, friend. Been having more and more issues with people lately. Tough love approach seems to work though."</s> <|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Rory watched the situation unfold with vested interest. "Hey, whatever works. I'll be honest, I envy your people skills. Now that I've got those kids the Professor wants me to look after. Noting Darren's expression, Rory just chuckled, "But... That's not important right now. Like I said, I hate to bother you at the mines, but I just spoke to the Overseer's office in Solarix. Normally I'd have gone to Nora first, but she's preoccupied." Producing a Pokeball, Rory threw it in the air and Floatzel popped out. "So are we battling here? It'll be just like old times." Both men shared a laugh at the memory of their first battle. When Rory had first traveled to Terran town, he'd decided to stop by the mines and had accidentally challenged Darren without knowing who he was. "Although, I think you'll find we're not going down so easily this time." As Floatzel and Camerupt readied themselves, Rory aimed a finger at his opponent, "Floatzel, use Hydro Pump!"</s> <|message|>Darren Steele "Although, I think you'll find we're not going down so easily this time." Darren was caught a little off guard by the move Rory's Floatzel was using.. His Camerupt was going to have a difficult battle this time and if Camerupt were to take a direct hit from a water attack that powerful he wasn't sure if the Pokemon would be able to take the hit. Camerupt was the oldest member of his team and he didn't want to see it hurt or in pain. "Camerupt!" He called out. "Avoid it by using Dig!"</s>

<|message|>George Pendragon III George muttered several curse words under his breath. Of course that damn dog would take the Ember. Why didn't he think of that?! Now Devastator was forced to take an Flash Fire powered Ember that brought him to his knees. He still survived because Dragons resist fire, but that was dangerous. Meanwhile, Orianna was forced to go on the defensive. "Ugh, how annoying! Alright, fine then. Devastator, use Leer, then Bite on the Houndour's tail!" Devastator gave the most intimidating look he could give in his current state, then ran foward with his teeth bared attempting to chomp down on Houndour's tail.</s>

<|description|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Gender: Male Age: 23 Personality: Rory was always known for being an adventurous soul. He has a passion for travel and Pokémon battles which sets him at odds with the quieter people of Mercer Town. This infectious passion of his can easily spread to his partner Pokémon which leads them to get just as fired up as him, if not more. When he's not out seeing the world or gathering data for Prof. Cypress, Rory spends much of his time working on his practical skills. He may not have the book-smarts of Prof. Cypress, but much of what he knows, he's learned through countless trial and error. As a result, he has a variety of skills that he can rely upon when working in the lab or just out seeing the region. Among his skills are: machine repair, cooking, first aid, etc. Aside from that, he's a voracious student of the Professor and they make a strong team. Appearance: Being a young man of 23, Rory is quite tall and well-built thanks to his years of working on the farm. He gets his nickname from his rust-colored hair which is typically unkempt because Buizel blasts it with water gun every morning to wake him up. When he goes on the road, Rory's usual attire consists of a wick t-shirt, a utility vest, hiking pants, and a pair of hiking shoes. Background: Rory was a lifelong resident of Mercer Town. Growing up on his parents' Milktank Farm, he always imagined getting out and exploring the region. While his mother simply wanted him to stay and tend to the ranch, Rory's father supported his ambitions. He even caught Rory's first Pokémon - his Buizel - during a fishing trip to the nearby river. With Buizel at his side, Rory only grew stronger in his resolve. He and Buizel would watch Pokémon League matches into the night, studying how the best Pokémon and trainers battled in preparation for the day their journey would begin. That day came in a bizarre fashion when Prof. Cypress moved to town. Recognizing the passion within Rory, Cypress offered him a position at his lab. Seizing his chance, Rory and Buizel took to exploring very quickly; even discovering a new partner when a chance egg they recovered turned out to be a shiny Dratini! Now, Rory is the professor's right hand man and a skilled trainer in his own right. Pokemon: -Floatzel -Shiny Kaidan Dragonair</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg Flame @Suicharte This wasn't how Oriana had envisioned her first battle. She'd imagined it'd be a friendly match against a travelling companion. Not an actual serious fight against a criminal. One who undoubtedly had much, much more experience than either her or George. Just as she'd feared, the boy didn't back down, exuding confidence and belittling them instead as he sent out two canine Pokemon. "She's a Roggenrola, NOT a rock! Carnelian, use, uh..." Before Oriana could give a command, the Yamper rubbed its sparking face against Carnelian. The Roggenrola tried to kick out, but toppled onto her back, twitching, sparks dancing across her rocky carapace. Paralysed. "Ah! Carnelian!" Oriana crouched and helped the Roggenrola back up, yelping as pain shot through her hands from the static. Flexing her fingers, she stood, at a loss for what to do. Realisation dawned like a weight sinking through her that she didn't even know Carnelian's moveset. For a second, she found herself as immobilised as her Pokemon, but pushed through the panic and jabbed at her DexWatch. Her entire body tensed as she knew just how pathetic she looked, her inexperience plain to see, but she had no choice. "Fire versus rock, huh?" Trying to hide her fear by talking tough, she glanced from the Houndour to the screen - and her stomach dropped. Carnelian had yet to learn a rock type move. More painfully aware than ever of her newbie status, Oriana nonetheless forced her expression into one of confident resolve. "You can do this! Tackle the Houndour!" For one awful moment, Carnelian looked unable to move, but she shook off the convulsions long enough to launch herself at the Houndour. Oriana watched, fists clenched, hoping against hope she and George had a chance against this thug. * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>George Pendragon III The boy sneered at him, and George had to wonder what this guy's problem was. After all, he was the one robbing a clothing store. He was probably upset he got caught. Whatever the case, it looked George was going to get the action he wanted. Then, Oriana came running in with her rock, telling George to be careful. "Relax. I got this!" Regardless, the battle had begun, and it was a double battle. The guy sent out two canine Pokémon, a Houndour and a Yamper. The Yamper had targeted Oriana's Pokémon, while the Houndour used Smog on Devastator. The small dragon was enveloped in the poisonous gas, and started flailing his arms and coughing. George furrowed his brows. "Again with this poison shit?" Devastator had already been poisoned by Venom earlier, and now this? Well, not this time. He rolled his eyes. "Shake it off Dev! Break through the Smog, and fire an Ember at the Yamper." In between coughs, Devastator opened his mouth, and fired a small ball of fire in the direction of the Yamper. * Bagon (Devastator) * Ekans (Venom) * Pokeball x4 Cosmos@LuckyBlackCat</s> <|message|>Timothy Thorne Timothy Thorne – Team Star Recruit Unlike these pampered kids, Tim didn't have time to talk during the fight; no time to make unnecessary comments or to encourage his Pokémon. All of his focus was spent on keeping track of the four Pokémon on the field and all of his words needed to be spent giving clear and concise orders, barking them out in short bursts to keep everyone moving at the right pace. "Hades, block the fire." The Houndour didn't hesitate to jump in front of the ember heading towards the Yamper and take the hit instead. Why would he, when his ability made him immune and even powered him up when hit by fire type moves? The flames flickered over his black fur and might even have looked like they were being absorbed into it as his eyes took on a newly energised glint. Then the Roggenrola slammed into him, unable to both avoid the incoming tackle and protect Storm at the same time. "Shake it off! Storm, bite the rock. Hades, show them a real ember!" The Yamper bounded forward again, this time opening its mouth and flashing little fangs at his opponent, while the Houndour turned back to the Bagon and shot forth a fire ball of its own; bigger, stronger, both because Hades was an actual Fire-type and because of the boost from the Bagon's own flames. Flame@LuckyBlackCat</s> <|message|>Darlene King Darlene angrily strode up to the large man who was directing the thieves. With her mother behind her, the young woman threw her Pokeball, releasing Arthur. The Granbull growled as it picked up it's trainer's anger. "Hey, you! What's going on here?! This is official Venus Threads property! If you don't stop what you're doing, you're going to have to face us in battle!" As if to illustrate her point even further, a large shadow appeared behind Darlene and as much larger Pokémon took the stage, Norah's Kingbull. The sight of the large dog alone caused several of the Team Star grunts to stop what they were doing right away, but the tall man was unfazed. In fact, he seemed totally emotionless. That alone caused a sense of worry to rush through Darlene, but she had to be strong. They were stealing from her and her mother. If she backed down now then she could practically hear Norah telling her she didn't have what it took to be an Overseer. By her side, Darlene could see Arthur shuddering as well. This actually made her smile a bit. Arthur's Rattled ability meant that he'd get a power up whenever he was scared or on edge. That would be a huge boost for this fight. Seeing the man grip a Pokeball of his own, Darlene steeled her nerves as the battle was about to commence. Meanwhile, Rory had long since left town, taking a short drive of his own. Thankfully, due to having collected Marks of his own years prior, he had the freedom to travel the region as he pleased. He was supposed to meet a contact in Hesperus, but an emergency call out to the mines had prevented this. Rather than wait around, Rory took matters into his own hands. He'd been driving for a few hours when the Terran Mines came into view. Pulling the jeep over to a spot, he jumped out and smirked as a certain figure in a cowboy getup stepped out. "Sorry to just turn up out of the blue like this, but I trust you understand why I'm here?" When the figure looked up, Rory offered a handshake, "Always good to see you... Overseer Steele." Flame@LuckyBlackCat@Mistress Dizzy@Suicharte@King Cosmos@Chev</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg Flame @King Cosmos Oriana looked on in horror as the Houndour absorbed Devastator's fire attack, and spewed an even bigger flame jet of his own, the air heating up from its sheer power. Meanwhile, the Yamper bared his fangs and leapt at Carnelian, biting down on her foot. Although he couldn't pierce through her tough carapace, the Roggenrola looked ready to topple again as she struggled. "Stop calling her a rock!" Oriana's fists clenched tighter. No way could Carnelian use Tackle or anything of the sort like this. "Carnelian, resist with Harden!" The Roggenrola's body glowed blue, facets gleaming like those of a polished sapphire, as even with her limited movement she tried to wriggle free of Storm's jaws. * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>Darren Steele "Always good to see you... Overseer Steele." Overseer Darren Steele of Terran Town let a small grin form on his face as he took the offered hand and shook it. "Rory Bennett, Good to see you again." Darren said as the grin widened. The grin faded somewhat as muffled cursing and yelling began to make itself known as four burly mine workers dragged two men unfamiliar to Darren out through the entrance of the mine. "Give me a minute here, Rory. Gotta take care of something real quick." Darren turned away from Rory and stared down at the two men who had been dragged out of the mine. "What's all this about?" He asked calmly. One of the unfamiliar men managed to get himself free from the grasp of the mine worker and took a threatening step towards Darren who calmly threw a Pokeball into the air and a moment later, a large red Pokemon appeared in a blaze of light. The Camerupt growled and two pillars of flame shot into the air. As the demonstration was intended to do, the unfamiliar men froze up. "I'll ask again. What is this about?" he asked calmly. "Found em trying to make off with a bunch of ore, boss." The largest of the mine workers said. "Caught em red-handed." "It wasn't like tha-!" One of the men started to say only for the Camerupt to growl at him. "Okay, so maybe it was what it looked like. We've got nothing right now! We blew everything we had last night!" Darren's eyes turned cold and a frosty smile formed. "So you blew all your money so you decided to steal from us, Hmmm?" "Yea-...uh...no." Darren put his arms around the shoulders of the two men and motioned towards the mine. "Today is your lucky day, my friends. Just so happens two of our men were just promoted today. We have an opening for two new mine workers. Its honest work and you'll get to make all sorts of new friends and your probably going to gain a lot of muscle over the next few months!" The two men looked helplessly at Darren and then back at the mine. "What if we refuse?!" "Then you will never be allowed in this town again. I know everyone here, fellas. They'll tell me if you show your faces around here if you decide to decline this opportunity." The two men looked at one another and then at the mine and sighed and headed towards the entrance. "Good choice!" Darren called after them. He looked at the two larger of the four who had brought the men out. "Rocky, Slade, consider yourselves promoted. Your new job is to keep an eye on those two. Don't let em run off with anything." Rocky nodded. "Got it, Boss. They won't get away with anything with us watching em." The four headed back to the mine and Darren grinned before turning back to Rory. "Sorry about that, friend. Been having more and more issues with people lately. Tough love approach seems to work though."</s>

<|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Rory watched the situation unfold with vested interest. "Hey, whatever works. I'll be honest, I envy your people skills. Now that I've got those kids the Professor wants me to look after. Noting Darren's expression, Rory just chuckled, "But... That's not important right now. Like I said, I hate to bother you at the mines, but I just spoke to the Overseer's office in Solarix. Normally I'd have gone to Nora first, but she's preoccupied." Producing a Pokeball, Rory threw it in the air and Floatzel popped out. "So are we battling here? It'll be just like old times." Both men shared a laugh at the memory of their first battle. When Rory had first traveled to Terran town, he'd decided to stop by the mines and had accidentally challenged Darren without knowing who he was. "Although, I think you'll find we're not going down so easily this time." As Floatzel and Camerupt readied themselves, Rory aimed a finger at his opponent, "Floatzel, use Hydro Pump!"</s>

<|description|>Norah Kingsley Gender: Female Age: 55 Appearance: Norah is tall and willowy, with long ponytailed blonde hair and grey eyes. Her hair is streaked with white at her forehead and temples. Laugh lines are around her mouth, and crinkle at the corner of her eyes. She usually wears a pink top, shorts, and sneakers that are easy to trek in. Background: Norah's family is one of the oldest in the Kaida region. She is the descendant of an ancient king that used to rule part of the area. Hesperus has looked to her for guidance for over 10 years now. Despite being a lady of a certain age, she is still quite active and a little bubbly. She is always happy to see new trainers in her area. Norah is the creator of Venus Threads, a high end clothing store that has spread all throughout Kaida. She has a daughter, Darlene, who is ready to take the Overseer position when she steps down. Pokemon: Snubbul Jigglypuff Florette Sylveon "Anyone for cookies?" Name: Kassandra Northman Position: Overseer of Phobos Town Gender: Female Age: 32 Personality: Kassandra is sweet and gentle-seeming. She is the type to patrol the town with the rest of the Dragon Busters and their Pokemon, making sure everything is going smoothly. Newcomers to town usually find themselves invited to iced tea and homemade fresh baked cookies. Behind her back, some people consider her the "Mom Type." Those people have never seen her battle. She is a brilliant and cunning Trainer, her Fighting Pokemon at the ready. Appearance: Kassandra is dark skinned and full-figured, with thick white hair worn short, and orange eyes. She is usually wearing a utility skirt and a green top, with heavy hiking boots. When the town is in danger, however, you'll find her in full Dragon Buster uniform consisting of a rich purple top and sturdy khakis. She carries a thick fighting bo with 5 Pokeballs in it. The sixth slot seems to be empty. Background: Kassandra has been through quite a lot in her time. While she doesn't talk about most of it, even the fact that she's not native to the Kaida region. Those in the know will mention her being from somewhere in Kalos. She came to Kaida as a young adult chasing a dream of finding her missing father. Soon after settling in Phobos, she joined up with the Dragon Busters. It took her a long time to work her way up the ranks. By the time she was 30, she was able to unseat the current leader and take her place at the top. Her specialization is dual type Fighting Pokemon, who will throw off unsuspecting trainers thinking that they can roll in and walk all over her with Psychic types. As soon as she steps into a Pokemon arena, her gentle nature vanishes as if it were never there. She's not afraid to put the fear of Arceus into those who are unprepared for the harshness outside of Phobos. Indeed, her challenge has sent more trainers packing than she cares to admit, but she'd do it all over again if it meant keeping someone from the harsh wildness outside her city. Pokemon: Pangoro Heracross Toxicroak Meditite Poliwrath</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg @Crimson Flame "Roggen!" Carnelian spread out her stony feet, her ear tilted up towards George. Even without eyes, she somehow seemed to glare. Oriana, meanwhile, gaped in shock. She hadn't expected to hear that from someone she held in high esteem. "Hey! She's not just a rock! Seriously, have you ever seen a Gigalith?" She hadn't, not in person anyway, but she had seen pictures of the majestic crystalline Pokemon. "They're just as impressive as any dragon! Did you know they have so much power, their energy leaks out of them in the form of gems?" Before George could answer, a more pressing matter came up as he spotted his still-feral Ekans devouring a bird egg. Oriana grimaced. "Ehhh! If only Arden were here. He'd know what to feed an Ekans to keep it satisfied." As Rory called out to her and George, asking if they were ready to move on, she hurried over and nodded. "Yep! Can't wait to challenge the Overseer, she won't know what hit her!" The sooner they got to Hesperus, the better - especially since, if they stayed here much longer, they may have to deal with a less than pleased bird. She grinned at George. There was no point in staying mad. Better to prove him wrong about Roggenrolas. "Hey, still up for that battle once we get there?" She glanced down at Carnelian. "All good with you?" Carnelian bobbed her body up and down in a nod. "Rola!" Oriana's self-assured smile widened as she turned her attention back to George. "I'll show you she's more than just a rock!" * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Eventually, the gates of Hesperus City could be seen just over the horizon. Hearing gasps from the backseat reminded Rory this was easily the kids' first time leaving Mercer Town. Hesperus would seem like a whole new world to them. The town had supposedly stood for hundreds of years and had been - at one point - the center of an ancient kingdom that ruled over the region! As a result, the town looked more like a fortress than a town. A large stone wall had been built around the city with massive gates at the north and south entrances. From the battlements, a group of performers could sometimes be seen dressed in costume and mimicking the ancient guardsmen of old. Inside the wall however, the town was actually quite modernized. Due to a limited space, buildings were continually being refurbed and re-built in order to keep them habitable in a modern era. In fact, this anachronistic nature had come to be one of the city's most defining features! "Here we are," said Rory as the jeep finally pulled up to the gates. A nearby performer dressed in a guard's costume stepped over to the car and sternly asked for the group's 'purpose' within the city. Rory laughed and, after explaining the gimmick to his passengers, was about to answer when a sudden cry from above interrupted them. "He's here to marry me! Isn't that right, Rory?" From atop the stone wall, the group could see a young girl with a pink varsity jacket draped over her shoulders. Suddenly, she jumped off the wall; the sleeves of the jacket billowing out like wings. Oddly enough, the girl landed on the ground with barely an impact and a big smile spread across her face, "Oh I just KNEW you were going to come back for me, my prince!" From inside the car, Rory placed a hand over his face, "Hey, Darlene..." He muttered. He should have figured the Professor would call ahead. From up on the wall, the head of Norah, the Hesperus City Overseer, peeked over as well. -Floatzel -Kaidan Dragonair (Shiny) -Rufflet -3x Ultra Balls -10x Pokeballs Flame @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy @Chev</s> <|message|>George Pendragon III George was quick to respond to Orianna's challenge. "It's on. I'm sure Venom can handle a rock!" After all, a proper battle might be just what the Ekans needed to get her into shape. The two were then loaded on to the jeep, were driven away from Mercer Town, and towards the gates of Hesperus. From the outside, the place looked like an old-timey kingdom. There were even guards asking for their purpose. Before they could actually make it into the city, a crazy girl claiming she was going to marry Rory swooped in out of nowhere. George couldn't help bursting out in laughter. "Rory, I didn't know you had a GF!" From Rory's reaction, this was clearly unwanted. He then turned his attention to the girl. "And who are you supposed to be anyway? Snow White? Cinderella? My thing is taming dragons than slaying them. Don't get any ideas." @LuckyBlackCat@Mistress Dizzy</s> <|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Darlene laughed as she spun around, "I'm Darlene Kingsley! Surely Rory has told you about me? Like how he said he'd marry me if I helped him defeat my mom in a Pokémon battle?" Darlene couldn't help but snicker a bit as all eyes in the car turned on Rory. The young man's face had turned a beet red upon the reveal of this particular piece of information. "Ugh..." Rory tried to pick his words carefully. "Can we continue this conversation inside the city please? It's getting late and we'll need to get checked in at the Pokémon Center for a place to stay tonight." "No need!" Darlene piped up. "The Professor already called ahead so Mom and I are putting you up at our place tonight! Can't say no now, Rory!" Before Rory could say anything, Darlene hopped into the passenger's seat of the jeep and waved off the 'guards', "You can let us through, these three are guests of the Overseer." "Of course, your highness," said the guard as he signaled up to the top of the wall. The gates to the city clanked open as Rory pulled the car through. Turning to Orianna and George, Darlene held out a hand, "Nice to meet the both of you! I can't wait to see if you guys and beat my mom. Hopefully you brought more than one Pokémon. Unlike someone." Rory's face only got redder as Darlene cast a sideways glance at him. From outside, an older woman's laugh could be heard; Rory recognizing it as the unmistakable sound of the Hesperus Overseer. Flame @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy</s> <|message|>Norah Kingsley "Ahhaha! You've arrived!" Norah Kingsley approached the jeep. She was an older woman, dressed in a pale pink tank top, khaki mom shorts, and vibrant pink hiking boots. The whole ensemble looked quite expensive. Her blonde hair was streaked with white, and her gray eyes were a bit lined in the corners, but no less lively than her daughter's. "Hello, darlings. Welcome to Hesperus!" She spread her arms wide, definitely with a flair for the dramatic. "Rory, welcome back. I'll be sure to give you lovebirds some privacy later." She winked cheekily, merely thinking Rory's beet red embarrassment was due to being in public. Poor boy looked like he was going to blow a blood vessel. "Now." She looked over the two trainers in the back. "You must be George Pendragon the Third. I see the genes still run strong. You look so much like your father. Nice cape, very hero chic." Then she looked to the girl. "And you must be Orianna Lindberg. A pleasure to meet you both. Now, you must have been driving for some time. Would you like me to take over, Rory?"</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg @Crimson Flame @Mistress Dizzy As the city came into view, Oriana's mouth fell open. It was as if the group had gone back in time. Stone walls stretched along the borders, making the place look every bit the ancient fortress she'd heard it had once been. As they neared, she even spotted men by the gates armored like guards of old. Hesperus truly had preserved its rich history. No sooner had the jeep pulled up, one of the guards approached, asking their purpose. "We've got an Overseer to beat, and a forest to explore!" Oriana piped up, leaning over. "And who wouldn't want to hang around an awesome place like this? Cool costume, by the way!" A high-pitched voice interjected, claiming a rather different reason for the group's presence. Oriana couldn't help but chuckle as a young blonde girl jumped down and started fawning over Rory, much to his embarrassment. "Oooh, looks like Mom and Dad's store may just get a visit for wedding rings soon." She gave Rory a big teasing grin in the driver's mirror. At Darlene's news about lodgings, Oriana's eyes widened. They'd be staying with the Overseer herself. "Sweet! We're technically a queen's guests of honor!" A woman who could be none other than said Overseer promptly made her arrival, looking much like an older version of Darlene, giving off a fittingly regal air with her fashionable getup. Oriana, talkative as she normally was, fell silent. Her stomach did flips. How was she supposed to talk to an Overseer? One descended from royalty, no less? As Norah addressed her, she nodded. "Yep, uhh... Your Majesty? Is that how we should address you?" She let out a nervous laugh. "I mean, they say you're descended from an ancient king, right? And the whole city treats you accordingly?" * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Rory breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the out, "Yes you can, Norah. I actually have some personal business to take care of in the city. I'm sure you already know if the Professor called?" He said that last part with an oddly serious note. Rory gestured for the trainers to exit the car, "Norah will take care of you three for the time being. I'd love to watch the battle, but unfortunately I do have another job to attend to. Call me on the DexWatch if you two need anything alright?" Rory pointed to his DexWatch and pulled off. Norah and Darlene were nice enough to be around, but he'd need to be alone for this next part of the job. Once there was a decent distance between himself and the group, Rory felt his DexWatch vibrating and accepted the call, putting the caller on speaker as he drove, "Hello? Yes, I arrived in Hesperus. I'm going to the Office now. You're joking right? I already did it once.... ugh fine. It's only six this time right? Alright..." -Floatzel -Kaidan Dragonair (Shiny) -Rufflet -3x Ultra Balls -10x Pokeballs Flame @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy</s>

<|message|>Norah Kingsley The Overseer smiled as Rory explained that he had to go it alone for now. "Alright, you know where the house is. Take care of yourself, Rory. Don't work too hard." Norah waved him off as he left with the Jeep. She then looked at the assembled trainers and her daughter. "Right. What's first? Tour of the city? Pokemon Center and Mart? Are you kids hungry at all?"</s>

<|description|>Norah Kingsley Gender: Female Age: 55 Appearance: Norah is tall and willowy, with long ponytailed blonde hair and grey eyes. Her hair is streaked with white at her forehead and temples. Laugh lines are around her mouth, and crinkle at the corner of her eyes. She usually wears a pink top, shorts, and sneakers that are easy to trek in. Background: Norah's family is one of the oldest in the Kaida region. She is the descendant of an ancient king that used to rule part of the area. Hesperus has looked to her for guidance for over 10 years now. Despite being a lady of a certain age, she is still quite active and a little bubbly. She is always happy to see new trainers in her area. Norah is the creator of Venus Threads, a high end clothing store that has spread all throughout Kaida. She has a daughter, Darlene, who is ready to take the Overseer position when she steps down. Pokemon: Snubbul Jigglypuff Florette Sylveon "Anyone for cookies?" Name: Kassandra Northman Position: Overseer of Phobos Town Gender: Female Age: 32 Personality: Kassandra is sweet and gentle-seeming. She is the type to patrol the town with the rest of the Dragon Busters and their Pokemon, making sure everything is going smoothly. Newcomers to town usually find themselves invited to iced tea and homemade fresh baked cookies. Behind her back, some people consider her the "Mom Type." Those people have never seen her battle. She is a brilliant and cunning Trainer, her Fighting Pokemon at the ready. Appearance: Kassandra is dark skinned and full-figured, with thick white hair worn short, and orange eyes. She is usually wearing a utility skirt and a green top, with heavy hiking boots. When the town is in danger, however, you'll find her in full Dragon Buster uniform consisting of a rich purple top and sturdy khakis. She carries a thick fighting bo with 5 Pokeballs in it. The sixth slot seems to be empty. Background: Kassandra has been through quite a lot in her time. While she doesn't talk about most of it, even the fact that she's not native to the Kaida region. Those in the know will mention her being from somewhere in Kalos. She came to Kaida as a young adult chasing a dream of finding her missing father. Soon after settling in Phobos, she joined up with the Dragon Busters. It took her a long time to work her way up the ranks. By the time she was 30, she was able to unseat the current leader and take her place at the top. Her specialization is dual type Fighting Pokemon, who will throw off unsuspecting trainers thinking that they can roll in and walk all over her with Psychic types. As soon as she steps into a Pokemon arena, her gentle nature vanishes as if it were never there. She's not afraid to put the fear of Arceus into those who are unprepared for the harshness outside of Phobos. Indeed, her challenge has sent more trainers packing than she cares to admit, but she'd do it all over again if it meant keeping someone from the harsh wildness outside her city. Pokemon: Pangoro Heracross Toxicroak Meditite Poliwrath</s> <|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Rory breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the out, "Yes you can, Norah. I actually have some personal business to take care of in the city. I'm sure you already know if the Professor called?" He said that last part with an oddly serious note. Rory gestured for the trainers to exit the car, "Norah will take care of you three for the time being. I'd love to watch the battle, but unfortunately I do have another job to attend to. Call me on the DexWatch if you two need anything alright?" Rory pointed to his DexWatch and pulled off. Norah and Darlene were nice enough to be around, but he'd need to be alone for this next part of the job. Once there was a decent distance between himself and the group, Rory felt his DexWatch vibrating and accepted the call, putting the caller on speaker as he drove, "Hello? Yes, I arrived in Hesperus. I'm going to the Office now. You're joking right? I already did it once.... ugh fine. It's only six this time right? Alright..." -Floatzel -Kaidan Dragonair (Shiny) -Rufflet -3x Ultra Balls -10x Pokeballs Flame @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy</s> <|message|>Norah Kingsley The Overseer smiled as Rory explained that he had to go it alone for now. "Alright, you know where the house is. Take care of yourself, Rory. Don't work too hard." Norah waved him off as he left with the Jeep. She then looked at the assembled trainers and her daughter. "Right. What's first? Tour of the city? Pokemon Center and Mart? Are you kids hungry at all?"</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg @Crimson Flame @Mistress Dizzy Jumping out of the car, Oriana stretched her back and headed to Norah's side. "Seeya, and will do!" She waved to Rory as he drove off. At Norah's mention of touring the city, Oriana bounced on her heels. "Oooh, tour sounds good! As does food of course!" She'd worked up quite an appetite exploring the foothills, and she supposed her Pokemon must be hungry too. Well, one of them anyway - did a Roggenrola even need to eat? She'd have to learn more about caring for different Pokemon. "I heard this city has quite the history! It'll be great to learn more about it, and see the old castle! And any other ruins! And museums, and the architecture, and... Uhh, if I'm talking too much, I apologise." She gave a stiff bow, as if to royalty. "Anyway, come on out, we've got some exploring to do!" She let out both her Pokemon. Shakudo craned his neck and stared around, while Carnelian swivelled her body from side to side, presumably taking in the new sounds. "I know, it's amazing, huh?" Grabbing her phone, she started taking pictures of the old buildings and battlements. Even though Hesperus was only a short distance from Mercer, she'd thought she'd never get the chance to see it. * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>George Pendragon III It was soon decided that they were going to spend the day in Hesperus while Rory had other business to attend to. Norah was familiar with his dad, but that wasn't a surprise. Everyone should know who his dad was. "Of course you know my dad. He's awesome. One day though, I'm going to be the Pendragon everyone is talking about… Anyway, food first. We can go on a tour afterwards!" George sent out both his Pokémon. Devastator sat on his trainer's shoulder. He tried to wrap Venom around his arm like he had seen done on TV one time, but she just hissed at him, and slithered on the ground. "By the way, Orianna. We still have to have our own battle, remember?" @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy</s> <|message|>Darlene King "You don't need to be so formal with my mom and me," explained Darlene as she saw Orianna bowing. "The whole royal thing is just ancestry. At this point, we're as regular people as you. Well... about as regular as you can get when you represent a major fashion chain and your mom is the Overseer." As the kids sent out their Pokemon, Darlene marveled at each one. "Wow! Your partners are so cute! Let me introduce mine!" Producing a set of Love Balls from within her jacket, Darlene threw them in the air, "Come on out, my attendants!" Each ball opened in mid-air and from each of them appeared a Galarian Rapidash, a Granbull, and a Sylveon. "These are my friends: Grani, Arthur, and Eris," she pointed at each of the Pokémon respectively. "These three have been with me forever, and they'll be the bulk of my team when I replace my mom as Overseer." Darlene saw Norah giving her an odd look and she playfully threw her hands up, "Of course I'll challenge you for it first!" As the group discussed getting a tour of the city before heading over to the Kingsley residence, there was a sudden sound of commotion coming from the center of town. Out of nowhere, both Norah and Darlene's DexWatches began ringing. As they opened the communication app, a man's voice could be heard, "Ms. Kingsley, are you there?! There's a robbery in progress at our main store in Hesperus! Officer Jenny is en route, but we could use the Overseer's help!" Looking to the group, Darlene gave an apologetic look, "You'll have to excuse us I'm afriad. This is something we have to take care of first!" Returning Arthur and Eris to their balls, Darlene hopped on Grani's back, "Grani, ExtremeSpeed!" The Rapidash took off at blinding speed, leaving a trail of light in its wake. Meanwhile... At the Venus Threads store, there was a strange group of individuals currently in the process of gathering... winter clothes? A group of thieves, all dressed in a black paramilitary garb, were moving through the store gathering any items that might be needed for a long trek into a cold climate. Among them were an unusually tall man, and a young boy. Flame@LuckyBlackCat@Mistress Dizzy@Suicharte@King Cosmos@Chev</s> <|message|>Valerian Sergio It'd been a while since Val had taken something by force. It was oddly nostalgic, except this time it wasn't just him and Knight raiding a store, but a whole troupe of Team Star members. He figured theft was behind him for the most part, but he had no qualms stealing from 'royalty' anyhow, and the prices on some of these goods were obscene in his mind, so no feelings of guilt were on his shoulders by this course. Regardless, he did question the optics of such a manoeuvre. To the average person, they must look like common thugs in the moment, but he was sure that the average person would come to understand the good nature of their cause, even if it took time. One particular grunt had taken Val's interest though. He was definitely younger than the others, and he had a fiery spirit that he recognized from his youth. One of defiance against the system, and a determination to succeed. There was value to such a motivated mindset, and should he improve going forward, he would be a valuable asset to the team, though who knows how long that would take. Though, he figured that it would be a good time to grant the young man experience in an important role, the lookout. Responsibility had always been the best teacher. "On the double everyone, we've only got so much time before Jenny's here, and I'd rather things not get violent if they don't have to. Tim, keep watch out front and let me know if we've got company. Rest of you, prioritize the coats and scarves, and remember, function over fashion." he spoke with authority, although it still felt strange to him. To be able to command other people felt odd to him. He bore the responsibility for their well being, and their lives, and he didn't necessarily mind that as much as he thought he would. In a way, he was beginning to like it. He looked at his belt, where his Pokémon rested, sighed for a moment, and began packing more clothes into the large bags they'd brought. What sort of a leader doesn't also help with the job? Cosmos</s> <|message|>Timothy Thorne Timothy Thorne – Team Star Recruit His journey to become a trainer was progressing a little bit differently to how he had imagined. What had started out as a meet-up so that he could be introduced to and meet some of the other members had suddenly turned to talk of Team Star's purpose in the region and their goal of reaching the top of Mt Calagon, which then led to the topic of the overseers they would need to defeat along the way. A simple comment from Tim about how he was finding it difficult to get started as a new trainer caused a ripple of agreement to go through the group and brought out a surprising amount of vitriol from the others. 'The whole system is stacked against you', they said. 'Unless you go to that professor and get one of his starters, then they practically lead you by the hand', another had continued. It seemed he wasn't the only aspiring trainer to run into problems along the road and find their way to Team Star and soon enough his own voice was drowned out of the conversation as the others continued to rant about the 'privileged trainers' and the unfair advantages those chosen by the professor or those with connections with the overseers would receive. It was all news to him, who had never heard this kind of stuff before. It made sense though; any trainer getting their first Pokémon from the professor had a leg up on the rest of them. No traipsing through the woods looking for a Pokémon for them, no having to save up money to buy their first Pokéball to catch it yourself; someone just handed them a rare and strong Pokémon and sent their on their way with a pat on the head. He had thought that was it, but when he thought about it, why would it stop there? What other advantages did having a professor of Pokémon backing your efforts get you? How they led to them robbing a clothing store he wasn't sure. Sure, it was store run by this towns Overseer and, sure, the others had said some stuff about how the prices for winter gear were too high so that they could price poorer trainers out of being able to complete their journey, but Tim wasn't really convince of all that. Even if it all *was* really expensive. At least he was only acting as lookout and wasn't taking part in the robbery itself. He still felt uneasy about this whole thing, but just keeping watch wasn't so bad. Around twenty minutes after they had started Tim saw someone approach; two someone's actually and they were approaching pretty quickly on the back of something that had to be a Pokémon. He turned around, placed a finger on either side of his mouth and let loose with his loudest, highest pitch whistle. "Someone's coming!" @TheNoCoKid</s>

<|message|>Norah Kingsley Nora shot an apologetic glance to the children. "I'm sorry. Please come with me." She pulled an odd looking Pokeball from her belt, which summoned a Mudsdale. It was borrowed; perks of being the Overseer. She gestured for everyone to climb on, and as soon as the trio were secured, they were off. About a minute later, they were there. Nora climbed off, fury in her grey eyes as she saw the shop being robbed. "Stay here, kids." She stormed up, joining her daughter's side. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?!"</s>

<|description|>Valerian Sergio Gender: Male Age: 22 Appearance: Valerian is a man of taller, spindly stature. He stands at around 6'2 with a wiry frame that makes him seem even taller than he actually is. He is almost always seen in the same style of uniform, regardless of the weather or climate that he's currently in, which usually consists of a more formal kind of clothing. He usually carries a somber, stern look on his face, as if he were perpetually present at an annoying business meeting that he'd rather not be in, though an observant eye can see him soften up when around his now sizable partner in crime. Background: Valerian was born in the bustling Zhivegas city to parents who were workers in the regional power plant. Even from a young age, he was used to them coming back home late or sometimes not at all, and was often alone by himself. This changed when their parents found a wild Aron on the worksite and was able to corral it away from the expensive equipment and into a safer location. When the question was raised on what would be done with the stray pokemon, his father came to the conclusion that the lonely Val could use a friend. And so it was that it was brought home and a lasting bond was formed The two were partners in crime from the get-go, having bonded almost instantly. It turns out that both had little regard for authority and Val would often skip school and sneak to the arcade, or rely on his partner to smash into slot machines to make the cash fall loose so that they could go and buy food and games together. They had happy days together, even if the activities they were doing were somewhat immoral and definitely not advisory. Things changed for his family when his mother suffered a severe injury at the power plant, and was unable to continue working. His father had to pick up the hours and he saw how disastrously things had become for his family. When Val decided that he would help remedy his families financial ailments by upping the scale of his petty theft, his family began to ask questions about where this money was coming from, and how he'd gotten it. Eventually, he ran out of excuses and his father was livid when he found out. The two had a big falling out, perhaps made worse by the ever more stressful days of work and he decided to leave home. And although he was lonelier, he still had his best friend by his side. It was around this time that he met a man that'd change the course of his life. Someone who held the same beliefs and convictions as he did, and had a dream that he needed help achieving. The impressionable young lad took an immediate liking to someone who didn't treat him like a criminal or an outcast, and actually showed compassion and respect for the bond he'd forged with his pokemon. Perhaps blinded by youthful enthusiasm, Val swore a vow to help the mans goal be realized by any means necessary, and he began to work tirelessly as a trainer to get stronger to meet this end. He didn't mind dirtying his hands further, they were already the hands of a criminal, or so his father would say. Pokemon: - Aggron (Knight) - Delphox (Pepper) - Altaria (Cloud) - Froslass (Shiver) (let me know if there's issue, just estimating here)</s> <|message|>Norah Kingsley "Ahhaha! You've arrived!" Norah Kingsley approached the jeep. She was an older woman, dressed in a pale pink tank top, khaki mom shorts, and vibrant pink hiking boots. The whole ensemble looked quite expensive. Her blonde hair was streaked with white, and her gray eyes were a bit lined in the corners, but no less lively than her daughter's. "Hello, darlings. Welcome to Hesperus!" She spread her arms wide, definitely with a flair for the dramatic. "Rory, welcome back. I'll be sure to give you lovebirds some privacy later." She winked cheekily, merely thinking Rory's beet red embarrassment was due to being in public. Poor boy looked like he was going to blow a blood vessel. "Now." She looked over the two trainers in the back. "You must be George Pendragon the Third. I see the genes still run strong. You look so much like your father. Nice cape, very hero chic." Then she looked to the girl. "And you must be Orianna Lindberg. A pleasure to meet you both. Now, you must have been driving for some time. Would you like me to take over, Rory?"</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg @Crimson Flame @Mistress Dizzy As the city came into view, Oriana's mouth fell open. It was as if the group had gone back in time. Stone walls stretched along the borders, making the place look every bit the ancient fortress she'd heard it had once been. As they neared, she even spotted men by the gates armored like guards of old. Hesperus truly had preserved its rich history. No sooner had the jeep pulled up, one of the guards approached, asking their purpose. "We've got an Overseer to beat, and a forest to explore!" Oriana piped up, leaning over. "And who wouldn't want to hang around an awesome place like this? Cool costume, by the way!" A high-pitched voice interjected, claiming a rather different reason for the group's presence. Oriana couldn't help but chuckle as a young blonde girl jumped down and started fawning over Rory, much to his embarrassment. "Oooh, looks like Mom and Dad's store may just get a visit for wedding rings soon." She gave Rory a big teasing grin in the driver's mirror. At Darlene's news about lodgings, Oriana's eyes widened. They'd be staying with the Overseer herself. "Sweet! We're technically a queen's guests of honor!" A woman who could be none other than said Overseer promptly made her arrival, looking much like an older version of Darlene, giving off a fittingly regal air with her fashionable getup. Oriana, talkative as she normally was, fell silent. Her stomach did flips. How was she supposed to talk to an Overseer? One descended from royalty, no less? As Norah addressed her, she nodded. "Yep, uhh... Your Majesty? Is that how we should address you?" She let out a nervous laugh. "I mean, they say you're descended from an ancient king, right? And the whole city treats you accordingly?" * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>Rory 'Rusty' Bennett Rory breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the out, "Yes you can, Norah. I actually have some personal business to take care of in the city. I'm sure you already know if the Professor called?" He said that last part with an oddly serious note. Rory gestured for the trainers to exit the car, "Norah will take care of you three for the time being. I'd love to watch the battle, but unfortunately I do have another job to attend to. Call me on the DexWatch if you two need anything alright?" Rory pointed to his DexWatch and pulled off. Norah and Darlene were nice enough to be around, but he'd need to be alone for this next part of the job. Once there was a decent distance between himself and the group, Rory felt his DexWatch vibrating and accepted the call, putting the caller on speaker as he drove, "Hello? Yes, I arrived in Hesperus. I'm going to the Office now. You're joking right? I already did it once.... ugh fine. It's only six this time right? Alright..." -Floatzel -Kaidan Dragonair (Shiny) -Rufflet -3x Ultra Balls -10x Pokeballs Flame @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy</s> <|message|>Norah Kingsley The Overseer smiled as Rory explained that he had to go it alone for now. "Alright, you know where the house is. Take care of yourself, Rory. Don't work too hard." Norah waved him off as he left with the Jeep. She then looked at the assembled trainers and her daughter. "Right. What's first? Tour of the city? Pokemon Center and Mart? Are you kids hungry at all?"</s> <|message|>Oriana Lindberg @Crimson Flame @Mistress Dizzy Jumping out of the car, Oriana stretched her back and headed to Norah's side. "Seeya, and will do!" She waved to Rory as he drove off. At Norah's mention of touring the city, Oriana bounced on her heels. "Oooh, tour sounds good! As does food of course!" She'd worked up quite an appetite exploring the foothills, and she supposed her Pokemon must be hungry too. Well, one of them anyway - did a Roggenrola even need to eat? She'd have to learn more about caring for different Pokemon. "I heard this city has quite the history! It'll be great to learn more about it, and see the old castle! And any other ruins! And museums, and the architecture, and... Uhh, if I'm talking too much, I apologise." She gave a stiff bow, as if to royalty. "Anyway, come on out, we've got some exploring to do!" She let out both her Pokemon. Shakudo craned his neck and stared around, while Carnelian swivelled her body from side to side, presumably taking in the new sounds. "I know, it's amazing, huh?" Grabbing her phone, she started taking pictures of the old buildings and battlements. Even though Hesperus was only a short distance from Mercer, she'd thought she'd never get the chance to see it. * Dratini (Shakudo) * Roggenrola (Carnelian) * Assorted trinkets (pebbles, low value gems, old coins) * Pokeball x4</s> <|message|>George Pendragon III It was soon decided that they were going to spend the day in Hesperus while Rory had other business to attend to. Norah was familiar with his dad, but that wasn't a surprise. Everyone should know who his dad was. "Of course you know my dad. He's awesome. One day though, I'm going to be the Pendragon everyone is talking about… Anyway, food first. We can go on a tour afterwards!" George sent out both his Pokémon. Devastator sat on his trainer's shoulder. He tried to wrap Venom around his arm like he had seen done on TV one time, but she just hissed at him, and slithered on the ground. "By the way, Orianna. We still have to have our own battle, remember?" @LuckyBlackCat @Mistress Dizzy</s> <|message|>Darlene King "You don't need to be so formal with my mom and me," explained Darlene as she saw Orianna bowing. "The whole royal thing is just ancestry. At this point, we're as regular people as you. Well... about as regular as you can get when you represent a major fashion chain and your mom is the Overseer." As the kids sent out their Pokemon, Darlene marveled at each one. "Wow! Your partners are so cute! Let me introduce mine!" Producing a set of Love Balls from within her jacket, Darlene threw them in the air, "Come on out, my attendants!" Each ball opened in mid-air and from each of them appeared a Galarian Rapidash, a Granbull, and a Sylveon. "These are my friends: Grani, Arthur, and Eris," she pointed at each of the Pokémon respectively. "These three have been with me forever, and they'll be the bulk of my team when I replace my mom as Overseer." Darlene saw Norah giving her an odd look and she playfully threw her hands up, "Of course I'll challenge you for it first!" As the group discussed getting a tour of the city before heading over to the Kingsley residence, there was a sudden sound of commotion coming from the center of town. Out of nowhere, both Norah and Darlene's DexWatches began ringing. As they opened the communication app, a man's voice could be heard, "Ms. Kingsley, are you there?! There's a robbery in progress at our main store in Hesperus! Officer Jenny is en route, but we could use the Overseer's help!" Looking to the group, Darlene gave an apologetic look, "You'll have to excuse us I'm afriad. This is something we have to take care of first!" Returning Arthur and Eris to their balls, Darlene hopped on Grani's back, "Grani, ExtremeSpeed!" The Rapidash took off at blinding speed, leaving a trail of light in its wake. Meanwhile... At the Venus Threads store, there was a strange group of individuals currently in the process of gathering... winter clothes? A group of thieves, all dressed in a black paramilitary garb, were moving through the store gathering any items that might be needed for a long trek into a cold climate. Among them were an unusually tall man, and a young boy. Flame@LuckyBlackCat@Mistress Dizzy@Suicharte@King Cosmos@Chev</s>

<|message|>Valerian Sergio It'd been a while since Val had taken something by force. It was oddly nostalgic, except this time it wasn't just him and Knight raiding a store, but a whole troupe of Team Star members. He figured theft was behind him for the most part, but he had no qualms stealing from 'royalty' anyhow, and the prices on some of these goods were obscene in his mind, so no feelings of guilt were on his shoulders by this course. Regardless, he did question the optics of such a manoeuvre. To the average person, they must look like common thugs in the moment, but he was sure that the average person would come to understand the good nature of their cause, even if it took time. One particular grunt had taken Val's interest though. He was definitely younger than the others, and he had a fiery spirit that he recognized from his youth. One of defiance against the system, and a determination to succeed. There was value to such a motivated mindset, and should he improve going forward, he would be a valuable asset to the team, though who knows how long that would take. Though, he figured that it would be a good time to grant the young man experience in an important role, the lookout. Responsibility had always been the best teacher. "On the double everyone, we've only got so much time before Jenny's here, and I'd rather things not get violent if they don't have to. Tim, keep watch out front and let me know if we've got company. Rest of you, prioritize the coats and scarves, and remember, function over fashion." he spoke with authority, although it still felt strange to him. To be able to command other people felt odd to him. He bore the responsibility for their well being, and their lives, and he didn't necessarily mind that as much as he thought he would. In a way, he was beginning to like it. He looked at his belt, where his Pokémon rested, sighed for a moment, and began packing more clothes into the large bags they'd brought. What sort of a leader doesn't also help with the job? Cosmos</s>

<|description|>"Ember" Gender: "Technically Male" Age: "Sweety, you know better than to ask!" (wink and hair flip) Description: Willowy and lithe; Decidedly feminine proportions. Flawless skin and hair. Always dresses "Fabulous" Bio: While technically an Alumni and Valordictorian of one of the more prestigious magical academies, "Ember" is not allowed to return after "The incident" that rankled more than a few feathers some years back. Is a powerful sorcerer in his own right, and is narcisistically attracted to people of similar degrees of power or prowess. Is very capable and resourceful, but ultimately solely motivated by his own internal opinions and beliefs. As a narcisist, he is his own higher power. Purpose of travel: Transport/Vacation. Since having been banned from the academy, his only way to get near the "New Hotties" is when the academy has its spring inter-semester break; Customarily, the location is always a secret until the last week before end of term, and is always someplace exotic. Ember cashed in some favors to find out where it was this year, and booked passage. Other info: Master of illusion, material manipulation, and magical combat. Sub-specialty in magical cosmetology, and magical compulsions. Narcisistic. Extremely limber and flexible. Starting equipment: Silver hand mirror deluxe makeup & grooming kit portable beverage dispenser (with built in magical chilling system) [essentially a thermos, keeps drinks cold] luggage containing an unholy number of highly compacted clothing items passport spending money light duty wand-style focus (instrument for directing magical intent, light duty, cannot accept high power magic)</s> <|message|>"Ember" There was a sudden, terrible, and immensely girly shriek, as Ember came to the startled conclusion that there was a MAN in his room. (Specifically, an UNINVITED one.) The magic he was using shot up and away from the suspended framework he was producing like a bottle rocket with a ZINNG!, and a loud Pop!, as it burst like a cross between a firework and an exploding spider, making a floofy rain of tiny fibers as it sputtered out, which floated on the air and slowly fluttered to the floor. WHO ARE YOU, AND HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE!? Shrieked ember in a glass shattering falsetto. DONT YOU KNOW NOT TO ENTER PEOPLES ROOMS UNINVITED, YOU FILTHY PERVERT!? OUT WITH YOU! GET OUT AT ONCE! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! THE CAPTAIN WILL HEAR OF THIS! and with that, the flustered and angry mage waved his wand at the door, which unlocked and flew open with a crash, before he trained it on Wheelo. I SAID GET OUT, YOU... DIRTY MAN! A massive cloud of luminous vapor billowed up around wheelo, then forcibly shoved him through the now open door into the commons and bunks just outside. AND STAY OUT! Shrieked the magician, just before the door closed with a violent slam, and the lock re-engaged with audible authority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The vapor clouds were dragged along by the black-haired man in a wheelchair as he was toppled over and his body lifelessly hit one of the ship's inner pillars. His body began to inhale the clouds rich in mana, and soon there was a motion in his arms trying to push himself up. This Ember woman, she's almost a threat too. Seems like everyone has telekinesis nowadays. Unfortunately, those excessive foggy frills won't do her any favours. He could use her as mana supply... His chair tilted forward and scooped him back up, and in that moment he was fine, although it'd be prudent of him to not cast spells for the rest of the day. He parked himself at the wall in front of Ember's room, intent on absorbing any more excess mana she just carelessly exudes, as well as finally getting away from the sun. His hair, oh, it was starting to get frizzy. It would be hard to be inconspicuous while stealing someone's hair in this ship, so for now this material is in short supply. Sunlight doesn't bode well for clothes either.</s> <|message|>Viviana The sudden commotion outside startled Viv from her studies. Curiously, she poked her head out of her room, only to see the wheelchair-ed man recovering from falling down. If she had more clearly heard what was shouted she may have been more cautious. "Sir? Are you alright? If you need any help I can try to assist" She placed the book down, pages open, on the empty bed as she left her room. As much as she liked to keep to herself, she was always taught to be polite and helpful.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) origin Nanashi make a small bow to the quatermaster for his inconvenient. @Grade He heard the noises and proceed to look for it. Seeing the young elf and wheelo in the same place. "What.Happened?" He said and make Wheelo recover faster into his wheelchair by helping him.</s> <|message|>"Ember" muffled sobs are heard through the closed door. (THAT --PERVERT-- WAS IN MY ROOM!) Rails the still insensed mage from behind the locked edifice. (Oooooh... look at the mess!)</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" It's the tiny woman with two missing fingers, and the young man who helped him up the ramp. Maybe he judged these two too harshly, one of them has already helped him once, and the other is only so polite and adorable. Yet, their threat levels keep lingering in his subconscious, especially now when he barely has the mana to move, let alone defend. He willed himself to just play along for now. "No, no need, I'm fine. It'll take more than a shove to kill me." Haha... Oh, he is so out of touch with social norms. He turned to the lad with the rice hat. "Hey, this is the second time you've tried to help me now, I appreciate that." He turned back to the small elf. "What a helpful bunch of youngsters. What are your names?" (addendum) As soon as he heard sobbing from behind him, he elbows the wall behind him to filter out the sound as best he could. He'd sigh if he could. It was ~mostly~ an accident.</s> <|message|>Viviana The small woman approached the sitting man with measured steps. Keeping her left hand in a fist, or as much of a fist as she could make with that hand, raised to her chest, and her right hand across her stomach, she bows. "I am Viviana. And what is your name?" Her face remained relatively stiff yet with a smile, all mental energy going into analyzing the situation. She was curious about how this man got down the stairs... Did he fall down? And didn't he just say he was shoved? Could someone have pushed a wheelchair-bound man down stairs?! Curiosity got the better of her. "Um, and if you don't mind me asking, how did you... Get down here?" Concern filled her face as she less than subtly glanced for any bruises or cuts. What was that other noise she was hearing? Was it... Sobbing? What a strange ship.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "My name's Henr-- ah, Carter, yes. Wheelo Carter, you can call me by that name." He follows with an awkward stuttered nod. He looks back at the young man with the rice hat and then back to Viviana. Maybe they're too young for his name to matter, especially with this rice hat guy. He doesn't seem to be of this continent. "Oh, I fell through the ceiling." He demonstrated by phasing a finger through his right armrest, then sliding his arm back to show that he didn't just have some kind of hole in there.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) As Wheelo look on him, "I have no. Real name. People call. Me. Nanashi." He replied. Nanashi think that wheel chair guy is getting not familiar from the way he dress and his weapons he carries. "I'm a foreigner. Got dragged to this continent. By strange. Image." He continue.</s> <|message|>Viviana "Nice to meet you Mr... Wheelo? Ive never heard of a name like that, but that is the fun of meeting new people. How did you... Do that?" Her voice waivered, not sure if it should be calm and calculated, or open to her confusion on the situation. In all her years learning magic she had never seen phasing, not by humans at least. Immediately her right hand moved to massage her left, the distant haunting echo of that terrible memory as she questioned the humanity of this... Man.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Her reaction is surely not what he expected. "Is this not a common ability for witches? You're a witch, right? Are you a witch? I saw your purple magic a while ago, that was you, right?" He raised his eyeglasses up to his hair, looking at her necklace and hand fingers, while abandoning any form of tact or the need to disguise the nature of his stiff, ivory eyes.</s> <|message|>Viviana Confusion quickly fell across her face. Did this human not understand what mages are? Was he attempting to be derogatory in some fashion? Her suspicion of this "Wheelo" was only mounting as time went on. "Oh, well yes and no. Witches practice a different kind of magic than I do, but I did use a levitation spell earlier," The slightest hint of elven smugness crept into her words, something she was no big fan of and yet found it impossible to avoid at times. Sometimes it amazed her how ignorant and petty humans were, even when they were much older than her. After a moment the fake smile returned in force, "Well, it seems everything out here is under control. Unless you need anything I will go back to my studies... which is not something 'witches' do," Were most witches not humans in the first place? This was all too confusing, something she could not afford if she was to prepare for her entrance exams.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "Oh no, not you too? Everyone seems to be able to use levitation in here..." He thoughtlessly blurted out, possibly unaware that it would shoot Viviana down, but between his own abilities and Ember launching him across the room... "Did I interrupt your reading? I apologize. Well, have fun." He waits until Viviana turns to walk away before he speaks again. "By the way, please stop the," he traces a curve at his lips with his two index fingers and shakes his head. "I hope you people would just express how you really feel. I'm a bit tired of guessing." He turns back to Nanashi, whispering in urgent. "Oh, you can go now. Don't let me stop your business either. I'm fine, truly. Thank you. Hope you reach home again."</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) He nods on Wheelo and proceed to look for his hammock. Viviana already off and went into her room as he done responding on Wheelo. He noticd the small elf cabin's door is facing on his bed spot. It seems the irritated quartermaster just did a shortcut. He sits on his hammock, placing his bow and quiver leaning on the pillar next to him and his stuffs putted on the footlocker. He then start to maintenance his katana for killing time including by disassembling it.</s>

<|message|>"Ember" Ember looked around the room with a pout. He had been so happy working on that dress, and now it was like somebody had let all the air out. How had that man gotten in? Ember gripped the handle of his wand in a mix of agitation, fury, and morose anxiety, then started waving it around the room, looking for how he had gotten in. He wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly-- it could have been anything. A secret door to let dirty perverts like him in maybe? Perhaps some other way? Regardless, the hair on the back of his neck bristled as he traipsed over the gossamer fibers scattered about from the errant magic just moments earlier, checking for drafts, errant magic, anything. Then he noted the odd after-wash of magic he was not entirely familiar with. 2 vertical bars of it, in fact, following the wall, and up to a "sposh" on the ceiling. "So THAT's how that pervert got in!" he fumed. Well, he wouldn't have it. Furiously, he began weaving wards all over the walls, floors, the ceiling and the door. "The captain is sure to hear about this, you had better believe it beloved-- Oh, the CHEEK! But he won't get in here again, that's for damned sure! Thank goodness we were still dressed!" He would have to perform this ritual pretty much daily from now on, and it irritated him to no end that a passenger could NOT be secure in their cabin without such onerous obligations, but apparently some people just dont comprehend the notion of privacy. With worry, the realization that the dirty peep had been able to pull off a very complicated bit of magic settled in, along with the realization of needing to cast wards before bed every night. 'Filthy perverts..' he muttered angrily. He would need to find some way to discretely warn the noble woman and anyone else sleeping in cabins about the intrusion, and the need for greater security it required. Completing the task, he set about cleaning up the gossamer fibers strewn about the room, skillfully amending them to the frame, still hanging limply in the air where he had left it, before deciding it was time to take a break. The creative mood had completely left him, and it would take time for it to return. Oh, how furious he was! Gently, he guided the unfinished frame to the empty bed and laid it out like a craftsman would lay a project on a table, before adjusting his hair and gown uneasily, then heading for the door. He hoped that ... MAN ... was no longer out there still.</s>

<|description|>"Ember" Gender: "Technically Male" Age: "Sweety, you know better than to ask!" (wink and hair flip) Description: Willowy and lithe; Decidedly feminine proportions. Flawless skin and hair. Always dresses "Fabulous" Bio: While technically an Alumni and Valordictorian of one of the more prestigious magical academies, "Ember" is not allowed to return after "The incident" that rankled more than a few feathers some years back. Is a powerful sorcerer in his own right, and is narcisistically attracted to people of similar degrees of power or prowess. Is very capable and resourceful, but ultimately solely motivated by his own internal opinions and beliefs. As a narcisist, he is his own higher power. Purpose of travel: Transport/Vacation. Since having been banned from the academy, his only way to get near the "New Hotties" is when the academy has its spring inter-semester break; Customarily, the location is always a secret until the last week before end of term, and is always someplace exotic. Ember cashed in some favors to find out where it was this year, and booked passage. Other info: Master of illusion, material manipulation, and magical combat. Sub-specialty in magical cosmetology, and magical compulsions. Narcisistic. Extremely limber and flexible. Starting equipment: Silver hand mirror deluxe makeup & grooming kit portable beverage dispenser (with built in magical chilling system) [essentially a thermos, keeps drinks cold] luggage containing an unholy number of highly compacted clothing items passport spending money light duty wand-style focus (instrument for directing magical intent, light duty, cannot accept high power magic)</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya The cabin was dim, lit by two oil lamps hung near each bed. Vivian had slept quite soundly, but Sonia was still wide awake, rolling left and right on a few occasions, finding a comfortable position so drowsiness could overtake her. This was supposed to be the trip where she could enjoy herself. A clap of thunder could be heard faintly. In a typical voyage, this was a minor nuisance, a sign of rough waves at worst, but soon they came in a series of piercing booms; winds picking up and the rain pouring like pebbles hitting the decks and walls alike. They were caught up in a storm, Sonia wanted to believe in the captain and his crew's expertise and curled up with her blanket and waited for everything to be over like any other passenger would, but the wobble was getting violent and the wooden structure began to creak and vibrate in every oscillation. Sonia made a great effort tumbling towards her roommate's bed, who apparently had woken up. "What's going on?" The creaking turned into a crack, a real crack as if the ship had broken its spine. Sonia reached the door, followed by the elf. Everyone else had already panicked, running about to god knows where. Water! There was water breaking in from every direction, and the wave was still merciless. Then came another rumble, and suddenly the entire ship was rolling sideways, throwing everyone off their balance and thrashing them to the side of the ship. Many were injured while the others were fortunate enough to have water cushioned their impact, but this amount means they would be in a sinking cage in a few minutes. The ship now listed to its starboard, the lower decks had already been filled with water and there was no floor anymore to tread. Sonia swam to look for Vivian, but she couldn't find her. Instead, her duffle bag was found floating near the door and she used it to help her float better. "To the exit! Everyone! Swim for the exit!" the crew yelled. Only a few helped the evacuation, and only a few passengers were sane enough to do as instructed. Some were crying and others struggled to stay afloat. Sonia was among those who managed to reach the bow of the ship, while the stern had begun to sink behind her. Outside now, the state of the ship was even more horrifying, It was demasted, half sunk, and nearly broken in two. Even for those who have escaped its doomed interior still had to fight the treacherous waves and wind. And Sonia was one of the many who couldn't win against nature; a violent wave blasted the bow of the ship and engulfed her. The last thing she remembered before being taken away was a strong pain in her chest and the decision she had to make between holding the halyard or her duffle bag. She chose the latter.</s> <|message|>"Verdant" Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This was why she didn't like ocean travel. Awoken by the thunder early, Verdant could no longer return to sleep. Sometimes she wondered if it's a good thing to be able to hear loud noises now. The first time she transfigured into the human form, the thunderclap sent her running for cover. She had never liked it ever since. Then it just got worse, the final bit of thunder sounded way too close and not alone. Oooh no. No no no no. This was her worst worry, and it came true. There were screams. A rush of dark water. And the unforgettable sound of a ship's spine breaking. Nope, she's out of there. As panic began to mount Verdant dropped on the floor, the bundle she carried unravelling into some sort of serpentine skull with a length of the spine attached. Its eyeholes lit with an otherworldly green glow as it slithered up a pillar and onto the ceiling in a complete disregard of minor things like gravity. The tail end of the spine hooked onto the dirt-green robe and on very close look one can see a tiny snake curled nicely inside the skull. Out of the death trap, on to the deck. The roiling water occasionally illuminated by peals of lightning didn't look safe at all, but sure beats going down with the ship. In a single lunatic decision, the serpent cast herself into the darkness and hoped for the best.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) Thanks to Ki, Nanashi has been recovered quickly before the storm. As the raging tides caused by the storm that slowly engulfing the ship. With a Martial Art swimming technique called Koshiki Eiho (Nihon Eiho). This aquatic skill is came from his origin, people who were trained can stably afloat and able to fight with weapon while wearing a full set of samurai armor. Advanced level like him can united with a body of water. With Ki, he can able to challenge the raging tides. He volunteer himself dragging out the children and the people who can't able to swim out the ship. Pulling the floating sails into those who struggling to afloat, saving people as the best he can.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man on a wheelchair... was not on his wheelchair. His wheelchair remains on the deck, stuck on the bannisters that would normally keep people from falling overboard. --- The deep water. An unusually quiet place compared to the chaos of the storm above. Light would occasionally flash, revealing merely the foams produced by the harsh waves. This far off from shore, neither bird nor fish would be in sight. This black-haired man who's not sitting on his wheelchair, was neither bird nor fish. Orange light emerged from his eyes and the cracks in his face, followed by streams of bubbles, as if the immediate water boiled beneath his 'skin'. He began to surge upward, with a speed comparable to swimming sharks. In the depths of the ocean, he looked quite like a meteor, and for someone who'd been avoiding water for all this time, his speed while submerged in it is a decent bit of irony. His hand reached for the closest thing that moved, pushing it up the ocean surface along with itself. What... Some kind of fat snake? Why is it wearing the skeleton of another snake? He held it close to his chest and coddled it like you would a cat. His voice hummed multiple tones, like a biblically accurate angel, probably because of the water in his system which is being constantly evaporated inside him. "How cute. How have I never noticed such a presence inside the ship? You're safe now. There, there. Cute snake." After this wave of emotions, finding himself deep at the darkness of the sea and the anger that came with it, to almost being pacified by the presence of a cuddly snake, it clicks in his mind as he breaks down this wall of selective attention span, and finally notices the heavy rain, nay, the storm that they now find themselves in. As another thunder boomed through the skies, he nodded. Yeah. Now it all makes sense. He looked around. Oh, no. Where is the ship? More importantly, where is his wheelchair? They both can't be that far, right? Focus. You only have a split-second to spot the ship as lightning illuminates the sky, large as the ship may be. Focus on its huge white sails. I rolled a D20 on this next bit, for my own fun, and it landed on a Nat 1 LMAO With every strike of lightning that the clouds spewed, he found nothing. He subsequently looked at the wrong direction. Huge waves obstructed his sight. His unmoving ivory eyes that lacked eyelids were blurred by the heavy rain that fell them. A brutal combination of factors. Within the vast expanse of a raging sea, he and his newly-found pet snake, were dreadfully alone.</s>

<|message|>"Ember" Ember awoke with a start as the sounds of frightened passengers and splintering wood ricocheted around his cabin. He had extinguished the lights in his room hours ago, but the unmistakable sound of water trying to shoot in under the doorframe was immistakable. He fumbled for his wand in his foot locker, as the water relentlessly rushed in behind him, getting his butt and legs wet as he knelt down. Finding what he was after, he quickly illuminated the room. There were several inches of water on the far corner, indicting the ship had an aftward list; a condition that did not bode well for the survivability of the vessel. "BLOODY HELL!" he rasped like an angry cat, while cursing to himself internally for not bringing a more suitable wand with him. This was supposed to be a simple business trip-- and--- "MY BABIES!" he shrieked, realizing his **ENTIRE** spring collection-- that had intended to display to this year's student body-- was probably already under several feet of water in the deck below. He was now, well and truly enraged by the situation, bordering on panic and despair. Only the anger was keeping his wits sharp, and he knew it, as his face twisted into an almost demonic possessed snarl surrounding wide whites with brown circles for eyes, frenzied expression. Saying nothing more, he spun around, faced the door, then blew it off the hinges, just as the ship lurched again in the turbulent waters. "Come darling-- We wont lose you too--" he furiously fumed, flicking the wand behind him. The foot locker rose up on one of those silvery cushions, and glided obediently behind him, as he attempted to storm out through the now freely floating door into the hammock sleeping area outside. Crew were scampering to the mess and galley, passengers were grasping at each other trying to get to the ascending stair, while more crew was barking angrily at them to stay below deck to avoid being washed away by the surf above. Continuing the storming glide, and monitoring the flow of water gushing around his feet, he stormed to the dining area, where the ship's carpenters were furiously trying to hammer tar soaked oakum into a nasty gash in the wall. "We'll all drown before you have that patched. OUT OF THE WAY." he barked, before leveling the wand at the wall, then sending a brilliant white flash from his wand toward it. The room filled with blue-white light, and in the space of a breath after, a thick encasement of ice clung in and to it where the split had formed. The wand was hot in his hands, as it had not been made to practice magic like a firehose-- or even at all really-- and its materials were protesting against such use; threatening to melt in half and seriously burn his hands, should he try such a thing again. With a scowl, he crouched, and dunked it into the water still swishing around on the floor, where it made an audible hiss from contact with the cold ocean water. The carpenters looked at him with bewilderment, and a touch of disdain, as the concept of how to deal with ice on top of the damaged wall flashed through their minds-- if their expressions were any indication-- but the pregnant pause did not last. Another hideous groan and crash, and the ship lurched once more, before water practically blasted in through the now 'clearly fractured beyond all repair' galley's doorframe, despite the coating of ice that had smattered it. If anything, the ice was all that was keeping the door on, under the relentless pressure behind it. "Oh--- SHIT." From above deck, orders from the boson and boson's mate could be distantly heard over the furtive voices of the other passengers and the thundering waves. 'PASSENGERS AND CREW TO THE LONG BOATS-- ' Neither he, nor the ship's carpenters wasted time-- almost in unison, they turned from the doomed wall of the ship toward the stairs, ushering people above deck as the evacuation was being overseen by men tied to long ropes, being washed this way and that by the water cresting over what was left of the ship, working hurriedly and furiously to make the ship's pinnace and longboats ready. It felt like an eternity, with water steadily rising behind... The line was just beginning to move, (indicating that the crew had some manner of success with one of the smaller craft tied up above deck), when the barely held on galley door exploded from its hinge, and a mighty swell of water gushed into the ship from below, pushing Ember and his current company up the stairs like a champagne cork leaving the bottle. Barely grasping hold of the hovering footlocker like it was a life preserver, he quickly found himself being tossed and tussled by the relentless waves after being sprayed out, and over the deck railing. Cursing and profanity that would have rivaled any sailor's was drown out by the cacophony of voices, shrieking wind, and the ever present sound of rain and splintering timber, while he furiously worked his magic, creating a tiny shelf of ice just beneath and around the small foot trunk he was clinging to like a man on a saddle. Time seemed to stretch, as if the dreadful storm would never end. The sounds of the ship became less, and the sound of the storm took over. It was everything the poor mage in waterlogged pajamas could do, just to keep the small raft of ice above water. He didn't have time, or energy, for anything else.</s>

<|description|>"Ember" Gender: "Technically Male" Age: "Sweety, you know better than to ask!" (wink and hair flip) Description: Willowy and lithe; Decidedly feminine proportions. Flawless skin and hair. Always dresses "Fabulous" Bio: While technically an Alumni and Valordictorian of one of the more prestigious magical academies, "Ember" is not allowed to return after "The incident" that rankled more than a few feathers some years back. Is a powerful sorcerer in his own right, and is narcisistically attracted to people of similar degrees of power or prowess. Is very capable and resourceful, but ultimately solely motivated by his own internal opinions and beliefs. As a narcisist, he is his own higher power. Purpose of travel: Transport/Vacation. Since having been banned from the academy, his only way to get near the "New Hotties" is when the academy has its spring inter-semester break; Customarily, the location is always a secret until the last week before end of term, and is always someplace exotic. Ember cashed in some favors to find out where it was this year, and booked passage. Other info: Master of illusion, material manipulation, and magical combat. Sub-specialty in magical cosmetology, and magical compulsions. Narcisistic. Extremely limber and flexible. Starting equipment: Silver hand mirror deluxe makeup & grooming kit portable beverage dispenser (with built in magical chilling system) [essentially a thermos, keeps drinks cold] luggage containing an unholy number of highly compacted clothing items passport spending money light duty wand-style focus (instrument for directing magical intent, light duty, cannot accept high power magic)</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret origin Ezekiel felt he was wasting time waiting around, instead of finding the book himself. He was walking away from the group, as they seemed more preoccupied with each other than with him. Sneaking off from the group and towards the dense trees in the distance. Using his dagger to cut the vines that were blocking his way. He did not know which way he was going, but he was certain that speaking to the spirits would give him some clues. Making sure not to trip on the large rocks that were scattered around the island. Stopping at a corpse that was sitting against a tree. The corpse looked like it was killed by multiple sword wounds, Ezekiel presumed that perhaps there was a mutiny. Assuming that this corpse was the captain of a ship. Putting away his dagger, and pulling out his staff. Chanting in some strange language, while waving his staff back and forth. Conjuring the spirit of the captain, "Chu'thu P'sfty Ta'gal Eatha'ma." Ezekiel could see the spirit of the captain starting to manifest. "What in gods name is going on? Where are those brig rats I call crewmates?" The spirit of the captain was a man in his old age, having a sour look on his face. "Ello, our name is Ezekiel. We do not know where your crew is, but they may have suffered a worse fate than you. We have summoned you to help us find a book that was brought onto the island. Do you know if one of your crew was carrying the Kaz'arak?" The captain rubbed his seethrough chin with his hand, thinking of if he had even heard of the Kaz'arak. "Na, I do not know of that name. But there was this strange book that Vavik fella was carrying." This Vavik person sounded like they could still have the book on their person. "And do you know where Vavik went? Is he on the island?" Ezekiel was nodding his head before speaking again. "If you can bring him to Vavik, that would be greatly appreciated." The captain looked at Ezekiel with a grin. "Aye, I could help ya but only if you destroy every corpse of those curs that betrayed me." Ezekiel suggested the captain goes with him, to identify which corpse belongs to his former crewmates. "Aye sounds like we ave a deal. My name is Jebediah Killgore, a pleasure to meet ya." The spirit held out his hand, to which Ezekiel stared blankly at since Kilgore was a ghost. "Our name is Eziekal, pleasure is our captain." The necromancer bowed his head towards the captain. The two soon started walking towards the corpses that belonged to Kilgore's treacherous crewmates. Ezekiel feels bad that he had to get rid of potential workers, but he had to do it so he could potentially find the book. Stopping at a pile of corpses, Ezekiel could tell that most of them killed and eaten each other. While others looked like they killed each other in a paranoid fit. Ezekiel before destroying the corpses, started searching for any salvageable items that could help him.</s> <|message|>"Ember" "And don't you forget it, dahling." ember intoned as if it were simply a matter of fact, before sitting back down (a bit roughly, with a plop) on the footlocker. On the one hand, it had felt rather nice to "blow the cobwebs out", but on the other... He felt his headache coming back on, and felt dizzy. There were very real, and important reasons why he relied on the use of a focus. For starters, it actually restricted the flow to something more... sensible... and on the other, it afforded much needed fine control. A good deal of the effort he expended when using magic was not so much in getting the magic, but in getting it to BEHAVE. He was altogether too familiar with the 'cheekiness' and 'ironic disposition' magic tended to get when lots of it got thrown down, haphazardly. He would not be at all surprised if this particular spot on the beach had "anomalies" for a few days. If not right away in fact. He looked at 'Henri', and felt a momentary pang of sympathy. If he preferred to stay tethered to a beat up wreck that just got a molten magic enema, his body--wherever it was-- must truly be in a bad way. He vaguely recalled the man had mentioned cryogenesis. Perhaps he was just so damned old, that he had considered this as a means of cheating death-- who knows. Regardless, that floppy broken arm was just sad. "Well-- Let's see about that arm then-- " he sighed, reaching back down and reclaiming the wand from its resting place on the sand near his feet. "It just wouldn't do to leave you in something so tatty..." He started with a gentle probe-- thin streamers of invisible magical force, delicately threaded through and over the surface of the damaged shell 'Henri' was controlling, looking for signs as to its construction, raw material composition, and any obvious signs of otherwise hidden damage. It appeared to be a somewhat unusual composition-- clearly highly refined materials-- technically a "ceramic", but not like what you would find from your average potter; the materials were not naturally found in such a precise ratio. It was clearly a custom job. As for the magic-- it twisted this way and that at the attempt to scry it. Usually this meant that it had been warded against prying eyes, or at least formulated in such a way as to discourage duplication. Some of the more expensive magical apparatus one could buy had such clever tricks woven into them for such purposes, but this went above and beyond mere frustration in mind. "Well...." mused ember with a frown. "It might take some doing-- I can try to collect the raw materials but..." "You can't fix the enchantments, I know." "Oh, I COULD if I truly cared to invest the time to unravel the fuckery you've got going on in there-- but I'm not sure I want to for a charity case dahling."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Henri stayed in this position of leaning forward, his severed left arm moving on its own to lift a hand that hasn't been there for several moments now. Eventually, Henri's torso started listing forward and he let out a groan as his body, normally incapable of feeling pain, still hurt all over. "Sounds like I'll have to pay up... I only have around 20 silver coins... Would my loyalty suffice? If you find value in having me on your side, anyway." He slowly sat up straight, and the backrest of his wheelchair rose back up to its normal position, and he sighed as he leaned onto it. His hair, swept back and frozen leaning towards the right due to the explosion, a part of it on the left of his face had its length reduced, no longer concealing his lack of human-shaped ears. All that was there is an indented plate of steel forming a pentagon pointing down, with a notch at the top to secure his eyeglasses which, the left lens of it is also cracked. His severed left arm, its hand grabbed his abruptly amputated right arm, and he swung it back to latch onto his shoulder, but a lot of parts are missing. "No, I figured I'll have to make do with more mundane materials, one of these days. It's fine." Red-hot iron rose from within the depths of his body and started filling in the gap, as well as his missing right hand. It looked so obvious, this silver chunk on his body amidst the pale white ceramic. It amused him. "Scars to remember you by when this trip is over." He probably needs to cover this up, though. This large hole on the shoulder of his coat surely doesn't look fashionable, right? These iron wounds would attract unneeded attention, too. He glanced at Ember and was about to ask if she could mend his clothes and loan a spare right-hand glove, but he remembers her current bout of nausea. "Wait. How inconsiderate of me to provoke you into exerting your power. Do you want to exchange seats? It's leather. Comfortable. You can sleep on it. Well, actually, I just assume it's comfortable, I can't actually gauge for myself if it truly is."</s>

<|message|>"Ember" Ember made an amused chuckle. "As for the materials, there's no real need to consider substitutions just yet-- Sure-- I might have broke you what good dahling, but it's not like the pieces simply vanished. Silly boy, they just got shot all over. Not anywhere near the same thing-- There's so many spells made for finding 'lost objects' that it's an entire hall in the university library. In this case, a simple charm will suffice-- Being as the little mishap "Just happened"." He made a self-satisfied, and amused pursing of his lips, before flicking the wand up and side to side, as if casting a net of invisible threads. "Now then-- there we are..." He made one more flick just above the broken shell of "Henri's" chest, then mere seconds later, small bits of white material came floating inbound wrapped in silvery clouds, discretely gliding into position like hauntingly animated puzzle pieces. In a matter of moments, the "missing" pieces of the shell were replaced by a heavily fractured jigsaw of white shards, held in place by the silvery effervescent cloud. "Now then.. Let's see what we can do about mending it back up... You might notice some differences after the patching-- Without investigating the charms more deeply, this is just putting the materials back in place, and fusing them back together. I'll have to tease out that "Rat-nest" you have whizzing about in there later. But at least you wont look so tatty." The faintest glimmer of light shone between the pieces, little sections at a time, as the disheveled mage delicately mended the small shards back into place, and pushed the offending iron bits back off, before deciding to use them as a kind of external reinforcement brace. The integrity of the patch could not be assured without fully delving the magic involved in its construction, and a simple, crude frame on the outside would at least help prevent radical fracture until a proper mending could be done. Then, the shell patched as much as current circumstances allowed, he moved on silently to the burned concealing garments the doll was wearing, now fully within his element of expertise. Myriad tiny threads were spun from the nearby organic filth on the beach, and woven perfectly and imperceptibly into the damaged fabrics, restoring them to like-new in mere seconds while ember hummed bemusedly. "Now then-- I tend to be a stickler about favors dahling-- You don't have to pay up until after I fully fix this.... Fuckery-- but I expect no hesitation or backing out once it's done. I don't know what I will want from you, but I'll hold it in confidence until then-- No shirking. Well? Go on-- give it a go." He leaned back on the footlocker. He was glad of being seated. He doubted it would be wise for him to get up and walk around just yet.</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" So, Lady DeVespe and this drunk guy just... He internally slapped himself. Not his business. It seems he's a tad rusty with controlling his power, only having used it to move with his wheelchair for a long time. Steeling himself to exert full power, he lightly elbowed the taffrail again, this time intent to hurl DeVespe's second guard's entire body towards Barbara. Barbara... that's a woman's name, right? That's a woman? origin With this distraction, he gave back the white card back to Lady DeVespe. "I just can't ever seem to get anyone to accept my help. I hope it's not because you think I'm helpless." He reverses his wheelchair while looking down. Seems like he's trying to measure his spot. He looks back at DeVespe. "Good luck." His wheelchair tips over backwards, and it would seem like he's falling, but instead he fully submerges through the wood floor like it's made of water, leaving no trace. --- There he was, hanging upside-down from the ceiling of a closed cabin below the deck. He took this moment to ponder on the nature of that card. He was sure of it, traces of mana on the card just before he took ahold of it, possibly to show hidden text solely for Lady DeVespe... Maybe if he was a mere seconds earlier, he could've read it. Actually, what was up with the card itself? He thought it'd be parchment or a sheet of wood but no, perfectly cut and folded sheet of... It seemed like linen but it shone in the sunlight like silk. It maintains its shape... hardened by light heating? The words seem to be seared onto it, so maybe, but what nice design. His mana pool is beginning to suffer from this prolonged mid-air suspension, and so he began rolling towards the wall, and down the floor. What was that name in the card again? The 'proprietor' of... a fashion business? It was at the start of the card... Oh, wow, the air in this room feels so dry, it's unusually pleasing... Come on, focus. "Sme... Smothering... no.." As his wheels touch the floor, he stares straight at this... gorgeous woman? With the red hair and deep v-neck black dress... "S...mouldering Ember." His head slowly tilts right, until his back just falls onto his chair, and his arms completely limp off the armrests. For someone who can only move by using mana, to waste his mana on spells like that, how reckless. Sounds try to come out of his mouth, but only in incoherent pieces, barely syllables, until after a moment. "Can I stay in... this room for just a little while? I can't move, my mana..." @wierdw</s> <|message|>"Ember" There was a sudden, terrible, and immensely girly shriek, as Ember came to the startled conclusion that there was a MAN in his room. (Specifically, an UNINVITED one.) The magic he was using shot up and away from the suspended framework he was producing like a bottle rocket with a ZINNG!, and a loud Pop!, as it burst like a cross between a firework and an exploding spider, making a floofy rain of tiny fibers as it sputtered out, which floated on the air and slowly fluttered to the floor. WHO ARE YOU, AND HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE!? Shrieked ember in a glass shattering falsetto. DONT YOU KNOW NOT TO ENTER PEOPLES ROOMS UNINVITED, YOU FILTHY PERVERT!? OUT WITH YOU! GET OUT AT ONCE! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! THE CAPTAIN WILL HEAR OF THIS! and with that, the flustered and angry mage waved his wand at the door, which unlocked and flew open with a crash, before he trained it on Wheelo. I SAID GET OUT, YOU... DIRTY MAN! A massive cloud of luminous vapor billowed up around wheelo, then forcibly shoved him through the now open door into the commons and bunks just outside. AND STAY OUT! Shrieked the magician, just before the door closed with a violent slam, and the lock re-engaged with audible authority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The vapor clouds were dragged along by the black-haired man in a wheelchair as he was toppled over and his body lifelessly hit one of the ship's inner pillars. His body began to inhale the clouds rich in mana, and soon there was a motion in his arms trying to push himself up. This Ember woman, she's almost a threat too. Seems like everyone has telekinesis nowadays. Unfortunately, those excessive foggy frills won't do her any favours. He could use her as mana supply... His chair tilted forward and scooped him back up, and in that moment he was fine, although it'd be prudent of him to not cast spells for the rest of the day. He parked himself at the wall in front of Ember's room, intent on absorbing any more excess mana she just carelessly exudes, as well as finally getting away from the sun. His hair, oh, it was starting to get frizzy. It would be hard to be inconspicuous while stealing someone's hair in this ship, so for now this material is in short supply. Sunlight doesn't bode well for clothes either.</s> <|message|>Viviana The sudden commotion outside startled Viv from her studies. Curiously, she poked her head out of her room, only to see the wheelchair-ed man recovering from falling down. If she had more clearly heard what was shouted she may have been more cautious. "Sir? Are you alright? If you need any help I can try to assist" She placed the book down, pages open, on the empty bed as she left her room. As much as she liked to keep to herself, she was always taught to be polite and helpful.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) origin Nanashi make a small bow to the quatermaster for his inconvenient. @Grade He heard the noises and proceed to look for it. Seeing the young elf and wheelo in the same place. "What.Happened?" He said and make Wheelo recover faster into his wheelchair by helping him.</s> <|message|>"Ember" muffled sobs are heard through the closed door. (THAT --PERVERT-- WAS IN MY ROOM!) Rails the still insensed mage from behind the locked edifice. (Oooooh... look at the mess!)</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" It's the tiny woman with two missing fingers, and the young man who helped him up the ramp. Maybe he judged these two too harshly, one of them has already helped him once, and the other is only so polite and adorable. Yet, their threat levels keep lingering in his subconscious, especially now when he barely has the mana to move, let alone defend. He willed himself to just play along for now. "No, no need, I'm fine. It'll take more than a shove to kill me." Haha... Oh, he is so out of touch with social norms. He turned to the lad with the rice hat. "Hey, this is the second time you've tried to help me now, I appreciate that." He turned back to the small elf. "What a helpful bunch of youngsters. What are your names?" (addendum) As soon as he heard sobbing from behind him, he elbows the wall behind him to filter out the sound as best he could. He'd sigh if he could. It was ~mostly~ an accident.</s> <|message|>Viviana The small woman approached the sitting man with measured steps. Keeping her left hand in a fist, or as much of a fist as she could make with that hand, raised to her chest, and her right hand across her stomach, she bows. "I am Viviana. And what is your name?" Her face remained relatively stiff yet with a smile, all mental energy going into analyzing the situation. She was curious about how this man got down the stairs... Did he fall down? And didn't he just say he was shoved? Could someone have pushed a wheelchair-bound man down stairs?! Curiosity got the better of her. "Um, and if you don't mind me asking, how did you... Get down here?" Concern filled her face as she less than subtly glanced for any bruises or cuts. What was that other noise she was hearing? Was it... Sobbing? What a strange ship.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "My name's Henr-- ah, Carter, yes. Wheelo Carter, you can call me by that name." He follows with an awkward stuttered nod. He looks back at the young man with the rice hat and then back to Viviana. Maybe they're too young for his name to matter, especially with this rice hat guy. He doesn't seem to be of this continent. "Oh, I fell through the ceiling." He demonstrated by phasing a finger through his right armrest, then sliding his arm back to show that he didn't just have some kind of hole in there.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) As Wheelo look on him, "I have no. Real name. People call. Me. Nanashi." He replied. Nanashi think that wheel chair guy is getting not familiar from the way he dress and his weapons he carries. "I'm a foreigner. Got dragged to this continent. By strange. Image." He continue.</s> <|message|>Viviana "Nice to meet you Mr... Wheelo? Ive never heard of a name like that, but that is the fun of meeting new people. How did you... Do that?" Her voice waivered, not sure if it should be calm and calculated, or open to her confusion on the situation. In all her years learning magic she had never seen phasing, not by humans at least. Immediately her right hand moved to massage her left, the distant haunting echo of that terrible memory as she questioned the humanity of this... Man.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Her reaction is surely not what he expected. "Is this not a common ability for witches? You're a witch, right? Are you a witch? I saw your purple magic a while ago, that was you, right?" He raised his eyeglasses up to his hair, looking at her necklace and hand fingers, while abandoning any form of tact or the need to disguise the nature of his stiff, ivory eyes.</s> <|message|>Viviana Confusion quickly fell across her face. Did this human not understand what mages are? Was he attempting to be derogatory in some fashion? Her suspicion of this "Wheelo" was only mounting as time went on. "Oh, well yes and no. Witches practice a different kind of magic than I do, but I did use a levitation spell earlier," The slightest hint of elven smugness crept into her words, something she was no big fan of and yet found it impossible to avoid at times. Sometimes it amazed her how ignorant and petty humans were, even when they were much older than her. After a moment the fake smile returned in force, "Well, it seems everything out here is under control. Unless you need anything I will go back to my studies... which is not something 'witches' do," Were most witches not humans in the first place? This was all too confusing, something she could not afford if she was to prepare for her entrance exams.</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "Oh no, not you too? Everyone seems to be able to use levitation in here..." He thoughtlessly blurted out, possibly unaware that it would shoot Viviana down, but between his own abilities and Ember launching him across the room... "Did I interrupt your reading? I apologize. Well, have fun." He waits until Viviana turns to walk away before he speaks again. "By the way, please stop the," he traces a curve at his lips with his two index fingers and shakes his head. "I hope you people would just express how you really feel. I'm a bit tired of guessing." He turns back to Nanashi, whispering in urgent. "Oh, you can go now. Don't let me stop your business either. I'm fine, truly. Thank you. Hope you reach home again."</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The vapor clouds were dragged along by the black-haired man in a wheelchair as he was toppled over and his body lifelessly hit one of the ship's inner pillars. His body began to inhale the clouds rich in mana, and soon there was a motion in his arms trying to push himself up. This Ember woman, she's almost a threat too. Seems like everyone has telekinesis nowadays. Unfortunately, those excessive foggy frills won't do her any favours. He could use her as mana supply... His chair tilted forward and scooped him back up, and in that moment he was fine, although it'd be prudent of him to not cast spells for the rest of the day. He parked himself at the wall in front of Ember's room, intent on absorbing any more excess mana she just carelessly exudes, as well as finally getting away from the sun. His hair, oh, it was starting to get frizzy. It would be hard to be inconspicuous while stealing someone's hair in this ship, so for now this material is in short supply. Sunlight doesn't bode well for clothes either.</s> <|message|>Viviana The sudden commotion outside startled Viv from her studies. Curiously, she poked her head out of her room, only to see the wheelchair-ed man recovering from falling down. If she had more clearly heard what was shouted she may have been more cautious. "Sir? Are you alright? If you need any help I can try to assist" She placed the book down, pages open, on the empty bed as she left her room. As much as she liked to keep to herself, she was always taught to be polite and helpful.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) origin Nanashi make a small bow to the quatermaster for his inconvenient. @Grade He heard the noises and proceed to look for it. Seeing the young elf and wheelo in the same place. "What.Happened?" He said and make Wheelo recover faster into his wheelchair by helping him.</s> <|message|>"Ember" muffled sobs are heard through the closed door. (THAT --PERVERT-- WAS IN MY ROOM!) Rails the still insensed mage from behind the locked edifice. (Oooooh... look at the mess!)</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" It's the tiny woman with two missing fingers, and the young man who helped him up the ramp. Maybe he judged these two too harshly, one of them has already helped him once, and the other is only so polite and adorable. Yet, their threat levels keep lingering in his subconscious, especially now when he barely has the mana to move, let alone defend. He willed himself to just play along for now. "No, no need, I'm fine. It'll take more than a shove to kill me." Haha... Oh, he is so out of touch with social norms. He turned to the lad with the rice hat. "Hey, this is the second time you've tried to help me now, I appreciate that." He turned back to the small elf. "What a helpful bunch of youngsters. What are your names?" (addendum) As soon as he heard sobbing from behind him, he elbows the wall behind him to filter out the sound as best he could. He'd sigh if he could. It was ~mostly~ an accident.</s> <|message|>Viviana The small woman approached the sitting man with measured steps. Keeping her left hand in a fist, or as much of a fist as she could make with that hand, raised to her chest, and her right hand across her stomach, she bows. "I am Viviana. And what is your name?" Her face remained relatively stiff yet with a smile, all mental energy going into analyzing the situation. She was curious about how this man got down the stairs... Did he fall down? And didn't he just say he was shoved? Could someone have pushed a wheelchair-bound man down stairs?! Curiosity got the better of her. "Um, and if you don't mind me asking, how did you... Get down here?" Concern filled her face as she less than subtly glanced for any bruises or cuts. What was that other noise she was hearing? Was it... Sobbing? What a strange ship.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "My name's Henr-- ah, Carter, yes. Wheelo Carter, you can call me by that name." He follows with an awkward stuttered nod. He looks back at the young man with the rice hat and then back to Viviana. Maybe they're too young for his name to matter, especially with this rice hat guy. He doesn't seem to be of this continent. "Oh, I fell through the ceiling." He demonstrated by phasing a finger through his right armrest, then sliding his arm back to show that he didn't just have some kind of hole in there.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) As Wheelo look on him, "I have no. Real name. People call. Me. Nanashi." He replied. Nanashi think that wheel chair guy is getting not familiar from the way he dress and his weapons he carries. "I'm a foreigner. Got dragged to this continent. By strange. Image." He continue.</s> <|message|>Viviana "Nice to meet you Mr... Wheelo? Ive never heard of a name like that, but that is the fun of meeting new people. How did you... Do that?" Her voice waivered, not sure if it should be calm and calculated, or open to her confusion on the situation. In all her years learning magic she had never seen phasing, not by humans at least. Immediately her right hand moved to massage her left, the distant haunting echo of that terrible memory as she questioned the humanity of this... Man.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Her reaction is surely not what he expected. "Is this not a common ability for witches? You're a witch, right? Are you a witch? I saw your purple magic a while ago, that was you, right?" He raised his eyeglasses up to his hair, looking at her necklace and hand fingers, while abandoning any form of tact or the need to disguise the nature of his stiff, ivory eyes.</s> <|message|>Viviana Confusion quickly fell across her face. Did this human not understand what mages are? Was he attempting to be derogatory in some fashion? Her suspicion of this "Wheelo" was only mounting as time went on. "Oh, well yes and no. Witches practice a different kind of magic than I do, but I did use a levitation spell earlier," The slightest hint of elven smugness crept into her words, something she was no big fan of and yet found it impossible to avoid at times. Sometimes it amazed her how ignorant and petty humans were, even when they were much older than her. After a moment the fake smile returned in force, "Well, it seems everything out here is under control. Unless you need anything I will go back to my studies... which is not something 'witches' do," Were most witches not humans in the first place? This was all too confusing, something she could not afford if she was to prepare for her entrance exams.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "Oh no, not you too? Everyone seems to be able to use levitation in here..." He thoughtlessly blurted out, possibly unaware that it would shoot Viviana down, but between his own abilities and Ember launching him across the room... "Did I interrupt your reading? I apologize. Well, have fun." He waits until Viviana turns to walk away before he speaks again. "By the way, please stop the," he traces a curve at his lips with his two index fingers and shakes his head. "I hope you people would just express how you really feel. I'm a bit tired of guessing." He turns back to Nanashi, whispering in urgent. "Oh, you can go now. Don't let me stop your business either. I'm fine, truly. Thank you. Hope you reach home again."</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) He nods on Wheelo and proceed to look for his hammock. Viviana already off and went into her room as he done responding on Wheelo. He noticd the small elf cabin's door is facing on his bed spot. It seems the irritated quartermaster just did a shortcut. He sits on his hammock, placing his bow and quiver leaning on the pillar next to him and his stuffs putted on the footlocker. He then start to maintenance his katana for killing time including by disassembling it.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember looked around the room with a pout. He had been so happy working on that dress, and now it was like somebody had let all the air out. How had that man gotten in? Ember gripped the handle of his wand in a mix of agitation, fury, and morose anxiety, then started waving it around the room, looking for how he had gotten in. He wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly-- it could have been anything. A secret door to let dirty perverts like him in maybe? Perhaps some other way? Regardless, the hair on the back of his neck bristled as he traipsed over the gossamer fibers scattered about from the errant magic just moments earlier, checking for drafts, errant magic, anything. Then he noted the odd after-wash of magic he was not entirely familiar with. 2 vertical bars of it, in fact, following the wall, and up to a "sposh" on the ceiling. "So THAT's how that pervert got in!" he fumed. Well, he wouldn't have it. Furiously, he began weaving wards all over the walls, floors, the ceiling and the door. "The captain is sure to hear about this, you had better believe it beloved-- Oh, the CHEEK! But he won't get in here again, that's for damned sure! Thank goodness we were still dressed!" He would have to perform this ritual pretty much daily from now on, and it irritated him to no end that a passenger could NOT be secure in their cabin without such onerous obligations, but apparently some people just dont comprehend the notion of privacy. With worry, the realization that the dirty peep had been able to pull off a very complicated bit of magic settled in, along with the realization of needing to cast wards before bed every night. 'Filthy perverts..' he muttered angrily. He would need to find some way to discretely warn the noble woman and anyone else sleeping in cabins about the intrusion, and the need for greater security it required. Completing the task, he set about cleaning up the gossamer fibers strewn about the room, skillfully amending them to the frame, still hanging limply in the air where he had left it, before deciding it was time to take a break. The creative mood had completely left him, and it would take time for it to return. Oh, how furious he was! Gently, he guided the unfinished frame to the empty bed and laid it out like a craftsman would lay a project on a table, before adjusting his hair and gown uneasily, then heading for the door. He hoped that ... MAN ... was no longer out there still.</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man in the wheelchair has been parked at the wall in front of Ember's room all this time. The ward applied on the wall closest to him seems to be gradually being sucked in, even though he didn't seem awake. His head is tilted back and his permanently open eyes stare at a corner of the ceiling. His chest didn't huff, as he doesn't really breathe. His arms dangled off his armrests, motionless as well. Just being near him inflicts a small drowzy feeling, as he slowly seeps mana away from everything around him. The cloth mask he wears on his face slid off a little due to his overly slouched head, and closer inspection reveals his cheeks and lower jaw are... cut? As if of a jigsaw puzzle without tabs. His lips don't really have colour distinct from the rest of his skin either.</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man not on a wheelchair was just there, half-buried in sand, with a fat snake wearing another snake's skull, which he held tight between his chest and hands, and kept safe for the rest of the night even when he fell asleep during the storm. Right now, he's just there. Unmoving. His 'eyes' lacking eyelids, staring directly at the sun. His eyeglasses are missing. More importantly, his wheelchair is missing. There was a sizeable amount of material invested in that wheelchair.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia was spitting sands and coughing seawater as she woke up. Ironically, she scooped more salt water to spit out the remaining sands, making her throat even sorer. But to completely get rid of the minerals, it was worth it! The first two minutes were spent doing nothing, literally. Anyone else could be seen walking toward the island, probably in panic and seeing hope in green vegetation, but Sonia recalled her experience and decided; All she had to do now is stop, really, stop until she could get a grasp of the situation. Do not panic. With her duffle bag dragged along, she trudged toward her former roommate, who miraculously washed not far from her. Vivian was found lying with her body half submerged in water. Breathing, but still unconscious. Paleness on his lips indicates acute dehydration. Looked like they had been stranded here for a few hours. "Miss Vivian? Can you hear me?" An extra effort to wake her up was needed, and based on her prior two minutes assessment, they wouldn't want to be here any longer. Sonia lifted her petite figure and packstrap carry her on her back, half unconscious and all, and she wouldn't pardon for this austerities. Their resting place was an opening with minimal shrubs under the shade of some mangrove and coconut trees. The site was protected by some boulder formations in front and a few smaller trees that provide an additional shield against the burning sun. It is a tropical island alright, and Sonia eyed at the coconut trees with varieties of heights and tilts. She reached a dagger from her duffle bag and climbed one of the shorter trunks with a slightly hampered agility. A cluster of green coconut was down with a heavy thump, then another. Satisfied, but not quite, Sonia slid down from the trees, scrapes and bruises be damned. Vivian had already woken up, but she ignored her for a moment and focus on chopping the husk down to its hard shell. And then, only after gulping the entire fruit by herself, she can think normal again. "Here, drink this," said Sonia, offering a freshly cut green coconut to the dazed elf.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @spiral origin The last thing Eziekal remembered was the wave coming towards the lifeboats, for a moment he thought it would be the end of his life. But ending up washed up on this island, only reassured him that he was fated to wash ashore. "Thank you Dathon, we are grateful that you have brought us here." Yelping in pain from a crab biting him, throwing the crab from underneath his robes and into the water. He let out a sigh of relief when he remembered he had strapped his staff and dagger to his person. "Thank Athzoth we have our things, now we need to find the Kaz'arak" The necromancer looked around at his surroundings, trying to figure out where he could find the book. But his attention was focused on the other survivors that had washed up with him. Most of them seem badly wounded, some more so than others. The young man made his way over towards an obvious blind man, he had noticed the blind man needed the use of a wheelchair for movement. Ezekiel felt a kinship with the man, both of them did not have the use of their eyes. But he felt some regret that he could see thanks to his third eye. Walking over towards the man putting his hand on his shoulder. "We know what it is like to walk in darkness, we will guide you into the light. Are you in need of any medical assistance? Do you need any water?" He looked over at the others because he knew he was not strong enough to carry the man. "Is anyone here strong enough to help us lift this man to safety?" The necromancer took his hands off of the blind man's shoulder. Ezekiel took a moment to spit out some salt water after lifting his mask above his mouth. Putting the mask back over his face.</s> <|message|>"Verdant" Uuuugh. Verdant the snake had barely managed to stay conscious through all that. Mostly. And it turned out that they were washed away on a shore not too long after. Great, at least she ain't at risk of dying. There should be enough resource in the island for prolonged survival, as inconvenient as it were. Silver linings and all. Let's take this step by step. Firstly, gotta get away from this weird man that didn't quite felt like a man. Probably an exotic race that she never met or something. Regardless, he's gripping her skull rather tightly and Verdant would rather not transform back in sight. The fact that her bundle of cloth and whatnot was washed away didn't really help either. There goes all her money too, gosh darn it. Oh well, she can always get more once she return to civilization. Step by step. Strengthening her spiritual connection to the skeleton, it thrashed and bounded away with unnatural strength as she rode it further inland, disappearing between the vegetation momentarily. First of all, circle around to find some spot to rejoin the passengers. Maybe salvage a cloth or whatever fabric she can get her hands on. She's not much bothered by the lack of it, but leave it to the humans to put such trivialities in high priority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man who's currently not on a wheelchair and instead half-submerged in sand, spoke not of words but a low static noise. When the snake draped in another snake's skeleton darted away from his arms with such force, it flung his arms up and one of them fully broke off from the elbow and flew three feet away. The humming suddenly intensified, along with more static noise, and this feeling that all the energy in the air and the ground and the nearest benevolent necromancer was being drained into him. As this went on, his head slowly turned to align his eyes with the visage of this blind, blue-robed figure. There was no expression on his face. If one were to look closely at his severed arm, there's no blood. It's just some kind of prosthetic made of terracotta flesh and iron bones.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia heard the call. Now her personal safety had been ensured, maybe it was time to help the others some more. She rushed toward the robed man, leaving the elf, who was still deep in her own thoughts, maybe she needed some time alone to recover and recompose herself. Poor Vivi. There was this strange fella, half buried in the sand, wide awake but somehow unresponsive. The first responder to help him was this robed man, a very strange man... with goat as a head. Felt slightly unnerved, but still willing to help, Sonia moved closer to the buried man. Asked him if he can move his limbs. Seeing the detached prosthetic, apparently not. "The sands are quite shallow, I think I can do this. Ready sir?" No answer, and not like Sonia would wait for one. She grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and forcefully pull him out of the sand. "Can you walk?" No answer again, only incomprehensible eye movement. Sonia turned to the other robed man. "Are you his friend? Can you pick... uhh his hand up?" After saying that, Sonia dragged the disabled man to a nearby shade, and couldn't help but notice something strange was at play here. She felt her energy was slowly drained, certainly not fatigue, nor the heat of the burning sun. It was more arcane, coming from this man. For now, she didn't really mind it, her task was finished anyway when she leaned the man against a tree. "Should be safe enough now," Sonia wanted to apologize for dragging him this far and explain that all would be easier if he had both arms intact. However, wasn't sure if the unresponsive man would want to hear it all, so she excused herself and returned to her camp.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Pakde After Ezekiel had helped the other woman move the man to rest against a tree, he stood with him for a moment. Felt something strange about his blind man, he assumed that he was fatigued thanks to the sun and moving the man. But the man knew there was something more sinister about the wheelchair bound man. "We will be back to help you." Ezekiel muttered a protection spell as he came over towards Sonia. His interest was peaked seeing her. He knew of the demons from the other realm, but he had not met one before. "We are curious if you are from Carcousa? The realm of Shab'Nigarth the mother of darkness?" He assumed that she was perhaps from another plane where demons like her reside. But it doesn't hurt to ask, since he was curious if she knew of the Great Ones. She reminded him of Kith, creatures that dwell in the forest. Kiths love to be around nature mostly in heavily forested areas. But they were quite dangerous, as they did not like people snooping around their territory. "We have no survival skills, however we are good with sowing and cooking." The necromancer made sure not to mention he was a necromancer, but assumed some of them knew that already. His choice of clothing and mannerism was very strange.</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The protection spell placed on the black-haired man rapidly decayed, and the low static sound he emanated had suddenly ceased. ... Movement. His head straightened up, and his right stump moved to his chest as he shook his left shoulder, and then his left hand held the back of his neck as he twisted it around. "Hello, consciousness," he told himself. He looked to his left. The redhead with horns, followed by some kind of blue-robed cultist that he'd never seen before on the ship. Suspicious individuals. He paid no heed to them and looked forward. Large chunks of the ship, out on the shore. Wait, their ship? He has to find his chair. He tried to get up, but immediately started tilting to the right due to lacking a sense of balance, and so he instinctively held out his right arm to catch his fall, but it wasn't there and so his head slammed the floor. What in the hell is going on... It's not something that'd so easily detach from his body. Actually, where is his pet snake wearing a skull of another snake? Did someone steal it from him along with his arm? Is it these two? No, they're not holding a snake of some sort. They're looking at him. "I'm fine," he proclaimed. He sat up and reached back at the tree behind him. Cracks formed into the tree, and a slice of it came off to reveal a wooden walking cane, greenish and wet with sap but it'll do. He slowly, centenarily started walking out of the trees' shade and back onto the sands. At one point, his cane slides deep into the sand due to his sheer weight, prompting him to change the base of his cane into something flatter. Oh, there's his arm. He leaned down and dropped his right arm onto it, sliding his sleeve onto it, and a click sound latches it back to him. He tests by moving his right fingers, for measure. The crunching sound of sand as he moves his joints. It was beginning to be grating. The bits of moisture inside his body, too. Steam rises from the back of his neck as his body shivers, shooting sand out at a small radius around him. He resumes his walk to find his wheelchair.</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Remuri @Pakde Ezekiel had a shocked look on his face as he saw the wheelchair bound man start walking. He felt kind of stupid for helping him. But the feeling of fatigue from before helped with his theory, that he could only move if he stole enough energy from other people. He would have to be careful of this man, he seemed more dangerous than he looked. However, he could be of use if he or any of the others died. They would make for good zombies, but that would be a last resort if he is the last one alive. Being more than disappointed that the demoness was not from Carcosa, if she was he was going to ask her if she knew if Heyl'r was here. But searching for this place could be more successful than asking others where it could be. "My name is Ezekiel Jarret, and we are pleased to meet you." Being sadden that he could not make pleasantries with the interesting demoness, but there were more important things than making friends. Walking towards the man with the bundle of fish and octopus. "We would be more than happy to assist you in cooking this aquatic fauna." Despite being a necromancer he was a good cook, or so he thought. He had never had anyone taste his cooking before, so he hoped they would like the meal. But perhaps he could assist in cooking, so that no one blames him if they get sick. Looking around quickly figuring out that he was not going to find any edible spices on the island. "First we should find some dry wood, leaves, and flint or rocks. Would someone please assist us in finding supplies to start a fire?" He looked around at the group. Finding similar interest from Sonia towards the snake woman. Being reminded of the Nazamines from the deserts of Ka'ta. He wondered if she was related to them.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia had returned to check on the elf girl, who seemed to have awakened in panic. The demoness decided to not interfere immediately, and wait until the girl could partially grasp the situation. "Where indeed, I wonder?" Sonia sat next to Vivian, handing her the opened coconut when she was sure the elven girl had calmed down."Looks like we have deviated far from our route. The sea water is warm, and the sun is burning. We don't have anything like this near the continent." She glanced at the horizon, wind fluttering her red hair. Despite acknowledging the bad news, she realized the local climate might have contributed greatly to their chance of survival. This coconut, for example, you might find them growing in coastal regions, but never in this abundance, and immediately having something to combat dehydration was a godsend. "But please, take heart, Miss Vivian, the rescuer could be on their way. There were important figures boarded on our ship, and given enough time, their disappearance couldn't be any less noticeable. Sonia pointed at the skinny man dragging something that looked like a very weedy container. "And I believe Master Ember is over there. Want to catch up with him? Go ahead, I will be with you in a moment." Still sitting there, Sonia recalled her training. This wasn't the first time she was stranded in a wilderness, and will not likely be the last. Same situation, same rules, different place, and the first thing she needed to do was to assess the situation as much as she could, then plan ahead and study the terrain. Some other survivors had made an initiative to prepare food using various fish catches. Not the first thing she would do in this situation, but okay. Couldn't expect people to do anything with an empty stomach anyway, but time was running, and soon there would be a time when food became the third or fourth priority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" This black-haired man who's not on a wheelchair and is instead using a raw greenish cane of wood, slowly paced around the beach looking for his wheelchair. It's futile to use his eyesight on this, it seems every meter there's a piece of wood sticking out of the sand. It's almost prescient that he reinforced his wheelchair with several bars of iron, so he could detect it with this... strange, innate metal sense that he has, instead. Nothing's come up with this however, and it's come to a point where he reaches Ember's immediate location, with this strange seaweed-covered chest crawling behind her. Ember herself, with this disheveled, sodden, seaweed-covered look. He pointed with his left hand, "You have a leaf on your shoulder." He looks at the sky, in a combination of perhaps trying to find a celestial body, like a moon, and mainly trying not to even chuckle at Ember's situation. "Hey... How possible do you think it is that we're in a different planet?"</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember made a scowl at the foul man's cheeky attempt at humor at his expense, and sent a sticky glob of the seaweed clinging to him in the man's direction with a forceful extension of his wand, while continuing his struggle to get further up the beach. "Really, I hadn't noticed." he snarked, before continuing. "And thinking of such extreme, outlandish prospects is foolish. If it WERE another planet, I very much doubt it would look like anything we are used to." and with that, he mentally tuned the man out. Seeing Vivian and her former bunkmate up ahead, his heart lifted. At least there would be some INTELLIGENT company to while away the time with. The memory that her companion was a professional huntress flicked in his mind, and it gave him a momentary bit of relief. He knew full well he had no clue how to rough it out here. ... ...Wherever "here" was... He turned back at the stiff gaited man, now removing seaweed from the back of his head. Ember was positive this was NOT "another planet." "Vivian, dahling--- I'm SOOO happy to see you--- And you too dear--- Sonia was it?" Vivian was sipping water from a halved coconut,and he was immediately jealous. His mouth was parched, and his insides literally ached from having been full of seawater earlier. "You don't have another of those do you dahling?"</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) Nanashi help the necromancer to sort things to cook, the only need is fire. He noticed the two mages that already present on the resting shelter. He decided to speak with them. "Need fire." He talked to Ember pointing the cooking spot."We shall fill up first before we proceed inside the forest. Where may be there is a flat terrain for the. settlement camp. There is no good here to make camp here. High tides will flood the shore. Then we can discuss how to get out" He continued. Head counting the survivors. He noticed the small figure with skull headwear is not present in the area. "I haven't seen. The snake woman in a while. With her unique prowess. She can take the lead for venturing. Same thing as. Scanning something that are aware from us." He said.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya "Ah of course!" Sonia expeditiously grabbed a green coconut and slice the lower part of the fruit like peeling a potato. It was effortless, courtesy of her above-average arm strength, and her trusty dagger; manufactured by Alhazen.co, Urstad. That small surge of information brought up a brief sense of deja vu in her. "Here you go... si- madam?" She offered almost like whispering at the end of her sentence. What to call him now, she wasn't so sure. The slender mage was very different now without all of his makeup and flamboyant getups, so Sonia tried to play safe by not being so obvious with her choice of pronoun. Somebody was approaching. A strange fisherman, not sure why Sonia would refer to him as such, likely because she saw him go fishing in the very first minutes of their awakening. A vagrant, or adventurer? His general attire suggested so. Not that there was a stark diffrence between the two anyway. The man asked rather crudely, and it didn't improve her opinion of him a bit. Without waiting for anyone to answer, he continued For the first half of it, Sonia had no comment, everyone might do whatever they wanted at this point. However, the second half of his opinion made her feel a bit restive. "Appreciate your concern, but the gentleman need not worry about the high tide here, for this area is far from the waters and sufficiently elevated." Sonia sheathed and strapped her dagger to her waist. Averting her gaze from the man, skipping her usual introductry but still trying to remain thoughtful with her words. "As for the urgency to move to the forest," she turned to the green unknown behind them and shook her head. "I think we should remain here for a while. We don't know where, or how far we are from the rescue. And I believe everyone would prefer to stay in a place where the rescuer could easily see them." Now sitting on a nearby boulder, Sonia swept the remained sand from her scraped knee and then gave the man one of her less-than-genuine smiles. "Of course, I am not completely dismissing the notion to explore the interior of this... place, but we need to lay out a plan before making any decision. And first thing first, to gather everyone and discuss that plan. Means we all need to find a common ground first, savvy?"</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) "I see. My apologies on my rudeness... Qi from those sailors and others seems out of my range right now. It felt like we got split from getting drove to the shore. They are probably drowned or maybe drove on other side. We regroup here to wait for the rescuer." He said stil standing nearby the demoness turning his eyes on the far ocean.</s> <|message|>Viviana Ember's kind words reassured her and fully brought her to the present situation. Looking down into the coconut she noticed a reasonable amount remained, enough at least to grant the older wizard some measure of relief. "You can have the rest of this, I am fine for now," She offered the fruit with a hint of a smile, her dried lips barely resisting a crack. She turned to the 'fisherman'. "Oh, hello Nanashi, thank you for getting food. I can help you cook that," She intensely focused on the palm of her right hand, eventually sparking a meager flame. She let out a small sigh, mildly dissapointed with what she had been able to produce. Her thoughts went to her foot locker, her collection of notebooks was lost somewhere beneath the waves. All her notes on hand movements and incantations were lost. She was on her own, magically speaking. At the very least the one person who seemed to be able to teach her in spite of such a loss was also on the island.</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man with a greenish walking stick, chuckled as he picked the seaweed off his head. Yeah, he deserved that. More to the point, he slowly walked out towards the sea again. Something he just noticed a while ago, the remote link to his actual human body has been severed. Granted, he's very much mentally tuned it out (much like what Ember's doing to him) as he's only ever received a constant stream of heartbeat sounds, joint pain, and bed sores. The Greenes have his actual body on lock so it should be safe anyway. He spotted a familiar handle and pulled it out of the sand and sat on the emergent chair. Back to the point, he could only imagine a few reasons why this remote link has been severed. His real body could be dead, but the timing of that just seemed statistically unlikely, as that would also require the death or betrayal of the Greenes. There's also no distance on the planet that this link would be severed, as he'd roamed around it for a century. A different planet? But Ember is right, this whole beach scenery does not look otherwordly in the slightest. Although, there doesn't seem to be any landmass across the sea no matter which direction he looked, which doesn't seem right. It was a mere short 5-day trip, there's no way they would get beached this far away. An anti-magic barrier may be surrounding this whole island, and it'd sever his remote link for sure, but irregardless of this existing or not, maybe a grimmer truth has befallen them. This place could be an alternate dimension. Wait. He glanced at this thing he sat on. Checked on the side. Wheels confirmed. Oh. This is his wheelchair. He could sense no damage from it either. He would smile if he could. It really is paying off that he stole those iron ingots. After a magic shiver to get rid of all the sand, he began to drive back towards Ember and the rest, but in his haste and in giving the wheels too much torque, it only stuck him in place as the wheels shoveled the sand away. He shook his head, how dumb of him. After pulling his chair out of this sand crevasse, he drove off towards Ember's group again but slowly.</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya A strong feeling of fear was punching her guts when she learned that some of her teammates had already taken a few sips from the same water where the skeleton was. Sonia clutched her crossbow tighter than ever, eyes regularly shifting between them and the surrounding foliage with sheer cautiousness, expecting an ambush jumping out of the shrubs, or witnessing one of these explorers throwing up and slumping down after gulping questionable water. A few moments passed, nothing happened and the fear subsided. "Everyone, check your surroundings." The instruction was delivered with sufficient alertness, one that quickly conveyed the seriousness of the situation, but did not instill unnecessary consternation. After all, it was just a dead body, and that alone invited a lot of possibilities to think about. Few of it was not very pleasant. "Do you see anything out of the ordinary?" Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and they reported that with troubled looks, making Sonia feel like she was overreacting. She did not explain the possibility that this place may have been rigged with traps, and now with everything seeming safe and clear, it would serve no purpose to explain why she felt so agitated. Sighing to calm herself, Sonia noticed that her party members seemed all too keen to inspect the skeletonized remains, and thus, came another question she had no answer for. "Now what are we going to do with that poor fella?" origin</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" origin Sounds of loud thuds, smaller wooden thuds and varying loudnesses of slithering could be heard approaching the campfire. In the distance, it's almost visible that trees are getting suddenly impacted, and leaves fall down as they violently shake. Eventually, the black-haired man on a wheelchair emerges, and he sees a reduced number of people in the campsite. He glances around, spotting Ember first, and so he drops the chain he held attached to a bear trap gobbling the bottom trunk of the tree he decapitated minutes ago and elected not to waste, and then slowly approached the nauseated person sitting near a campfire. "Scalding Ember. Where did they go?"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "Looks like we ain't the first here." Verdant whistled as she eyed the skeleton, before turning her glance somewhere else. The woods felt ancient in a way, but there's no threat in the direct vicinity. As much as a wild forest can contain no threat anyway - who knows what insect or illness lurk all around them. But for whatever responsible over the poor sod underwater, well, chance were it's no longer around. "Fella likely died further upstream. The corpse bloat and float down until it burst and sink here some time ago. Cant be sure how long, but it takes time for moss to grow on the shirt." Another mystery, then. What was upstream? Would there be other people? Yet a community wouldn't normally leave their dead out like that. "We should take a closer look. Mayhaps guess what exactly done him in." Wild animal, or other people? Wild animal bold or desperate enough to attack humans wouldn't waste the meat, and wouldn't toss the remains into a water source. People, then? Hopefully people. Maybe there's a way out of this island sooner after all.</s> <|message|>"Ember" "Smouldering dahling... Smouldering..." ember cooed, despite the nausea. The nausea still made it into the tone, despite his best efforts. "... And I don't recall giving you a card--- Quite impressive though, a man in a chair, felling a tree like that." He sucked in a deep breath. Slowly but surely, he could feel his own vigor returning. "Sonia took a brawny bunch with her some time ago. I'd have joined them if I had been up to it, but sadly... That she-bitch of the saline persuasion took a bit more out of me than I imagined possible-- but I should be recovered enough to actually be useful here in a bit. Until then, I will busy myself with this light work."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "The chair's not a factor in my abilities..." The black-haired man on a wheelchair moves closer to this person sitting on her luggage, parallel facing the campfire. His head turns between the campfire and Ember, and in search of that widow and her child whose issues seem to have been placated. "I see. Would you allow me to aid you in this light work? I'd like to make amends for when I barged into your quarters without plea, and to fix my image in your eyes because I am not a pervert." He removes his gloves and pulls back his sleeves, revealing hands and arms made of ceramic. He drops from his chair, kneels and holds his hands into the fire, absorbing some of its energy. "You attract me, I will admit, but never to a point where I'd lose any such self-control." Orange glows emanate from the linear cracks in his skin, crawling from his hands towards his torso where some kind of core must be, for something of his make. He falls back and sits unkempt while reaching again for a flask in his coat. He pulls down his face covering, and drinks the last bit of water-like liquid from the flask. Fully empty. He shakes it for the last few drops, and puts it back in his coat. "By the way, I did borrow the card you gave the woman named DeVespe, which... I don't think I've seen her nearby so far." @wierdw</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya "Indeed we are not..." Sonia pondered. What mystery awaited them upstream? Could be civilization or the opposite; unsavory locals with a penchant for foreigner's flesh and blood. Such presumptuous assumptions dawned from her limited knowledge about the tropical realm and what dwells within it. "It could be a man killing another," she murmured, watering down the visceral chronology Verdan had just described with premature deduction. "Or he ate the wrong mushroom and died here after thinking he could wash it down with water." The alternative seemed equally possible with the former. If the man was killed by another human, be it a desperate survivor or rabid tribesmen, they would have taken his coat. Clothing, after all, was a precious commodity if you were in the middle of nowhere. "We should take a closer look. Mayhaps guess what exactly done him in." "If I were you I would let the dead be at rest." Sonia shrugged, yet still upholding her ambivalent neutrality. "But that's just me." The demoness walked upstream, a good half dozen meters away from the skeleton's resting place. There she unfastened her belt and undressed, leaving her trusty crossbow on the riverbank as she took a dip into the river and wash the burning salt off her skin. The water was cold and so clean she could see the riverbed, too bad it was too shallow to swim. Giving her hair a good rinsing, Sonia finally felt like a civilized person again. However, as much as she loved a good bathing session, she tried to not enjoy it too much, at least for now. There was a remnant of a dead people just a few meters ahead, and they were still within an unknown territory. Besides, they have reached their objective, it was time to go back and report their findings. She bet the flamboyant mage would flip upon hearing it. After washing her dress, Sonia climbed up and twisted her only clothes before wearing them again, smiling as she thanked Rayland for keeping eye on the surroundings. "The water is good. If you want to have a quick soak, well, do it now and take your time. Just keep in mind that we need to go back soon." And with that, she slung her crossbow and had it at the ready.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember heaved a big, weary sigh. "Being beautiful's my BUSINESS dahling. If you weren't at least a little intrigued, I didn't do a good job-- but from now on, mind mine and other's privacy-- rest assured, when I'm not sunburnt and seasoaked, the fire I conjure is a lot hotter than that little potwarmer dahling. Even a construct might find it unpleasant.' Ember tilted his head discretely. He had head rumors of sentient constructs, and read treatises on simple ones used as 'anchor prostheses' for mages who had, through one way or another, been 'discorporeated'. Some magicians in poor health used them as proxies with powerful sending circles to do daily tasks while their withered bodies stayed home. Then there was the nasty business of killer magicians using them as disposable muscle. He discretely wondered which this individual was, but felt best not to pry. Surely one animated by a sending would just be written off, and a new one constructed... maybe this one was sentimental, or specially prepared somehow? Surely, this wasn't a mythical homunculus doll... surely not. Artificial souls were mere conjecture! 'Oh well-- FINE. Just never do it again.'</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "Bah. Threats." He tited his head up then fell back-first on the sandy floor. "I only did it that one time, I was too preoccupied to know if someone was in the roo-- Whatever, these excuses matter little to anybody." He raised his left arm up, his hand wide open. Rays of the sun peering through his hand, through the leaves way above it, hitting his ivory eyes directly. He puts his gloves on one by one and unfolds his sleeves, and soon he notices Ember staring at him, possibly analyzing his humonculous nature, and so he tilts his head to look at her and she averts her discrete gaze and speaks. "... I won't," he replies. Either a resignment of pride, or refrain from further argument, but that's that. "I do want you to hit me with your conjured fire, though." He pushes back up with his arms, his torso slanted and head tilted back facing her. "Let me feel your actual power, not that of a mere showman who creates bubbles and fog in excess."</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember momentarily had a quixotic expression,but quickly suppressed it. "You want me to --- Wait, are you trying to get me to sever your connection, and send you home? Is that it? Smash up your "china doll" enough that the sending fails? --- Why ever would I do that?" ember cooed naughtily, then smiled even more wickedly. "Or is there some OTHER reason you want me to make a glowing hole where your chest is? In either case, it would take a great deal of explanation to my companions here why I had done so..."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man snickered, pieces of his face sliding apart to form somewhat of a smile, hearing of this potential 'glowing hole' in his torso. "I'm sure I would've been able to survive it." His 'smile' dissipated as he climbed back up his chair and moved beside Ember. "No, I was looking to ingest your discharge, actually. My mana's running low and I need it to move around. It's a net negative for me to even swing my arm, we don't regenerate it with our stomachs like you do. Plus there's..." "Not really much connection left back home. As far as being cryogenized goes, it's just me here right now." The backrest of his wheelchair descended slightly, setting him slouched. "I suppose it's a bit heinous to try to extract from an already nauseated woman. I apologize." An awkward delay. "Is Ember your actual name?"</s> <|message|>"Ember" "A rose by any other name, smells just as sweetly dahling. I am who i choose to be. You cant get more liberated than that." ember smiled. "As for looking for a 'recharge', you're barking up the wrong magician right now. Besides, I'm not going to pop my wand on someone like you dahling. My REAL power cannot be properly... Conducted... by a mere sentimental trinket like this dear. I packed lightly, for a vacation-- not a bloody war. Cough up a proper focus, and we'll business." Ember smiled wickedly. "No? Well then. I think that would be all."</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "You can't just ask for a foc-- All of them require sentimental value. Are you sure it's even you and not the focii you use? You seem to place them on too high of a pedestal." Nary an inch of movement. Seems like the black-haired man on a wheelchair has gone full standby to recuperate his losses. A more discerning person would detect a mosquito merely hover nearby and subsequently fall down, dead. "Henri. My name. Some might call me 'Wheelo' or 'Carter' right now though, for I told them these as my name. It... Yes, okay, I didn't think these names through, don't mock it."</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>"Verdant" The river wasn't that wide and relatively shallow too, but what's waist high for average people would've went up to Verdant's chest. No way she'd reach the bones without getting drenched, so might as well take a rinse. The snake slipped out of her offensively bright sackcloth, halfheartedly rinsing the fabric twice before squeezing the water out and tossing the resulting lump haphazardly on a rock. Then she walked into the peacefully flowing water. Verdant blinked slowly. By the second blink a thin membrane covered her eyes as the pupils narrowed into a pair of slit, the blurry underwater sharpened into clarity. She knelt next to the skeleton, examining whether there's trace of injuries on the old bones and the mossy clothing. Then she poked it with a pointy stone, just because.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Henri immediately realizes the vastness of Ember's power, indeed far too much for his measly golem core to contain. Inundated by this massive surplus, his rock-shaped core, for the first time in its tenure, begins to liquefy and expand, and it causes him great pain. He groans. It hurts. It's like being violently pulled apart in every possible direction. In no time at all, his core expands to a point where it would fill every crevice inside of his body, and he would bloat and explode for real. The backrest of his wheelchair falls down, and his upper back and neck opens like several tiny double-doors, and orange-hot tentacles violently creep out, looming over them like a freak balloon. It's strange how gently his body made way for this excess, it's like it's planned, hidden in his subconscious, like this was meant to happen. He remembers the time when he sought to create this alternate self, how he merely skimmed the pages of his stolen books to get to the result. What if, in the midst of that, he forgot a step which would coincidentally say 'expose this core to an endless source of magic', and all this time it was the reason why he'd been having issues not unlike lethargy? > "When I said it would pop my wand, I wasn't kidding, dahling--- So, is this enough, or do you need more?" Still in tremendous pain, his senses dulled by this massive influx of mana, his shivering left hand reaches to grab Ember's arm on his chest, trying to weakly pull it towards him, as if goading her to step it up. As he did so, the glowing amber tentacles turn into bright sapphire and sink back into Henri. The incandescence peering through his joints turn into the same sapphire hue, as the bloating core condenses and forms a structure throughout his body, like a more erratic nervous system. Images of 'internal organs' appear in his memory, ready to be constructed should he possess both the necessary materials and desire. However, even this evolution seems inadequate to contain this endless flow that Ember yet continues to give, as she yet again increases the rate at which she gives it. A hint of damage in his left shoulder begins to give way, a weak spot amidst the protections granted by the now-visible sigils across his body. He tries to cover it with his right hand but it still explodes, making him turn and dislodge Ember's hand off his chest, ending this lightshow. This damage might've been back when Ember hurled him across the lower deck and into one of the ship's pillars. He did neglect to check for damage after that incident, he just figured there wouldn't be any. The hand holding on to Ember's arm slides off and drops to Henri's lap along with his entire left arm, and his right hand is fully gone, blown to bits. Yet, he slowly moves his left arm under Ember's wrist and lifts it to touch her hand with his ceramic mouth. "... Fine. You are power itself," he says during. He really doesn't bother to move his mouth when he speaks.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret origin Ezekiel felt he was wasting time waiting around, instead of finding the book himself. He was walking away from the group, as they seemed more preoccupied with each other than with him. Sneaking off from the group and towards the dense trees in the distance. Using his dagger to cut the vines that were blocking his way. He did not know which way he was going, but he was certain that speaking to the spirits would give him some clues. Making sure not to trip on the large rocks that were scattered around the island. Stopping at a corpse that was sitting against a tree. The corpse looked like it was killed by multiple sword wounds, Ezekiel presumed that perhaps there was a mutiny. Assuming that this corpse was the captain of a ship. Putting away his dagger, and pulling out his staff. Chanting in some strange language, while waving his staff back and forth. Conjuring the spirit of the captain, "Chu'thu P'sfty Ta'gal Eatha'ma." Ezekiel could see the spirit of the captain starting to manifest. "What in gods name is going on? Where are those brig rats I call crewmates?" The spirit of the captain was a man in his old age, having a sour look on his face. "Ello, our name is Ezekiel. We do not know where your crew is, but they may have suffered a worse fate than you. We have summoned you to help us find a book that was brought onto the island. Do you know if one of your crew was carrying the Kaz'arak?" The captain rubbed his seethrough chin with his hand, thinking of if he had even heard of the Kaz'arak. "Na, I do not know of that name. But there was this strange book that Vavik fella was carrying." This Vavik person sounded like they could still have the book on their person. "And do you know where Vavik went? Is he on the island?" Ezekiel was nodding his head before speaking again. "If you can bring him to Vavik, that would be greatly appreciated." The captain looked at Ezekiel with a grin. "Aye, I could help ya but only if you destroy every corpse of those curs that betrayed me." Ezekiel suggested the captain goes with him, to identify which corpse belongs to his former crewmates. "Aye sounds like we ave a deal. My name is Jebediah Killgore, a pleasure to meet ya." The spirit held out his hand, to which Ezekiel stared blankly at since Kilgore was a ghost. "Our name is Eziekal, pleasure is our captain." The necromancer bowed his head towards the captain. The two soon started walking towards the corpses that belonged to Kilgore's treacherous crewmates. Ezekiel feels bad that he had to get rid of potential workers, but he had to do it so he could potentially find the book. Stopping at a pile of corpses, Ezekiel could tell that most of them killed and eaten each other. While others looked like they killed each other in a paranoid fit. Ezekiel before destroying the corpses, started searching for any salvageable items that could help him.</s> <|message|>"Ember" "And don't you forget it, dahling." ember intoned as if it were simply a matter of fact, before sitting back down (a bit roughly, with a plop) on the footlocker. On the one hand, it had felt rather nice to "blow the cobwebs out", but on the other... He felt his headache coming back on, and felt dizzy. There were very real, and important reasons why he relied on the use of a focus. For starters, it actually restricted the flow to something more... sensible... and on the other, it afforded much needed fine control. A good deal of the effort he expended when using magic was not so much in getting the magic, but in getting it to BEHAVE. He was altogether too familiar with the 'cheekiness' and 'ironic disposition' magic tended to get when lots of it got thrown down, haphazardly. He would not be at all surprised if this particular spot on the beach had "anomalies" for a few days. If not right away in fact. He looked at 'Henri', and felt a momentary pang of sympathy. If he preferred to stay tethered to a beat up wreck that just got a molten magic enema, his body--wherever it was-- must truly be in a bad way. He vaguely recalled the man had mentioned cryogenesis. Perhaps he was just so damned old, that he had considered this as a means of cheating death-- who knows. Regardless, that floppy broken arm was just sad. "Well-- Let's see about that arm then-- " he sighed, reaching back down and reclaiming the wand from its resting place on the sand near his feet. "It just wouldn't do to leave you in something so tatty..." He started with a gentle probe-- thin streamers of invisible magical force, delicately threaded through and over the surface of the damaged shell 'Henri' was controlling, looking for signs as to its construction, raw material composition, and any obvious signs of otherwise hidden damage. It appeared to be a somewhat unusual composition-- clearly highly refined materials-- technically a "ceramic", but not like what you would find from your average potter; the materials were not naturally found in such a precise ratio. It was clearly a custom job. As for the magic-- it twisted this way and that at the attempt to scry it. Usually this meant that it had been warded against prying eyes, or at least formulated in such a way as to discourage duplication. Some of the more expensive magical apparatus one could buy had such clever tricks woven into them for such purposes, but this went above and beyond mere frustration in mind. "Well...." mused ember with a frown. "It might take some doing-- I can try to collect the raw materials but..." "You can't fix the enchantments, I know." "Oh, I COULD if I truly cared to invest the time to unravel the fuckery you've got going on in there-- but I'm not sure I want to for a charity case dahling."</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Henri stayed in this position of leaning forward, his severed left arm moving on its own to lift a hand that hasn't been there for several moments now. Eventually, Henri's torso started listing forward and he let out a groan as his body, normally incapable of feeling pain, still hurt all over. "Sounds like I'll have to pay up... I only have around 20 silver coins... Would my loyalty suffice? If you find value in having me on your side, anyway." He slowly sat up straight, and the backrest of his wheelchair rose back up to its normal position, and he sighed as he leaned onto it. His hair, swept back and frozen leaning towards the right due to the explosion, a part of it on the left of his face had its length reduced, no longer concealing his lack of human-shaped ears. All that was there is an indented plate of steel forming a pentagon pointing down, with a notch at the top to secure his eyeglasses which, the left lens of it is also cracked. His severed left arm, its hand grabbed his abruptly amputated right arm, and he swung it back to latch onto his shoulder, but a lot of parts are missing. "No, I figured I'll have to make do with more mundane materials, one of these days. It's fine." Red-hot iron rose from within the depths of his body and started filling in the gap, as well as his missing right hand. It looked so obvious, this silver chunk on his body amidst the pale white ceramic. It amused him. "Scars to remember you by when this trip is over." He probably needs to cover this up, though. This large hole on the shoulder of his coat surely doesn't look fashionable, right? These iron wounds would attract unneeded attention, too. He glanced at Ember and was about to ask if she could mend his clothes and loan a spare right-hand glove, but he remembers her current bout of nausea. "Wait. How inconsiderate of me to provoke you into exerting your power. Do you want to exchange seats? It's leather. Comfortable. You can sleep on it. Well, actually, I just assume it's comfortable, I can't actually gauge for myself if it truly is."</s>

<|description|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Gender: "Male" Age: "What do you think? 30-something? Alright, let's go with 33. Seems like a reasonable number." Description: Black hair with white strands scattered about, like an overstressed aging man, and long enough to cover his ears and develop bangs, although he sweeps them to the side. Pale skin. Eyes of uncertain colour, hidden behind metal-frame circular glasses. Arguably handsome, though he never takes that face mask off. Unusually average body of unknown height, for rarely do people ever see him stand up from his wheelchair, which seems made of wood, iron and leather, with iron-reinforced wooden wheels attached to it. The lack of hand-carried luggage would suggest it's all under the wheelchair but no one can say for sure, he dismisses whenever someone asks. As far as clothing goes, he seems very well-off. Leather, silk and cotton surround his entire body, even down to hand gloves, and yet he does not have an umbrella. Does he not get hot in them? Oh, and a sharp middle-aged man voice. Bio: (optional) Purpose of travel: (optional but recommended) Other info: Able to harness the dark arts of witches, but to what degree is unknown. Has so far shown the ability to detect metals, make surfaces intangible, near-instantaneously turn things into other things of same material, either float or stick to walls, tactile telekinesis, and craft (produce?) small items of cloth or silver material. Seems to generally require at least indirect physical contact to use abilities, except for detecting metals which may or may not be part of the dark arts of witches to begin with. Prone to mana exhaustion (small mana pool and/or high mana costs?). Unable to move without mana. Seemingly able to safely absorb mana from external sources. Unmoving fake eyes made of ivory. Possibly stolen hair. Knows about the Greene Estate. Related to Dustin and Dixie Greene? Callback to spiral origin's previous game Mystville?</s> <|message|>"Ember" "And don't you forget it, dahling." ember intoned as if it were simply a matter of fact, before sitting back down (a bit roughly, with a plop) on the footlocker. On the one hand, it had felt rather nice to "blow the cobwebs out", but on the other... He felt his headache coming back on, and felt dizzy. There were very real, and important reasons why he relied on the use of a focus. For starters, it actually restricted the flow to something more... sensible... and on the other, it afforded much needed fine control. A good deal of the effort he expended when using magic was not so much in getting the magic, but in getting it to BEHAVE. He was altogether too familiar with the 'cheekiness' and 'ironic disposition' magic tended to get when lots of it got thrown down, haphazardly. He would not be at all surprised if this particular spot on the beach had "anomalies" for a few days. If not right away in fact. He looked at 'Henri', and felt a momentary pang of sympathy. If he preferred to stay tethered to a beat up wreck that just got a molten magic enema, his body--wherever it was-- must truly be in a bad way. He vaguely recalled the man had mentioned cryogenesis. Perhaps he was just so damned old, that he had considered this as a means of cheating death-- who knows. Regardless, that floppy broken arm was just sad. "Well-- Let's see about that arm then-- " he sighed, reaching back down and reclaiming the wand from its resting place on the sand near his feet. "It just wouldn't do to leave you in something so tatty..." He started with a gentle probe-- thin streamers of invisible magical force, delicately threaded through and over the surface of the damaged shell 'Henri' was controlling, looking for signs as to its construction, raw material composition, and any obvious signs of otherwise hidden damage. It appeared to be a somewhat unusual composition-- clearly highly refined materials-- technically a "ceramic", but not like what you would find from your average potter; the materials were not naturally found in such a precise ratio. It was clearly a custom job. As for the magic-- it twisted this way and that at the attempt to scry it. Usually this meant that it had been warded against prying eyes, or at least formulated in such a way as to discourage duplication. Some of the more expensive magical apparatus one could buy had such clever tricks woven into them for such purposes, but this went above and beyond mere frustration in mind. "Well...." mused ember with a frown. "It might take some doing-- I can try to collect the raw materials but..." "You can't fix the enchantments, I know." "Oh, I COULD if I truly cared to invest the time to unravel the fuckery you've got going on in there-- but I'm not sure I want to for a charity case dahling."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Henri stayed in this position of leaning forward, his severed left arm moving on its own to lift a hand that hasn't been there for several moments now. Eventually, Henri's torso started listing forward and he let out a groan as his body, normally incapable of feeling pain, still hurt all over. "Sounds like I'll have to pay up... I only have around 20 silver coins... Would my loyalty suffice? If you find value in having me on your side, anyway." He slowly sat up straight, and the backrest of his wheelchair rose back up to its normal position, and he sighed as he leaned onto it. His hair, swept back and frozen leaning towards the right due to the explosion, a part of it on the left of his face had its length reduced, no longer concealing his lack of human-shaped ears. All that was there is an indented plate of steel forming a pentagon pointing down, with a notch at the top to secure his eyeglasses which, the left lens of it is also cracked. His severed left arm, its hand grabbed his abruptly amputated right arm, and he swung it back to latch onto his shoulder, but a lot of parts are missing. "No, I figured I'll have to make do with more mundane materials, one of these days. It's fine." Red-hot iron rose from within the depths of his body and started filling in the gap, as well as his missing right hand. It looked so obvious, this silver chunk on his body amidst the pale white ceramic. It amused him. "Scars to remember you by when this trip is over." He probably needs to cover this up, though. This large hole on the shoulder of his coat surely doesn't look fashionable, right? These iron wounds would attract unneeded attention, too. He glanced at Ember and was about to ask if she could mend his clothes and loan a spare right-hand glove, but he remembers her current bout of nausea. "Wait. How inconsiderate of me to provoke you into exerting your power. Do you want to exchange seats? It's leather. Comfortable. You can sleep on it. Well, actually, I just assume it's comfortable, I can't actually gauge for myself if it truly is."</s> <|message|>"Ember" "I'm not sure coin would be of much use in our current predicament.. Maybe as a raw material.. I'd be more apt to break with my normal rules on the matter, and take a 'favor' instead. Not like I expect you to 'jump ship'." Ember made an amused chuckle. "As for the materials, there's no real need to consider substitutions just yet-- Sure-- I might have broke you what good dahling, but it's not like the pieces simply vanished. Silly boy, they just got shot all over. Not anywhere near the same thing-- There's so many spells made for finding 'lost objects' that it's an entire hall in the university library. In this case, a simple charm will suffice-- Being as the little mishap "Just happened"." He made a self-satisfied, and amused pursing of his lips, before flicking the wand up and side to side, as if casting a net of invisible threads. "Now then-- there we are..." He made one more flick just above the broken shell of "Henri's" chest, then mere seconds later, small bits of white material came floating inbound wrapped in silvery clouds, discretely gliding into position like hauntingly animated puzzle pieces. In a matter of moments, the "missing" pieces of the shell were replaced by a heavily fractured jigsaw of white shards, held in place by the silvery effervescent cloud. "Now then.. Let's see what we can do about mending it back up... You might notice some differences after the patching-- Without investigating the charms more deeply, this is just putting the materials back in place, and fusing them back together. I'll have to tease out that "Rat-nest" you have whizzing about in there later. But at least you wont look so tatty." The faintest glimmer of light shone between the pieces, little sections at a time, as the disheveled mage delicately mended the small shards back into place, and pushed the offending iron bits back off, before deciding to use them as a kind of external reinforcement brace. The integrity of the patch could not be assured without fully delving the magic involved in its construction, and a simple, crude frame on the outside would at least help prevent radical fracture until a proper mending could be done. Then, the shell patched as much as current circumstances allowed, he moved on silently to the burned concealing garments the doll was wearing, now fully within his element of expertise. Myriad tiny threads were spun from the nearby organic filth on the beach, and woven perfectly and imperceptibly into the damaged fabrics, restoring them to like-new in mere seconds while ember hummed bemusedly. "Now then-- I tend to be a stickler about favors dahling-- You don't have to pay up until after I fully fix this.... Fuckery-- but I expect no hesitation or backing out once it's done. I don't know what I will want from you, but I'll hold it in confidence until then-- No shirking. Well? Go on-- give it a go." He leaned back on the footlocker. He was glad of being seated. He doubted it would be wise for him to get up and walk around just yet.</s>

<|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "Right... There just seems to be a spell for anything, isn't there." Henri watches as Ember looks like she's straight up reversing time with her spells. She looks like she's having fun. The rate at which she just converts some nearby foreign ingredients to tracelessly mix with his garments is particularly interesting. As she finishes and urges him to give it a go, he immediately whips his left arm forward, the speed of which reaching a point where it causes a loud 'pop' sound. He reins his arm back to his side as he twists and moves the fingers of his right hand. It's all good, as expected, yet his mood is beginning to sour a little. His head turned only halfway towards Ember, his eyes pointed slightly left of the campfire. "While I do feel grateful for this seamless repair that you've applied... Do not get it twisted. You're only repairing something that you damaged in the first place." The corners of his eyes glowed a dim teal, and suddenly his eyes move independent of his face, giving Ember a side-eye. Still no eyelids, however. He brushed the left side of his hair, shortened as it were, and planted his left elbow on the armrest to lean his head on. An eye peeks between his fingers, expressionless. "Even if in jest, I was imagining more on the lines of assistance or protection, granted maybe you're the least of all people who'll ever need it, but these stipulations feel like... It'll come down to something I'll inevitably object to. Provocation as it were, it was still provocation by mere words. You reacted to them with action. Don't think you can strong-arm me into an unfair contract, into repaying you for fixing what you broke." A hint of spite in his voice. He turns his chair to face Ember, and sits up properly. His voice reverts to something calmer. "If you're still truly pressed about when I barged into your room, possibly interrupted your work, you may call on me to assist you with whatever. Honestly, even if you're not, just, you know. I do find you attractive and intriguing, and I want to be a friend. That's that." He then points to his shoulder, with his right hand. "For this however, I think we're even. No, in fact, we're less than even, but I think I'll just solve the problem of these damaged enchantments on my own." He then bows. "If you'll excuse me, Ms. Ember." He then slowly rides away. --- Henri... The black-haired man on a wheelchair hears talks around Nanashi and the other passengers about looking for utensils, and ventures back into the shore. Something he most especially can help with, with his ability to sense nearby metals. As he rides across the sands, random metal objects get uprooted from the sand, and he leaves it for the other passengers to find later on. Occasionally he pauses. Bouts of pain from his inner metamorphosis still linger.</s>

<|description|>Viviana Gender: Female Age: 21 Description: 4'5'' Elf, slender with sharp features, piercingly solid green eyes, platinum blonde hair usually tied in a high pont tail, wears conservative clothing Bio: A novice wizard, magic always came easily to her, mastering concepts much faster than her class mates. An accident occured when she was 14, in which she accidentally summoned a demon. In the attack she lost 2 fingers on her left hand. Despite this, she received a full scholarship to study at a major magic academy in a far off land. Purpose of travel: Travelling to her new academy to further study and master magic Other info: At first she is very shy, speaking very professionally to anyone she doesnt know. Once she opens up she reveals her excitement for whatever she is studying at the time. She speaks with a slight lisp.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" So, Lady DeVespe and this drunk guy just... He internally slapped himself. Not his business. It seems he's a tad rusty with controlling his power, only having used it to move with his wheelchair for a long time. Steeling himself to exert full power, he lightly elbowed the taffrail again, this time intent to hurl DeVespe's second guard's entire body towards Barbara. Barbara... that's a woman's name, right? That's a woman? origin With this distraction, he gave back the white card back to Lady DeVespe. "I just can't ever seem to get anyone to accept my help. I hope it's not because you think I'm helpless." He reverses his wheelchair while looking down. Seems like he's trying to measure his spot. He looks back at DeVespe. "Good luck." His wheelchair tips over backwards, and it would seem like he's falling, but instead he fully submerges through the wood floor like it's made of water, leaving no trace. --- There he was, hanging upside-down from the ceiling of a closed cabin below the deck. He took this moment to ponder on the nature of that card. He was sure of it, traces of mana on the card just before he took ahold of it, possibly to show hidden text solely for Lady DeVespe... Maybe if he was a mere seconds earlier, he could've read it. Actually, what was up with the card itself? He thought it'd be parchment or a sheet of wood but no, perfectly cut and folded sheet of... It seemed like linen but it shone in the sunlight like silk. It maintains its shape... hardened by light heating? The words seem to be seared onto it, so maybe, but what nice design. His mana pool is beginning to suffer from this prolonged mid-air suspension, and so he began rolling towards the wall, and down the floor. What was that name in the card again? The 'proprietor' of... a fashion business? It was at the start of the card... Oh, wow, the air in this room feels so dry, it's unusually pleasing... Come on, focus. "Sme... Smothering... no.." As his wheels touch the floor, he stares straight at this... gorgeous woman? With the red hair and deep v-neck black dress... "S...mouldering Ember." His head slowly tilts right, until his back just falls onto his chair, and his arms completely limp off the armrests. For someone who can only move by using mana, to waste his mana on spells like that, how reckless. Sounds try to come out of his mouth, but only in incoherent pieces, barely syllables, until after a moment. "Can I stay in... this room for just a little while? I can't move, my mana..." @wierdw</s> <|message|>"Ember" There was a sudden, terrible, and immensely girly shriek, as Ember came to the startled conclusion that there was a MAN in his room. (Specifically, an UNINVITED one.) The magic he was using shot up and away from the suspended framework he was producing like a bottle rocket with a ZINNG!, and a loud Pop!, as it burst like a cross between a firework and an exploding spider, making a floofy rain of tiny fibers as it sputtered out, which floated on the air and slowly fluttered to the floor. WHO ARE YOU, AND HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE!? Shrieked ember in a glass shattering falsetto. DONT YOU KNOW NOT TO ENTER PEOPLES ROOMS UNINVITED, YOU FILTHY PERVERT!? OUT WITH YOU! GET OUT AT ONCE! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! THE CAPTAIN WILL HEAR OF THIS! and with that, the flustered and angry mage waved his wand at the door, which unlocked and flew open with a crash, before he trained it on Wheelo. I SAID GET OUT, YOU... DIRTY MAN! A massive cloud of luminous vapor billowed up around wheelo, then forcibly shoved him through the now open door into the commons and bunks just outside. AND STAY OUT! Shrieked the magician, just before the door closed with a violent slam, and the lock re-engaged with audible authority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The vapor clouds were dragged along by the black-haired man in a wheelchair as he was toppled over and his body lifelessly hit one of the ship's inner pillars. His body began to inhale the clouds rich in mana, and soon there was a motion in his arms trying to push himself up. This Ember woman, she's almost a threat too. Seems like everyone has telekinesis nowadays. Unfortunately, those excessive foggy frills won't do her any favours. He could use her as mana supply... His chair tilted forward and scooped him back up, and in that moment he was fine, although it'd be prudent of him to not cast spells for the rest of the day. He parked himself at the wall in front of Ember's room, intent on absorbing any more excess mana she just carelessly exudes, as well as finally getting away from the sun. His hair, oh, it was starting to get frizzy. It would be hard to be inconspicuous while stealing someone's hair in this ship, so for now this material is in short supply. Sunlight doesn't bode well for clothes either.</s> <|message|>Viviana The sudden commotion outside startled Viv from her studies. Curiously, she poked her head out of her room, only to see the wheelchair-ed man recovering from falling down. If she had more clearly heard what was shouted she may have been more cautious. "Sir? Are you alright? If you need any help I can try to assist" She placed the book down, pages open, on the empty bed as she left her room. As much as she liked to keep to herself, she was always taught to be polite and helpful.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) origin Nanashi make a small bow to the quatermaster for his inconvenient. @Grade He heard the noises and proceed to look for it. Seeing the young elf and wheelo in the same place. "What.Happened?" He said and make Wheelo recover faster into his wheelchair by helping him.</s> <|message|>"Ember" muffled sobs are heard through the closed door. (THAT --PERVERT-- WAS IN MY ROOM!) Rails the still insensed mage from behind the locked edifice. (Oooooh... look at the mess!)</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" It's the tiny woman with two missing fingers, and the young man who helped him up the ramp. Maybe he judged these two too harshly, one of them has already helped him once, and the other is only so polite and adorable. Yet, their threat levels keep lingering in his subconscious, especially now when he barely has the mana to move, let alone defend. He willed himself to just play along for now. "No, no need, I'm fine. It'll take more than a shove to kill me." Haha... Oh, he is so out of touch with social norms. He turned to the lad with the rice hat. "Hey, this is the second time you've tried to help me now, I appreciate that." He turned back to the small elf. "What a helpful bunch of youngsters. What are your names?" (addendum) As soon as he heard sobbing from behind him, he elbows the wall behind him to filter out the sound as best he could. He'd sigh if he could. It was ~mostly~ an accident.</s> <|message|>Viviana The small woman approached the sitting man with measured steps. Keeping her left hand in a fist, or as much of a fist as she could make with that hand, raised to her chest, and her right hand across her stomach, she bows. "I am Viviana. And what is your name?" Her face remained relatively stiff yet with a smile, all mental energy going into analyzing the situation. She was curious about how this man got down the stairs... Did he fall down? And didn't he just say he was shoved? Could someone have pushed a wheelchair-bound man down stairs?! Curiosity got the better of her. "Um, and if you don't mind me asking, how did you... Get down here?" Concern filled her face as she less than subtly glanced for any bruises or cuts. What was that other noise she was hearing? Was it... Sobbing? What a strange ship.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "My name's Henr-- ah, Carter, yes. Wheelo Carter, you can call me by that name." He follows with an awkward stuttered nod. He looks back at the young man with the rice hat and then back to Viviana. Maybe they're too young for his name to matter, especially with this rice hat guy. He doesn't seem to be of this continent. "Oh, I fell through the ceiling." He demonstrated by phasing a finger through his right armrest, then sliding his arm back to show that he didn't just have some kind of hole in there.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) As Wheelo look on him, "I have no. Real name. People call. Me. Nanashi." He replied. Nanashi think that wheel chair guy is getting not familiar from the way he dress and his weapons he carries. "I'm a foreigner. Got dragged to this continent. By strange. Image." He continue.</s> <|message|>Viviana "Nice to meet you Mr... Wheelo? Ive never heard of a name like that, but that is the fun of meeting new people. How did you... Do that?" Her voice waivered, not sure if it should be calm and calculated, or open to her confusion on the situation. In all her years learning magic she had never seen phasing, not by humans at least. Immediately her right hand moved to massage her left, the distant haunting echo of that terrible memory as she questioned the humanity of this... Man.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" Her reaction is surely not what he expected. "Is this not a common ability for witches? You're a witch, right? Are you a witch? I saw your purple magic a while ago, that was you, right?" He raised his eyeglasses up to his hair, looking at her necklace and hand fingers, while abandoning any form of tact or the need to disguise the nature of his stiff, ivory eyes.</s>

<|message|>Viviana Confusion quickly fell across her face. Did this human not understand what mages are? Was he attempting to be derogatory in some fashion? Her suspicion of this "Wheelo" was only mounting as time went on. "Oh, well yes and no. Witches practice a different kind of magic than I do, but I did use a levitation spell earlier," The slightest hint of elven smugness crept into her words, something she was no big fan of and yet found it impossible to avoid at times. Sometimes it amazed her how ignorant and petty humans were, even when they were much older than her. After a moment the fake smile returned in force, "Well, it seems everything out here is under control. Unless you need anything I will go back to my studies... which is not something 'witches' do," Were most witches not humans in the first place? This was all too confusing, something she could not afford if she was to prepare for her entrance exams.</s>

<|description|>Viviana Gender: Female Age: 21 Description: 4'5'' Elf, slender with sharp features, piercingly solid green eyes, platinum blonde hair usually tied in a high pont tail, wears conservative clothing Bio: A novice wizard, magic always came easily to her, mastering concepts much faster than her class mates. An accident occured when she was 14, in which she accidentally summoned a demon. In the attack she lost 2 fingers on her left hand. Despite this, she received a full scholarship to study at a major magic academy in a far off land. Purpose of travel: Travelling to her new academy to further study and master magic Other info: At first she is very shy, speaking very professionally to anyone she doesnt know. Once she opens up she reveals her excitement for whatever she is studying at the time. She speaks with a slight lisp.</s> <|message|>"Verdant" If Verdant had any inkling that someone's recognizing her, she would've made it a priority to murder the unfortunate bastard. For better or worse, however, she had no idea. Instead her attention was focused on the nobleman that climbed into the ship with much fanfare, inwardly groaning at the added attention on this ship. Thankfully the idiot didn't bring any guard, only a single page that looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. If she ever decided to poison everyone aboard there wouldn't be many that could possibly gut her before they keeled over. Good enough, as far as contingencies went. As the ship sailed, the serpent slowly lose the tension on the back of her neck. She lingered on the deck for a moment still, until the ship picked up enough speed that it's unlikely to suddenly stop and turn without giving her time to notice and act (and to give the highborn prick enough time to disappear into his cabin, else she may suddenly find her fingers itchy for the nearest sharp object). Trotting lightly toward the stairs, Verdant vanished into the bowel of the ship before claiming one of the still empty hammock - her luggage lying on her belly. She's not risking any sticky fingers accidentally discovering the content, nope! As for speaking with the other passengers? She's got better things to do. Such as a nap. A long nap. Two days of sleepless travel can took some toll on a woman after all. Cloud</s> <|message|>"Ember" Adjusting his bodice, and calming himself in a well practiced routine, Ember discretely unlocked the door, then peeked outside. The filthy pervert appeared to be 'napping' against the wall, like some common gutter trash street urchin. How revolting-- the filthy cur lingering so around the scene of the crime! and just like that, the fury blossomed in his cheeks again as tiny speckles of fire flittered about him before he restrained himself once more. With a purposeful gesture, he waved his wand at the door, causing it to lock up tight behind him, then intensely strode in the opposing direction. There was a cacophony of blaring trumpets and a loud, obnoxious sounding voice from above-deck, but he was too irate to care to investigate. Storming past the other cabins, he stopped mid-stride, as he detected 'unsteady' and poorly controlled magic emminating from one of the rooms. Discretely, he craned his head to one side and listened intently. There was a quiet, adorably lispy voice trying very earnestly to pronounce a verbal incantation that made entirely excessive use of a strongly voiced "S" consonant, which she was having great difficulty with. Ember was familiar with the spell; it produced a nice ambient glow of magically simulated sunlight. "Lux Solis". The practitioner was having a particularly difficult time with both the X in Lux, and the S in Solis, the slight lisp in the clearly young female voice causing all manner of mispronunciation, and making the spell fire incorrectly, over and over again. It brought him back to his early university days. While not the "Preferred" torture test for incantation study testing, he could see how the praxagraphical department head could torture this poor child with it. His heart had a momentary pang of sympathy, and without realizing it, he found himself knocking on the door. Abruptly, the repeatedly failed incantations stopped, and a timid "Who's there?!" came from within. He felt particularly wounded by the sound of the frightened voice, especially given the... very unpleasant... experience he had just endured himself just moments before, however, he became more emboldened by the notion that this clearly vulnerable young magician might fall prey to such an advanced prowler-- a thing he most assuredly wished to prevent. "I apologize for the intrusion love, but do you need assistance? I can perhaps, show you a different way to work that magic dahling-- If you're interested?" The magic was not particularly complicated, but was more abstract in its workings (Despite the 'highly literal' verbal component), and less direct in its mode of operation like most other rudimentary skills were. The selection suggested a student with a penchant for more difficult subject matter, and that enticed Ember. He DID so love young hotties.</s> <|message|>Viviana Viviana was deep in her studies when she heard a knock and a voice at the door. Startling her much more than anticipated. Her practice was going no where fast, not aided by her verbal impediment and the lingering thought of that very rude man and his comments. She was no wizened adult herself, but how human society could see such a person as mature simply by way of years was beyond her. She placed her notebook face down on the bed and turned to answer the door, making sure her face hid as much of her frustration and embarrassment as possible. "Oh, that sounds lovely thank you!" Despite the chirpiness in her voice, the gratitude as genuine as she had the ability to be, hints of confusion could not be fully suppressed. From their voice to their... appearance, this person seems incredibly odd, impossible to pin down in a multitude of ways. This was one of the people she passed earlier, and she was still unsure as to if they are a man or a woman. Either way, they at least seemed nicer and more understanding than that 'Wheelo' fellow. She clutched somewhat to the door way as she stepped aside to allow access to the room. "You can come in or you could show me out there, which ever you are more comfortable with... there is no one else in here in case you were wondering," Something about this one's presence left her more at peace, even as their appearance seemed to scream in the face of everything her family stood for. In contrast to her own simple, very conservative clothing, this person seemed beyond brazen, brash to the point of eliciting embarrassment from those who themselves were quite concealed. People like her. "My name is Viviana by the way, what is your name?"</s> <|message|>"Ember" 'Oh, Forgive me dahling!' cooed ember with excitement as he made a coy little bob with his hips, and a gesticulation of his wrists over his shoulders, before stifling his excitement, and making a short bob of a curtsy while continuing. "I'm Ember--" he straightened, and then gestured at his lovely sleek black dress, hair and makeup "--And I do fashion, dahling-- But don't be deceived-- I'm actually quite skilled as a magician. May I come in?"</s> <|message|>Viviana "Of course, come on in!" Her tongue catching on her second word. She gave a curt bow and gestured for this 'woman' to come inside. Once in she closed the door, relaxing slightly now that some measure of privacy was returned. "I am aware that you probably heard what I was trying, you claimed there to be another method I could try?" Her speech labored fsr more than she would have wanted, taking steps at every moment to avoid furthering her lisp's appearance.</s> <|message|>"Ember" A warm smile blossomed on Ember's face. "ABSOLUTELY dahling!" he cooed. "When confronted with obstacles like this, it is important to understand that the INTENT is what really matters, not the mechanics of the method." he pulled out his wand, and gently swished it. "For instance, I can do that bit of magic without any words at all--- Consider for instance, what the words MEAN dahling. 'Lux' is just some old stuffy word for 'to shine', and 'Solis' is simmilarly old and stuffy, and just means 'Sun', or 'like the sun'. Taken together, the incantation literally is just saying "shine like the sun". It is an announcement of intent dahling. The announcement is just a medium-- a conduit through which to direct the magic, and the words spoken, are just a reflection of the conscious intent. So, if you can properly feel the magic, and guide it, even just a little-- all on your own? All you need to do, is infuse it with that intent, and---" with a slight flick, the room became filled with an ambient level of lighting as if they were sitting in the full sun up on deck. "--The whole world's your oyster, dear.." Ember put the wand away up his long sleeve, then continued. "Now then-- In terms of the incantation itself-- Many students consider the words themselves to hold significance, above and beyond the superficial. This can twist and alter the magic they are trying to use, and often lends a unique kind of.. Oh, I dont know... "signature?" to it. In terms of actual merit though dahling, the language you use is immaterial. If you have problems with the the pronunciation, just use a different language! The intent is the same either way! Personally, I like my way better." He leaned in with a coy smile. "However, those stuffy old buzzards at the university are sticklers. So hung-up on their sentimentalities they refuse to recognize these simple truths some times. I think it's because some of them were around when people still used that stuffy old language dahling." he chirped with a giggle. Ember was quite pleased with himself. He held in the more elaborate, complicated, and difficult explanation-- that magic had a kind of panache of its own, when it came to that intent. This was precisely the reason why magic that granted wishes, almost always soured those wishes. For simple things, like producing light, or making fires start, it was hard for that intent to get perverted-- but for more complicated things, the intent had to be focused much more precisely-- very exact processes had to be envisioned, initiated, and guided. This became especially true, the more sophisticated the magic became. But for this young girl, this early lesson in magic would be of great use, and the more complete answer, would only be a stumbling block that would cause her to second-guess herself. He found himself wanting the trip to last longer, so he could help her through on her journey to these realizations herself, but he knew it was not to be. He would be at his destination in just under a week, and that was hardly enough time for this kind of thing. Still, these helpful little explanations could do a world of wonders when one is just starting to learn. Hell, even just having somebody who seems to actually CARE could do that too. He intended to do both. It would bring him a great deal of pleasure to see her skills and confidence improve during this trip. "Now-- You might be asking yourself-- 'If the intent is what REALLY matters-- why does the spell fail when I misspeak it?' The answer dahling-- is just as simple, and perfectly in line with the explanation-- You KNOW you misspoke it, and thus, the magic fails!"</s>

<|message|>Viviana Viv cocked her head and took in every word of the explanation, processing it in as much detail as she could. The words held bittersweet merit, it seemed. On the one hand, if they were true, it would prove marvelous in advancing her own abilities, as her limitations would be greatly reduced. The problem? She had a decade and a half of experience with the old system, the one she had always been taught, always had reinforced, always knew. Even if Ember was right, how long would it take her to master such a style? True she would have centuries more than they would, but obliterating the bedrock of her practice just before heading into university may prove disastrous. "Fascinating, that would certainly help with th-words," Her smile brightened as she poured emphasis into her exaggerated lisp. It was rare that she felt comfortable enough with someone to not mind it as much, but Ember seemed as genuinely caring as they came. It was somewhat curious that Ember offered the advice so freely, many elves keep their greatest secrets locked away, only to be viewed by them and their cabal. "You know, I came to understand magic as interacting with the art of the universe. Words were needed as they were inserted into the song, hand motions to create the painting, and actual power to provide the color. My elders were never big fans of that theory, but I felt like it helped me," Her hands waved as she spoke, anchored only by her elbows which stayed fixed at her sides. The flow of her words was ever so curdled with sadness at the end, reminding her of how teachers would scold her from lofty imaginations. "Say, how did you figure this out? Did someone teach you or did you figure that out on your own?" Once more her head was cocked in curiosity. She hoped to gain as much information as she could in the limited time they had together on the ship.</s>

<|description|>Viviana Gender: Female Age: 21 Description: 4'5'' Elf, slender with sharp features, piercingly solid green eyes, platinum blonde hair usually tied in a high pont tail, wears conservative clothing Bio: A novice wizard, magic always came easily to her, mastering concepts much faster than her class mates. An accident occured when she was 14, in which she accidentally summoned a demon. In the attack she lost 2 fingers on her left hand. Despite this, she received a full scholarship to study at a major magic academy in a far off land. Purpose of travel: Travelling to her new academy to further study and master magic Other info: At first she is very shy, speaking very professionally to anyone she doesnt know. Once she opens up she reveals her excitement for whatever she is studying at the time. She speaks with a slight lisp.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember awoke in a tangled mat of brown, slimy, and not pleasant to smell seaweed. It clung around and to him, in a mockery of the mermaid costume he had conjured up for his "Maiden voyage" send off. Now, "Sent Off". Groaning, and with aches in places he had no clue one could even ache in, he staggered to his knees, and reeled against the beating sun, as the waves lapped at his legs and feet. His skin was raw, and his pajamas were soaked, stained, and torn. Feeling about himself, he found he still had his wand, though it too was completely enmeshed in the brown ball of gooey plantlife he found himself bound up in-- as if the ocean had heaved back, and coughed up a giant festering ball of snot, with him inside it. He was still clutching the foot locker, but one would never have been able to tell. The weedy growth had nucleated around it, which is how he himself had become so entangled. Traces of the ice raft melted under the gentle lapping of the surf, as it swished the slimy mass this way and that around him. Disgustedly, he retched, and heaved up a stomach of swallowed sea water. He felt well and truly miserable. Casting a dour expression out at the sea, he raised a fist at the now sublime and calm blue-green ocean, and raged at it. "Blast you, you fickle, deep-trenched watery tart! Go and cough *ME* up in this ball of filth from your nethers, and not a single one of my babies! I'd tell you to go suck a whale, but you do it every day, you filthy whore! You've dragged more men down there than--" He cut off, as he heard a strained, gurgling coughing sound coming from further up the beach. "--DONT think I'm finished with you, you soggy strumpet! I'll have my vengeance yet!" he spat, then struggled to his feet, then up the shore, pausing only momentarily to summon the (still completely ensnared in seaweed) foot locker to follow behind him, illiciting an image of a demented seamonster slithering behind him, rather than a levitating trunk. Wandering toward the coughing, ember lurched and staggered in the sand, with the undulating mass following in his wake.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) Someone ascending from the water onto the shore. It is Nanashi who is carrying freshly caught edible sea fishes and octopuses. He also got some seaweeds too. He then proceed from one spot to a preparation to cook it for everyone. He is willing to accept anyone who want to help him for the preparation.</s> <|message|>Viviana The young elf girl's head was still spinning. The world was a blur, crashing waves, splintering wood, the salty embrace of the ocean, the grit of the sand. She lay there for some time, in a world between awareness and the void. At some point she received assistance from someone else, perhaps the woman she had offered residence in her cabin. Sonia. Where had she gone? Finally, Viviana blinked, clearing all manner of fog. She was on a beach, soaked, parched, hungry, and far from where she was meant to be. Looking around she saw a gathering a short distance away, the likes of Sonia and Wheelo among them. Close by she also saw that other man she knew, Nanashi. There was one other person she felt the need to seek out, and after not too long she spotted him. "E-Ember?" She croaked out, her throat betraying her attempt to call out to the one person she felt could offer guidance. After a fit of coughing she tried again, "What… where are we? What do I do?"</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Remuri @Pakde Ezekiel had a shocked look on his face as he saw the wheelchair bound man start walking. He felt kind of stupid for helping him. But the feeling of fatigue from before helped with his theory, that he could only move if he stole enough energy from other people. He would have to be careful of this man, he seemed more dangerous than he looked. However, he could be of use if he or any of the others died. They would make for good zombies, but that would be a last resort if he is the last one alive. Being more than disappointed that the demoness was not from Carcosa, if she was he was going to ask her if she knew if Heyl'r was here. But searching for this place could be more successful than asking others where it could be. "My name is Ezekiel Jarret, and we are pleased to meet you." Being sadden that he could not make pleasantries with the interesting demoness, but there were more important things than making friends. Walking towards the man with the bundle of fish and octopus. "We would be more than happy to assist you in cooking this aquatic fauna." Despite being a necromancer he was a good cook, or so he thought. He had never had anyone taste his cooking before, so he hoped they would like the meal. But perhaps he could assist in cooking, so that no one blames him if they get sick. Looking around quickly figuring out that he was not going to find any edible spices on the island. "First we should find some dry wood, leaves, and flint or rocks. Would someone please assist us in finding supplies to start a fire?" He looked around at the group. Finding similar interest from Sonia towards the snake woman. Being reminded of the Nazamines from the deserts of Ka'ta. He wondered if she was related to them.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia had returned to check on the elf girl, who seemed to have awakened in panic. The demoness decided to not interfere immediately, and wait until the girl could partially grasp the situation. "Where indeed, I wonder?" Sonia sat next to Vivian, handing her the opened coconut when she was sure the elven girl had calmed down."Looks like we have deviated far from our route. The sea water is warm, and the sun is burning. We don't have anything like this near the continent." She glanced at the horizon, wind fluttering her red hair. Despite acknowledging the bad news, she realized the local climate might have contributed greatly to their chance of survival. This coconut, for example, you might find them growing in coastal regions, but never in this abundance, and immediately having something to combat dehydration was a godsend. "But please, take heart, Miss Vivian, the rescuer could be on their way. There were important figures boarded on our ship, and given enough time, their disappearance couldn't be any less noticeable. Sonia pointed at the skinny man dragging something that looked like a very weedy container. "And I believe Master Ember is over there. Want to catch up with him? Go ahead, I will be with you in a moment." Still sitting there, Sonia recalled her training. This wasn't the first time she was stranded in a wilderness, and will not likely be the last. Same situation, same rules, different place, and the first thing she needed to do was to assess the situation as much as she could, then plan ahead and study the terrain. Some other survivors had made an initiative to prepare food using various fish catches. Not the first thing she would do in this situation, but okay. Couldn't expect people to do anything with an empty stomach anyway, but time was running, and soon there would be a time when food became the third or fourth priority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" This black-haired man who's not on a wheelchair and is instead using a raw greenish cane of wood, slowly paced around the beach looking for his wheelchair. It's futile to use his eyesight on this, it seems every meter there's a piece of wood sticking out of the sand. It's almost prescient that he reinforced his wheelchair with several bars of iron, so he could detect it with this... strange, innate metal sense that he has, instead. Nothing's come up with this however, and it's come to a point where he reaches Ember's immediate location, with this strange seaweed-covered chest crawling behind her. Ember herself, with this disheveled, sodden, seaweed-covered look. He pointed with his left hand, "You have a leaf on your shoulder." He looks at the sky, in a combination of perhaps trying to find a celestial body, like a moon, and mainly trying not to even chuckle at Ember's situation. "Hey... How possible do you think it is that we're in a different planet?"</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember made a scowl at the foul man's cheeky attempt at humor at his expense, and sent a sticky glob of the seaweed clinging to him in the man's direction with a forceful extension of his wand, while continuing his struggle to get further up the beach. "Really, I hadn't noticed." he snarked, before continuing. "And thinking of such extreme, outlandish prospects is foolish. If it WERE another planet, I very much doubt it would look like anything we are used to." and with that, he mentally tuned the man out. Seeing Vivian and her former bunkmate up ahead, his heart lifted. At least there would be some INTELLIGENT company to while away the time with. The memory that her companion was a professional huntress flicked in his mind, and it gave him a momentary bit of relief. He knew full well he had no clue how to rough it out here. ... ...Wherever "here" was... He turned back at the stiff gaited man, now removing seaweed from the back of his head. Ember was positive this was NOT "another planet." "Vivian, dahling--- I'm SOOO happy to see you--- And you too dear--- Sonia was it?" Vivian was sipping water from a halved coconut,and he was immediately jealous. His mouth was parched, and his insides literally ached from having been full of seawater earlier. "You don't have another of those do you dahling?"</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) Nanashi help the necromancer to sort things to cook, the only need is fire. He noticed the two mages that already present on the resting shelter. He decided to speak with them. "Need fire." He talked to Ember pointing the cooking spot."We shall fill up first before we proceed inside the forest. Where may be there is a flat terrain for the. settlement camp. There is no good here to make camp here. High tides will flood the shore. Then we can discuss how to get out" He continued. Head counting the survivors. He noticed the small figure with skull headwear is not present in the area. "I haven't seen. The snake woman in a while. With her unique prowess. She can take the lead for venturing. Same thing as. Scanning something that are aware from us." He said.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya "Ah of course!" Sonia expeditiously grabbed a green coconut and slice the lower part of the fruit like peeling a potato. It was effortless, courtesy of her above-average arm strength, and her trusty dagger; manufactured by Alhazen.co, Urstad. That small surge of information brought up a brief sense of deja vu in her. "Here you go... si- madam?" She offered almost like whispering at the end of her sentence. What to call him now, she wasn't so sure. The slender mage was very different now without all of his makeup and flamboyant getups, so Sonia tried to play safe by not being so obvious with her choice of pronoun. Somebody was approaching. A strange fisherman, not sure why Sonia would refer to him as such, likely because she saw him go fishing in the very first minutes of their awakening. A vagrant, or adventurer? His general attire suggested so. Not that there was a stark diffrence between the two anyway. The man asked rather crudely, and it didn't improve her opinion of him a bit. Without waiting for anyone to answer, he continued For the first half of it, Sonia had no comment, everyone might do whatever they wanted at this point. However, the second half of his opinion made her feel a bit restive. "Appreciate your concern, but the gentleman need not worry about the high tide here, for this area is far from the waters and sufficiently elevated." Sonia sheathed and strapped her dagger to her waist. Averting her gaze from the man, skipping her usual introductry but still trying to remain thoughtful with her words. "As for the urgency to move to the forest," she turned to the green unknown behind them and shook her head. "I think we should remain here for a while. We don't know where, or how far we are from the rescue. And I believe everyone would prefer to stay in a place where the rescuer could easily see them." Now sitting on a nearby boulder, Sonia swept the remained sand from her scraped knee and then gave the man one of her less-than-genuine smiles. "Of course, I am not completely dismissing the notion to explore the interior of this... place, but we need to lay out a plan before making any decision. And first thing first, to gather everyone and discuss that plan. Means we all need to find a common ground first, savvy?"</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) "I see. My apologies on my rudeness... Qi from those sailors and others seems out of my range right now. It felt like we got split from getting drove to the shore. They are probably drowned or maybe drove on other side. We regroup here to wait for the rescuer." He said stil standing nearby the demoness turning his eyes on the far ocean.</s>

<|message|>Viviana Ember's kind words reassured her and fully brought her to the present situation. Looking down into the coconut she noticed a reasonable amount remained, enough at least to grant the older wizard some measure of relief. "You can have the rest of this, I am fine for now," She offered the fruit with a hint of a smile, her dried lips barely resisting a crack. She turned to the 'fisherman'. "Oh, hello Nanashi, thank you for getting food. I can help you cook that," She intensely focused on the palm of her right hand, eventually sparking a meager flame. She let out a small sigh, mildly dissapointed with what she had been able to produce. Her thoughts went to her foot locker, her collection of notebooks was lost somewhere beneath the waves. All her notes on hand movements and incantations were lost. She was on her own, magically speaking. At the very least the one person who seemed to be able to teach her in spite of such a loss was also on the island.</s>

<|description|>"Verdant" Gender: Female Age: At least 142 Description: A tiny dark-skinned woman with pale hair and a few scarring. Eyes can be described as "utterly and completely out of her marbles" or green, depending on who's looking. Able to morph into a stubby short snake with disproportionately wide midsection at will. Bio: Either an old snake demon that gained sentience or a byproduct of magic gone wrong, the serpent currently using the name Verdant is a psycopath wanted for murder and mass poisoning in several countries under various different alias over the years. Things may had heated a bit too much after the poisoning of a particularly well-liked local lord, thus she snuck into the first ship going faraway and maybe spend a few decades becoming a problem in someone else's backyard. Purpose of travel: Escaping the authorities Other info: Expert in brewing and perusing poison, knifing people in a dark alley, running the hell away from someone stronger, and sneaking back to torch their house later. Innately able to alter the human form to a moderate extent, and is generally highly resistant to toxic substances.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) "We should mass grave first. Those who were perished. Take their names to their family. In my experience of expenditures. You guys should be. Prepared when getting to island. We didn't know what and who are dwelling inside the forestry. We lost some weapons the are heavy burden to carry but we should at least make something primitive. Seems that you introduce yourself as huntress. I m fine that you may take the lead to venture and find some place to build a settlement. We also need some water line that is deep. If want to build the ship again. When we move. I suggest. Single file, sandwiching those people who can't fight. Those who can fight will tag along with you in line and the other group is on the rare. We can put some on the middle to but it's your choice to decide in overall. Expect for the fight. We might be hostile or prey who. Dwell this island." Nanashi spoke.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia listened patiently, and there was a hint of amusement... or sarcasm in her smile When the man voiced his opinion in such an elaborate manner. "Mister Traveler, I simply asked for a plan. Your plan, not mine, nor dictate or suggest how should I carry out my plan." Sonia stepped down from her stone podium and sit on a nearby, more elevated boulder. "There is no leader to vote for yet, let alone elected. And I have not disclosed my plan, not yet. But I think I definitely understand where you are coming from." "As for giving the dead proper burial. I agree with you, but I am not in a position to assign anyone to fulfill anyone's behest." Sonia pointed at the resting sailors who were mostly quiet during her speech, taking their time to enjoy the meal. "But I think the gentlemen over there would be willing to help you as a token of gratitude for the food you have generously prepared. As for the file, formation as you might call it, I think it will be reserved for later." "Anyone else? Mind sharing your ideas?"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "You again- wait, how did you even find that thing?" One would've expected the wheelchair to sink into the depth alongside the ship, among other things. It's probably not the strangest thing this metal man had been showing, but Verdant didn't quite cared enough to worry about it. "My old clothing got shredded quite thoroughly. Found this floating not far from here." Why were she even talking to this man anyway? Because he's showing to be difficult to kill? Perhaps. One could never lack of meat shield, but quality ones were difficult to find.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "I see." The black-haired man on a wheelchair turned towards the loud redhead talking to the young man. Bah, he has no interest in cooperating with people. It's just going to be an annoyance. He expects nothing of this lot. His head turned to the beach for some kind of distraction. Nothing on there. Any trees nearby that he could climb? Someone has to map out this island and look for notable spots. That redhead's quite tall for a woman. This other woman's orange tattered dress is distracting. He tried to grab the dress but she reflexively reacted, and he whispered "I just want to see what it's made of." Where has he seen this material? It's some kind of linen but it reflects light like silk... Wait a minute. He snickered. "Hey, kid, I think I know whose dress this is. Oh, she's going to be mad." He scanned the area. "Is she still berating the widow?"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" Verdant glared at the impertinent man as if he just claimed that the world is round or something equally ridiculous, slapping the errant hand away with her leftover fish. "Finders keepers." Who cares if the thing was pre-owned? She found it, it's hers now. If the previous owner tried to claim it she didn't mind shanking a bitch. Eyeing at the mostly eaten carcass, the serpent tossed it off to the nearest bush and wiped her hand on the orange sackcloth. It didn't help much, the garment still too drenched to properly remove the fishy slime, but that can be fixed with a few more wipes. Probably.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Pakde The Necromancer shook his head at the snake woman, "And we are sure that there is something interesting out there" His finger pointed towards the dense greenery a few feet away from them. It seemed to him that perhaps he would have to venture off alone, this option would not be ideal for him. However, if he had to go alone it would not be too much of a disadvantage. But his adventure through the unknown would have to wait, he could hear his stomach rumbling. Ezekiel sat down with the others, scanning his eyes on the other survivors. Taking a bit of the grilled fish, and pulled up his mask far enough so just his mouth was exposed. Quite chewing on the food that had been prepared. Personally, he thought his food was better, but beggars could not be choosers. Listening to the demoness' speech would be a good excuse for him to find the book. "We believe exploring the island for materials for our survival, would highen our chances of living. Also searching for any means to escape would be beneficial as well. So we suggest after eating this meal, we should explore the island immediately." The masked mage pulled down his mask once he was finished eating. He knew that some of them would be willing to explore the island for any means of escape. Although the talks of burying the dead would make getting the bodies a pain in the butt.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember stooped pitifully near the fire, gently poking sticks into it every now and then, thankful for the fact, that for once, it was not something sustained entirely by magic. He was positively drained, and probably couldn't manage more than a sputtering, and uncontrolled burst of pitiful flames had he been in the position to be trying that. The sticks were a perfectly tractable, and entirely practical, (if undignified) option, and he was very thankful for it being available. "It sure beats sitting on the beach, in this insufferable sun all day. At least there'd be shade... Maybe we'd get lucky, and find a lake to get the salt off us. I can positively FEEL my skin puckering up like a priest of chastity at a bacchanal. We wont even discuss my hair..." He turned to the 'very obviously a practitioner of the necromantic arts', appraising his tattered but still very apparent costume, and spoke in a hushed, private tone so that only the recipient would hear. 'I wouldn't dahling-- We have the superstitious types in our number.. The last thing we need, is a coup because somebody's dead husband is shambling around outside mucking out a latrine. If it were just us dahling, I wouldn't mind, but we must think about these things, given our circumstances. ...I'd rather not end up in a fire... Speaking of-- I never made your acquaintance-- I'm ember-- Transfigurist, and illusionist-- I specialize in fashion. ...Despite appearances... I can tell from your attire what your specialty is dahling--- I've designed similar numbers for some of my clients-- but I'm at a disadvantage for your name--"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "Who knows? Could be some man-eating tribal folks on the other side. Or some abomination from ancient times. Or just a huge stretch of nothing but ticks and leeches. Ain't in a hurry to find out." Ooh, free food. Cooked food, how nice. If she'd know she wouldn't have eaten that raw fish, but eh. More nutrient never hurt. Habitually wiping the slime which only served to spread the stain further along the sackcloth, Verdant tottered to snatch one of the grilled fish and blew into it. Yep, a huge improvement. Now if only they had spice.</s> <|message|>"Ember" "... Ezekiel you say? ... A bit .. 'old-fashioned' isn't it?" mused Ember bemusedly. "Well, once i've had a chance to rest up a bit, I could see about mending your robes dahling... I take great pride and care in the... care... of.. my work....." Ember trailed off, completely taken by surprise by what had just darted in front of him. That filthy beggar woman that had been lounging outside his quarters aboard ship had clearly not only survived, but had clearly found one of his missing spring pieces. Worse still, she was... smearing it with..... FISH GREASE.. like it was some common rag from the gutter. THAT WAS MEANT TO BE ON A HOTTIE'S TIGHT LITTLE BOTTOM, NOT ACCEPTING FILTHLY FISH JUICES!! AND THAT BUNDLE! THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE TIGHTLY WRAPPED AROUND A TASTEFUL SET OF BOSOMS, NOT SOME COLLECTION OF OLD RUBBISH!! The surge of emotion combined with his weakened constitution, in a momentary darkening of his vision as his blood pressure spiked, and the vagal response kicked in, sending him to the sandy ground on his bottom with a thud. Dazed, his head swam, and for a single blessed moment, he felt maybe he had just hallucinated it, and that he just needed to rest and drink more coconut water... But he rubbed his eyes, and looked again as his momentary loss of verticality dissipated. It was quite plain-- It was not a mere hallucination. Worse, the vile creature was picking her nose, and rubbing it on the bright orange trousers, along with the greasy fish juice. He felt nauseous, but summoned the power to get to his feet, then staggered toward the abominable visage of the woman... "If you'll excuse me sir.... I need to take care... of some business...."</s> <|message|>Viviana The world seemed to move by in a blur, as people she barely knew talked about everything from survival to petty squabbles. Her life had always been mostly easy, mostly safe, mostly guaranteed. With the one notable exception, she had never had to fight for her own survival, for he right to continue to be alive. Now her hopes seemed to lay almost entirely in the hands of strangers who barely got along, and a woman that was just a bit more demonic looking than she would have liked. At least she was not an actual demon, how her people could go about resembling those monsters was beyond Viviana's understanding. "I can help with making some kind of camp or shelter, or at least I can do my best. I fear I would be of little use scouting or hunting," The small elven girl moved to be closer to Sonia, even with a hint of hesitation as light caught on her horns. "Whatever you say, whatever you need me to do, I am with you," Quietly, her hands fell back into their ideation. Tiny flickers of flame and arcs of electricity traced her increasingly alert, and frantic, finger tips.</s>

<|message|>"Verdant" "As far as not dying goes, food and water and shelter ain't difficult to find." In a rare streak of good mood, Verdant contributed to the discussion through a mouthful of fish. "No rescue's coming anytime soon though. We must've drifted quite far southward." Going back to civilization would be harder, but by no means impossible. Enough sailors survived, that if they were able to somehow kludge together a large enough barge there's a good chance for them to simply paddle back to civilization. Navigation should be their strong suit, right? Though, another storm can easily smash them back to this island. Maybe she wont be as lucky at that time. Shrugging, the serpent sat back down and stopped talking. Two sentences was all the socializing she's willing to provide for the moment.</s>

<|description|>"Verdant" Gender: Female Age: At least 142 Description: A tiny dark-skinned woman with pale hair and a few scarring. Eyes can be described as "utterly and completely out of her marbles" or green, depending on who's looking. Able to morph into a stubby short snake with disproportionately wide midsection at will. Bio: Either an old snake demon that gained sentience or a byproduct of magic gone wrong, the serpent currently using the name Verdant is a psycopath wanted for murder and mass poisoning in several countries under various different alias over the years. Things may had heated a bit too much after the poisoning of a particularly well-liked local lord, thus she snuck into the first ship going faraway and maybe spend a few decades becoming a problem in someone else's backyard. Purpose of travel: Escaping the authorities Other info: Expert in brewing and perusing poison, knifing people in a dark alley, running the hell away from someone stronger, and sneaking back to torch their house later. Innately able to alter the human form to a moderate extent, and is generally highly resistant to toxic substances.</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "Looks like we ain't the first here." Verdant whistled as she eyed the skeleton, before turning her glance somewhere else. The woods felt ancient in a way, but there's no threat in the direct vicinity. As much as a wild forest can contain no threat anyway - who knows what insect or illness lurk all around them. But for whatever responsible over the poor sod underwater, well, chance were it's no longer around. "Fella likely died further upstream. The corpse bloat and float down until it burst and sink here some time ago. Cant be sure how long, but it takes time for moss to grow on the shirt." Another mystery, then. What was upstream? Would there be other people? Yet a community wouldn't normally leave their dead out like that. "We should take a closer look. Mayhaps guess what exactly done him in." Wild animal, or other people? Wild animal bold or desperate enough to attack humans wouldn't waste the meat, and wouldn't toss the remains into a water source. People, then? Hopefully people. Maybe there's a way out of this island sooner after all.</s> <|message|>"Ember" "Smouldering dahling... Smouldering..." ember cooed, despite the nausea. The nausea still made it into the tone, despite his best efforts. "... And I don't recall giving you a card--- Quite impressive though, a man in a chair, felling a tree like that." He sucked in a deep breath. Slowly but surely, he could feel his own vigor returning. "Sonia took a brawny bunch with her some time ago. I'd have joined them if I had been up to it, but sadly... That she-bitch of the saline persuasion took a bit more out of me than I imagined possible-- but I should be recovered enough to actually be useful here in a bit. Until then, I will busy myself with this light work."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "The chair's not a factor in my abilities..." The black-haired man on a wheelchair moves closer to this person sitting on her luggage, parallel facing the campfire. His head turns between the campfire and Ember, and in search of that widow and her child whose issues seem to have been placated. "I see. Would you allow me to aid you in this light work? I'd like to make amends for when I barged into your quarters without plea, and to fix my image in your eyes because I am not a pervert." He removes his gloves and pulls back his sleeves, revealing hands and arms made of ceramic. He drops from his chair, kneels and holds his hands into the fire, absorbing some of its energy. "You attract me, I will admit, but never to a point where I'd lose any such self-control." Orange glows emanate from the linear cracks in his skin, crawling from his hands towards his torso where some kind of core must be, for something of his make. He falls back and sits unkempt while reaching again for a flask in his coat. He pulls down his face covering, and drinks the last bit of water-like liquid from the flask. Fully empty. He shakes it for the last few drops, and puts it back in his coat. "By the way, I did borrow the card you gave the woman named DeVespe, which... I don't think I've seen her nearby so far." @wierdw</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya "Indeed we are not..." Sonia pondered. What mystery awaited them upstream? Could be civilization or the opposite; unsavory locals with a penchant for foreigner's flesh and blood. Such presumptuous assumptions dawned from her limited knowledge about the tropical realm and what dwells within it. "It could be a man killing another," she murmured, watering down the visceral chronology Verdan had just described with premature deduction. "Or he ate the wrong mushroom and died here after thinking he could wash it down with water." The alternative seemed equally possible with the former. If the man was killed by another human, be it a desperate survivor or rabid tribesmen, they would have taken his coat. Clothing, after all, was a precious commodity if you were in the middle of nowhere. "We should take a closer look. Mayhaps guess what exactly done him in." "If I were you I would let the dead be at rest." Sonia shrugged, yet still upholding her ambivalent neutrality. "But that's just me." The demoness walked upstream, a good half dozen meters away from the skeleton's resting place. There she unfastened her belt and undressed, leaving her trusty crossbow on the riverbank as she took a dip into the river and wash the burning salt off her skin. The water was cold and so clean she could see the riverbed, too bad it was too shallow to swim. Giving her hair a good rinsing, Sonia finally felt like a civilized person again. However, as much as she loved a good bathing session, she tried to not enjoy it too much, at least for now. There was a remnant of a dead people just a few meters ahead, and they were still within an unknown territory. Besides, they have reached their objective, it was time to go back and report their findings. She bet the flamboyant mage would flip upon hearing it. After washing her dress, Sonia climbed up and twisted her only clothes before wearing them again, smiling as she thanked Rayland for keeping eye on the surroundings. "The water is good. If you want to have a quick soak, well, do it now and take your time. Just keep in mind that we need to go back soon." And with that, she slung her crossbow and had it at the ready.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember heaved a big, weary sigh. "Being beautiful's my BUSINESS dahling. If you weren't at least a little intrigued, I didn't do a good job-- but from now on, mind mine and other's privacy-- rest assured, when I'm not sunburnt and seasoaked, the fire I conjure is a lot hotter than that little potwarmer dahling. Even a construct might find it unpleasant.' Ember tilted his head discretely. He had head rumors of sentient constructs, and read treatises on simple ones used as 'anchor prostheses' for mages who had, through one way or another, been 'discorporeated'. Some magicians in poor health used them as proxies with powerful sending circles to do daily tasks while their withered bodies stayed home. Then there was the nasty business of killer magicians using them as disposable muscle. He discretely wondered which this individual was, but felt best not to pry. Surely one animated by a sending would just be written off, and a new one constructed... maybe this one was sentimental, or specially prepared somehow? Surely, this wasn't a mythical homunculus doll... surely not. Artificial souls were mere conjecture! 'Oh well-- FINE. Just never do it again.'</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "Bah. Threats." He tited his head up then fell back-first on the sandy floor. "I only did it that one time, I was too preoccupied to know if someone was in the roo-- Whatever, these excuses matter little to anybody." He raised his left arm up, his hand wide open. Rays of the sun peering through his hand, through the leaves way above it, hitting his ivory eyes directly. He puts his gloves on one by one and unfolds his sleeves, and soon he notices Ember staring at him, possibly analyzing his humonculous nature, and so he tilts his head to look at her and she averts her discrete gaze and speaks. "... I won't," he replies. Either a resignment of pride, or refrain from further argument, but that's that. "I do want you to hit me with your conjured fire, though." He pushes back up with his arms, his torso slanted and head tilted back facing her. "Let me feel your actual power, not that of a mere showman who creates bubbles and fog in excess."</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember momentarily had a quixotic expression,but quickly suppressed it. "You want me to --- Wait, are you trying to get me to sever your connection, and send you home? Is that it? Smash up your "china doll" enough that the sending fails? --- Why ever would I do that?" ember cooed naughtily, then smiled even more wickedly. "Or is there some OTHER reason you want me to make a glowing hole where your chest is? In either case, it would take a great deal of explanation to my companions here why I had done so..."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man snickered, pieces of his face sliding apart to form somewhat of a smile, hearing of this potential 'glowing hole' in his torso. "I'm sure I would've been able to survive it." His 'smile' dissipated as he climbed back up his chair and moved beside Ember. "No, I was looking to ingest your discharge, actually. My mana's running low and I need it to move around. It's a net negative for me to even swing my arm, we don't regenerate it with our stomachs like you do. Plus there's..." "Not really much connection left back home. As far as being cryogenized goes, it's just me here right now." The backrest of his wheelchair descended slightly, setting him slouched. "I suppose it's a bit heinous to try to extract from an already nauseated woman. I apologize." An awkward delay. "Is Ember your actual name?"</s> <|message|>"Ember" "A rose by any other name, smells just as sweetly dahling. I am who i choose to be. You cant get more liberated than that." ember smiled. "As for looking for a 'recharge', you're barking up the wrong magician right now. Besides, I'm not going to pop my wand on someone like you dahling. My REAL power cannot be properly... Conducted... by a mere sentimental trinket like this dear. I packed lightly, for a vacation-- not a bloody war. Cough up a proper focus, and we'll business." Ember smiled wickedly. "No? Well then. I think that would be all."</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "You can't just ask for a foc-- All of them require sentimental value. Are you sure it's even you and not the focii you use? You seem to place them on too high of a pedestal." Nary an inch of movement. Seems like the black-haired man on a wheelchair has gone full standby to recuperate his losses. A more discerning person would detect a mosquito merely hover nearby and subsequently fall down, dead. "Henri. My name. Some might call me 'Wheelo' or 'Carter' right now though, for I told them these as my name. It... Yes, okay, I didn't think these names through, don't mock it."</s> <|message|>"Ember" "Oh? You think so do you, "henri"? well then..." Ember discretely put the wand down, and extended his bare hand. "I need the focus for control-- It's a tool-- an instrument. It's useless without the hand of the musician-- but if you want to see what I myself am--- " Ember grinned mischievously. He was CERTAIN this would knock him back down again, and kick him in the balls hard for doing, but this little shit needed the lesson. with a sudden thrust of his right hand, he placed it palm down on the man's chest, then inhaled more than just the air. The fire sputtered and threatened to die, and the sky seemed to lose some of its azure hue, while ember himself seemed to practically intensify in the color of his hair, lips, and eyes-- a technicolor spectacle, as a huge sum of the ambient, native magic in the vicinity got drawn toward and into him. "Bear in mind, dahling, I'm NOT at full power..." Bright incandescence erupted between the joints of the mechanical form, as it rapidly absorbed the torrential flow, reached saturation, then attempted to expel the excess to avoid damage. ---The flow continued, and increased. "When I said it would pop my wand, I wasn't kidding, dahling--- So, is this enough, or do you need more?" That wicked smile of his seemed almost demonic, with the intensity of the magic flowing through and around it. The flow continued to increase... Ember had EVERY intention of popping this little doll like an overinflated balloon. Swirling sigils and magical formulae that had been laid when the shell was cast began to become visible, swirl, and writhe on the surface of the shell, then after-echos of the casting rebounded in the intense barrage-- a subtle whispering of female voices-- "SO, it was a GROUP effort--" mused Ember with a titter... The flow increased even more....</s>

<|message|>"Verdant" The river wasn't that wide and relatively shallow too, but what's waist high for average people would've went up to Verdant's chest. No way she'd reach the bones without getting drenched, so might as well take a rinse. The snake slipped out of her offensively bright sackcloth, halfheartedly rinsing the fabric twice before squeezing the water out and tossing the resulting lump haphazardly on a rock. Then she walked into the peacefully flowing water. Verdant blinked slowly. By the second blink a thin membrane covered her eyes as the pupils narrowed into a pair of slit, the blurry underwater sharpened into clarity. She knelt next to the skeleton, examining whether there's trace of injuries on the old bones and the mossy clothing. Then she poked it with a pointy stone, just because.</s>

<|description|>Sonia Al-Hathya Gender: Female Age: 24 Height: 172cm Desc: Sonia is a fair-skinned young woman with an average to slightly slim build. Her waist-length hair was crimson red and left untied. Matching with the curtain, the windows of her soul are purplish-red with slitted pupils. A pair of short horns jutted out of her hair, forming an arc similar to scarab antlers, something (along with her pointy ears) she often futilely hides with her hood. Race: If it wasn't obvious enough, Sarkaz, a pseudo-biblical demon. No, she doesn't have a tail, no, she is not and does not behave like that kind of she-demon, stop asking! Bio: Dad was an arms dealer, everything else was blurry. Sonia was still a teenager when her parents kicked her out of home. Was it because of her own fault or her parents simply tired of her was never a clear occurrence in her memory. Sometimes she remembers a bit of the detail, and on the next occasion, she found herself already on the road with traveling gear and a crossbow, feeling confused. It is certainly not amnesia, she still remembers who she is and every bit of the years that have passed along with her journey. It's just, sometimes she wondered what the hell is she doing spending years from town to town, from one wilderness to another, and not in the place called home? I think I need a scoop of ice cream. Purpose of travel: Like any other passengers, arriving safely at the designated port. And then travel a bit more to her hometown. Perhaps looking for an answer, maybe just stopping by, or... who knows, finding her way back home. Other information: Nothing particularly outstanding with Sonia's combat capability. She can shoot swiftly and accurately, and if she really means it, there will be no armor thick enough to deflect her bolts. Sonia is well aware of her inexperience in real combat, so she won't hesitate to work with everyone and follow the chain of command if the situation calls for it. Equipment: Medium-sized canvas bag, dagger, a reverse-draw mechanical crossbow with "Alhazen" markings on its limbs. 25x crossbow bolts. A coin purse containing the amount of money enough to purchase another ticket.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia was spitting sands and coughing seawater as she woke up. Ironically, she scooped more salt water to spit out the remaining sands, making her throat even sorer. But to completely get rid of the minerals, it was worth it! The first two minutes were spent doing nothing, literally. Anyone else could be seen walking toward the island, probably in panic and seeing hope in green vegetation, but Sonia recalled her experience and decided; All she had to do now is stop, really, stop until she could get a grasp of the situation. Do not panic. With her duffle bag dragged along, she trudged toward her former roommate, who miraculously washed not far from her. Vivian was found lying with her body half submerged in water. Breathing, but still unconscious. Paleness on his lips indicates acute dehydration. Looked like they had been stranded here for a few hours. "Miss Vivian? Can you hear me?" An extra effort to wake her up was needed, and based on her prior two minutes assessment, they wouldn't want to be here any longer. Sonia lifted her petite figure and packstrap carry her on her back, half unconscious and all, and she wouldn't pardon for this austerities. Their resting place was an opening with minimal shrubs under the shade of some mangrove and coconut trees. The site was protected by some boulder formations in front and a few smaller trees that provide an additional shield against the burning sun. It is a tropical island alright, and Sonia eyed at the coconut trees with varieties of heights and tilts. She reached a dagger from her duffle bag and climbed one of the shorter trunks with a slightly hampered agility. A cluster of green coconut was down with a heavy thump, then another. Satisfied, but not quite, Sonia slid down from the trees, scrapes and bruises be damned. Vivian had already woken up, but she ignored her for a moment and focus on chopping the husk down to its hard shell. And then, only after gulping the entire fruit by herself, she can think normal again. "Here, drink this," said Sonia, offering a freshly cut green coconut to the dazed elf.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @spiral origin The last thing Eziekal remembered was the wave coming towards the lifeboats, for a moment he thought it would be the end of his life. But ending up washed up on this island, only reassured him that he was fated to wash ashore. "Thank you Dathon, we are grateful that you have brought us here." Yelping in pain from a crab biting him, throwing the crab from underneath his robes and into the water. He let out a sigh of relief when he remembered he had strapped his staff and dagger to his person. "Thank Athzoth we have our things, now we need to find the Kaz'arak" The necromancer looked around at his surroundings, trying to figure out where he could find the book. But his attention was focused on the other survivors that had washed up with him. Most of them seem badly wounded, some more so than others. The young man made his way over towards an obvious blind man, he had noticed the blind man needed the use of a wheelchair for movement. Ezekiel felt a kinship with the man, both of them did not have the use of their eyes. But he felt some regret that he could see thanks to his third eye. Walking over towards the man putting his hand on his shoulder. "We know what it is like to walk in darkness, we will guide you into the light. Are you in need of any medical assistance? Do you need any water?" He looked over at the others because he knew he was not strong enough to carry the man. "Is anyone here strong enough to help us lift this man to safety?" The necromancer took his hands off of the blind man's shoulder. Ezekiel took a moment to spit out some salt water after lifting his mask above his mouth. Putting the mask back over his face.</s> <|message|>"Verdant" Uuuugh. Verdant the snake had barely managed to stay conscious through all that. Mostly. And it turned out that they were washed away on a shore not too long after. Great, at least she ain't at risk of dying. There should be enough resource in the island for prolonged survival, as inconvenient as it were. Silver linings and all. Let's take this step by step. Firstly, gotta get away from this weird man that didn't quite felt like a man. Probably an exotic race that she never met or something. Regardless, he's gripping her skull rather tightly and Verdant would rather not transform back in sight. The fact that her bundle of cloth and whatnot was washed away didn't really help either. There goes all her money too, gosh darn it. Oh well, she can always get more once she return to civilization. Step by step. Strengthening her spiritual connection to the skeleton, it thrashed and bounded away with unnatural strength as she rode it further inland, disappearing between the vegetation momentarily. First of all, circle around to find some spot to rejoin the passengers. Maybe salvage a cloth or whatever fabric she can get her hands on. She's not much bothered by the lack of it, but leave it to the humans to put such trivialities in high priority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The black-haired man who's currently not on a wheelchair and instead half-submerged in sand, spoke not of words but a low static noise. When the snake draped in another snake's skeleton darted away from his arms with such force, it flung his arms up and one of them fully broke off from the elbow and flew three feet away. The humming suddenly intensified, along with more static noise, and this feeling that all the energy in the air and the ground and the nearest benevolent necromancer was being drained into him. As this went on, his head slowly turned to align his eyes with the visage of this blind, blue-robed figure. There was no expression on his face. If one were to look closely at his severed arm, there's no blood. It's just some kind of prosthetic made of terracotta flesh and iron bones.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia heard the call. Now her personal safety had been ensured, maybe it was time to help the others some more. She rushed toward the robed man, leaving the elf, who was still deep in her own thoughts, maybe she needed some time alone to recover and recompose herself. Poor Vivi. There was this strange fella, half buried in the sand, wide awake but somehow unresponsive. The first responder to help him was this robed man, a very strange man... with goat as a head. Felt slightly unnerved, but still willing to help, Sonia moved closer to the buried man. Asked him if he can move his limbs. Seeing the detached prosthetic, apparently not. "The sands are quite shallow, I think I can do this. Ready sir?" No answer, and not like Sonia would wait for one. She grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and forcefully pull him out of the sand. "Can you walk?" No answer again, only incomprehensible eye movement. Sonia turned to the other robed man. "Are you his friend? Can you pick... uhh his hand up?" After saying that, Sonia dragged the disabled man to a nearby shade, and couldn't help but notice something strange was at play here. She felt her energy was slowly drained, certainly not fatigue, nor the heat of the burning sun. It was more arcane, coming from this man. For now, she didn't really mind it, her task was finished anyway when she leaned the man against a tree. "Should be safe enough now," Sonia wanted to apologize for dragging him this far and explain that all would be easier if he had both arms intact. However, wasn't sure if the unresponsive man would want to hear it all, so she excused herself and returned to her camp.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Pakde After Ezekiel had helped the other woman move the man to rest against a tree, he stood with him for a moment. Felt something strange about his blind man, he assumed that he was fatigued thanks to the sun and moving the man. But the man knew there was something more sinister about the wheelchair bound man. "We will be back to help you." Ezekiel muttered a protection spell as he came over towards Sonia. His interest was peaked seeing her. He knew of the demons from the other realm, but he had not met one before. "We are curious if you are from Carcousa? The realm of Shab'Nigarth the mother of darkness?" He assumed that she was perhaps from another plane where demons like her reside. But it doesn't hurt to ask, since he was curious if she knew of the Great Ones. She reminded him of Kith, creatures that dwell in the forest. Kiths love to be around nature mostly in heavily forested areas. But they were quite dangerous, as they did not like people snooping around their territory. "We have no survival skills, however we are good with sowing and cooking." The necromancer made sure not to mention he was a necromancer, but assumed some of them knew that already. His choice of clothing and mannerism was very strange.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" The protection spell placed on the black-haired man rapidly decayed, and the low static sound he emanated had suddenly ceased. ... Movement. His head straightened up, and his right stump moved to his chest as he shook his left shoulder, and then his left hand held the back of his neck as he twisted it around. "Hello, consciousness," he told himself. He looked to his left. The redhead with horns, followed by some kind of blue-robed cultist that he'd never seen before on the ship. Suspicious individuals. He paid no heed to them and looked forward. Large chunks of the ship, out on the shore. Wait, their ship? He has to find his chair. He tried to get up, but immediately started tilting to the right due to lacking a sense of balance, and so he instinctively held out his right arm to catch his fall, but it wasn't there and so his head slammed the floor. What in the hell is going on... It's not something that'd so easily detach from his body. Actually, where is his pet snake wearing a skull of another snake? Did someone steal it from him along with his arm? Is it these two? No, they're not holding a snake of some sort. They're looking at him. "I'm fine," he proclaimed. He sat up and reached back at the tree behind him. Cracks formed into the tree, and a slice of it came off to reveal a wooden walking cane, greenish and wet with sap but it'll do. He slowly, centenarily started walking out of the trees' shade and back onto the sands. At one point, his cane slides deep into the sand due to his sheer weight, prompting him to change the base of his cane into something flatter. Oh, there's his arm. He leaned down and dropped his right arm onto it, sliding his sleeve onto it, and a click sound latches it back to him. He tests by moving his right fingers, for measure. The crunching sound of sand as he moves his joints. It was beginning to be grating. The bits of moisture inside his body, too. Steam rises from the back of his neck as his body shivers, shooting sand out at a small radius around him. He resumes his walk to find his wheelchair.</s>

<|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia, who was ready to head back was stopped by the robed man's inquiry, seemingly taken aback by the way he spoke. "Carcousa?" she frowned, the name was something she might have heard of but couldn't quite place it. Probably the name of a place in another language? The mention of the mother of darkness was even more confusing to her. Though, it was not unusual. Sonia had heard a lot of rumors regarding her origin to the point she was used to it and wouldn't bother correcting too much. "I am afraid the place you mentioned is the realm I have never been, good sir. I was from Urstad, a country in the north of the continent," she answered, and it sounded like a kind of standard-issue answer she had been trained to use; very polite and she would certainly introduce herself with a curtsy had she not standing in the such unsteady surface such as sands. "A wandering huntress. Sonia Al-Hathya at your service." Anyway, the topic was both intriguing and troubling for her, and any attempt to remember anything related to her origin had brought a certain pain in her head. "I am sorry but I think we can continue this talk later." She took a brief moment to glance at the man, who seemed to acknowledge her discomfort by changing the topic almost immediately. "I am sure it will be a great help." She responded with a polite smile that did little to mask her uneasiness. "Now, I must go back to my friend. Will catch up with everyone else later!"</s>

<|description|>Sonia Al-Hathya Gender: Female Age: 24 Height: 172cm Desc: Sonia is a fair-skinned young woman with an average to slightly slim build. Her waist-length hair was crimson red and left untied. Matching with the curtain, the windows of her soul are purplish-red with slitted pupils. A pair of short horns jutted out of her hair, forming an arc similar to scarab antlers, something (along with her pointy ears) she often futilely hides with her hood. Race: If it wasn't obvious enough, Sarkaz, a pseudo-biblical demon. No, she doesn't have a tail, no, she is not and does not behave like that kind of she-demon, stop asking! Bio: Dad was an arms dealer, everything else was blurry. Sonia was still a teenager when her parents kicked her out of home. Was it because of her own fault or her parents simply tired of her was never a clear occurrence in her memory. Sometimes she remembers a bit of the detail, and on the next occasion, she found herself already on the road with traveling gear and a crossbow, feeling confused. It is certainly not amnesia, she still remembers who she is and every bit of the years that have passed along with her journey. It's just, sometimes she wondered what the hell is she doing spending years from town to town, from one wilderness to another, and not in the place called home? I think I need a scoop of ice cream. Purpose of travel: Like any other passengers, arriving safely at the designated port. And then travel a bit more to her hometown. Perhaps looking for an answer, maybe just stopping by, or... who knows, finding her way back home. Other information: Nothing particularly outstanding with Sonia's combat capability. She can shoot swiftly and accurately, and if she really means it, there will be no armor thick enough to deflect her bolts. Sonia is well aware of her inexperience in real combat, so she won't hesitate to work with everyone and follow the chain of command if the situation calls for it. Equipment: Medium-sized canvas bag, dagger, a reverse-draw mechanical crossbow with "Alhazen" markings on its limbs. 25x crossbow bolts. A coin purse containing the amount of money enough to purchase another ticket.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember awoke in a tangled mat of brown, slimy, and not pleasant to smell seaweed. It clung around and to him, in a mockery of the mermaid costume he had conjured up for his "Maiden voyage" send off. Now, "Sent Off". Groaning, and with aches in places he had no clue one could even ache in, he staggered to his knees, and reeled against the beating sun, as the waves lapped at his legs and feet. His skin was raw, and his pajamas were soaked, stained, and torn. Feeling about himself, he found he still had his wand, though it too was completely enmeshed in the brown ball of gooey plantlife he found himself bound up in-- as if the ocean had heaved back, and coughed up a giant festering ball of snot, with him inside it. He was still clutching the foot locker, but one would never have been able to tell. The weedy growth had nucleated around it, which is how he himself had become so entangled. Traces of the ice raft melted under the gentle lapping of the surf, as it swished the slimy mass this way and that around him. Disgustedly, he retched, and heaved up a stomach of swallowed sea water. He felt well and truly miserable. Casting a dour expression out at the sea, he raised a fist at the now sublime and calm blue-green ocean, and raged at it. "Blast you, you fickle, deep-trenched watery tart! Go and cough *ME* up in this ball of filth from your nethers, and not a single one of my babies! I'd tell you to go suck a whale, but you do it every day, you filthy whore! You've dragged more men down there than--" He cut off, as he heard a strained, gurgling coughing sound coming from further up the beach. "--DONT think I'm finished with you, you soggy strumpet! I'll have my vengeance yet!" he spat, then struggled to his feet, then up the shore, pausing only momentarily to summon the (still completely ensnared in seaweed) foot locker to follow behind him, illiciting an image of a demented seamonster slithering behind him, rather than a levitating trunk. Wandering toward the coughing, ember lurched and staggered in the sand, with the undulating mass following in his wake.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) Someone ascending from the water onto the shore. It is Nanashi who is carrying freshly caught edible sea fishes and octopuses. He also got some seaweeds too. He then proceed from one spot to a preparation to cook it for everyone. He is willing to accept anyone who want to help him for the preparation.</s> <|message|>Viviana The young elf girl's head was still spinning. The world was a blur, crashing waves, splintering wood, the salty embrace of the ocean, the grit of the sand. She lay there for some time, in a world between awareness and the void. At some point she received assistance from someone else, perhaps the woman she had offered residence in her cabin. Sonia. Where had she gone? Finally, Viviana blinked, clearing all manner of fog. She was on a beach, soaked, parched, hungry, and far from where she was meant to be. Looking around she saw a gathering a short distance away, the likes of Sonia and Wheelo among them. Close by she also saw that other man she knew, Nanashi. There was one other person she felt the need to seek out, and after not too long she spotted him. "E-Ember?" She croaked out, her throat betraying her attempt to call out to the one person she felt could offer guidance. After a fit of coughing she tried again, "What… where are we? What do I do?"</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Remuri @Pakde Ezekiel had a shocked look on his face as he saw the wheelchair bound man start walking. He felt kind of stupid for helping him. But the feeling of fatigue from before helped with his theory, that he could only move if he stole enough energy from other people. He would have to be careful of this man, he seemed more dangerous than he looked. However, he could be of use if he or any of the others died. They would make for good zombies, but that would be a last resort if he is the last one alive. Being more than disappointed that the demoness was not from Carcosa, if she was he was going to ask her if she knew if Heyl'r was here. But searching for this place could be more successful than asking others where it could be. "My name is Ezekiel Jarret, and we are pleased to meet you." Being sadden that he could not make pleasantries with the interesting demoness, but there were more important things than making friends. Walking towards the man with the bundle of fish and octopus. "We would be more than happy to assist you in cooking this aquatic fauna." Despite being a necromancer he was a good cook, or so he thought. He had never had anyone taste his cooking before, so he hoped they would like the meal. But perhaps he could assist in cooking, so that no one blames him if they get sick. Looking around quickly figuring out that he was not going to find any edible spices on the island. "First we should find some dry wood, leaves, and flint or rocks. Would someone please assist us in finding supplies to start a fire?" He looked around at the group. Finding similar interest from Sonia towards the snake woman. Being reminded of the Nazamines from the deserts of Ka'ta. He wondered if she was related to them.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia had returned to check on the elf girl, who seemed to have awakened in panic. The demoness decided to not interfere immediately, and wait until the girl could partially grasp the situation. "Where indeed, I wonder?" Sonia sat next to Vivian, handing her the opened coconut when she was sure the elven girl had calmed down."Looks like we have deviated far from our route. The sea water is warm, and the sun is burning. We don't have anything like this near the continent." She glanced at the horizon, wind fluttering her red hair. Despite acknowledging the bad news, she realized the local climate might have contributed greatly to their chance of survival. This coconut, for example, you might find them growing in coastal regions, but never in this abundance, and immediately having something to combat dehydration was a godsend. "But please, take heart, Miss Vivian, the rescuer could be on their way. There were important figures boarded on our ship, and given enough time, their disappearance couldn't be any less noticeable. Sonia pointed at the skinny man dragging something that looked like a very weedy container. "And I believe Master Ember is over there. Want to catch up with him? Go ahead, I will be with you in a moment." Still sitting there, Sonia recalled her training. This wasn't the first time she was stranded in a wilderness, and will not likely be the last. Same situation, same rules, different place, and the first thing she needed to do was to assess the situation as much as she could, then plan ahead and study the terrain. Some other survivors had made an initiative to prepare food using various fish catches. Not the first thing she would do in this situation, but okay. Couldn't expect people to do anything with an empty stomach anyway, but time was running, and soon there would be a time when food became the third or fourth priority.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" This black-haired man who's not on a wheelchair and is instead using a raw greenish cane of wood, slowly paced around the beach looking for his wheelchair. It's futile to use his eyesight on this, it seems every meter there's a piece of wood sticking out of the sand. It's almost prescient that he reinforced his wheelchair with several bars of iron, so he could detect it with this... strange, innate metal sense that he has, instead. Nothing's come up with this however, and it's come to a point where he reaches Ember's immediate location, with this strange seaweed-covered chest crawling behind her. Ember herself, with this disheveled, sodden, seaweed-covered look. He pointed with his left hand, "You have a leaf on your shoulder." He looks at the sky, in a combination of perhaps trying to find a celestial body, like a moon, and mainly trying not to even chuckle at Ember's situation. "Hey... How possible do you think it is that we're in a different planet?"</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember made a scowl at the foul man's cheeky attempt at humor at his expense, and sent a sticky glob of the seaweed clinging to him in the man's direction with a forceful extension of his wand, while continuing his struggle to get further up the beach. "Really, I hadn't noticed." he snarked, before continuing. "And thinking of such extreme, outlandish prospects is foolish. If it WERE another planet, I very much doubt it would look like anything we are used to." and with that, he mentally tuned the man out. Seeing Vivian and her former bunkmate up ahead, his heart lifted. At least there would be some INTELLIGENT company to while away the time with. The memory that her companion was a professional huntress flicked in his mind, and it gave him a momentary bit of relief. He knew full well he had no clue how to rough it out here. ... ...Wherever "here" was... He turned back at the stiff gaited man, now removing seaweed from the back of his head. Ember was positive this was NOT "another planet." "Vivian, dahling--- I'm SOOO happy to see you--- And you too dear--- Sonia was it?" Vivian was sipping water from a halved coconut,and he was immediately jealous. His mouth was parched, and his insides literally ached from having been full of seawater earlier. "You don't have another of those do you dahling?"</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) Nanashi help the necromancer to sort things to cook, the only need is fire. He noticed the two mages that already present on the resting shelter. He decided to speak with them. "Need fire." He talked to Ember pointing the cooking spot."We shall fill up first before we proceed inside the forest. Where may be there is a flat terrain for the. settlement camp. There is no good here to make camp here. High tides will flood the shore. Then we can discuss how to get out" He continued. Head counting the survivors. He noticed the small figure with skull headwear is not present in the area. "I haven't seen. The snake woman in a while. With her unique prowess. She can take the lead for venturing. Same thing as. Scanning something that are aware from us." He said.</s>

<|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya "Ah of course!" Sonia expeditiously grabbed a green coconut and slice the lower part of the fruit like peeling a potato. It was effortless, courtesy of her above-average arm strength, and her trusty dagger; manufactured by Alhazen.co, Urstad. That small surge of information brought up a brief sense of deja vu in her. "Here you go... si- madam?" She offered almost like whispering at the end of her sentence. What to call him now, she wasn't so sure. The slender mage was very different now without all of his makeup and flamboyant getups, so Sonia tried to play safe by not being so obvious with her choice of pronoun. Somebody was approaching. A strange fisherman, not sure why Sonia would refer to him as such, likely because she saw him go fishing in the very first minutes of their awakening. A vagrant, or adventurer? His general attire suggested so. Not that there was a stark diffrence between the two anyway. The man asked rather crudely, and it didn't improve her opinion of him a bit. Without waiting for anyone to answer, he continued For the first half of it, Sonia had no comment, everyone might do whatever they wanted at this point. However, the second half of his opinion made her feel a bit restive. "Appreciate your concern, but the gentleman need not worry about the high tide here, for this area is far from the waters and sufficiently elevated." Sonia sheathed and strapped her dagger to her waist. Averting her gaze from the man, skipping her usual introductry but still trying to remain thoughtful with her words. "As for the urgency to move to the forest," she turned to the green unknown behind them and shook her head. "I think we should remain here for a while. We don't know where, or how far we are from the rescue. And I believe everyone would prefer to stay in a place where the rescuer could easily see them." Now sitting on a nearby boulder, Sonia swept the remained sand from her scraped knee and then gave the man one of her less-than-genuine smiles. "Of course, I am not completely dismissing the notion to explore the interior of this... place, but we need to lay out a plan before making any decision. And first thing first, to gather everyone and discuss that plan. Means we all need to find a common ground first, savvy?"</s>

<|description|>Ezechiel Jarret Gender: Male Age: 28 Description: 5'6 tall, Ezechiel has a thin body with pale skin. Long dark brown hair reaches towards his shoulders, some strands of hair curling outwards away from the rest of his hair. Empty eye sockets where his deep blue eyes use to be, a single golden eye with a horizontal pupil on his forehead. On his body are many tattoos of strange symbols, along with many scars all over his body. Sunken in cheekbones with a small mole on the upper right of his lip. Wearing a long dark blue robe, gold and purple lining along the sides of the robes. Wearing a white cloth around his eyes to cover his empty sockets, wearing a stuffed goat head as a mask to help hide his face. He also wears leather sandals. Bio: (I wonder if it would be okay if I reveal his backstory during the course of the rp, if not then i can do a quick write-up of his backstory.) Purpose Of Travel: He's searching for more knowledge of the unknown, more specifically he is looking for the so-called "Ancient Ones". Want to learn more about them, and what is beyond what people can comprehend. Other Info: Wooden staff- A staff made out of a oak tree where a famous witch was hung, He uses the staff to cast most of his magic spells. Dagger- A regular dagger with a handle made out of a human arm, on the end of the handle is the skull of a shrunken man.</s> <|message|>Nanashi (Not his true name, it's his calling by the people one his land) "We should mass grave first. Those who were perished. Take their names to their family. In my experience of expenditures. You guys should be. Prepared when getting to island. We didn't know what and who are dwelling inside the forestry. We lost some weapons the are heavy burden to carry but we should at least make something primitive. Seems that you introduce yourself as huntress. I m fine that you may take the lead to venture and find some place to build a settlement. We also need some water line that is deep. If want to build the ship again. When we move. I suggest. Single file, sandwiching those people who can't fight. Those who can fight will tag along with you in line and the other group is on the rare. We can put some on the middle to but it's your choice to decide in overall. Expect for the fight. We might be hostile or prey who. Dwell this island." Nanashi spoke.</s> <|message|>Sonia Al-Hathya Sonia listened patiently, and there was a hint of amusement... or sarcasm in her smile When the man voiced his opinion in such an elaborate manner. "Mister Traveler, I simply asked for a plan. Your plan, not mine, nor dictate or suggest how should I carry out my plan." Sonia stepped down from her stone podium and sit on a nearby, more elevated boulder. "There is no leader to vote for yet, let alone elected. And I have not disclosed my plan, not yet. But I think I definitely understand where you are coming from." "As for giving the dead proper burial. I agree with you, but I am not in a position to assign anyone to fulfill anyone's behest." Sonia pointed at the resting sailors who were mostly quiet during her speech, taking their time to enjoy the meal. "But I think the gentlemen over there would be willing to help you as a token of gratitude for the food you have generously prepared. As for the file, formation as you might call it, I think it will be reserved for later." "Anyone else? Mind sharing your ideas?"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "You again- wait, how did you even find that thing?" One would've expected the wheelchair to sink into the depth alongside the ship, among other things. It's probably not the strangest thing this metal man had been showing, but Verdant didn't quite cared enough to worry about it. "My old clothing got shredded quite thoroughly. Found this floating not far from here." Why were she even talking to this man anyway? Because he's showing to be difficult to kill? Perhaps. One could never lack of meat shield, but quality ones were difficult to find.</s> <|message|>Henri, "Wheelo Carter" "I see." The black-haired man on a wheelchair turned towards the loud redhead talking to the young man. Bah, he has no interest in cooperating with people. It's just going to be an annoyance. He expects nothing of this lot. His head turned to the beach for some kind of distraction. Nothing on there. Any trees nearby that he could climb? Someone has to map out this island and look for notable spots. That redhead's quite tall for a woman. This other woman's orange tattered dress is distracting. He tried to grab the dress but she reflexively reacted, and he whispered "I just want to see what it's made of." Where has he seen this material? It's some kind of linen but it reflects light like silk... Wait a minute. He snickered. "Hey, kid, I think I know whose dress this is. Oh, she's going to be mad." He scanned the area. "Is she still berating the widow?"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" Verdant glared at the impertinent man as if he just claimed that the world is round or something equally ridiculous, slapping the errant hand away with her leftover fish. "Finders keepers." Who cares if the thing was pre-owned? She found it, it's hers now. If the previous owner tried to claim it she didn't mind shanking a bitch. Eyeing at the mostly eaten carcass, the serpent tossed it off to the nearest bush and wiped her hand on the orange sackcloth. It didn't help much, the garment still too drenched to properly remove the fishy slime, but that can be fixed with a few more wipes. Probably.</s> <|message|>Ezechiel Jarret @Pakde The Necromancer shook his head at the snake woman, "And we are sure that there is something interesting out there" His finger pointed towards the dense greenery a few feet away from them. It seemed to him that perhaps he would have to venture off alone, this option would not be ideal for him. However, if he had to go alone it would not be too much of a disadvantage. But his adventure through the unknown would have to wait, he could hear his stomach rumbling. Ezekiel sat down with the others, scanning his eyes on the other survivors. Taking a bit of the grilled fish, and pulled up his mask far enough so just his mouth was exposed. Quite chewing on the food that had been prepared. Personally, he thought his food was better, but beggars could not be choosers. Listening to the demoness' speech would be a good excuse for him to find the book. "We believe exploring the island for materials for our survival, would highen our chances of living. Also searching for any means to escape would be beneficial as well. So we suggest after eating this meal, we should explore the island immediately." The masked mage pulled down his mask once he was finished eating. He knew that some of them would be willing to explore the island for any means of escape. Although the talks of burying the dead would make getting the bodies a pain in the butt.</s> <|message|>"Ember" Ember stooped pitifully near the fire, gently poking sticks into it every now and then, thankful for the fact, that for once, it was not something sustained entirely by magic. He was positively drained, and probably couldn't manage more than a sputtering, and uncontrolled burst of pitiful flames had he been in the position to be trying that. The sticks were a perfectly tractable, and entirely practical, (if undignified) option, and he was very thankful for it being available. "It sure beats sitting on the beach, in this insufferable sun all day. At least there'd be shade... Maybe we'd get lucky, and find a lake to get the salt off us. I can positively FEEL my skin puckering up like a priest of chastity at a bacchanal. We wont even discuss my hair..." He turned to the 'very obviously a practitioner of the necromantic arts', appraising his tattered but still very apparent costume, and spoke in a hushed, private tone so that only the recipient would hear. 'I wouldn't dahling-- We have the superstitious types in our number.. The last thing we need, is a coup because somebody's dead husband is shambling around outside mucking out a latrine. If it were just us dahling, I wouldn't mind, but we must think about these things, given our circumstances. ...I'd rather not end up in a fire... Speaking of-- I never made your acquaintance-- I'm ember-- Transfigurist, and illusionist-- I specialize in fashion. ...Despite appearances... I can tell from your attire what your specialty is dahling--- I've designed similar numbers for some of my clients-- but I'm at a disadvantage for your name--"</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "Who knows? Could be some man-eating tribal folks on the other side. Or some abomination from ancient times. Or just a huge stretch of nothing but ticks and leeches. Ain't in a hurry to find out." Ooh, free food. Cooked food, how nice. If she'd know she wouldn't have eaten that raw fish, but eh. More nutrient never hurt. Habitually wiping the slime which only served to spread the stain further along the sackcloth, Verdant tottered to snatch one of the grilled fish and blew into it. Yep, a huge improvement. Now if only they had spice.</s> <|message|>"Ember" "... Ezekiel you say? ... A bit .. 'old-fashioned' isn't it?" mused Ember bemusedly. "Well, once i've had a chance to rest up a bit, I could see about mending your robes dahling... I take great pride and care in the... care... of.. my work....." Ember trailed off, completely taken by surprise by what had just darted in front of him. That filthy beggar woman that had been lounging outside his quarters aboard ship had clearly not only survived, but had clearly found one of his missing spring pieces. Worse still, she was... smearing it with..... FISH GREASE.. like it was some common rag from the gutter. THAT WAS MEANT TO BE ON A HOTTIE'S TIGHT LITTLE BOTTOM, NOT ACCEPTING FILTHLY FISH JUICES!! AND THAT BUNDLE! THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE TIGHTLY WRAPPED AROUND A TASTEFUL SET OF BOSOMS, NOT SOME COLLECTION OF OLD RUBBISH!! The surge of emotion combined with his weakened constitution, in a momentary darkening of his vision as his blood pressure spiked, and the vagal response kicked in, sending him to the sandy ground on his bottom with a thud. Dazed, his head swam, and for a single blessed moment, he felt maybe he had just hallucinated it, and that he just needed to rest and drink more coconut water... But he rubbed his eyes, and looked again as his momentary loss of verticality dissipated. It was quite plain-- It was not a mere hallucination. Worse, the vile creature was picking her nose, and rubbing it on the bright orange trousers, along with the greasy fish juice. He felt nauseous, but summoned the power to get to his feet, then staggered toward the abominable visage of the woman... "If you'll excuse me sir.... I need to take care... of some business...."</s> <|message|>Viviana The world seemed to move by in a blur, as people she barely knew talked about everything from survival to petty squabbles. Her life had always been mostly easy, mostly safe, mostly guaranteed. With the one notable exception, she had never had to fight for her own survival, for he right to continue to be alive. Now her hopes seemed to lay almost entirely in the hands of strangers who barely got along, and a woman that was just a bit more demonic looking than she would have liked. At least she was not an actual demon, how her people could go about resembling those monsters was beyond Viviana's understanding. "I can help with making some kind of camp or shelter, or at least I can do my best. I fear I would be of little use scouting or hunting," The small elven girl moved to be closer to Sonia, even with a hint of hesitation as light caught on her horns. "Whatever you say, whatever you need me to do, I am with you," Quietly, her hands fell back into their ideation. Tiny flickers of flame and arcs of electricity traced her increasingly alert, and frantic, finger tips.</s> <|message|>"Verdant" "As far as not dying goes, food and water and shelter ain't difficult to find." In a rare streak of good mood, Verdant contributed to the discussion through a mouthful of fish. "No rescue's coming anytime soon though. We must've drifted quite far southward." Going back to civilization would be harder, but by no means impossible. Enough sailors survived, that if they were able to somehow kludge together a large enough barge there's a good chance for them to simply paddle back to civilization. Navigation should be their strong suit, right? Though, another storm can easily smash them back to this island. Maybe she wont be as lucky at that time. Shrugging, the serpent sat back down and stopped talking. Two sentences was all the socializing she's willing to provide for the moment.</s>

<|message|>Ezechiel Jarret Ezekiel turned his head towards the one that created the fire, he felt somewhat uncomfortable when he was being addressed. However, if he had someone with him, then his chance of survivability would be quite high. "Our name is Eziekal Jarrett. Student of the dark arts, and follower of Chaul'lu." His voice was of a whisper, as he didn't want the others to know of his occupation. To them, he was just a very eccentric mage that could not hurt a fly. So now he assumed he would have to play nice with Ember, or have his secret known and his body being roasted on the fire next. "Do you suggest we explore the island after everyone is asleep?" He had his fill of food, for the time being, he was not much of a glutton like regular people. He looked down at his robes, they were quite torn because of the shipwreck. However, he would be able to fix them himself, if he was able to find his sewing kit. Speaking of that he would need to find it quickly. Standing up as Ember left to deal with the old woman, wandering the beach looking for his sewing kit. Muttering something about "not thinking about anything obscene involving him and Ember."</s>

<|description|>Albert Sin of Sloth Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail Age: Older than most Race: Fallen Angle Appearance: Albert is a plump older gentleman. He has gray hair, wrinkled skin, and a warm smile. He can look absented mind at times but do know he is always listening. Being as ancient as him, habits are hard to break. He always has the subtle scent of a fresh cigar to him and he is never seen without one on his person. He is also forever stuck in the late 1800s and early 1900s as his fashion sense is strictly a bowler hat and a suit, plus a tie or bow tie because bow ties are cool. Personality: Albert is a kind gentleman and treats everyone as if they were his grandchild. He always has a story to share as he loves to tell tales of everything he has seen and share all the wisdom he has acquired. He speaks very slowly and deliberately, often taking pauses to think about his next word. He also prefers to wait for people to speak first rather than starting a conversation because people who speak first always need something, and he doesn't need anything from anyone. Background: Albert was once an angel of justice, punishing all that have committed a crime severe enough to inherit his attention. Though after doing this for a millennium, he has grown tired of the repetition of his job and decided to quit. He hated the amount of work he needed to do to track down his target, determine what kind of punishment they need, and guide their soul to the right level of hell. It was all tedious, and he cared little for it anymore. After being cast from the celestial realm, Albert traveled the world and saw everything it had to offer before moving on to other dimensions and the worlds. He eventually settled in a small village and opened a bed and breakfast. He wanted to hear the stories of others but was growing too lazy to actually travel and find those stories. So what is a man to do and open a Bed and Breakfast? His bed and breakfast is a special place that exists inside of its own pocket dimension. One cannot find it on Google Maps or make a reservation over the phone. Only people who are lost and are needing a place to stay will find a bed and breakfast. It is free to all who enter, and they are welcome to stay for as long as they want. One day, he heard stories from his guest about a city and its outcast. Having the urge to travel again, he manifested his bed and breakfast somewhere in the city and decided to see what all the fuss was about. This is when he was greeted by the Detective. Skills and Abilities: Albert can cook since he owns a bed and breakfast. Albert only has one magical ability, the power to make a contract capable of bending the laws of nature. Contract written in his blood can have an effect ranging from immorality to bringing back the dead. Though this is not an all-potent ability as a sufficient sacrifice is needed for the contract to take effect. This sacrifice scale depends on what the intended effect should be. He also has a bit of power over the effect of the contract and can temporarily change the terms or outright cancel its effect. Known contracts: "To Life and Death" The individual named Albert shall become immortal and invulnerable to any form of harm in exchange for the inability to hurt another creature. Termination of this contract will result in the death of the individual named Albert. "Hidden Eyes of the Gods" The space called Bed and Breakfast shall be protected from gods and humans alike, but shall lose the right to exist in the normal flow of reality. "Temptation of Lost Soul" Those who are deemed lost shall be attracted to the space called Bed and Breakfast. This contract will only function if the owner is present within the space called, Bed and Breakfast. Weakness: Writing a contract requires a lot of time to tinker with the words. It is like a puzzle to piece together for a contract to work the way it is intended. Some contracts even require many sub-contracts to supplement the main effect. Albert is lazy and does not have the patience to do this. The last contract he made was over 1000 years ago. He cannot harm another living thing. Equipment: A Partagas Cigar Quips: Forever stuck in the past meaning he does not know how to operate most modern inventions like phones and computers. He is an old man, don't judge him.</s> <|message|>Setepenre "Penny" Setepenre Lesser Pride Penny screwed up her mouth in discomfort at the offer of powerful magical protection for her descendants... for an as-yet unnamed price. These charismatic contractual types could be dangerous, feeding off the desperate and feeble-minded and other such negative traits that Setepenre would not stand to emulate. Glancing through the files on these Innocent victims, however, gave further weight to the opposing argument. So many teenagers reduced to photos and words on a stack of paper. Just the age to possess that dangerous cocktail of believing they are old and wise enough to make their own choices, and really, really not being wise enough. Penny considered how tragically easy it could be for her beautiful talented 17-year-old to be led away by supernatural villains. Heck, Penny was a little surprised Marwa hadn't already started to date a vampire or some other attractive, definitely dangerous bad boy just to spite her. No. Penny's children were obviously among the most precious and innocent of Innocents. If they hadn't been targeted yet, it was only a matter of time. They in particular needed protection at all costs. Penny couldn't help shooting a momentary sharp glance toward Albert. 'Out of the goodness of his heart.' Mmmhm. Was that going to be the verbiage in his so-called contract? "What I have to lose," Penny began with a soft growl entering her voice, "is the same thing that would be at risk if I did nothing. I have deep connections to Innocents - particularly kind and talented and thus at-risk Innocents, I might add - within the City. The thought of harvesting the souls of children, even those not of my own blood, makes it boil with rage. If I want to protect the Innocents I love, I will strive to stop this threat as soon as possible." Penny paused for a second. She retracted the small bits of claws that had subconsciously begun to unsheath. Then her posture and voice softened a bit as she turned to the Detective. "Of course, I don't intend to take part in this battle for a net zero at the end. I must admit I've been having some trouble with... ordinances, licenses, all that bureaucratic nonsense the law requires of me to care for my youngest son. I imagine someone as influential as The Detective may have some way to wave it all away."</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. The Detective clenched a hand into a tight fist as their gaze focused on wall above the door across from where they were sitting, "They're dead. I just don't have bodies to give families closure." If The Detective could find bodies to place in places where they could be found they would do so in a heartbeat. Some of the Innocents had families and friends that were desperate for any sign that their loved ones were safe and coming home. It might be cruel of The Detective to want to dash those hopes, but the people wouldn't be able to start healing until they knew what had happened to their missing loved ones. The Detective didn't want to be unkind, but they could fathom allowing people to live with false hopes. That being said right now they had no proof to give anyone that the Innocents were dead. The Detective knew when they had died. Or more importantly The City knew. That would have to be enough. The Detective gave their head a shake and turned their gaze to mother across the table, "Of course. I will smooth things over before I begin my Sleep. After all, for some of us family is all we have." They looked around the table, "In the past I discussed payment for this job with some of you. For others that is something we still need to discuss. Some of it I will be able to take care of before my Sleep as I can for the Lesser Pride. Some of it will have to wait until the situation is resolved, but you will all be paid. I keep my word." Then The Detective said that it that might of seemed as if they let something slip but was deliberately planned, "Breaking my word is against The Rules." It was true. Breaking promises made meant breaking the Rules and The Detective tried to avoid that. For some of them it would be easy enough. Setepenre just wanted to be able to take care of her children no matter what form they might take. Calling in the right favors to make that happen was something they had already started and would finish up this afternoon. On the other hand, Juniper Murik wanted exclusive and first-person access to events, restaurants, museums, and other such things that would look good on her social media. That was also fairly easy but ongoing. It would have to wait. For others The Detective wasn't sure exactly what they want or required but wasn't too worried. They were all intrigued enough by the threat to the Innocents to come here to this meeting free of charge or bribe or threat. They might not be reasonable, but The Detective was willing to wager they wouldn't be completely unreasonable either. They nodded to the Lesser Sloth, "Thank you for the invitation, but I have already prepared a place for me to rest. It will be safer than most other places and I am comfortable with it." Then they looked around the room and asked the question that would confirm either their fears or their hopes, "Will you all be working against these Outcasts?" August 15th, 2022</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. Argenti looked at the woman who mentioned avoided "net zero" and basically implied that she wouldn't help without something in return. Well, that was fair, and it wasn't even that ridiculous a price. She was right. Something like that should be easy enough for the so-called Detective. Rumor had it that they practically ran the town. Of course, that was just rumor. Still, it had to be easier than what the two of them discussed. Argenti had been about to kill The Detective when he had been summoned. Luckily, they had been a fast speaker. In the end Argenti had agreed to come to this meeting if the Detective had agreed to help find an eliminate all the ways to summon Argenti. In the succubus's opinion that was a fair price for helping with these Outcasts as well. Though it sounded like he might have to wait until the problem was solved to be paid. That was alright. Argenti would be paid, one way or another. He did claim another pastry, this one a plain glazed donut, "I'm in. I have no problem trying to figure out these Outcasts and their goals and then eliminating them." He smirked at no one and nothing, "I don't even have a problem with working with the others in this room." That was true enough. Argenti had worked with others in the past and figured that he would work with others in the future. Many supernatural types were loners and Argenti certainly fell into that category well enough, but he wasn't such a loner that he refused to deal with others. Besides this was bigger than any personal preferences. This wasn't even just about justice at this point. The sooner then figured out what was going on with these Outcasts the more Innocents would be protected from whatever this plan of theirs was. Though justice had a part of it as well. Argenti would have to figure out exactly what type of Fae Eris was as well as what type of demon Samael was. That would help him figure out how to make them suffer. Though more important, not that Argenti would ever say this bit out loud, was finding the bodies or proof that the Innocents were dead so their families could have closure. It may have been cruel, but the truth was that even too much hope could be poisonous. Hopefully it wouldn't reach that point. Argenti reached for another file. It wouldn't hurt to look at more information. Perhaps he would see something that the investigators hadn't. It wasn't likely, but who knew. Right now, reading files was all he could do. After this meeting was over, he could try poking around for information on Samael and Eris, but even that would probably reveal next to nothing new. Still, he had a few sources that he knew for fact this Juniper didn't have. He wasn't sure about The Detective. It wouldn't hurt to ask the other minor demons of The City. At the very least they would know that things in The City were changing and know how demons were reacting to the change. Any information would be valuable at this point. Right?</s> <|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy "Ah yes, payment," Cain had yet to discuss exactly what it was he had wanted from the Detective. "We can talk about it once this is all resolved. I suspect what I want would take too much out of you before you go in to this sleep, whatever it is exactly." Setepenre's concern for her family was admirable, the fact she had so many that she cared about was something Cain envied. Ever since he killed his brother he never had a family. There had been others he had met, some of whom he got very close with, but none that he would call family. His payment from the Detective would hopefully close millennia old wounds and allow him the closure he so desperately wanted. "And if it wasn't obvious from me expecting payment, yes, I will join this crusade to take down these Outcasts. Killing Innocents is grotesque and they must be stopped."</s> <|message|>Setepenre "Penny" Setepenre Lesser Pride "I'm in," Penny announced with a solemn nod. "It's been a long while since I had the opportunity to truly use my abilities for their intended purpose." The golden-eyed woman turned to The Detective with a concerned frown. "I trust when you say you're prepared for your Sleep, but are you certain there's nothing any of us can do to make it safer? Or at least a little more comfortable for you?"</s>

<|message|>Albert Sin of Sloth "It goes without saying that I will indeed help," Albert said with a nod. He didn't really do it due to a strong moral compass or anything. Sure he did feel sorry for the lives that have been lost, but he wanted to experience what kind of story this would bring. He has always been a sucker for a good story. "Oh before I forget, may I ask who would be moving into my bed and breakfast? I would like a headcount to prepare the rooms beforehand," Albert asked because he wanted to prepare the rooms. Currently, the B&B was nothing more than a small cottage. If more than 4 people were moving in he would need to make space and expand the building.</s>

<|description|>Albert Sin of Sloth Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail Age: Older than most Race: Fallen Angle Appearance: Albert is a plump older gentleman. He has gray hair, wrinkled skin, and a warm smile. He can look absented mind at times but do know he is always listening. Being as ancient as him, habits are hard to break. He always has the subtle scent of a fresh cigar to him and he is never seen without one on his person. He is also forever stuck in the late 1800s and early 1900s as his fashion sense is strictly a bowler hat and a suit, plus a tie or bow tie because bow ties are cool. Personality: Albert is a kind gentleman and treats everyone as if they were his grandchild. He always has a story to share as he loves to tell tales of everything he has seen and share all the wisdom he has acquired. He speaks very slowly and deliberately, often taking pauses to think about his next word. He also prefers to wait for people to speak first rather than starting a conversation because people who speak first always need something, and he doesn't need anything from anyone. Background: Albert was once an angel of justice, punishing all that have committed a crime severe enough to inherit his attention. Though after doing this for a millennium, he has grown tired of the repetition of his job and decided to quit. He hated the amount of work he needed to do to track down his target, determine what kind of punishment they need, and guide their soul to the right level of hell. It was all tedious, and he cared little for it anymore. After being cast from the celestial realm, Albert traveled the world and saw everything it had to offer before moving on to other dimensions and the worlds. He eventually settled in a small village and opened a bed and breakfast. He wanted to hear the stories of others but was growing too lazy to actually travel and find those stories. So what is a man to do and open a Bed and Breakfast? His bed and breakfast is a special place that exists inside of its own pocket dimension. One cannot find it on Google Maps or make a reservation over the phone. Only people who are lost and are needing a place to stay will find a bed and breakfast. It is free to all who enter, and they are welcome to stay for as long as they want. One day, he heard stories from his guest about a city and its outcast. Having the urge to travel again, he manifested his bed and breakfast somewhere in the city and decided to see what all the fuss was about. This is when he was greeted by the Detective. Skills and Abilities: Albert can cook since he owns a bed and breakfast. Albert only has one magical ability, the power to make a contract capable of bending the laws of nature. Contract written in his blood can have an effect ranging from immorality to bringing back the dead. Though this is not an all-potent ability as a sufficient sacrifice is needed for the contract to take effect. This sacrifice scale depends on what the intended effect should be. He also has a bit of power over the effect of the contract and can temporarily change the terms or outright cancel its effect. Known contracts: "To Life and Death" The individual named Albert shall become immortal and invulnerable to any form of harm in exchange for the inability to hurt another creature. Termination of this contract will result in the death of the individual named Albert. "Hidden Eyes of the Gods" The space called Bed and Breakfast shall be protected from gods and humans alike, but shall lose the right to exist in the normal flow of reality. "Temptation of Lost Soul" Those who are deemed lost shall be attracted to the space called Bed and Breakfast. This contract will only function if the owner is present within the space called, Bed and Breakfast. Weakness: Writing a contract requires a lot of time to tinker with the words. It is like a puzzle to piece together for a contract to work the way it is intended. Some contracts even require many sub-contracts to supplement the main effect. Albert is lazy and does not have the patience to do this. The last contract he made was over 1000 years ago. He cannot harm another living thing. Equipment: A Partagas Cigar Quips: Forever stuck in the past meaning he does not know how to operate most modern inventions like phones and computers. He is an old man, don't judge him.</s> <|message|>Albert Sin of Sloth "My apology, but I do not own a phone. Perhaps you can help me find one but for now, I can give you the number for my Bed and Breakfast. Please call if you require anything," Albert said as he scribbled down the number onto a piece of paper before giving it to Juniper. The number written down seemingly change every time you blink. Sometimes it would be a functional number, other times it is a collection of random runes and letters from a forgotten time. "Once again, I am sorry if the number changes as you look at it. Just ask it nicely, and it should stay still for you," Albert said with a chuckle. As an extension of the protection of the bed and breakfast, anything regarding his establishment is also censured to a certain extent. There was a possible fix, but he didn't want to do it. "oh before I forget," Albert took out 5 keys and placed them on the table. Each key is different, each decorated with a different type of flower serving as the bow. "Since we will be working together. Here are keys to my Bed and Breakfast. Just place them in any door, turn, and it should create a temporary portal to my establishment. Mind you it will only work if I am within my bed and breakfast. You can tell if I am Home by the flowers. It should bloom if I am home. Now they are for you to keep but please do not lose then," Albert explained. "On a side note, I would like to host a dinner party tonight to help us get acquainted, everyone is welcome, and it should be a good time to test the keys," Albert added. "And Argenti, I hope you don't mind me coming along. I would love to see more of the city. and to pick up a few things for dinner," Albert said.</s> <|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy Cain was a bit distracted by the feeling of what could only be the Detective's magic as it washed over the City. By the time the sensation had faded it seemed nearly everyone would be joining Argenti to go speak with his contacts, and do whatever else they wanted to do. Cain accepted the key from Albert, the flower on his was a tulip. Key took out his key ring to loop it on as he spoke to the group. "As much as I would love to join the adventure with everyone, I suspect they type of people you'll be meeting might clam up if too many people approach at once." He got the key on the ring, it looked nice, a bit showy, but not too showy. "I'll stay here and go through the victims, hopefully I can find some kind of connection between them other than them all being Innocents." Cain glanced at Ivan as he said this. The shape changer hadn't mentioned if he was staying or leaving. Cain looked to Argenti and the others who would be leaving, "unless, of course, you think it would simply be easier and safer if we all went together. In which case I'll gladly join the escapades." As Cain waited for the answer to his question he took out his phone to add Juniper. He sent her a text, simply saying "It's Cain".</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. Argenti didn't really want a full party to go with him. Two was fine, but four others was not ideal at all. However, as Setepenre had said earlier, no one should be alone. Which meant they would either being doing things as a group or in two groups, one pair and one trio. They couldn't leave Cain alone. That would not be ideal. And they couldn't leave Albert alone. They really couldn't leave Albert behind. He didn't even have a phone! If Argenti had his way, it would be him, Cain, and Setepenre to hit up his contacts. Juniper and Albert could go get the angel a phone. However, Argenti wasn't going to take charge of this group in any way shape or form. The mere idea made him shudder. So, instead he shrugged, "Alright. Full party for the shady kink club." He gathered a few files together, "We should clean up first if we are all leaving." It wasn't really a shady kink club. No one here needed to know that. Amelia went to great lengths to make it seem like a shady kink club, and Argenti wasn't going to be the one to ruin all her hard work. Besides, if people thought it was a shady kink club maybe they would back out of going with him. It was a kink club. It just wasn't shady. Amelia used contracts, bouncers, and magic to ensure that it was the safest place in The City to explore kink. Consent was paramount. That was why it was Argenti's favorite club in The City. It was fairly well known and spoke about in both the mundane and supernatural communities. Still, only members, and honorary members, like Argenti, knew that it was 100 percent consent based. He finished gathering up the files and held them out, "I have no bag to carry these and no spatial magic to store them. Anyone have any ideas." They also needed to figure out what to do with the left-over pastries and coffee. There wasn't an extreme amount of either. If the succubus had to guess The Detective had decided to buy enough that there were plenty of options so that way the seven guests wouldn't need to fight over one specific pastries. Argenti supposed that they could offer the leftovers to the hotel staff but didn't want to make assumptions about what the rest of the group might think. He did grab another one for himself, this one chocolate iced, but made no other moves towards them. He also pulled out his phone to add Juniper's number. He took a minute to go over the seven sins in his head. He couldn't add her as JuniperG, G for gluttony, since Greed also started with a G. So, he added her as Juniper Gluttony. That was not her last name, but Argenti didn't care. Eventually everyone would be added to his contacts with their first name and their sin. Argenti also took a key from Albert. His key had a lily on it. It probably didn't mean anything. At least the succubus hoped it didn't mean anything. He stuffed it in his pocket before he could think too much about it. There was no point.</s> <|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Albert. Didn't. Own. A. Phone. How? What? Seriously? Juniper blinked blankly, unable to process. How did he order food? How did he meet up with people? How did he shop? How did he market his B&B? Did he even market it?! She had a million questions. Despite the fact that the witch was born in an era without instant communication, she welcomed technology with open-arms. She loved that the things everyone could do now would only be attributed to witchcraft had it been a hundred years earlier. She accepted Albert's written number, and thought perhaps her being distracted was what made the characters on the paper change. She generally had to concentrate quite a bit to read, and her eyes were already worn out from looking over those papers. Albert explained, however, that she just had to be nice to the paper so she could read it. Juniper chuckled lightly, enjoying the trick quite a bit. "I'll keep that in mind." She replied. For now, she folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. In addition to the number, Juniper happily accepted a key to the bed and breakfast. Her key was a dandelion. She thought the key going right to the building was delightful, and she looked forward to trying that out later. In the back of her mind, though, she heard the vignette about the Rings echoing in her mind, modified for these handy Keys of Power. "Five Keys for the Sinners in their City." As Argenti began to talk, Juniper realized the flaw in her suggestion to jump in and go on a trip. It would make the team horribly imbalanced. She wasn't terribly concerned about not trusting the others. Either they did the right thing, or they didn't, and more people would die. But Argenti didn't seem fond of the idea of leaving someone by themselves. "Well, Cain wants to stay and look at files. I can stick around with him." Juniper said, mostly to Argenti, since he said they should all go to the shady kink club. She didn't particularly care. She could look at her phone whether she was here or there. It wasn't that she didn't want to see a kinky club—she just agreed with Cain that it might be a bit much for them all to go. "As long as you do the paper stuff, I'll look on here, and we can compare what we notice." She offered to Cain. Ohh, she could order them a DoorDash. That could be fun. And maybe she could order Albert a phone. She could even set up one for pick-up. While the last of the decisions were being made, she pulled up a tab with some local store information. They could even just get him a trac phone, if he wanted something simple. Then he could text and call, and receive both. "We got this!" Juniper grinned at Argenti, sitting down on the edge of the table to show her willingness to stay. "Oh, I can come up with a team name for us!" Juniper smiled, trying to come up with something punny about Cain and her working together with some papers. #SinCity Nope, taken. #TaintsOrSaints Heh. #TaintedSaints Probably less Naughty. #CainandLessAble Might offend Cain. #NoCainNoGain See, that one was practically a compliment!</s>

<|message|>Albert Sin of Sloth "I've got an idea if everyone is okay with it. Why don't we make a stop at my Bed and Breakfast? Those who are not coming would have a comfortable place to rest and go over the files while those who are visiting the club, and freshen up and store anything they do not wish to bring with them," Albert said as he stood up. He put on his hat and walked to the door that was the exit to the room. He took out a stop watched, looked at the time before stopping the second hand at the number 12. He then returned it to his coat before opening the door. Instead of the hallway that the door led to, it opened into a large cabin-like living room with an enormous hearth. Paintings and shelves with strange knick-knacks filled the walls. A sole armchair sat by the fire, which was the only light in the room giving it a strangely eerie but mystical feel. "Welcome to the Bed and Breakfast. Please leave your shoe by the door. And close the door if you're the last one through," Albert said before entering. A wave of magic washed over him as all the lights suddenly flickered on. The entire place came alive as things began to move and rearrange themselves. Sofa from who knows where suddenly appeared and settle in front of the fire with enough space for all the Sins. The dining table to the side changed the number of seats as ascetically pleasing plats appeared on the table itself. The time outside the window switched from night to day to match the time outside. Albert raised an eyebrow at his home. It wasn't usually this active but then again, they will be housing several guests very soon so the first impression was everything. "Well don't be a stranger and come in everyone," Albert said with a chuckle.</s>

<|description|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Indulge and enjoy life, or don't. Either way, you die at the end. Age: ~300 years old. Stopped aging at her first death, at 20 years old. Race: Witch Appearance: Juniper changes her appearance like a person changes their clothes. She wears excessive makeup, and even her friends are unsure of what her "natural" look would be. According to other normal humans, she frequently wears makeup and colored contacts. In actuality, Juniper wears some makeup, but also uses spells to create filters to change not only her appearance, but pieces of the world around her to make things a bit more pretty/aesthetically pleasing. Personality: Juniper is immature, considering her age. She is short-sighted, and likes to indulge in whatever she thinks is going to be fun/pretty at that moment. She has very poor impulse control. For example, when she was at an amusement park and saw a specialty mini-donut food truck, she got every flavor, topping, and dipping sauce to try. Then she made some Tik Toks and live streams of her thoughts to broadcast to her followers. She only took a bite of each of the donuts to broadcast, then threw the remainders away when she was done getting her footage. Background: Juniper was executed for being a witch–not at the Salem witch trials, but in Great Britain. She was accused of bewitching men and causing them to be unfaithful to their wives. After her execution, Juniper found she had awoken with actual witchcraft. She learned skills of disguise from a mentor who believed she was being given a second chance to do some good in the world. But Juniper used it to extract revenge on the men who had gotten her killed. In the process, she fell in love with herself. In her first life, she had tried to do the right thing, and it had only gotten her killed. She promised herself not to squander her second opportunity, and instead indulged in whatever suited her fancy, whether it was food, a bed warmer, or a dangerous activity. But she found she grew bored quite quickly with most hobbies and crafts, until the internet and social media became a prominent fixture. There, her overindulgence was rewarded, and people encouraged her to get more stuff, and be more over-the-top. Juniper thrived. Currently, Juniper has a huge social media following. She has makeup tutorials, reviews of products, short videos of her doing sports and stunts, and food tastings. She has a plethora of people she considers friends, and she is known to treat her friends well. The Detective reached out on social media, mentioning a delectable treat she had to try at some hole in the wall restaurant. They met up, and came up with an agreement that she would help with preventing others from exploiting the Innocents of the City, in exchange for exclusive access to new venue openings, menu items to try, etc. Skills and Abilities: Mundane-Armed: Juniper is proficient with pistols, shotguns, and a few rifles. She also keeps a taser on her, in case fans (or haters) get a bit unruly. Mundane-Allies: Juniper has lots of social media followers and friends. She can nearly always call on someone to provide something to her, like a ride, or a cover story, on short notice. Magic-Beautify: Juniper can make small changes to the appearance of the world around her through means of a filter. Make trash seemingly disappear, or create illusions. She usually uses this to enhance her setting when filming or streaming out on the town. Magic-Disguise: Juniper can change her appearance beyond the abilities of what makeup can provide. She could look average, but she chooses to look exotic, attractive, and sometimes otherworldly. Magic-Indulge: Juniper can encourage others to indulge in their 'guilty pleasures,' creating a temporary fixation or obsession for something mundane to the point of mild self-harm: For example, overeating or excessive running. This is less effective on beings with greater self-control. Magic-Spells: Can use spells for minor healing, binding, and other magic effects. Weakness- doesn't practice these much, and their effects tend to be impacted by her gluttony. For example, she once tried to use a few flowers in a healing spell, and accidentally eradicated a field of crops in the process. Weakness: Magic-Impulsive: When stressed, Juniper finds it difficult to curb her own indulgence, and might get derailed from something important with her own wasteful tendencies. Mundane-Lover, not a fighter: Juniper is not great at melee combat. She is capable with basic self-defense, but doesn't have abundant physical combat skills. Mundane-Dyslexic: Though never formally diagnosed, Juniper has dyslexia and isn't a great reader. This usually manifests by her getting 'bored' quickly when told to read and research, and is one of the primary reasons she initially struggled with spell-casting. Mundane-Mortal: Juniper isn't immortal (to her knowledge) and can get sick, injured, etc. She has the senses and physical abilities of an average human. It also seems she hasn't matured since her initial death. Equipment: Her cell phone is her primary tool, since she uses it to stream nearly constantly. She also has a makeup kit, a taser, and a small pistol in her bag. Quips: -It's fun having fun! -If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing -Your opinion of me doesn't define who I am.</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. Argenti looked at the woman who mentioned avoided "net zero" and basically implied that she wouldn't help without something in return. Well, that was fair, and it wasn't even that ridiculous a price. She was right. Something like that should be easy enough for the so-called Detective. Rumor had it that they practically ran the town. Of course, that was just rumor. Still, it had to be easier than what the two of them discussed. Argenti had been about to kill The Detective when he had been summoned. Luckily, they had been a fast speaker. In the end Argenti had agreed to come to this meeting if the Detective had agreed to help find an eliminate all the ways to summon Argenti. In the succubus's opinion that was a fair price for helping with these Outcasts as well. Though it sounded like he might have to wait until the problem was solved to be paid. That was alright. Argenti would be paid, one way or another. He did claim another pastry, this one a plain glazed donut, "I'm in. I have no problem trying to figure out these Outcasts and their goals and then eliminating them." He smirked at no one and nothing, "I don't even have a problem with working with the others in this room." That was true enough. Argenti had worked with others in the past and figured that he would work with others in the future. Many supernatural types were loners and Argenti certainly fell into that category well enough, but he wasn't such a loner that he refused to deal with others. Besides this was bigger than any personal preferences. This wasn't even just about justice at this point. The sooner then figured out what was going on with these Outcasts the more Innocents would be protected from whatever this plan of theirs was. Though justice had a part of it as well. Argenti would have to figure out exactly what type of Fae Eris was as well as what type of demon Samael was. That would help him figure out how to make them suffer. Though more important, not that Argenti would ever say this bit out loud, was finding the bodies or proof that the Innocents were dead so their families could have closure. It may have been cruel, but the truth was that even too much hope could be poisonous. Hopefully it wouldn't reach that point. Argenti reached for another file. It wouldn't hurt to look at more information. Perhaps he would see something that the investigators hadn't. It wasn't likely, but who knew. Right now, reading files was all he could do. After this meeting was over, he could try poking around for information on Samael and Eris, but even that would probably reveal next to nothing new. Still, he had a few sources that he knew for fact this Juniper didn't have. He wasn't sure about The Detective. It wouldn't hurt to ask the other minor demons of The City. At the very least they would know that things in The City were changing and know how demons were reacting to the change. Any information would be valuable at this point. Right?</s> <|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy "Ah yes, payment," Cain had yet to discuss exactly what it was he had wanted from the Detective. "We can talk about it once this is all resolved. I suspect what I want would take too much out of you before you go in to this sleep, whatever it is exactly." Setepenre's concern for her family was admirable, the fact she had so many that she cared about was something Cain envied. Ever since he killed his brother he never had a family. There had been others he had met, some of whom he got very close with, but none that he would call family. His payment from the Detective would hopefully close millennia old wounds and allow him the closure he so desperately wanted. "And if it wasn't obvious from me expecting payment, yes, I will join this crusade to take down these Outcasts. Killing Innocents is grotesque and they must be stopped."</s> <|message|>Setepenre "Penny" Setepenre Lesser Pride "I'm in," Penny announced with a solemn nod. "It's been a long while since I had the opportunity to truly use my abilities for their intended purpose." The golden-eyed woman turned to The Detective with a concerned frown. "I trust when you say you're prepared for your Sleep, but are you certain there's nothing any of us can do to make it safer? Or at least a little more comfortable for you?"</s> <|message|>Albert Sin of Sloth "It goes without saying that I will indeed help," Albert said with a nod. He didn't really do it due to a strong moral compass or anything. Sure he did feel sorry for the lives that have been lost, but he wanted to experience what kind of story this would bring. He has always been a sucker for a good story. "Oh before I forget, may I ask who would be moving into my bed and breakfast? I would like a headcount to prepare the rooms beforehand," Albert asked because he wanted to prepare the rooms. Currently, the B&B was nothing more than a small cottage. If more than 4 people were moving in he would need to make space and expand the building.</s>

<|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Some of the other folks began to grab folders, which was a relief. Juniper had no desire to be the 'brains' of this operation by herself. Cain suggested that they all stay at Albert's B&B. Juniper nodded in agreement, though it might not have been obvious she was responding silently to him, as she was still staring at her phone. She definitely thought it would be best for them to set up a sort of HQ, and Albert's was likely the comfiest and cutest of their options. She glanced across the table at Albert, trying to recall if he had listed a name that she could look up, to check on the reviews for his place—but it might not be that sort of venue. Still, even other-worldy establishments needed the quality control that only patrons could provide. Albert spoke next, posing two main questions, the first was whether they were sure the Innocents were dead, (they were) and the second was what each of them were getting out of this arrangement. Juniper wasn't sure it mattered, since the deals were each made with the Detective and it wasn't really her place to judge whatever guilty pleasure the rest of them were stoking with this arrangement. However, The Detective agreed that they should share their reasons, as noble or selfish as they might be. Perhaps it would help them to build trust. Slowly, the other folks around the room brought up their own payment, and that they agreed to take on The Outcasts. Juniper fiddled with her phone. Some might think she was still researching, and she was…sort of. But she was also updating a status and adding some fire emojis to her response for a comment. "Mhmmm." She let out as more of a hum than an answer. Juniper looked up after a few more moments, realizing that probably wasn't enough. "Sorry, uh yea, I'm in." "As far as payment, The Detective agreed to give me information when some of the shops drop new product lines, like drinks, holiday specials, that sort of thing. That way I can be first to try them, get pic and post it." Juniper grinned, wiggling her phone a bit as proof—as if that was even necessary at this point—that she was a bit obsessed with social media. "And yeah, Albert. I'd love to check out your bed and breakfast. I know it's a bit private, but like… I can take pictures, right? And what kind of climate is it, so I know which outfits to pack. Do you have a pool?" Juniper was already trying to plan out which accessories she would bring for her pictures. She might need to buy more, just to make sure she had the right ones. And if he had a pool, she could do a Genie pool accessories buying spree then test out the gadgets for her viewers. "Can I just get your number so I can text you my other questions?" They were all incredibly specific questions, and she didn't think everyone else wanted to know. "Actually, can we set up a group text all around?" That would make more sense for communication. Just because a lot of them were old didn't mean they needed to rely on carrier pigeons to pass information back and forth.</s>

<|description|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Indulge and enjoy life, or don't. Either way, you die at the end. Age: ~300 years old. Stopped aging at her first death, at 20 years old. Race: Witch Appearance: Juniper changes her appearance like a person changes their clothes. She wears excessive makeup, and even her friends are unsure of what her "natural" look would be. According to other normal humans, she frequently wears makeup and colored contacts. In actuality, Juniper wears some makeup, but also uses spells to create filters to change not only her appearance, but pieces of the world around her to make things a bit more pretty/aesthetically pleasing. Personality: Juniper is immature, considering her age. She is short-sighted, and likes to indulge in whatever she thinks is going to be fun/pretty at that moment. She has very poor impulse control. For example, when she was at an amusement park and saw a specialty mini-donut food truck, she got every flavor, topping, and dipping sauce to try. Then she made some Tik Toks and live streams of her thoughts to broadcast to her followers. She only took a bite of each of the donuts to broadcast, then threw the remainders away when she was done getting her footage. Background: Juniper was executed for being a witch–not at the Salem witch trials, but in Great Britain. She was accused of bewitching men and causing them to be unfaithful to their wives. After her execution, Juniper found she had awoken with actual witchcraft. She learned skills of disguise from a mentor who believed she was being given a second chance to do some good in the world. But Juniper used it to extract revenge on the men who had gotten her killed. In the process, she fell in love with herself. In her first life, she had tried to do the right thing, and it had only gotten her killed. She promised herself not to squander her second opportunity, and instead indulged in whatever suited her fancy, whether it was food, a bed warmer, or a dangerous activity. But she found she grew bored quite quickly with most hobbies and crafts, until the internet and social media became a prominent fixture. There, her overindulgence was rewarded, and people encouraged her to get more stuff, and be more over-the-top. Juniper thrived. Currently, Juniper has a huge social media following. She has makeup tutorials, reviews of products, short videos of her doing sports and stunts, and food tastings. She has a plethora of people she considers friends, and she is known to treat her friends well. The Detective reached out on social media, mentioning a delectable treat she had to try at some hole in the wall restaurant. They met up, and came up with an agreement that she would help with preventing others from exploiting the Innocents of the City, in exchange for exclusive access to new venue openings, menu items to try, etc. Skills and Abilities: Mundane-Armed: Juniper is proficient with pistols, shotguns, and a few rifles. She also keeps a taser on her, in case fans (or haters) get a bit unruly. Mundane-Allies: Juniper has lots of social media followers and friends. She can nearly always call on someone to provide something to her, like a ride, or a cover story, on short notice. Magic-Beautify: Juniper can make small changes to the appearance of the world around her through means of a filter. Make trash seemingly disappear, or create illusions. She usually uses this to enhance her setting when filming or streaming out on the town. Magic-Disguise: Juniper can change her appearance beyond the abilities of what makeup can provide. She could look average, but she chooses to look exotic, attractive, and sometimes otherworldly. Magic-Indulge: Juniper can encourage others to indulge in their 'guilty pleasures,' creating a temporary fixation or obsession for something mundane to the point of mild self-harm: For example, overeating or excessive running. This is less effective on beings with greater self-control. Magic-Spells: Can use spells for minor healing, binding, and other magic effects. Weakness- doesn't practice these much, and their effects tend to be impacted by her gluttony. For example, she once tried to use a few flowers in a healing spell, and accidentally eradicated a field of crops in the process. Weakness: Magic-Impulsive: When stressed, Juniper finds it difficult to curb her own indulgence, and might get derailed from something important with her own wasteful tendencies. Mundane-Lover, not a fighter: Juniper is not great at melee combat. She is capable with basic self-defense, but doesn't have abundant physical combat skills. Mundane-Dyslexic: Though never formally diagnosed, Juniper has dyslexia and isn't a great reader. This usually manifests by her getting 'bored' quickly when told to read and research, and is one of the primary reasons she initially struggled with spell-casting. Mundane-Mortal: Juniper isn't immortal (to her knowledge) and can get sick, injured, etc. She has the senses and physical abilities of an average human. It also seems she hasn't matured since her initial death. Equipment: Her cell phone is her primary tool, since she uses it to stream nearly constantly. She also has a makeup kit, a taser, and a small pistol in her bag. Quips: -It's fun having fun! -If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing -Your opinion of me doesn't define who I am.</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. Argenti looked up from his current file as the group was asked about staying at the bed and breakfast. He knew that Cain had mentioned all of them staying there and that was a reason why the succubus shouldn't. This Cain seemed to be attempting to take charge of the situation. Argenti was willing to work with these people. He didn't need any of them trying to boss him around. Still, he didn't have a place to stay right now. Since he had gotten to The City, he had been bouncing from place to place unless he was in the middle of taking care of monsters. It wouldn't hurt to have a place to stay without having to worry about who would be trying to kill him. He didn't trust anyone else in this group, not really, but he had a feeling he didn't really have to worry about them until the Outcasts were gone and the Innocents were safe once again. And it wouldn't hurt for someone to take charge of their little group of five. At least Argenti thought it was five because two of them got up and left without saying a single word to anyone. Anyways the five of them had strong personalities they could either let someone take charge or spend all their time arguing and voting over what to do and then the odds of them getting anything done would be next to zero. It was just to deal with the Outcasts. Then Argenti could leave this City and never seen any of them every again. He could handle orders for that long as long as they were combat orders. So Argenti grinned as he pointed at Cain, "Like the boss says, it would be wise to move this to someplace where we know we aren't being watched." He nodded at Albert, "I would be honored at pleased to spend time at your bed and breakfast. However," Argenti stood and stretch his hands out to the ceiling, "Right now I have a few people I would like to talk to about the Outcasts and the Innocents. Does anyone want to come with me?" Honestly Argenti made the invitation for two reasons. The first was that he didn't want anybody thinking that he was hiding things. The second was that it wasn't entirely safe to go alone. If the Outcasts realized that The Detective had brought in outside help the five of them were easily the biggest threat and it would be wise to eliminate them before they became and even bigger threat. However, that didn't mean that Argenti thought anyone would take him up on his offer. He was prepared to go alone. That didn't mean that he wanted to. He just could if he had to. Then something happened that Argenti couldn't describe. He had to grit his teeth to remain standing as what felt like a wave of magical energy crossed the city. The succubus knew that anyone with any real level of magic would feel it too. Something had happened, but he wasn't sure what. He didn't know enough about magic to know what. It felt almost like The Detective, so Argenti wasn't too worried. Maybe it was some sort of prep for their Sleep. Maybe it was their Sleep itself. Whatever it was it marked the beginning of something, mostly likely the war between the Outcasts and the Lessers. Whatever it was it changed things. Argenti laughed tightly, "I would appreciate it if someone came with me."</s> <|message|>Setepenre "Penny" Setepenre Lesser Pride Penny considered Argenti's request carefully. On the one hand, a demonic creature leading people away from their group sounded like... well, the tactics The Outcasts were using on their hapless victims right now, to be frank. On the other hand... Penny really didn't have any good leads. She had plenty of connections with ordinary humans, and perhaps her network could aid the team in areas like identifying Innocent targets. But her relationships with other supernaturals in The City were a bit lacking. Then, the wave. Penny's pupils narrowed in cat-like focus as the barrier spread out. Penny could identify this magic quite well: a tether. Similar to the one that confined her to her family tomb for generations. The sensation felt oddly... nostalgic and unnerving at the same time. Like revisiting a favorite mall to find it long abandoned and covered in cobwebs. In the end, pride made Penny's decision for her. She would need to prove herself somehow, and it was not going to be suggesting supernatural contacts. "I'll go with you," Penny answered Argenti. "We can't have anyone going off on their own right at the starting gate. That would be a disrespectfully reckless act after all the work The Detective has done to set us up for success. If a third would like to join us, we would make quite a formidable group." Penny really hoped a third would join them... "Besides, I request aid in moving my family to Albert's place later today. Argenti and I, and whoever joins us, could take care of those tasks after we accomplish Argenti's." Penny glanced toward the tech witch. "Of course, before any of us leaves this room, we really should get each other's contact information, as Juniper noted."</s>

<|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Juniper happily accepted the small external drive from The Detective. This would be much easier to sift through than the files. She spent a moment appraising the male/female ports on the drive and thinking over which of her devices would be most easily compatible with it. She had a tablet in her bag that would probably work find, and then she wouldn't have to stop anywhere else… especially if folks wanted to take the Detective up on the offer of staying in this room for the rest of the day. Argenti spoke up soon after and suggested they go to Cain's B&B instead, bringing up the possibility that they were being watched here. Juniper imagined that The Detective had used some of their abilities to put a sort of shroud over the place, but there was no guarantee that would hold once The Detective entered their sleep. Juniper didn't fully understand their abilities, of course, but she imagined it was a bit like a witch's spellcasting. Some spells were passive, and some required full concentration. If The Detective was going to sleep, they likely couldn't cast spells that needed the latter—so any extra protection the group had might cease. Juniper, too, felt the wave as The Detective went to sleep. It felt a little…oppressive, but not in any way that she could easily describe. She was sure the others in the room picked up on it too, each Lesser responding in their own way. Soon it was decided that Argenti and Setepenre would be going to question some associates or contacts of Argenti's. Juniper wasn't exactly sure what kind of company the Succubus kept, but she imagined mostly attractive folks in aesthetic places, which was quite amenable to the younger witch. Setepenre brought up the more logical point that they shouldn't be off on their own just yet. "I think that sounds good. I'll come." Juniper said, standing up. She pushed the files that had been in front of her to the center of the table. "Y'all can look over these. I'll check out the stuff on the drive and we can compare leads after talking to Argenti's contacts." Not only did she get to go somewhere else, but now she could get out of sitting around reading actual paper. This was the best-case scenario, at least for her. She put the hard-drive in her bag, and looked off to the side, grabbing a pen from one of the side tables. "Here, I'll write my number. Y'all can send me a text with your name. I'll set up a group text so everyone can add their names to their numbers." She wrote her cell number on a sticky note that was used as a page-marker for one of the folders. When she wrote her name, Juniper, she put a little heart as the dot above the i. After scribbling that down for the group, she told Setepenre and Argenti she would get their numbers while they were on the way, rather than standing around for excruciatingly slow minutes as everyone said their numbers aloud digit by digit. Juniper may be a glutton, but she was not terribly interested in wasting time—at least, not her own time.</s>

<|description|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Indulge and enjoy life, or don't. Either way, you die at the end. Age: ~300 years old. Stopped aging at her first death, at 20 years old. Race: Witch Appearance: Juniper changes her appearance like a person changes their clothes. She wears excessive makeup, and even her friends are unsure of what her "natural" look would be. According to other normal humans, she frequently wears makeup and colored contacts. In actuality, Juniper wears some makeup, but also uses spells to create filters to change not only her appearance, but pieces of the world around her to make things a bit more pretty/aesthetically pleasing. Personality: Juniper is immature, considering her age. She is short-sighted, and likes to indulge in whatever she thinks is going to be fun/pretty at that moment. She has very poor impulse control. For example, when she was at an amusement park and saw a specialty mini-donut food truck, she got every flavor, topping, and dipping sauce to try. Then she made some Tik Toks and live streams of her thoughts to broadcast to her followers. She only took a bite of each of the donuts to broadcast, then threw the remainders away when she was done getting her footage. Background: Juniper was executed for being a witch–not at the Salem witch trials, but in Great Britain. She was accused of bewitching men and causing them to be unfaithful to their wives. After her execution, Juniper found she had awoken with actual witchcraft. She learned skills of disguise from a mentor who believed she was being given a second chance to do some good in the world. But Juniper used it to extract revenge on the men who had gotten her killed. In the process, she fell in love with herself. In her first life, she had tried to do the right thing, and it had only gotten her killed. She promised herself not to squander her second opportunity, and instead indulged in whatever suited her fancy, whether it was food, a bed warmer, or a dangerous activity. But she found she grew bored quite quickly with most hobbies and crafts, until the internet and social media became a prominent fixture. There, her overindulgence was rewarded, and people encouraged her to get more stuff, and be more over-the-top. Juniper thrived. Currently, Juniper has a huge social media following. She has makeup tutorials, reviews of products, short videos of her doing sports and stunts, and food tastings. She has a plethora of people she considers friends, and she is known to treat her friends well. The Detective reached out on social media, mentioning a delectable treat she had to try at some hole in the wall restaurant. They met up, and came up with an agreement that she would help with preventing others from exploiting the Innocents of the City, in exchange for exclusive access to new venue openings, menu items to try, etc. Skills and Abilities: Mundane-Armed: Juniper is proficient with pistols, shotguns, and a few rifles. She also keeps a taser on her, in case fans (or haters) get a bit unruly. Mundane-Allies: Juniper has lots of social media followers and friends. She can nearly always call on someone to provide something to her, like a ride, or a cover story, on short notice. Magic-Beautify: Juniper can make small changes to the appearance of the world around her through means of a filter. Make trash seemingly disappear, or create illusions. She usually uses this to enhance her setting when filming or streaming out on the town. Magic-Disguise: Juniper can change her appearance beyond the abilities of what makeup can provide. She could look average, but she chooses to look exotic, attractive, and sometimes otherworldly. Magic-Indulge: Juniper can encourage others to indulge in their 'guilty pleasures,' creating a temporary fixation or obsession for something mundane to the point of mild self-harm: For example, overeating or excessive running. This is less effective on beings with greater self-control. Magic-Spells: Can use spells for minor healing, binding, and other magic effects. Weakness- doesn't practice these much, and their effects tend to be impacted by her gluttony. For example, she once tried to use a few flowers in a healing spell, and accidentally eradicated a field of crops in the process. Weakness: Magic-Impulsive: When stressed, Juniper finds it difficult to curb her own indulgence, and might get derailed from something important with her own wasteful tendencies. Mundane-Lover, not a fighter: Juniper is not great at melee combat. She is capable with basic self-defense, but doesn't have abundant physical combat skills. Mundane-Dyslexic: Though never formally diagnosed, Juniper has dyslexia and isn't a great reader. This usually manifests by her getting 'bored' quickly when told to read and research, and is one of the primary reasons she initially struggled with spell-casting. Mundane-Mortal: Juniper isn't immortal (to her knowledge) and can get sick, injured, etc. She has the senses and physical abilities of an average human. It also seems she hasn't matured since her initial death. Equipment: Her cell phone is her primary tool, since she uses it to stream nearly constantly. She also has a makeup kit, a taser, and a small pistol in her bag. Quips: -It's fun having fun! -If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing -Your opinion of me doesn't define who I am.</s> <|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Albert. Didn't. Own. A. Phone. How? What? Seriously? Juniper blinked blankly, unable to process. How did he order food? How did he meet up with people? How did he shop? How did he market his B&B? Did he even market it?! She had a million questions. Despite the fact that the witch was born in an era without instant communication, she welcomed technology with open-arms. She loved that the things everyone could do now would only be attributed to witchcraft had it been a hundred years earlier. She accepted Albert's written number, and thought perhaps her being distracted was what made the characters on the paper change. She generally had to concentrate quite a bit to read, and her eyes were already worn out from looking over those papers. Albert explained, however, that she just had to be nice to the paper so she could read it. Juniper chuckled lightly, enjoying the trick quite a bit. "I'll keep that in mind." She replied. For now, she folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. In addition to the number, Juniper happily accepted a key to the bed and breakfast. Her key was a dandelion. She thought the key going right to the building was delightful, and she looked forward to trying that out later. In the back of her mind, though, she heard the vignette about the Rings echoing in her mind, modified for these handy Keys of Power. "Five Keys for the Sinners in their City." As Argenti began to talk, Juniper realized the flaw in her suggestion to jump in and go on a trip. It would make the team horribly imbalanced. She wasn't terribly concerned about not trusting the others. Either they did the right thing, or they didn't, and more people would die. But Argenti didn't seem fond of the idea of leaving someone by themselves. "Well, Cain wants to stay and look at files. I can stick around with him." Juniper said, mostly to Argenti, since he said they should all go to the shady kink club. She didn't particularly care. She could look at her phone whether she was here or there. It wasn't that she didn't want to see a kinky club—she just agreed with Cain that it might be a bit much for them all to go. "As long as you do the paper stuff, I'll look on here, and we can compare what we notice." She offered to Cain. Ohh, she could order them a DoorDash. That could be fun. And maybe she could order Albert a phone. She could even set up one for pick-up. While the last of the decisions were being made, she pulled up a tab with some local store information. They could even just get him a trac phone, if he wanted something simple. Then he could text and call, and receive both. "We got this!" Juniper grinned at Argenti, sitting down on the edge of the table to show her willingness to stay. "Oh, I can come up with a team name for us!" Juniper smiled, trying to come up with something punny about Cain and her working together with some papers. #SinCity Nope, taken. #TaintsOrSaints Heh. #TaintedSaints Probably less Naughty. #CainandLessAble Might offend Cain. #NoCainNoGain See, that one was practically a compliment!</s> <|message|>Albert Sin of Sloth "I've got an idea if everyone is okay with it. Why don't we make a stop at my Bed and Breakfast? Those who are not coming would have a comfortable place to rest and go over the files while those who are visiting the club, and freshen up and store anything they do not wish to bring with them," Albert said as he stood up. He put on his hat and walked to the door that was the exit to the room. He took out a stop watched, looked at the time before stopping the second hand at the number 12. He then returned it to his coat before opening the door. Instead of the hallway that the door led to, it opened into a large cabin-like living room with an enormous hearth. Paintings and shelves with strange knick-knacks filled the walls. A sole armchair sat by the fire, which was the only light in the room giving it a strangely eerie but mystical feel. "Welcome to the Bed and Breakfast. Please leave your shoe by the door. And close the door if you're the last one through," Albert said before entering. A wave of magic washed over him as all the lights suddenly flickered on. The entire place came alive as things began to move and rearrange themselves. Sofa from who knows where suddenly appeared and settle in front of the fire with enough space for all the Sins. The dining table to the side changed the number of seats as ascetically pleasing plats appeared on the table itself. The time outside the window switched from night to day to match the time outside. Albert raised an eyebrow at his home. It wasn't usually this active but then again, they will be housing several guests very soon so the first impression was everything. "Well don't be a stranger and come in everyone," Albert said with a chuckle.</s> <|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy Cain appreciated that Juniper offered to stay with him, going through files with another person was so much nicer than doing it alone. He didn't even mind that she wanted to come up with some hashtag for her social media thing. Cain didn't really understand the whole social media thing, it just never appealed to him, but he appreciated that it was something she enjoyed so he wouldn't rain on her parade. More exciting though was Albert opening the door to his secret Bed and Breakfast. Cain nearly jumped out of his chair, there was bound to be much more comfortable seating than the room they were in now. His current seat was fine, but his bottom was starting to go numb, there was a reason he enjoyed his coffee beyond the taste. It gave him an excuse to get up every couple of hours and get a reprieve from sitting. Cain gathered up the files and walked through the door. The B&B looked quite cozy, and it seemed to have a mind of it's own. "Fascinating," Cain made his way to the couch and sat himself down, setting the papers on the table in front. "I feel this will be a much better environment for working. As long as Juniper has internet access I'm sure we'll be fine."</s>

<|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Decision-making was taking way longer than Juniper was used to. She was generally a "have an idea then do it" kind of person. So once the plan was made for her to stay with Cain and go through the paperwork, Albert suggested they go to his B&B instead. Penny's phone rang, and she quickly checked the ID on her phone before excusing herself from the room to deal with whatever it was. Juniper sighed. Would they ever get started with this? Before she could complain too vocally, however, Albert blew her mind. He did some cool magic stuff, and opened the door to reveal…not the hallway, but his bed and breakfast. It was SO COOL. Juniper stood up from the table, in awe of the sight of the furniture and decorations beginning to shift and move around. Cain was first to follow him in. Juniper wore an excited grin upon her face as she glanced over at Argenti, and then practically skipped through the portal into the B&B. It was… so aesthetic. She almost forgot to take her shoes off, taking a few steps in before pausing and backtracking. She slipped off her shoes, and then trotted over to the big couch. It was cute, but it was more important for her to see how comfortable it was—how it handled a proper flop. The couch did, in fact, handle a flop quite well. By the time Argenti was in and the door shut, Juniper was poised nearly inverted on the couch, her legs over the backrest and her head off of the seat cushions, looking at the room upside-down. Without thinking out exactly what she was going to say, Juniper addressed the group, "Well, Team Sloth, Envy, Lust, and Gluttony is on the case! Team JACA. Team AJAC? Team... GLES." She trailed off for a moment as she continued to think through different team names. Then she rolled off of the couch and addressed the group from a seated position on the floor. "I dunno, I'll figure out something. We are going to take care of these Ou— Oh, Albert, what's your wifi password?" Juniper interrupted herself with what she perceived as the vastly more important question for the moment.</s>

<|description|>Cain, Lesser Envy What's yours is yours, and what's mine is mine. Although yours is quite nice…maybe I'll just borrow it Age: Thousands of years old, at this point he's lost track Race: He likes to think of himself as the human he originally was Appearance: Cain is a 5'8 middle eastern man with a somewhat muscular build who looks to be in his 30's, with brown eyes and black hair. He keeps his curly hair short and has a well maintained beard covering his jawline. He bears the Mark of Cain on his right forearm. He often wears well tailored suits with many more inside pockets than would be standard. Personality: When Cain was younger he had a lot of emotional issues he had to work through. He wanted back the life he had before he was exiled from paradise. Even after building the first city and ruling over his own people, he wanted more. He would often go out and simply take things that he wanted from anyone he came across. After thousands of years though Cain has mellowed out in that regard. He still sometimes takes a physical item that he thinks would be better in his hands than in the hands of someone else. But now he longs for things he can't simply take from others. A sense of belonging, a sense of purpose. He is envious of those who have these things, and they are things he fears he will never have. Background: Cain did indeed kill his brother all those years ago, he won't deny it. He did it for the reasons you think, he wanted what Abel had. Abel was the favourite, and being young and stupid, Cain thought if Abel was gone then he would become the favourite. He was wrong, and for his crime he was exiled from paradise and cursed with signature mark. The part about it reflecting harm back sevenfold is a lie, it was simply made to grant him immortality. He would never die of old age. Things are never quite that simple though, the curse also imbued him with strange abilities. Ages passed, Cain saw the rise and fall of civilizations. He found success for himself wherever he went, trying to sate the envy that started this long life he has now cursed to. His envy even extended to children, though not in the same way it did to others. He always envied their innocence, their limitless optimism that he could never again achieve. When these feelings get to be too much, Cain will use the one magic spell that he can truly call his own, that he did not copy from anyone else. It is a spell that allows him to view the memories of a recently deceased person, to experience the innocence of childhood and the normal life that he will never have again. He will go out and murder someone society won't miss, it's easier to keep his hands clean that way. The spell stops the soul from going to the afterlife, instead subsuming it into himself. He feels no regret for these souls, they were the dregs of society anyways, and they had something that he wanted. His feelings are never sated for long though, and he repeats the process, trying to fill the void inside himself. The spell gives Cain any abilities the deceased may have had, in exchange he sometimes hears their disembodied voices in his head. On very rare occasions a particularly strong personality can cause Cain to say what they're thinking. He has learned to keep them in check and mostly tune them out at this point. Nowadays Cain is on the board of directors for several companies and lives off of thousands of years of wealth accruement. The Detective somehow got his private number which was enough to get Cain intrigued. Hearing the job was to protect children, well, Cain would never be able to find it in his heart to say no. Skills and Abilities: Cain is skilled in hand to hand combat, but his real strength comes from his cursed mark. On top of keeping him alive and looking young, it has given him the ability to copy the traits of objects. This is often used to copy stone and iron, making his body tough to injure and incredibly strong. He keeps uncommon items in his pockets to be prepared for circumstanced where specific properties are very useful. Such as tungsten to make himself basically heatproof. He can also copy the abilities of others, this includes both mundane skills and supernatural ones. His level of proficiency will change based on how able he is to do the skill normally and how often he has copied this particular skill. For a mundane example, copying an expert singer would allow him to sing well, but he could not hit notes his vocal chords can't make nor would he have an increased lung capacity. If he copied a gymnast he would have better balance and maneuverability but it would not allow him to do the splits because his body is not that flexible. In terms of magic, it would be as though he was a novice of whatever type of magic his target could do. Of course, being around for thousands of years has given him an understanding of most magic systems. He can use basic spells of almost any type he copies, and if he copies the same magic multiple times he will get more proficient. Weakness: The most mundane of Cains weaknesses is that he can still be killed with a simple gun or knife to the gut. If taken by surprise then his long life would end. Cain also has a deep fear of wolves, and facing them would greatly impact his ability to act rationally. On the magical side of things, gaining the properties of things also includes any obvious downsides. Such as stone and metal causing him to move slowly. He also can't maintain this change in body permanently. The amount of time he can maintain a property changes based on how much stress he is under. The more activity he's doing, the less it will last. When copying the magical ability of someone he is not as proficient as they would be, especially when it comes to magic. He would need to practice after taking their ability to become more proficient. Finally, his magical abilities need physical contact to work. He can not copy someones abilities without touching them (through clothes works). The longer he is in contact the more he can absorb. Equipment: He carries a knife with him, the Cursed Blade. It is carved from the rock he used to kill his brother. It will always magically materialize in its holster at his side after a short time if it is separated from him. As far as he knows it can kill anything as long as it is wielded by him. In his pockets he carries a variety of materials to poach properties from Quips: Cain doesn't like dogs, he's definitely a cat person. There isn't a day that goes by where Cain doesn't think about his brother, and the regret he has for killing him. The story of the Mark of Cain reflecting damage was propaganda made by Cain himself, he thought it could get him out of a tight situation if need be Cain has a working relationship with Aodh. He came upon her in a cave, or more specifically he came upon her sword. He had always admired the swords of the angels, they were much nicer than his blade. So he tried to take it. Aodh came out of the cave and quite nearly ripped his arm off before seeing his Mark. Luckily she decided to strike up a conversation instead of striking him down on the spot. Being two souls who were both banished from paradise gave them a lot in common. They went their separate ways, but every few centuries Aodh would call up Cain asking for his help. He never said no, her targets were always ripe for acquiring memories for him to absorb, and perhaps they had some nice worldly possessions as well.</s> <|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony The chairs soon filled up, with the last arrival being a MILF-type who immediately got coffee and sat down with her massive mom purse. Juniper turned back to her phone as everyone was getting settled. She didn't eat any more of the pastries, but she did sniff one of them and savor that for a few moments. Juniper listened as the Detective began to speak, though her body language might not have communicated that the best. She continued to scrolls, tap, and type throughout the exposition. Evil beings. Chaos and Destruction. Sounded like a movie trailer. If the Detective had more of a melodramatic voice. In a City, filled with supernatural beings, a group of Outcasts are harvesting Innocent souls for ener- Wait… really? Juniper looked up at the Detective. Interesting. Guess that made them the rag tag group of heroes. Haha. Juniper looked around the table, waiting for someone older and wiser to step in with a plan. But moments of silence were drawn out like molasses pours out of a bottle. And Juniper's patience was wearing thin. "So, can you give us the names of the Innocents? And what you know about them?" Juniper requested. She had already pulled up a few social media sites to try to figure out who these people were. If they couldn't immediately find the Outcasts, perhaps it was better to learn more about their targets. Granted, Innocents probably didn't have a very interesting social media presence, but no one else was jumping forward with ideas. Before The Detective replied, Juniper's mind was already moving on to the rest of the exposition, and what it might mean. Many beings sought Innocent souls, but others sought to corrupt them and then digest/absorb/enslave or whatever. Another angle in all of this would be to try to learn their motivation. Chaos and Destruction could be done by just setting fire to things, or cutting toxins into drugs and then letting the distributors take care of the mass murder. Since they wanted souls of the Innocents, then presumably there was something larger going on. She found herself wondering what else had been changing in The City. She thought over recent trends. There was a somewhat disturbing trend on TokTiK about going out on dates and murdering your partner. There was a class action lawsuit about TenSecondHacks leading to more than 34 deaths by using electrical currents to burn fractals into wood. But that didn't seem related specifically to this. Maybe some subliminal messages in adverts? Those would depend largely on which platforms these folks were using, and how long ago this started. "When did you first notice you had difficulty with your abilities?" Juniper asked next. If she had a better timeline, then she could piece together any other concurrent trends that might be related. "And do you have a timeline for any of the events you know are related to these Outcasts?"</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. Argenti looked at his pastry as The Detective started with introductions and explanations. What they were saying was alarming to say the least. The succubus hadn't been in The City for long, but even he knew the rumors that The Detective was one of the more powerful beings in The City. If they were having problems, it was unlikely that the seven of them would have better luck. Still, Argenti found himself desperate to try. This Outcasts, whoever they were, were dangerous. Corrupting an Innocent was bad enough. Actually, taking an Innocent's soul? That was completely unacceptable. He wanted to leap out of his chair, find these Outcasts, and eliminate them. Still, he forced himself to remain stationary. If they were powerful enough to give The Detective pause brute force wouldn't work. They would need a plan. Argenti had no idea what that plan could even possibly be. He wasn't really a planner. He focused on torturing people that needed to be tortured. So, it was a good thing that someone else spoke up first. This Juniper, as The Detective called her, was on the right track even if she seemed to be more interested in her phone. Not all Innocents were exactly the same. If was a pattern in the victims there maybe a way to figure out what the end goal of this Bob was. It was Bob that Argenti was the most interested in. Destruction and chaos were easy. Samael and Eris, whoever they were, didn't need Innocents to cause it. Which mean this Bob, with unknown motives had to be playing a significant part. So Argenti asked his question without caring if he appeared rude or not, "This Bob, what can you tell us about them? You have to know something more than what you are saying if you know what they are calling themselves. What do they look like? Do they talk to anyone other than Samael and Eris? Do you know what species they are?" It was odd that The Detective knew that Eris was Fae and that Samael was a demon with out knowing anything more about Bob. Was Bob just that more secretive? Argenti supposed that was a possibility and couldn't been sure. He wasn't an investigator. He made things bleed. Maybe one of the other Lessers was. That would be helpful. He cast a look around the other people at the table. They were all powerful. He could sense that. Most of them were old too. The phone addict might be younger than him, but the rest felt older. He couldn't do much, but he did have a sense for power and age. It helped him avoid too much trouble. None of them activated the Gift either, which meant he could work with them He night not like it, and most of them might be annoying, but he could and would be able to deal with these other Lessers if it meant saving Innocents. In the end, that was what was important about this whole encounter.</s>

<|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy "We can chat some more later," Cain said to Aodh as the Detective called them all to order. He took a seat and ate his muffin as the Detective explained the situation. The Detective seemed like a rather powerful being if they were able to gather the rest of the people here, if these Outcasts could stop their magic then they were likely even more powerful. Cain still had some hope though, to stop a very powerful being you generally needed a specific spell, meaning you could be weak to other forms of attack. Juniper spoke up while Cain was pontificating about what type of magic the Outcasts might be using to stop the Detective. She brought up some good questions, she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, despite seeming to be the youngest of all those gathered. Argenti proceeded to bring up this Bob character. Cain had also found it strange the Detective seemed to have no information on them. He doubted they'd get any more on Bob though, the Detective didn't have any reason to hide important information like that. They were the Detective's last resort, the Hail Mary at the end of the game, if they were still hiding important things at this point that seemed like a huge blunder. Cain decided to speak up asking what he was most interested in. "What exactly is your brand of magic that the Outcasts are able to get around it?" Cain had used most forms of magic in his long time on Earth, it was a bit of a favourite subject of his. "Actually, if I could get a general idea of everyone's special talents that would help me greatly," Cain addressed the rest of the room with this comment. Obviously it was difficult to trust all these strangers, but they had all come together for a common goal, so trust would have to come with the job. "I'm able to copy the abilities of others, both magical and mundane. So knowing what you can do will make me better be able to help out in a bind." If he wanted them to trust him enough to tell their abilities he would have to be the one to start by telling his.</s>

<|description|>Cain, Lesser Envy What's yours is yours, and what's mine is mine. Although yours is quite nice…maybe I'll just borrow it Age: Thousands of years old, at this point he's lost track Race: He likes to think of himself as the human he originally was Appearance: Cain is a 5'8 middle eastern man with a somewhat muscular build who looks to be in his 30's, with brown eyes and black hair. He keeps his curly hair short and has a well maintained beard covering his jawline. He bears the Mark of Cain on his right forearm. He often wears well tailored suits with many more inside pockets than would be standard. Personality: When Cain was younger he had a lot of emotional issues he had to work through. He wanted back the life he had before he was exiled from paradise. Even after building the first city and ruling over his own people, he wanted more. He would often go out and simply take things that he wanted from anyone he came across. After thousands of years though Cain has mellowed out in that regard. He still sometimes takes a physical item that he thinks would be better in his hands than in the hands of someone else. But now he longs for things he can't simply take from others. A sense of belonging, a sense of purpose. He is envious of those who have these things, and they are things he fears he will never have. Background: Cain did indeed kill his brother all those years ago, he won't deny it. He did it for the reasons you think, he wanted what Abel had. Abel was the favourite, and being young and stupid, Cain thought if Abel was gone then he would become the favourite. He was wrong, and for his crime he was exiled from paradise and cursed with signature mark. The part about it reflecting harm back sevenfold is a lie, it was simply made to grant him immortality. He would never die of old age. Things are never quite that simple though, the curse also imbued him with strange abilities. Ages passed, Cain saw the rise and fall of civilizations. He found success for himself wherever he went, trying to sate the envy that started this long life he has now cursed to. His envy even extended to children, though not in the same way it did to others. He always envied their innocence, their limitless optimism that he could never again achieve. When these feelings get to be too much, Cain will use the one magic spell that he can truly call his own, that he did not copy from anyone else. It is a spell that allows him to view the memories of a recently deceased person, to experience the innocence of childhood and the normal life that he will never have again. He will go out and murder someone society won't miss, it's easier to keep his hands clean that way. The spell stops the soul from going to the afterlife, instead subsuming it into himself. He feels no regret for these souls, they were the dregs of society anyways, and they had something that he wanted. His feelings are never sated for long though, and he repeats the process, trying to fill the void inside himself. The spell gives Cain any abilities the deceased may have had, in exchange he sometimes hears their disembodied voices in his head. On very rare occasions a particularly strong personality can cause Cain to say what they're thinking. He has learned to keep them in check and mostly tune them out at this point. Nowadays Cain is on the board of directors for several companies and lives off of thousands of years of wealth accruement. The Detective somehow got his private number which was enough to get Cain intrigued. Hearing the job was to protect children, well, Cain would never be able to find it in his heart to say no. Skills and Abilities: Cain is skilled in hand to hand combat, but his real strength comes from his cursed mark. On top of keeping him alive and looking young, it has given him the ability to copy the traits of objects. This is often used to copy stone and iron, making his body tough to injure and incredibly strong. He keeps uncommon items in his pockets to be prepared for circumstanced where specific properties are very useful. Such as tungsten to make himself basically heatproof. He can also copy the abilities of others, this includes both mundane skills and supernatural ones. His level of proficiency will change based on how able he is to do the skill normally and how often he has copied this particular skill. For a mundane example, copying an expert singer would allow him to sing well, but he could not hit notes his vocal chords can't make nor would he have an increased lung capacity. If he copied a gymnast he would have better balance and maneuverability but it would not allow him to do the splits because his body is not that flexible. In terms of magic, it would be as though he was a novice of whatever type of magic his target could do. Of course, being around for thousands of years has given him an understanding of most magic systems. He can use basic spells of almost any type he copies, and if he copies the same magic multiple times he will get more proficient. Weakness: The most mundane of Cains weaknesses is that he can still be killed with a simple gun or knife to the gut. If taken by surprise then his long life would end. Cain also has a deep fear of wolves, and facing them would greatly impact his ability to act rationally. On the magical side of things, gaining the properties of things also includes any obvious downsides. Such as stone and metal causing him to move slowly. He also can't maintain this change in body permanently. The amount of time he can maintain a property changes based on how much stress he is under. The more activity he's doing, the less it will last. When copying the magical ability of someone he is not as proficient as they would be, especially when it comes to magic. He would need to practice after taking their ability to become more proficient. Finally, his magical abilities need physical contact to work. He can not copy someones abilities without touching them (through clothes works). The longer he is in contact the more he can absorb. Equipment: He carries a knife with him, the Cursed Blade. It is carved from the rock he used to kill his brother. It will always magically materialize in its holster at his side after a short time if it is separated from him. As far as he knows it can kill anything as long as it is wielded by him. In his pockets he carries a variety of materials to poach properties from Quips: Cain doesn't like dogs, he's definitely a cat person. There isn't a day that goes by where Cain doesn't think about his brother, and the regret he has for killing him. The story of the Mark of Cain reflecting damage was propaganda made by Cain himself, he thought it could get him out of a tight situation if need be Cain has a working relationship with Aodh. He came upon her in a cave, or more specifically he came upon her sword. He had always admired the swords of the angels, they were much nicer than his blade. So he tried to take it. Aodh came out of the cave and quite nearly ripped his arm off before seeing his Mark. Luckily she decided to strike up a conversation instead of striking him down on the spot. Being two souls who were both banished from paradise gave them a lot in common. They went their separate ways, but every few centuries Aodh would call up Cain asking for his help. He never said no, her targets were always ripe for acquiring memories for him to absorb, and perhaps they had some nice worldly possessions as well.</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. The Detective clenched a hand into a tight fist as their gaze focused on wall above the door across from where they were sitting, "They're dead. I just don't have bodies to give families closure." If The Detective could find bodies to place in places where they could be found they would do so in a heartbeat. Some of the Innocents had families and friends that were desperate for any sign that their loved ones were safe and coming home. It might be cruel of The Detective to want to dash those hopes, but the people wouldn't be able to start healing until they knew what had happened to their missing loved ones. The Detective didn't want to be unkind, but they could fathom allowing people to live with false hopes. That being said right now they had no proof to give anyone that the Innocents were dead. The Detective knew when they had died. Or more importantly The City knew. That would have to be enough. The Detective gave their head a shake and turned their gaze to mother across the table, "Of course. I will smooth things over before I begin my Sleep. After all, for some of us family is all we have." They looked around the table, "In the past I discussed payment for this job with some of you. For others that is something we still need to discuss. Some of it I will be able to take care of before my Sleep as I can for the Lesser Pride. Some of it will have to wait until the situation is resolved, but you will all be paid. I keep my word." Then The Detective said that it that might of seemed as if they let something slip but was deliberately planned, "Breaking my word is against The Rules." It was true. Breaking promises made meant breaking the Rules and The Detective tried to avoid that. For some of them it would be easy enough. Setepenre just wanted to be able to take care of her children no matter what form they might take. Calling in the right favors to make that happen was something they had already started and would finish up this afternoon. On the other hand, Juniper Murik wanted exclusive and first-person access to events, restaurants, museums, and other such things that would look good on her social media. That was also fairly easy but ongoing. It would have to wait. For others The Detective wasn't sure exactly what they want or required but wasn't too worried. They were all intrigued enough by the threat to the Innocents to come here to this meeting free of charge or bribe or threat. They might not be reasonable, but The Detective was willing to wager they wouldn't be completely unreasonable either. They nodded to the Lesser Sloth, "Thank you for the invitation, but I have already prepared a place for me to rest. It will be safer than most other places and I am comfortable with it." Then they looked around the room and asked the question that would confirm either their fears or their hopes, "Will you all be working against these Outcasts?" August 15th, 2022</s> <|message|>The Detective. They are sometimes called just Detective. Argenti looked at the woman who mentioned avoided "net zero" and basically implied that she wouldn't help without something in return. Well, that was fair, and it wasn't even that ridiculous a price. She was right. Something like that should be easy enough for the so-called Detective. Rumor had it that they practically ran the town. Of course, that was just rumor. Still, it had to be easier than what the two of them discussed. Argenti had been about to kill The Detective when he had been summoned. Luckily, they had been a fast speaker. In the end Argenti had agreed to come to this meeting if the Detective had agreed to help find an eliminate all the ways to summon Argenti. In the succubus's opinion that was a fair price for helping with these Outcasts as well. Though it sounded like he might have to wait until the problem was solved to be paid. That was alright. Argenti would be paid, one way or another. He did claim another pastry, this one a plain glazed donut, "I'm in. I have no problem trying to figure out these Outcasts and their goals and then eliminating them." He smirked at no one and nothing, "I don't even have a problem with working with the others in this room." That was true enough. Argenti had worked with others in the past and figured that he would work with others in the future. Many supernatural types were loners and Argenti certainly fell into that category well enough, but he wasn't such a loner that he refused to deal with others. Besides this was bigger than any personal preferences. This wasn't even just about justice at this point. The sooner then figured out what was going on with these Outcasts the more Innocents would be protected from whatever this plan of theirs was. Though justice had a part of it as well. Argenti would have to figure out exactly what type of Fae Eris was as well as what type of demon Samael was. That would help him figure out how to make them suffer. Though more important, not that Argenti would ever say this bit out loud, was finding the bodies or proof that the Innocents were dead so their families could have closure. It may have been cruel, but the truth was that even too much hope could be poisonous. Hopefully it wouldn't reach that point. Argenti reached for another file. It wouldn't hurt to look at more information. Perhaps he would see something that the investigators hadn't. It wasn't likely, but who knew. Right now, reading files was all he could do. After this meeting was over, he could try poking around for information on Samael and Eris, but even that would probably reveal next to nothing new. Still, he had a few sources that he knew for fact this Juniper didn't have. He wasn't sure about The Detective. It wouldn't hurt to ask the other minor demons of The City. At the very least they would know that things in The City were changing and know how demons were reacting to the change. Any information would be valuable at this point. Right?</s>

<|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy "Ah yes, payment," Cain had yet to discuss exactly what it was he had wanted from the Detective. "We can talk about it once this is all resolved. I suspect what I want would take too much out of you before you go in to this sleep, whatever it is exactly." Setepenre's concern for her family was admirable, the fact she had so many that she cared about was something Cain envied. Ever since he killed his brother he never had a family. There had been others he had met, some of whom he got very close with, but none that he would call family. His payment from the Detective would hopefully close millennia old wounds and allow him the closure he so desperately wanted. "And if it wasn't obvious from me expecting payment, yes, I will join this crusade to take down these Outcasts. Killing Innocents is grotesque and they must be stopped."</s>

<|description|>Cain, Lesser Envy What's yours is yours, and what's mine is mine. Although yours is quite nice…maybe I'll just borrow it Age: Thousands of years old, at this point he's lost track Race: He likes to think of himself as the human he originally was Appearance: Cain is a 5'8 middle eastern man with a somewhat muscular build who looks to be in his 30's, with brown eyes and black hair. He keeps his curly hair short and has a well maintained beard covering his jawline. He bears the Mark of Cain on his right forearm. He often wears well tailored suits with many more inside pockets than would be standard. Personality: When Cain was younger he had a lot of emotional issues he had to work through. He wanted back the life he had before he was exiled from paradise. Even after building the first city and ruling over his own people, he wanted more. He would often go out and simply take things that he wanted from anyone he came across. After thousands of years though Cain has mellowed out in that regard. He still sometimes takes a physical item that he thinks would be better in his hands than in the hands of someone else. But now he longs for things he can't simply take from others. A sense of belonging, a sense of purpose. He is envious of those who have these things, and they are things he fears he will never have. Background: Cain did indeed kill his brother all those years ago, he won't deny it. He did it for the reasons you think, he wanted what Abel had. Abel was the favourite, and being young and stupid, Cain thought if Abel was gone then he would become the favourite. He was wrong, and for his crime he was exiled from paradise and cursed with signature mark. The part about it reflecting harm back sevenfold is a lie, it was simply made to grant him immortality. He would never die of old age. Things are never quite that simple though, the curse also imbued him with strange abilities. Ages passed, Cain saw the rise and fall of civilizations. He found success for himself wherever he went, trying to sate the envy that started this long life he has now cursed to. His envy even extended to children, though not in the same way it did to others. He always envied their innocence, their limitless optimism that he could never again achieve. When these feelings get to be too much, Cain will use the one magic spell that he can truly call his own, that he did not copy from anyone else. It is a spell that allows him to view the memories of a recently deceased person, to experience the innocence of childhood and the normal life that he will never have again. He will go out and murder someone society won't miss, it's easier to keep his hands clean that way. The spell stops the soul from going to the afterlife, instead subsuming it into himself. He feels no regret for these souls, they were the dregs of society anyways, and they had something that he wanted. His feelings are never sated for long though, and he repeats the process, trying to fill the void inside himself. The spell gives Cain any abilities the deceased may have had, in exchange he sometimes hears their disembodied voices in his head. On very rare occasions a particularly strong personality can cause Cain to say what they're thinking. He has learned to keep them in check and mostly tune them out at this point. Nowadays Cain is on the board of directors for several companies and lives off of thousands of years of wealth accruement. The Detective somehow got his private number which was enough to get Cain intrigued. Hearing the job was to protect children, well, Cain would never be able to find it in his heart to say no. Skills and Abilities: Cain is skilled in hand to hand combat, but his real strength comes from his cursed mark. On top of keeping him alive and looking young, it has given him the ability to copy the traits of objects. This is often used to copy stone and iron, making his body tough to injure and incredibly strong. He keeps uncommon items in his pockets to be prepared for circumstanced where specific properties are very useful. Such as tungsten to make himself basically heatproof. He can also copy the abilities of others, this includes both mundane skills and supernatural ones. His level of proficiency will change based on how able he is to do the skill normally and how often he has copied this particular skill. For a mundane example, copying an expert singer would allow him to sing well, but he could not hit notes his vocal chords can't make nor would he have an increased lung capacity. If he copied a gymnast he would have better balance and maneuverability but it would not allow him to do the splits because his body is not that flexible. In terms of magic, it would be as though he was a novice of whatever type of magic his target could do. Of course, being around for thousands of years has given him an understanding of most magic systems. He can use basic spells of almost any type he copies, and if he copies the same magic multiple times he will get more proficient. Weakness: The most mundane of Cains weaknesses is that he can still be killed with a simple gun or knife to the gut. If taken by surprise then his long life would end. Cain also has a deep fear of wolves, and facing them would greatly impact his ability to act rationally. On the magical side of things, gaining the properties of things also includes any obvious downsides. Such as stone and metal causing him to move slowly. He also can't maintain this change in body permanently. The amount of time he can maintain a property changes based on how much stress he is under. The more activity he's doing, the less it will last. When copying the magical ability of someone he is not as proficient as they would be, especially when it comes to magic. He would need to practice after taking their ability to become more proficient. Finally, his magical abilities need physical contact to work. He can not copy someones abilities without touching them (through clothes works). The longer he is in contact the more he can absorb. Equipment: He carries a knife with him, the Cursed Blade. It is carved from the rock he used to kill his brother. It will always magically materialize in its holster at his side after a short time if it is separated from him. As far as he knows it can kill anything as long as it is wielded by him. In his pockets he carries a variety of materials to poach properties from Quips: Cain doesn't like dogs, he's definitely a cat person. There isn't a day that goes by where Cain doesn't think about his brother, and the regret he has for killing him. The story of the Mark of Cain reflecting damage was propaganda made by Cain himself, he thought it could get him out of a tight situation if need be Cain has a working relationship with Aodh. He came upon her in a cave, or more specifically he came upon her sword. He had always admired the swords of the angels, they were much nicer than his blade. So he tried to take it. Aodh came out of the cave and quite nearly ripped his arm off before seeing his Mark. Luckily she decided to strike up a conversation instead of striking him down on the spot. Being two souls who were both banished from paradise gave them a lot in common. They went their separate ways, but every few centuries Aodh would call up Cain asking for his help. He never said no, her targets were always ripe for acquiring memories for him to absorb, and perhaps they had some nice worldly possessions as well.</s> <|message|>Setepenre "Penny" Setepenre Lesser Pride Penny considered Argenti's request carefully. On the one hand, a demonic creature leading people away from their group sounded like... well, the tactics The Outcasts were using on their hapless victims right now, to be frank. On the other hand... Penny really didn't have any good leads. She had plenty of connections with ordinary humans, and perhaps her network could aid the team in areas like identifying Innocent targets. But her relationships with other supernaturals in The City were a bit lacking. Then, the wave. Penny's pupils narrowed in cat-like focus as the barrier spread out. Penny could identify this magic quite well: a tether. Similar to the one that confined her to her family tomb for generations. The sensation felt oddly... nostalgic and unnerving at the same time. Like revisiting a favorite mall to find it long abandoned and covered in cobwebs. In the end, pride made Penny's decision for her. She would need to prove herself somehow, and it was not going to be suggesting supernatural contacts. "I'll go with you," Penny answered Argenti. "We can't have anyone going off on their own right at the starting gate. That would be a disrespectfully reckless act after all the work The Detective has done to set us up for success. If a third would like to join us, we would make quite a formidable group." Penny really hoped a third would join them... "Besides, I request aid in moving my family to Albert's place later today. Argenti and I, and whoever joins us, could take care of those tasks after we accomplish Argenti's." Penny glanced toward the tech witch. "Of course, before any of us leaves this room, we really should get each other's contact information, as Juniper noted."</s> <|message|>Juniper Murik- Gluttony Juniper happily accepted the small external drive from The Detective. This would be much easier to sift through than the files. She spent a moment appraising the male/female ports on the drive and thinking over which of her devices would be most easily compatible with it. She had a tablet in her bag that would probably work find, and then she wouldn't have to stop anywhere else… especially if folks wanted to take the Detective up on the offer of staying in this room for the rest of the day. Argenti spoke up soon after and suggested they go to Cain's B&B instead, bringing up the possibility that they were being watched here. Juniper imagined that The Detective had used some of their abilities to put a sort of shroud over the place, but there was no guarantee that would hold once The Detective entered their sleep. Juniper didn't fully understand their abilities, of course, but she imagined it was a bit like a witch's spellcasting. Some spells were passive, and some required full concentration. If The Detective was going to sleep, they likely couldn't cast spells that needed the latter—so any extra protection the group had might cease. Juniper, too, felt the wave as The Detective went to sleep. It felt a little…oppressive, but not in any way that she could easily describe. She was sure the others in the room picked up on it too, each Lesser responding in their own way. Soon it was decided that Argenti and Setepenre would be going to question some associates or contacts of Argenti's. Juniper wasn't exactly sure what kind of company the Succubus kept, but she imagined mostly attractive folks in aesthetic places, which was quite amenable to the younger witch. Setepenre brought up the more logical point that they shouldn't be off on their own just yet. "I think that sounds good. I'll come." Juniper said, standing up. She pushed the files that had been in front of her to the center of the table. "Y'all can look over these. I'll check out the stuff on the drive and we can compare leads after talking to Argenti's contacts." Not only did she get to go somewhere else, but now she could get out of sitting around reading actual paper. This was the best-case scenario, at least for her. She put the hard-drive in her bag, and looked off to the side, grabbing a pen from one of the side tables. "Here, I'll write my number. Y'all can send me a text with your name. I'll set up a group text so everyone can add their names to their numbers." She wrote her cell number on a sticky note that was used as a page-marker for one of the folders. When she wrote her name, Juniper, she put a little heart as the dot above the i. After scribbling that down for the group, she told Setepenre and Argenti she would get their numbers while they were on the way, rather than standing around for excruciatingly slow minutes as everyone said their numbers aloud digit by digit. Juniper may be a glutton, but she was not terribly interested in wasting time—at least, not her own time.</s> <|message|>Albert Sin of Sloth "My apology, but I do not own a phone. Perhaps you can help me find one but for now, I can give you the number for my Bed and Breakfast. Please call if you require anything," Albert said as he scribbled down the number onto a piece of paper before giving it to Juniper. The number written down seemingly change every time you blink. Sometimes it would be a functional number, other times it is a collection of random runes and letters from a forgotten time. "Once again, I am sorry if the number changes as you look at it. Just ask it nicely, and it should stay still for you," Albert said with a chuckle. As an extension of the protection of the bed and breakfast, anything regarding his establishment is also censured to a certain extent. There was a possible fix, but he didn't want to do it. "oh before I forget," Albert took out 5 keys and placed them on the table. Each key is different, each decorated with a different type of flower serving as the bow. "Since we will be working together. Here are keys to my Bed and Breakfast. Just place them in any door, turn, and it should create a temporary portal to my establishment. Mind you it will only work if I am within my bed and breakfast. You can tell if I am Home by the flowers. It should bloom if I am home. Now they are for you to keep but please do not lose then," Albert explained. "On a side note, I would like to host a dinner party tonight to help us get acquainted, everyone is welcome, and it should be a good time to test the keys," Albert added. "And Argenti, I hope you don't mind me coming along. I would love to see more of the city. and to pick up a few things for dinner," Albert said.</s>

<|message|>Cain, Lesser Envy Cain was a bit distracted by the feeling of what could only be the Detective's magic as it washed over the City. By the time the sensation had faded it seemed nearly everyone would be joining Argenti to go speak with his contacts, and do whatever else they wanted to do. Cain accepted the key from Albert, the flower on his was a tulip. Key took out his key ring to loop it on as he spoke to the group. "As much as I would love to join the adventure with everyone, I suspect they type of people you'll be meeting might clam up if too many people approach at once." He got the key on the ring, it looked nice, a bit showy, but not too showy. "I'll stay here and go through the victims, hopefully I can find some kind of connection between them other than them all being Innocents." Cain glanced at Ivan as he said this. The shape changer hadn't mentioned if he was staying or leaving. Cain looked to Argenti and the others who would be leaving, "unless, of course, you think it would simply be easier and safer if we all went together. In which case I'll gladly join the escapades." As Cain waited for the answer to his question he took out his phone to add Juniper. He sent her a text, simply saying "It's Cain".</s>

<|description|>Aroxty Sameve Callsign: Steel Rain Character Archetype: Consummate Professional Character's Guiding Motto: " Have a plan to kill everyone you meet." Character's Fatal Flaw: Egoistical Character's Expertise: Engineering, Stealth, Strategy Nationality/Allegiance: Free World Leagues / Disillusioned Expatriate Background: Born in a middle class merchant family, Aroxty's dreams of pursuing academic study in LosTech archaeology were dashed by the civil war bringing strife to the Free Worlds League. Initially conscripted as an infantry, Aroxty eventually rose up to the ranks to becoming a tank commander in charge of his very own crew of oddballs, misfits (and cannibals). Upon conclusion of the civil war in 3015 and with nowhere else left to go, Aroxty and his crew left the Free World Leagues and pursued mercenary work until they came into contact with Gawain's Green Knights. Vehicle: " Merry-Go-Round" - Von Luckner MBT</s> <|message|>Andrew Rivers Andrew Rivers TWO DAYS AGO His 'feeder' opened the door to his room again, then said, "We've decided to move you to Yuzhny Portveyn, Merc Kid; this city is not safe anymore for the likes of you." Then he mused wryly, "I trust you'll be good?" He then mused wryly, "You might even get what you want there, if your family does something to impress the higher-ups." Hope shone in Andrew's eyes; was his patience going to be rewarded? Seeing this, however, the other teen gave a dry smile and said, "However, you'll be interrogated and debriefed first; maybe even roughed up if you mouth off. But if you're good and your family doesn't do anything bad like side with what remains of Governor Xiu's thugs, again, you might be able to get what you want." The dry smile turned into a smirk as the other youth continued, "You know, you had a lot of balls to come here and ask for an alliance without telling your precious Colonel first. He might be offended enough to throw you into a brig for doing that and worrying your father." Andrew snapped a little, saying, "I was hoping it'd be a done deal." Then he admitted that, "but now it won't be, especially as apparently, some of the Governor's people actually held out." As the ramifications flooded through him, Andrew began hyperventilating, "I was assuming they'd fall and you'd be the only viable option for allies. I was hoping that there'd be no one else but you guys and that an alliance beetween our groups would be the only viable option and that I'd be honored for helping broker it. Instead I got myself locked up and in trouble and now unless the holdouts don't renew their contract with the Green Knights, I'll be in trouble with both you and them!" His eyes widened in shock as he said, "You'll either shoot me at the back of the head or the Colonel will." The boy then sighed and as something inside him broke, he muttered, "I'll never see Mom and Dad ever again... I'll never see Tarak, or Ziska, or Reya, or even Hilda. I've destroyed every bond I valued just for an uncertain gamble." Tears fell from his eyes again as he whispered to himself, "I've failed... I've failed..." He was interrupted by his 'feeder' coughing, and saying, "That was hilarious, Merc Kid! Now, what are you going to do about it? After all, you're an idiot, but an idiot who knows what a plan is. Are you going to suggest sabotaging the negotiations somehow?" Andrew's brow furrowed to show that he was giving it due consideration, then he smiled, before he made his response, "We'll be in even more trouble if caught. Take me to Yuzhny Portveyn first, but my rough idea is to somehow make us a more attractive partner to the Green Knights than the holdouts. You have the love of the common people and few people value that nowadays. If we can get arms, ammo, and most importantly, military skill to match that love, we'd prove ourselves a better partner than Governor Xiu or his remaining officials..." His feeder scoffed at him and interrupted, "You go from 0 to 180 then 0 again in no time flat!" He then presented a blindfold and cuffs and said, "Enough blather; put these on and just thank us for not gagging you - We're going."</s> <|message|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke Every push-up requested had been delivered, without complaint. Not even so much as an acknowledgement of the punishment beyond a flat 'Yes, sir'. Really, the shame was enough of a punishment on its own. She could rationalize it as being in defense of her House's honor, but she was this close to striking a fellow Mechwarrior...over just a petty, schoolyard tease! Ingrid was nothing short of ashamed that she had let herself slip that much. Of course, not all of it was directed at herself. Though she wouldn't dare look directly at Ziska for the rest of the day unless spoken to, she seemed to squint every time she came into her field of vision. Which she was, unfortunately, at the time of the briefing. Directly across from her in the circle of equals. Ingrid could only wonder why this happened in the first place... Her arms were sore but she remained standing at attention as the Colonel spoke, not letting the fatigue show. Back when she was younger, the thought of committing what was effectively banditry written off as asset acquisition would've been unthinkable. Far below her status, or pretty much anyone's. Now she had grown a little more sensible, perhaps. Beyond wishing to be in better times, she would do nothing. This sort of thing is a fact of war. "They're hardly a hospitable group," she said in agreement with the tankers - the mere tankers. "If they seek to cooperate with us, I've seen no such hail from them yet - and we've a web of diplomatic ties to navigate. However, we should not leave them in the cold--" Ingrid shivered a little as she remembered how cold she is. "--because they could have some sort of use down the line. Establishing a means of communication will be of use, but I don't see the trouble being worth the reward yet." On the mission itself, and its current topic...she immediately showed some hesitation. "Sir, while I understand the outcome behind your suggested action," she said to the Colonel, looking him straight in the eyes after glancing away, "do you believe that firing on unarmed transports will end up being in our favor? The enemy certainly holds the public's attention at this time, and handing them a ready-made propaganda piece about firing on non-combatants - even if they are military personnel - would not be advantageous for receiving aid from anyone on this planet." ...She thought for a moment, and added something more. "In the worst case scenario...future employers, as well."</s> <|message|>Born Tereza Aranda, but as far as anyone in the Green Knights knows, her name is Emma Ziska. "Smash and grab, now you're talking Colonel!" Ziska said, seeming to purr with satisfaction. Catching herself, she smiled kindly, and then continued in a far more measured tone, "We should of course, most magnanimously, offer the transports the chance to surrender. However, if said transports fall into our hands and still elect to resist, well, we won't really have much choice. Violence is to be abhorred, naturally, but the survival of this fine company comes before concern for our enemies. These very same enemies will not offer us much generosity should we find ourselves out of supplies, ammunition, and most critically water. We are the villains now and a quick death is the only kindness that our new opposition will likely show us if we end up at their mercy instead." Unmarred and seemingly unbothered by the discipline the Colonel had most cruelly leveled against her and Ingrid, Ziska seemed if anything to only be further energized by the growing tension. Her legendary conditioning had seen her through worse physicals trials and for all her many, many vices, MechWarrior Ziska took an almost masochistic pleasure in pushing her body to the very edges of physical failure. Even a pirate knew that if you wanted to fight, be it with fists, knives, or BattleMechs...you had to be fit enough to outlast your opponents. The blistering and utterly overwhelming warmth of a damaged BattleMech in combat leaking coolant by the second offered no respite for the weak or out of shape. Basking in her newfound glory, Ziska made little effort to hide her obvious pleasure at how the day at developed. She'd almost gotten into a fight, despite having no intention to do so. It was a shame, Ingrid seemed far less amused about the matter than she was, but Ziska had begun to nourish a strange hope that she could somehow convince the Duchess to relax and abandon her hopeless chivalric notions. Even pirates followed codes of their own making, Ziska took no issue with such ideas. However, it was Ziska's firm conviction that a mercenary had to have a flexible code of honor, honor being a very loosely defined word when it came to professional sellswords piloting giant machines of war. Equally intriguing and amusing was her new BattleMech. For it surely had not passed Ziska's notice that Reya had done something very sneaky and most wonderful to her RVN-3L. Ziska wasn't sure what exactly modifications the BattleMech engineer had completed to her BattleMech, but she knew enough about the recently popularized Guardian ECM to know that what the Colonel described was well above and beyond the abilities of the standard Guardian ECM stashed in a RVN-3L. She decided that she would interrogate the engineer at a later date. It was always poor form to remain ignorant regarding recent technological developments. Especially when said field modifications might require rapid repairs during battle given the uncertainties of combat. "MechWarrior Daschke raises an excellent point however," Ziska continued, nodding towards Ingrid with not even a trace of annoyance or mischief, a rare sight indeed when it came to Ziska. "Isolated and under supplied as we are, we can't exactly discount any potential allies or at least less hostile parties that may aid us, even if only for a short time. We are the stunning debutante at the ball, we might as well size up our suitors before we accept any invitations to dance."</s>

<|message|>Aroxty Sameve " Lady, we're trying to not try to win the hearts and minds of the locals here. We're trying to get out of this shithole so that this planet can go unfuck itself." Morven took out another cigar and took a puff of it, blowing out a ring of fumes at Ingrid. " You're not the ones driving the supply trucks. You're just there to make our lives easier and - " " Morven, for fuck's sake, put a sock in it." Takka groaned, slapping his head. Aroxy's crew sometimes reminded him of a squabbling group of children. Aroxy made a loud cough to silence his three subordinates before nodding towards Ingrid apologetically with a sheepish look. He then regarded the Colonel. " Colonel, I will volunteer the Merry-Go-Round to be used as a temporary means of transport if the situation is FUBAR. I estimate that we can approximately carry 30 tonnes of material and have space for this given our perilously low ammunition supplies." He then motioned his hand towards the woods south of the depot. " As the last tank crew in this company, we have little to no tactical value in being used alongside our surviving mechs without a full column to support us. We have enough fuel to make it to the base and if the worst comes to worst, we'll hide it out in the trees and scavenge off what's left in the surrounding areas. I recommend positioning our tank at the back of the line, both for defense and to ensure that we do not become an obstacle in the event we are mission-killed. " " Making my baby into a glorified hauler." Helma quietly mumbled in horror before taking a swig of her cup of recaffe. " We truly are fucked, aren't we?" " I've got an idea, ólonel." Takka raised his hand up. " Fifteen minutes ain't rubbin me right. Shouldn't we try to create a false flag at the very least? Fool them into thinking we're attacking some place else by sending out fake comm messages. Worked for us back during the Free World Civil - " " An interesting thought, Gunner Takka." Aroxy interrupted, scratching his stubbled chin. " Unfortunately, we are in an untenable position. Alerting the Crimson Fists or the Espian Guard to the likelihood of an attack would most likely prepare them and pose more difficulties to us than achieving a surprise attack. Additionally, we cannot waste valuable resources on maintaining information and communications security. We also do not have a guarantee that whatever techs that the Fists or Guard have in their detail would be able to source the location of our comms and track us back to this very base which could be of catastrophic consequences." " Well, I was just making a suggestion." Takka hunched up his shoulders whilst looking at the others for support.</s>

<|description|>Aroxty Sameve Callsign: Steel Rain Character Archetype: Consummate Professional Character's Guiding Motto: " Have a plan to kill everyone you meet." Character's Fatal Flaw: Egoistical Character's Expertise: Engineering, Stealth, Strategy Nationality/Allegiance: Free World Leagues / Disillusioned Expatriate Background: Born in a middle class merchant family, Aroxty's dreams of pursuing academic study in LosTech archaeology were dashed by the civil war bringing strife to the Free Worlds League. Initially conscripted as an infantry, Aroxty eventually rose up to the ranks to becoming a tank commander in charge of his very own crew of oddballs, misfits (and cannibals). Upon conclusion of the civil war in 3015 and with nowhere else left to go, Aroxty and his crew left the Free World Leagues and pursued mercenary work until they came into contact with Gawain's Green Knights. Vehicle: " Merry-Go-Round" - Von Luckner MBT</s> <|message|>Jonathan McCord Jonathan McCord When they were permitted to lower their hands, Jon tucked his back in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. The pack of cigarettes was still missing and he glanced around for the little bastard that had taken them while Cassandra talked. She was in her element: Center of attention and a completely captive audience. Looking at the conditions, they truly had no choice but to accept whatever she was going to offer and from what he had witnessed of her regular business dealings, she would be squeezing the turnip for every ounce of juice possible. It didn't matter that there was a war on, business was business. Standing next to her he returned the steady look of the Colonel, watching the way he walked and particularly the stiff nature of his left arm. Beyond that, the cave was a fanfare of makeshift mechbays, scattered equipment and a cacophony of smells that pulled and drifted towards the numerous ventilation shafts once used for the heavy equipment of the mine. He thought about the offer from the Crimson Fists then the rumors of the raid that bled through the grapevine of fighting men to Nui Awa. A Phoenix and Shadow Hawk, an Ostroc- something he'd never seen before, an Archer and a Raven, just like he had heard. His eyes shifted further, catching a glimpse of the turret of a Von Luckner tank around a bend in the cave, confirming his suspicions on the trail. All faced the Fists' Longbow, Wolfhound, Raven and Jenner while protecting a convoy of unarmored transports. On paper it was a fairly even match given the conditions of battle, but he'd heard how they'd managed to still rout the Fists and escape. For a brief moment, he played out how he would've done it and his eyes zeroed in where he would have placed precision salvos across joints, hardware and cockpits. Where he would have set the ambush to kill them in one pass. A crowd was forming and he looked over the assembly in the same way as he'd looked over the equipment. Not many had the same look as the Colonel or Sergeant Dalton. Uncertainty dominated. Then there was ample amounts of fear and fatigue. With the portable reactor and the medical tent they liberated, there was at least some measure of creature comfort restored, however it was an operation on borrowed time. There were even children roaming about. He let out a small breath of unease at the sight of them. The Fists would eventually find this place. Even though the mines were a maze of tunnels and connections, the process of elimination would eventually tilt the math in favor of the hunters. He was glad he stayed with Cassandra. Marching women and children off to Fort Tie Shan was not something he could have kept on his conscience. That place had its own set of rumors. He thought about a clear shot at the cockpit of a Battlemaster or a Longbow, the glint of sunlight off the tinted canopy, the muzzle flash over his shoulder and the hot-white hatred that shrieked out of armored gauntlets. A cigarette would be nice.</s> <|message|>Born Tereza Aranda, but as far as anyone in the Green Knights knows, her name is Emma Ziska. Ziska "High alert this, high alter that, and not even so much as a brawl," Ziska fumed from a corner of the cavern. Crouched over battered set of heatsinks, she presided over a fresh bottle of vodka and several small glasses filled to the brim. Gathered around her sat an obviously bored Astech Sunther and an uncomfortable looking Astech Minhas. "Perhaps, you would let us return to our work," Sunther began. "No, drink." "B- but Ziska, we've already had-" Minhas began, her cheeks flush with fresh color. "Drink," Ziska said, her eyes staying coldly on the two intruders. Intruders was the right word. Business proposals were well and good, but Ziska had begun to despair at the influx of uninvited guests, however well intentions they might have been. It was becoming a pattern. A new pattern Ziska did not like. And a pattern she considered might have to be resolved with the correct application of deadly violence. Picking one of the shot glass up with her left hand, Ziska offered quick nod to her Astechs before swallowing the burning liquid in a fell swoop. Sunther managed only a slight cough, burying his mouth in the crook of his arm, and Minhas to her credit, made only a very pained expression as she drank the fiery spirit. As if reading her thoughts, Minhas looked warily at the pistol laying within easy reach of Ziska's right hand. The safety was off and Ziska flashed the smallest of smiles at the young Astech. Periphery knew Periphery. Pirate knew pirate. Minhas, kind, blissfully sheltered Minhas, knew better than most how Ziska perceived problems, and how she preferred to solve them. The suit dressed out of a magazine didn't interest Ziska. Money was money. She didn't care much as long as the c-bills arrived in a timely and discreet fashion. The man she had brought with her did. He looked capable. He walked like a soldier. He smelled like a mercenary. MechWarrior, maybe, Ziska thought, summoning a brief flame of interest. She was bored, but there were ways to deal with that. Running a hand over the fresh layer of bandages that covered Doctor Yuri's clever work, Ziska almost forgot that she had recently smashed her head against unwavering metal. Nakajima was good, better than good even. She owed her a drink. Something tasteful. Something from her festive stock. Standing, Ziska walked leisurely towards the two strangers and crowd of Green Knights pretending not to be eavesdropping on the conversation unfolding in the makeshift hangar. She spotted one of Dalton's finest fiddling with a pack of cigarettes and snatched them from his hands before the man had a chance to react. Dancing just out of range, she shot the annoyed looking soldier a sly smile, as she faded to the edge of the crowed. Stealing a lighter from a nearby Astech, Ziska pulled a cigarette out of the pack. Lighting the cigarette, Ziska took a closer look at Cassandra. She talked the talk and Ziska wasn't inclined to doubt that she walked the walk. She'd pay them, probably, and she was only lying as much as could be expected from a corporate executive. Better a new employer than no employer at any rate. And Ziska had never liked the late Governor Xiu very much. Ziska had no patience for incompetence. Morality was no concern to Ziska. She knew how to forget and shift her perspective easily enough. Being alive was more important than being right. Dead was dead. Incompetence killed. Losing control was fatal. Flinching, flinching for even a moment was deadly. Water, Ziska thought, puffing out a lazy cloud of smoke. Water was everything. Water was the first thing needed to fight a war. Water on a planet like Espia was power. The Aqua Vitae Corporation, this Jeong standing in front of them, interviewing them, controlled the water, on paper if not in reality. They would have information. They would have resources. A way to keep fighting. A way off the planet, maybe. And a way to leave the Crimson Fists dying slowly if it came to that. Planet and civilian population be damned. Smiling at the fighting man standing casually next to Cassandra, Ziska pocketed the pack of cigarettes. Nothing was free. Nothing was free when you came uninvited.</s>

<|message|>Aroxty Sameve " Oi, Takka," Aroxy flicked his gunner's head. The man was currently asleep, lying on top of a crate of SRMs they had liberated during their raid on the Espian Guard's storage facility. Held in his hand was a bottle of something Aroxy smelled like gasoline. If they were still back in the Free Worlds League, he would have sent Takka to the brig to walk off his booze-induced headaches. Fortunately for the tank driver, there was no such thing as a military tribunal in the Green Knights. If there was, Aroxy would have been able to knock some sense into the little dumbass's head. Takka shook his head as he groggily woke up from his alcoholic stupor. " What's up, boss?" Just before Takka could take another swig, Aroxy took it away from him, unscrewed the lid and poured it out on the floor. " I need a status report on the Merry Go Report's status. How long before it's fully operational again, Takka?" From Aroxy's point of view, the Merry Go Round looked like a gutted animal. The turret had been fully detached from its chassis and the upper portion of its heavy chassis was lifted off by a winch crane. Hydraulic pumps were strewn out of its belly like guts and its treads had been fully winded off the wheels and drive train. It was odd seeing the venerable tank like this and made Aroxy somewhat embarrassed the more he stared at it. He couldn't remember the last time he had requisitioned the Merry Go Round for refurbishment. " Well, Cap, we should be mission ready in about three days, give or take," Takka fiddled around for his personal datapad, tapping a few buttons to reveal a screen that showed a wiremap frame of the Merry Go Round. Several regions were blanketed in a thick coat of red and orange. " The main priority is the treads. We don't get this right and we'll be mission killed faster than you can say 'Fuck The Crimson Guard'". " Hey, Cap!," A brash voice shouted out as the lean figure of Ansel walked around the bulk of the Von Luckner. In his hand was a ragged piece of the Espian Herald. " Well, lookey here, Xiu's dead. Ain't this planet more of a shitshow than it already is, Captain?," Ansel murmured. The brunette gunner sliced the tip of his cigar with the edge of his knife before lighting it with a strip match. " Eh, who cares?" Helma's head popped out of the tank and she clambered down, her face splotched with motor oil and grease. " There all the fucking same. It's like caring about each weed when you mow a lawn. More trouble than it's worth. We keep killing until they stop trying to kill us. Simple as that, Ansel." Aroxy grabbed the paper and looked at it. As always, the Espian Herald was frustratingly lacking in details that failed to thoroughly communicate the gravity of the situation. The planetwide coup had taken a step in its natural direction and already, they were witnessing the beginnings of a civil war on multiple fronts. He scratched his chin and scrunched up the paper, throwing it over his back. " The Heavenly Sword are a rogue variable. With some lack, they could hamper the Crimson Fists operations. I'll have to - ," Aroxy paused as he heard the commotion in the cave. It was coming over from the entrance. He whistled for the crew to stand at attention and motioned for them to follow him. He and the crew of the Merry Go Round parted through the crowd of onlookers to get a peek at what was happening. There was a standoff between Colonel Wayne and a lady who looked more appropriate on the front cover of a magazine than a war zone. His eyes narrowed as his minds remembered the briefings they had before they made planetfall. This was Cassandra Jeong, the heiress of the Aqua Vitae Corporation. In the absence of groundwater aquifers, Espia had placed a huge number of financial investments into a network of desalination plants that kept the planet running so to speak. The corporate conglomerate was in control of a good chunk of Espia's natural resources. An alliance with them was too good to be true. They were lacking in manpower and resources right now, but desperation often blinded people to the truth. " I can't imagine recent events have been profitable for the Aqua Vitae Corporation, Miss Jeong,' Aroxy said in a slow, contemplative voice. " If we were to assist you, what remunerations would you offer us?" " Help? Pah, we don't need help from some corporate gold-plated smarmy CEO!," Takka spat out. " We can take - YOWCH!" Takka yelped mid-sentence as Helma pinched the lobe of his ear painfully, dragging him into the crowd and out of sight.</s>

<|description|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke As depicted wearing the military uniform of her noble house, which is what she's going to wear in most occasions. On the shorter side. Callsign: Ramrod, assigned to her by the others. She thinks it means "ramrod straight" but it just refers to the size of the stick up her ass. Age: 30 Character Archetype: Stuffy Noblewoman Character's Guiding Motto: "Fachwissen ist der Grundstein des Rittertums!" (lit. Expertise is the cornerstone of Chivalry! There's a very long and boring story about how this came to be the family's motto as a result of their actions during the Age of War. It's in German because they take their familial LARPing very seriously.) Character's Fatal Flaw: Complete unwillingness to bend princples. Acting the part of a proud knight is important in every single action and interaction, even if there's no honor left to defend. Character's Expertise: Decorum, Swordfighting, Diplomacy. Nationality/Allegiance: Lyran/House Daschke (defunct) Background: House Daschke effectively no longer exists. When it did exist, from the early 25th century until about two years ago, it was a minor noble house ruling over the small Lyran Commonwealth planet of Poulsbo on the Marik border alongside the (comparatively) more famous House Astra. Despite their relative obscurity, the planet's proximity to FWL space meant that it did see action often during the Succession Wars and proved itself at least somewhat useful to Lyran national interests. As the second-in-line to the family title, she still insisted on being trained to the same degree that the heir presumptive, her elder sister did. She excelled...but that didn't do anything to affect her position in the family at all. She was committed, however - even if that meant she'd be stuck as retainer to her sister for the remainder of her natural life, she wanted to see House Daschke proliferate and expand. House Daschke did not proliferate and expand, mostly because it was successfully scattered to the four winds after a sudden and unexpected betrayal by House Astra. To condense centuries of political intrigue into one sentence, the other nobles of Poulsbo saw House Daschke as being far too sycophantic toward the interests of House Steiner in opposition towards the near-independence minded nature of Poulsbo's population. The events of the takeover were confusing at best, and at the end of it, Ingrid was left running for the hills and presumed herself to be the sole living member of House Daschke - thus, Duchess apparent. So far were these hills that she managed to end up at the complete opposite end of the Free Worlds League. Most of her ancestral funds had been spent in a failed attempt to regain Poulsbo with no progress made and little else to show, so she basically just threw herself at the first mercenary command that would take her - Gawain's Green Knights, joining within the last year. Vehicle: An OSR-2C Ostroc given the edgy pet name of Susser Todd, the pride of the Daschke family line. Previously well-maintained through prior generations despite the 'mech's relative rarity, it's probably in worse condition now that Ingrid's been piloting it without the support of a noble house.</s> <|message|>Colonel Gaius Anthony Wayne "Good points, all of you," Colonel Wayne acknowledged, turning his attention first to his most senior Mechwarrior. "Family Man, you're correct in asserting that we're going to need outside assistance in order for this operation to be sustainable. After we get back on our feet and can effectively start shooting back, we'll need to start branching out to see if we can make contact with the forces opposing the NPDRE. Right now, we are technically still under orders from the Capellan Confederation to aid Governor Xiu's administration, so if the loyalists are still willing to honor our contract, they're our first option. If that falls through, or if Yuzhny Portveyn falls, then we'll start looking more closely at the FPA. In either case, however, that will be after we reestablish ourselves." Turning to the tankers, the Colonel addressed their questions. "The Free People's Army and the Heavenly Sword," he said, "Are destabilizing elements on-world, but as far as we have determined, neither force has significant anti-material firepower. Both appear to be equipped with the usual things you'll find among partisan forces: small arms, Molotov cocktails, IEDs, and the like. Nasty against personnel and uncovered vehicles, but effectively useless against heavy armor and Battlemechs. As long as you've got your hatches buttoned up, neither group is currently our problem. If they do make themselves our problem, however, then your instructions are to make them very rapidly not our problem again. There's a lot of propaganda being spread over the civilian channels about both groups being 'terrorists' at the moment, but as far as any reliable comms can determine, neither faction has actually violated the tenets of the Ares Conventions yet, so the standard rules of engagement apply. No firing unless fired upon, minimum necessary force when engaging in populated areas." The Ares Conventions, a series of arms limitations and rules of engagement, had technically been suspended since the founding of the Star League. However, after the ravages of the Succession Wars, most major powers had come back around to at least offering lip-service to the Conventions as ways to rein in the ravages of unrestricted warfare. The rules, though, always grew murky when discussing asymmetrical fighting against partisan forces, especially those consisting of radicalized civilians. "One man's freedom fighter," the old saying went, "is another man's terrorist." Given the level of scrutiny most mercenary commands found themselves under, since their reputation was tied so closely to the level of clients they could attract, often the safest bet was to simply play fair until the enemy gave you reason not to. Finally, turning his attention to Mechwarrior Saarinen, he addressed her concerns. "Back to the mission at hand," he said. "Giggles here brings up a salient point: what exactly is our plan B? If we are unable to commandeer the supply trucks, or if we have to intercept the convoy en route, then the mission will become a very literal smash-and-grab. Anyone whose 'Mechs are equipped with working hand actuators will grab what supplies we can off of the trucks, then we scuttle the rest to deny them to the enemy. Ammunition may be low, but in theory, we can rely on energy weapons to perform a second raid later, so long as we don't have to fight it out with the Crimson Fists. We cannot, however, survive without that water. Our reserves are already getting low, and as you already know, there is no freshwater on Espia. If we need to pick and choose what comes with us and what gets left behind, the water is the absolute first priority, followed by the ammo and armor."</s> <|message|>Andrew Rivers Andrew Rivers TWO DAYS AGO His 'feeder' opened the door to his room again, then said, "We've decided to move you to Yuzhny Portveyn, Merc Kid; this city is not safe anymore for the likes of you." Then he mused wryly, "I trust you'll be good?" He then mused wryly, "You might even get what you want there, if your family does something to impress the higher-ups." Hope shone in Andrew's eyes; was his patience going to be rewarded? Seeing this, however, the other teen gave a dry smile and said, "However, you'll be interrogated and debriefed first; maybe even roughed up if you mouth off. But if you're good and your family doesn't do anything bad like side with what remains of Governor Xiu's thugs, again, you might be able to get what you want." The dry smile turned into a smirk as the other youth continued, "You know, you had a lot of balls to come here and ask for an alliance without telling your precious Colonel first. He might be offended enough to throw you into a brig for doing that and worrying your father." Andrew snapped a little, saying, "I was hoping it'd be a done deal." Then he admitted that, "but now it won't be, especially as apparently, some of the Governor's people actually held out." As the ramifications flooded through him, Andrew began hyperventilating, "I was assuming they'd fall and you'd be the only viable option for allies. I was hoping that there'd be no one else but you guys and that an alliance beetween our groups would be the only viable option and that I'd be honored for helping broker it. Instead I got myself locked up and in trouble and now unless the holdouts don't renew their contract with the Green Knights, I'll be in trouble with both you and them!" His eyes widened in shock as he said, "You'll either shoot me at the back of the head or the Colonel will." The boy then sighed and as something inside him broke, he muttered, "I'll never see Mom and Dad ever again... I'll never see Tarak, or Ziska, or Reya, or even Hilda. I've destroyed every bond I valued just for an uncertain gamble." Tears fell from his eyes again as he whispered to himself, "I've failed... I've failed..." He was interrupted by his 'feeder' coughing, and saying, "That was hilarious, Merc Kid! Now, what are you going to do about it? After all, you're an idiot, but an idiot who knows what a plan is. Are you going to suggest sabotaging the negotiations somehow?" Andrew's brow furrowed to show that he was giving it due consideration, then he smiled, before he made his response, "We'll be in even more trouble if caught. Take me to Yuzhny Portveyn first, but my rough idea is to somehow make us a more attractive partner to the Green Knights than the holdouts. You have the love of the common people and few people value that nowadays. If we can get arms, ammo, and most importantly, military skill to match that love, we'd prove ourselves a better partner than Governor Xiu or his remaining officials..." His feeder scoffed at him and interrupted, "You go from 0 to 180 then 0 again in no time flat!" He then presented a blindfold and cuffs and said, "Enough blather; put these on and just thank us for not gagging you - We're going."</s>

<|message|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke Every push-up requested had been delivered, without complaint. Not even so much as an acknowledgement of the punishment beyond a flat 'Yes, sir'. Really, the shame was enough of a punishment on its own. She could rationalize it as being in defense of her House's honor, but she was this close to striking a fellow Mechwarrior...over just a petty, schoolyard tease! Ingrid was nothing short of ashamed that she had let herself slip that much. Of course, not all of it was directed at herself. Though she wouldn't dare look directly at Ziska for the rest of the day unless spoken to, she seemed to squint every time she came into her field of vision. Which she was, unfortunately, at the time of the briefing. Directly across from her in the circle of equals. Ingrid could only wonder why this happened in the first place... Her arms were sore but she remained standing at attention as the Colonel spoke, not letting the fatigue show. Back when she was younger, the thought of committing what was effectively banditry written off as asset acquisition would've been unthinkable. Far below her status, or pretty much anyone's. Now she had grown a little more sensible, perhaps. Beyond wishing to be in better times, she would do nothing. This sort of thing is a fact of war. "They're hardly a hospitable group," she said in agreement with the tankers - the mere tankers. "If they seek to cooperate with us, I've seen no such hail from them yet - and we've a web of diplomatic ties to navigate. However, we should not leave them in the cold--" Ingrid shivered a little as she remembered how cold she is. "--because they could have some sort of use down the line. Establishing a means of communication will be of use, but I don't see the trouble being worth the reward yet." On the mission itself, and its current topic...she immediately showed some hesitation. "Sir, while I understand the outcome behind your suggested action," she said to the Colonel, looking him straight in the eyes after glancing away, "do you believe that firing on unarmed transports will end up being in our favor? The enemy certainly holds the public's attention at this time, and handing them a ready-made propaganda piece about firing on non-combatants - even if they are military personnel - would not be advantageous for receiving aid from anyone on this planet." ...She thought for a moment, and added something more. "In the worst case scenario...future employers, as well."</s>

<|description|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke As depicted wearing the military uniform of her noble house, which is what she's going to wear in most occasions. On the shorter side. Callsign: Ramrod, assigned to her by the others. She thinks it means "ramrod straight" but it just refers to the size of the stick up her ass. Age: 30 Character Archetype: Stuffy Noblewoman Character's Guiding Motto: "Fachwissen ist der Grundstein des Rittertums!" (lit. Expertise is the cornerstone of Chivalry! There's a very long and boring story about how this came to be the family's motto as a result of their actions during the Age of War. It's in German because they take their familial LARPing very seriously.) Character's Fatal Flaw: Complete unwillingness to bend princples. Acting the part of a proud knight is important in every single action and interaction, even if there's no honor left to defend. Character's Expertise: Decorum, Swordfighting, Diplomacy. Nationality/Allegiance: Lyran/House Daschke (defunct) Background: House Daschke effectively no longer exists. When it did exist, from the early 25th century until about two years ago, it was a minor noble house ruling over the small Lyran Commonwealth planet of Poulsbo on the Marik border alongside the (comparatively) more famous House Astra. Despite their relative obscurity, the planet's proximity to FWL space meant that it did see action often during the Succession Wars and proved itself at least somewhat useful to Lyran national interests. As the second-in-line to the family title, she still insisted on being trained to the same degree that the heir presumptive, her elder sister did. She excelled...but that didn't do anything to affect her position in the family at all. She was committed, however - even if that meant she'd be stuck as retainer to her sister for the remainder of her natural life, she wanted to see House Daschke proliferate and expand. House Daschke did not proliferate and expand, mostly because it was successfully scattered to the four winds after a sudden and unexpected betrayal by House Astra. To condense centuries of political intrigue into one sentence, the other nobles of Poulsbo saw House Daschke as being far too sycophantic toward the interests of House Steiner in opposition towards the near-independence minded nature of Poulsbo's population. The events of the takeover were confusing at best, and at the end of it, Ingrid was left running for the hills and presumed herself to be the sole living member of House Daschke - thus, Duchess apparent. So far were these hills that she managed to end up at the complete opposite end of the Free Worlds League. Most of her ancestral funds had been spent in a failed attempt to regain Poulsbo with no progress made and little else to show, so she basically just threw herself at the first mercenary command that would take her - Gawain's Green Knights, joining within the last year. Vehicle: An OSR-2C Ostroc given the edgy pet name of Susser Todd, the pride of the Daschke family line. Previously well-maintained through prior generations despite the 'mech's relative rarity, it's probably in worse condition now that Ingrid's been piloting it without the support of a noble house.</s> <|message|>Born Tereza Aranda, but as far as anyone in the Green Knights knows, her name is Emma Ziska. Ziska --- Ziska heard screaming. She heard talking. Her head hurt. Her face hurt. She could taste something metallic in her mouth, streaming slowly between her lips. Blood. Her own blood. She ran a hand along her head, until she felt a stab of pain that left her cursing. The cut was deep enough. It would keep bleeding. It would annoy her. Smashing a hand angrily the nearby circuit break panel, she spoke calmly to herself,"Get up. Get up. Get up...Get up, Ziska." The leg actuators spun with fresh power as Ziska carefully moved her throttle, giving the shaken battle computer ample time to register the granular movements. Trying to see through fresh layer of red, Ziska gently moved her pedals, trying to find purchase on the ground beneath her. Metal groaned, demolished armor plates twisting, and then breaking off as the RVN-3L began to move. Somehow, improbably, the battered light mech stood up. Lying down was death. Standing still was death. Fighting was probably death. But Ziska had almost died several times. It didn't bother her. It didn't worry her. They'd drawn blood. Her blood, but she'd cut them too. The active NARC beacon still flashed happily on her HUD. One way or another, there would only be one RVN-3L standing. Forcing her BattleMech to stand, Ziska wiped the worst of the blood from her face with the back of her hand. The comms chatter annoyed her. Killing was a business. A job was supposed to be done cleanly. She didn't need her feelings to kill. She didn't hate the Crimson Fists. A job was a job. A kill was a kill. But better them than her. "You talk to much, you all talk too much," she hissed, shivering with a fresh pang of pain that dug into the front of her forehead, Doc wouldn't be happy, Reya would probably complain, and the Colonel would have some helpful advice Ziska decided with a heavy note of resignation. Not bothering to key her mic. Let them think her wounded. Let them think her already dead. They'd find out soon enough. "Giggles," Ziska said, shifting her wounded RVN-3L into a shuttering gate as she ignored the alarm klaxon and warning symbology that glittered in front of her,"Kill this trash." They needed to kill the enemy RVN-3L. They needed the ECM back. They were out of time. The other RVN-3L had to die. She wouldn't weather another volley of LRMs. Her RVN-3L wouldn't survive more LRMs. She had no armor left for the Longbow to sandpaper. It was time to gamble, Ziska knew, it was time to be clever, and it was time to see how cool the Crimson Fists were under fire. Hearing the tell tale swoop of burning rocket engines, Ziska saw a hail of LRMs thundering towards the enemy RVN-3L. She didn't miss the single SRM missile that followed soon after. Deftly dancing to the side, Ziska aimed her own weapons at the RVN-3L and let loose another alpha strike. Overkill was the only kill as Thrice Hanged had always said.</s> <|message|>Aroxty Sameve " Looks like we got ourselves a talker, gentlemen," Aroxy grumbled sarcastically. The other crewmembers cackled at the chatter of radio static. They'd long learnt to deal with intimidation and threats during the long course of their campaign. All of it was mere play, mere theater meant to mess with your head. A moment of hesitation or fear was an opportunity to exploit and the Crimson Fist knew exactly what we was playing at. The entire crew braced for any impact, Takka ready to readjust the bearings of the tank at a moment's notice. The thick clearing of the forest line was not good tank country but any cover was better than getting skewered by a laser or being blown to smithereens by an LRM. Aroxy couldn't believe their crew's luck. In their arrogance, the three Fists had focused on the mechs they had continued attacking rather than the tank. The Wolfhound hadn't even glanced in their direction. It was the best target rich environment a tank crew could ask for. Helma didn't wait for Aroxy's permission as she loaded another AP round, the chamber coughing out a empty brass shell before her black oil-coated fingers inserted in a fresh round. Ansel meanwhile adjusted the spray of their LMG towards the Wolfhound, sending a hail of round towards the mech as it lumbered towards the Raven Hawk. It might as well have done as much damage as a spitball but it was better than nothing. " Finish off that son of a bitch Wolfhound and get a lock on that chickenshit Jenner that's harrassing us!," Aroxy shouted. As if on cue, the SRM batteries on the Merry Go Round's cupola popped out, aimed at an upward angle towards the swerving Longbow. The barrel was already in the process of aiming towards the crippled Wolfhound.Takka had already seem to read Aroxy's mind before the words had even left his mouth. The familiar sound of Merry-Go-Round's cannon made his ears bleed. The acrid smell of rocket fuel then hit his nose as a barrage of SRMs were let loose towards the damaged Jenner.</s>

<|message|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke Ingrid rocked once more, this time sent forward! The explosions of a set of high-yield missiles were coupled with the instantaneous beeping in her helmet's speakers that warned her of a sudden and completely unexpected shot to the back. An early warning system like this had saved her life plenty of times before, but this time it was merely redundant. Returning the Ostroc to its full stance, she did a backpedaling three-point turn that brought the machine about-face as fast as she could. That Jenner was going to be a pain until she could get rid of it - but first, the life of her comrade was more important. Her limited readout of Ziska's Raven's status on her screen flashed critical warnings, and a quick glance to the right revealed the same thing - the bird-like mechanical form on the ground, smoking from fire and pushing itself back upward. If there was one thing they couldn't afford, it was losing her... She offered a mostly redundant call of "Alleycat! Full retreat, don't waste your time here!" before she did much the same. It took too long for her tastes to line the shot up on the much more nimble Jenner, and she knew she was making a sloppy, dangerous shot, but if anything would spell out "Hau ab" to the enemy pilot, it was this. Four barrels of fire, four tubes of missiles, all fired at once in its direction. After that, she'd run for the hills, or the storm cell at least. The heat around Ramrod flashed once more, violently, and this time it stuck. Regardless if she hit, if anything was going to scare it off...</s>

<|description|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke As depicted wearing the military uniform of her noble house, which is what she's going to wear in most occasions. On the shorter side. Callsign: Ramrod, assigned to her by the others. She thinks it means "ramrod straight" but it just refers to the size of the stick up her ass. Age: 30 Character Archetype: Stuffy Noblewoman Character's Guiding Motto: "Fachwissen ist der Grundstein des Rittertums!" (lit. Expertise is the cornerstone of Chivalry! There's a very long and boring story about how this came to be the family's motto as a result of their actions during the Age of War. It's in German because they take their familial LARPing very seriously.) Character's Fatal Flaw: Complete unwillingness to bend princples. Acting the part of a proud knight is important in every single action and interaction, even if there's no honor left to defend. Character's Expertise: Decorum, Swordfighting, Diplomacy. Nationality/Allegiance: Lyran/House Daschke (defunct) Background: House Daschke effectively no longer exists. When it did exist, from the early 25th century until about two years ago, it was a minor noble house ruling over the small Lyran Commonwealth planet of Poulsbo on the Marik border alongside the (comparatively) more famous House Astra. Despite their relative obscurity, the planet's proximity to FWL space meant that it did see action often during the Succession Wars and proved itself at least somewhat useful to Lyran national interests. As the second-in-line to the family title, she still insisted on being trained to the same degree that the heir presumptive, her elder sister did. She excelled...but that didn't do anything to affect her position in the family at all. She was committed, however - even if that meant she'd be stuck as retainer to her sister for the remainder of her natural life, she wanted to see House Daschke proliferate and expand. House Daschke did not proliferate and expand, mostly because it was successfully scattered to the four winds after a sudden and unexpected betrayal by House Astra. To condense centuries of political intrigue into one sentence, the other nobles of Poulsbo saw House Daschke as being far too sycophantic toward the interests of House Steiner in opposition towards the near-independence minded nature of Poulsbo's population. The events of the takeover were confusing at best, and at the end of it, Ingrid was left running for the hills and presumed herself to be the sole living member of House Daschke - thus, Duchess apparent. So far were these hills that she managed to end up at the complete opposite end of the Free Worlds League. Most of her ancestral funds had been spent in a failed attempt to regain Poulsbo with no progress made and little else to show, so she basically just threw herself at the first mercenary command that would take her - Gawain's Green Knights, joining within the last year. Vehicle: An OSR-2C Ostroc given the edgy pet name of Susser Todd, the pride of the Daschke family line. Previously well-maintained through prior generations despite the 'mech's relative rarity, it's probably in worse condition now that Ingrid's been piloting it without the support of a noble house.</s> <|message|>Jonathan McCord Jonathan McCord Jon considered the words as they were spoken, listening carefully. The majority of the Guard in the south, FPA divided, loyalists dissolved and most interestingly, the Fists split up into three lances. It wasn't the objective, but the tactician within him couldn't help but look at the mechs within the cave and the open country on the map and think about how they could win. The Colonel was right, they obviously couldn't trade against attrition, but off-paper, on the field, he could see the dagger forming. He breathed in a bit deeply and crossed his arms and thought as the briefing continued. It was possible. There was a glimmer of it in the Colonel's tone, but he understandably needed to keep his people focused. They could still lose easier than they could win. The unassociated callsigns of the mechwarriors that would be within his taskforce didn't mean a lot to Jon other than novelty. He wasn't sure about the connections to the machines other than the Raven pilot, but he was reasonably certain two of them were standing right in front of him and that Steel Rain would be the Von Luckner. It just fit. The Green Knights seemed to have a more casual nicknaming culture than the TDF. More slides clicked and he found it amusing how quickly the whole presentation had been thrown together and how both the Colonel and Cassandra seemed to be in their element addressing everyone, both for different reasons. When his name was mentioned more than a few scrutinizing glances were directed his way: The private that had confiscated his rifle, a senior tech with two prosthetic limbs and a host of others gave the most critical glances. Being accompanied by the infantry force was a good thing, not just tactically, but he and Dalton had a common doctrine. Jon knew better than to think it made them friends, but on the field, they would be of a similar mind. "Reasonably doable" was about the most command-centric phrase he had ever heard and produced the tiniest of smirks across his normally permanent poker face. That was a gem that deserved to be saved for later. People that were willing to blow themselves up for a cause weren't usually keen on reason or being captured. Likely the best they could hope for was that if any of the fanatics survived the ambush, they'd be too maimed to resist or kill themselves before the infantry could move in. He wondered how many EOD grunts were in the company. Running a successful maneuver and then losing men after action would be shit. The thought put a tension in his chest and he exhaled while the briefing continued through the other ops that didn't involve him. He knew the area around the dam well as it was within his AO under his contract with Cassandra. They would have surprise, but he doubted the Knights knew the country as well as him and crazy people with bombs strapped to their bodies, or whatever else, tended to be unpredictable. Marit spoke up and posed a good question about the intel on the Fists and the Colonel was likewise quick to answer. Considering the Knights' raid, an end-around the base of the mountains wouldn't make a lot of sense from their intel perspective, but it wasn't out of the question either. The dam was another story. The Tie Shan River Dam was different from most inland hydro-electric structures, working almost like a lock system and a dam in one. When the tide receded, the water was released through the generators and likewise when it rose, the flow was restricted keeping the shoreline along the east side at roughly the same level all the time and making for some pretty good fishing. The work shifts mirrored this schedule by design. Jon reckoned if he was a crazy bastard, the best time to hit it would be at shift change in the morning, right after third was headed home and when first had just arrived. The generators would be getting their first big run of the day and most of the workers and security would only barely be awake a couple hours at most. There would be just enough light to be inconspicuous in a large truck and still be able to navigate the narrow highway near the dam. The energy that even a small explosion would multiply while the blades were turning at full rpm would rip apart the whole structure. He only nodded at Raven's suggestion and glanced briefly in Cassandra's direction at the hint of a timetable. A motion he knew would not go unnoticed with her. They would be flying out soon and he could get himself in position before the others arrived. He knew of a good spot and the sight of his Marauder was not unknown to the dam crew. Whether or not to tell the employees to come to work would be up to Cassandra. The dam had to run, but any tip that AVC was wise to the Sword's scheme would likely result in somebody else, somebody without the time to or capability to prepare, getting suicide bombed. Jon was glad he didn't have to make that call. If they were there, he could at least prep them; more eyes open and alert would be to their advantage. The only other thing was the biggest one: Who was going to be in charge of this little soiree? He knew who it wasn't going to be.</s> <|message|>Aroxty Sameve As they awaited further orders from Colonel Wayne, the crew of the Merry Go Round mired in their own musings, along with the rest of the camp who were waiting to see what the outcome of the deliberations would be. Allying themselves to a powerful ally like the Aqua Vitae Corporation was bound to have consequences down the line, but they weren't exactly in a position to be fickle. They were desperate, low on morale and hungry for some inch of victory. Aroxy only hoped that this wouldn't mean the downfall of the Green Knights. When Colonel Wayne called them for assembly, Takka merely yawned, lounging back, as the rest of the crew began dusting themselves off from their weary naps to go be briefed. Aroxy gave the evil eye at Takka, silently demanding an explanation for his lax behavior. " Well, you heard what the man said," Takka began counting on his fingers. " Infantry. Mechwarriors. Techs. We're heavy material so - GAH!" Helma began tugging on his cheek with her index finger, pulling the crew driver. " Keep complaining, Takka, and I'll beat your ass until it's black and blue." The briefing ensued and Aroxy couldn't help but shudder at the task they were assigned. It wasn't a usual heavy slug fest in open fields where a Von Luckner thrived. It was guerilla warfare in closed, urban locales with hostiles that engaged in tactics that Aroxy despised. All was fair in war, but disguising yourselves as civilians was the worst sort of sin. He'd seen too many soldiers during the Free Worlds Civil War who went to hug a seemingly innocent child only to be turned into red mist a moment later. " Shit, why even bring Merry Go Round to this?," Takka murmured to the rest of the crew. " Ain't a shooting gallery. All our turret will be doing is saluting half mast to these limp dick extremists…" " Shut up, Takka." Aroxy whispered before addressing the colonel. " Colonel, are you sure it's wise to post Steel Rain to Mission Alpha? Such an urban locale isn't good tank country and we're liable to lose valuable war material in the process."</s> <|message|>Colonel Gaius Anthony Wayne "Your concerns are valid," Colonel Wayne answered, "but I should clarify. The area on the far side of the dam is populated, but sparsely. The fishing villages are spread across a fairly wide area along the coast. And the area on the near side is mostly heavy woods and rolling hills. There is the possibility of collateral damage, but it's not likely. As long as you keep Merry-Go-Round's main turret pointed away from the dam, there shouldn't be much to worry about." "As for why I selected you for Task Force Alpha," he continued, "I do share the same concern about the Von Luckner's primary weapon in this mission. But its secondary weapons are why I chose it. The short-range missiles should pack enough punch to dispatch any vehicles the Heavenly Sword sent in, with less chance of a stray shot going too far afield and endangering civilians. And the machine gun and flamer can make quick work of infantry and light vehicles. Unless they've got heavier equipment than they showed off in Yuzhny Portveyn, in all likelihood you won't need to fire off the autocannon at all."</s>

<|message|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke Before anything else in regards to Ingrid's estimation of this news, let it be said that she would be keeping personal watch over the Ostroc, sleeping beside it in the cold nights if need be. Scrap-hounds...just try and take what you can from this machine. You'll find an extra 89cm of refined Poulsbo steel to go with it, mark her words. In the hazy part of her mind, she could already imagine the threats she'd make should she find someone crawling by with a fusion cutter at the dismal hours of the morning... Beyond that quibble, as large as Ingrid made it in her mind, the thrust of this new base of operations was that it would be less defensible but more easily evacuated. Not that they'd have much ability to do anything at all if they were scattered at this point, but at the least, some of the civilians could escape and try to find an out in hiding. They could only hope that this place and the tunnels beneath them - double-edged sword as those were; the enemy could probably move through them even faster if found - remained a secret. And, given their distance to any number of enemy strongholds, none of the more loutish personnel got drunk and wandered away... With the announcement of her own assignment, Ingrid's eyes turned to Wyatt for an estimation of her reaction - not harshly, but simply questioning. She didn't quite know what herself to expect from working on foot, even if she didn't doubt her own, or Reya's either, ability to act cool under pressure. There was a unique danger present here, and she would be prepared for it shortly, but could she expect the same of an engineer? True, some part of her wished that she was going to be in Susser Tod, but she wouldn't question the assignment out loud. The location concerned her in more ways than one, though. With a rigid stamp of the boot she stood up, as she often did during these briefings, and spoke to the Colonel once allowed to speak: "First, sir, are we allowed our own arms?" She could've meant many things, but a brief reflexive grip of the saber on her belt suggested she wanted to bring something all the more archaic and conspicuous. "Beyond that, given our contact's location...what are we to expect from Stiletto themselves? Is there anything known about this individual?" She wanted to know how sober the two of them could expect Stiletto to be, but that was already too harsh on their contact...</s>

<|description|>Reya Wyatt Nickname/Callsign: None really, sometimes goes by 'Rey' for short. Age: 25 Gender: Female Position: Weapons Engineer - Primarily Beams (Pulse, Standard & PPC) Nationality: Draconis Combine - Tabayama Prefecture Biographical History: The outlying borders of Draconis territory make for a picturesque mix of wide open woodlands and mountainous expanses across the inhabited Earth-like worlds of the Tabayama Prefecture. Mining and agriculture are the primary functions of the populace in respect to the Combine economy and there is little chance of upward movement aside from being within the nobility of the interstellar trade bureaucracy. For generations the line of Wyatt heirs governed the movement of raw materials and assets far enough away not to draw the inquisitive eyes of the capital and still profitable and efficient enough to go relatively unnoticed. It was a careful equilibrium for Denton Wyatt, the same patient dance explained by his father and the same one he only practiced explaining to his daughter. Her younger brother would be the rightful successor to the Administration when he was older. There had been female heirs before, but it was not the preferred in the Way and the arrival of Reya's younger brother brought about some repose for Denton, however there was no denying that Reya was much different than her contemporaries. She was bored by politics, trade and customs, having few real friends, while her mind placed her easily at the top of her classes. The word "prodigy" was used regularly by her instructors in relation to her studies and it was obvious that even the most exacting curriculums afforded to Combine nobility were of little difficulty for her. If only such a mind had fallen to a male heir.. was the quiet sentiment among the local circles of nobility. If nothing else, the prospects of high-level university training at the prestigious Imperial Institution of Technology closer to the capital were essentially a guarantee and the thought of marrying her off to one of the ministry families seemed almost a waste of her abilities. It was an unexpected problem. For Reya, there was no real enjoyment in the life of nobility. It was merely all she had ever known. If something was needed, there was a servant to take care of it. From meals, to wardrobe, to social outings- everything fell into place nicely, the same as it had for generations. As she grew older and became more self-aware of her status and much higher than average aptitude, the world of her family, their mountain feudal compound and their noble social caste became increasingly small and unchallenging. Granted there were some ideas and beliefs in the traditions she found naturally appealing, she knew the socially focused day to day life of her mother in politics supporting her father was not for her and that university would be the only other admissible path. The arrangements were made and she was accepted into the most difficult curriculum: beam weaponry and particle physics. In some ways university was more rigorous in that for the first time in her life, she had true competition for head of the class with most of her classmates also coming from various noble backgrounds. However, from a social standpoint, the rigid structures were much the same as being back home. There were the same servants and monitors that took care of handling every small detail so that all focus could be set upon studies, only the faces were different. For the first time in her life, Reya began to feel a pang of actual revulsion towards her own nobility. Though she knew that failure or quitting were sentiments that could not even be remotely entertained, she could at least, for the time at hand, use her father's own strategy of doing well enough to go purposefully unnoticed and she set her mind to things she enjoyed: hands on work; placing consistently at the head of lab practices, but always holding her efforts back in academics, spending her time looking for something that would take her out of the caste systems, even if just for a little while when she graduated. The expeditionary forces always had need of capable engineers out in the distant periphery and with the increases in pirate activities the monetary reward was getting substantial for anyone willing to risk their neck on the frontier. Unfortunately, she knew no commander would likely take on a high-ranking nobleman's daughter knowing the level of reprisals should any harm come to her. Any hope of adventure or freedom was going to have to come from outside the regular channels, somewhere where plausible deniability was going to have to be the criteria rather than the exception. With even base-level astechs being highly desired, picking up a Combine trained engineer for a song was too good a deal to pass up, but there was a catch: The girl was going to have to set herself up and sell any prying eyes on joining something no less than just another private expeditionary force on the level, something she seemed, for some reason, to have wholly planned and was surprisingly efficient. It was an odd situation at first, something like seeing a piece of fine china set in place at an underground pub, but Reya became a regular fixture and something like a filter to new members of the crew. Her work was always top-notch, but finding people willing to put up with her eccentricities usually was a good sign that they were worth their salt. She demanded little, did her job, and once the defensive layers could be navigated, was as loyal a crewmember as could be asked. At present, Reya has been with Colonel Wayne for about two years as an invested partner in the company. Occasionally she has to carefully deflect probing questions from her parents, particularly her mother wondering why she hasn't married, but with her father's main focus divided between raising up her brother in the trade bureaucracy while continuing to perform the job to Combine standards himself, it has been fairly easy for her to continue on without gathering a lot of unwanted attention. She has access to a tremendous amount of her family's wealth and connections, but only draws from it in amounts inconspicuous enough to go unnoticed by the myriad of servants, bureaucrats and underlings that manage the multiple layers of her family's accounting practices. With the current revolution on Espia, she has been forced to pull more and more to keep the company afloat while the Green Knights have been cut off from their contracted revenue stream. Personality: Despite the setting, it is very difficult for Reya to not exude the airs of her upbringing to newcomers to the squad. She can be vain, aloof, immature and egotistical. Attributes for which she is fairly self-aware and actually enjoys to some extent particularly in situations where she is confident that her understanding is the highest in the room. Conversely, she wants to be liked and trusted by others and tries to use her work rather than her status to gain that appreciation from others without having to overtly work for it socially. Apropos, she is very hands-on and detail oriented in her engineering projects. Nothing is ever viewed as whole, only parts working together in a system that has the potential for improvement. Her tendency to over-analyze and master the peculiars of various weaponry can sometimes slow her down in the mires of perfectionism and she likewise becomes very attached to her projects. A mechwarrior returning with a heavily damaged unit, even through no fault of their own, will often receive a piercingly disapproving glare upon return. Reya doesn't view her investment in the Knights as a "job" or even that much of a lucrative business maneuver. Being with the company checks a number of personal yearnings for rebellion, adventurism and challenge. She's not a warrior by any stretch, however, over time she has simply found herself more at home with her company of mechwarriors and technicians than she ever really felt in the sterile and composed backdrop of nobility. Assets: A bright orange sportbike that she uses to get around when they are at port. A myriad of tools, diagnostic equipment and their associated storage. A few worker drones and a large stereo system- tends to listen to music at deafening levels while she works.</s> <|message|>Colonel Gaius Anthony Wayne "Your concerns are valid," Colonel Wayne answered, "but I should clarify. The area on the far side of the dam is populated, but sparsely. The fishing villages are spread across a fairly wide area along the coast. And the area on the near side is mostly heavy woods and rolling hills. There is the possibility of collateral damage, but it's not likely. As long as you keep Merry-Go-Round's main turret pointed away from the dam, there shouldn't be much to worry about." "As for why I selected you for Task Force Alpha," he continued, "I do share the same concern about the Von Luckner's primary weapon in this mission. But its secondary weapons are why I chose it. The short-range missiles should pack enough punch to dispatch any vehicles the Heavenly Sword sent in, with less chance of a stray shot going too far afield and endangering civilians. And the machine gun and flamer can make quick work of infantry and light vehicles. Unless they've got heavier equipment than they showed off in Yuzhny Portveyn, in all likelihood you won't need to fire off the autocannon at all."</s> <|message|>Duchess Ingrid Daschke Before anything else in regards to Ingrid's estimation of this news, let it be said that she would be keeping personal watch over the Ostroc, sleeping beside it in the cold nights if need be. Scrap-hounds...just try and take what you can from this machine. You'll find an extra 89cm of refined Poulsbo steel to go with it, mark her words. In the hazy part of her mind, she could already imagine the threats she'd make should she find someone crawling by with a fusion cutter at the dismal hours of the morning... Beyond that quibble, as large as Ingrid made it in her mind, the thrust of this new base of operations was that it would be less defensible but more easily evacuated. Not that they'd have much ability to do anything at all if they were scattered at this point, but at the least, some of the civilians could escape and try to find an out in hiding. They could only hope that this place and the tunnels beneath them - double-edged sword as those were; the enemy could probably move through them even faster if found - remained a secret. And, given their distance to any number of enemy strongholds, none of the more loutish personnel got drunk and wandered away... With the announcement of her own assignment, Ingrid's eyes turned to Wyatt for an estimation of her reaction - not harshly, but simply questioning. She didn't quite know what herself to expect from working on foot, even if she didn't doubt her own, or Reya's either, ability to act cool under pressure. There was a unique danger present here, and she would be prepared for it shortly, but could she expect the same of an engineer? True, some part of her wished that she was going to be in Susser Tod, but she wouldn't question the assignment out loud. The location concerned her in more ways than one, though. With a rigid stamp of the boot she stood up, as she often did during these briefings, and spoke to the Colonel once allowed to speak: "First, sir, are we allowed our own arms?" She could've meant many things, but a brief reflexive grip of the saber on her belt suggested she wanted to bring something all the more archaic and conspicuous. "Beyond that, given our contact's location...what are we to expect from Stiletto themselves? Is there anything known about this individual?" She wanted to know how sober the two of them could expect Stiletto to be, but that was already too harsh on their contact...</s>

<|message|>Reya Wyatt Not being a military person, the Colonel's barked orders always had a very theatrical feel to Reya. She didn't really jump or move any faster even though she knew he was completely serious. She just sort of moved because it suited her to know what was going on and she respected him as a good man and a leader. The ones that snapped to ramrod attention and clicked heels, giving the whole nine-yards, always seemed a little comedic to her. She crossed her arms with a scrutinizing glance as the briefing got underway and particularly as Cassandra spoke. Whatever it was about this person that continued to elude her was driving her insane in the back of her mind, not just because she couldn't remember, but because she always remembered. She arched an eyebrow at the part about editing public records to keep the knowledge of a hidden subterranean tunnel network a "family secret". Even though it was about to be their ticket out of the cave, the whole thing sounded more than a little dubious in relation to Jeong family history. Considering it was also once Star League infrastructure, she was fairly certain that Comstar likely had the unedited planetary surveys. Questions filled her mind behind her eyes: How did they build it? What did they use to do the digging? Where was it now? How much of the tunnel network was natural formation?. The fact that it was supposed to be secret knowledge is what made her want to know. The prospects of a 21 acre scrapyard however did make a certain part of her heart soar. Proper mechbays, tools and room to work sounded almost as good as upgrading their living conditions. She had everyone's beams dialed in to run a little hotter using Espia's natural climate to help the heat sinks do their work along with pulling a little extra damage, and it seemed like some of the mechwarriors even preferred it, especially Ingrid. Often in the midst of the other work that filled her days, she had thought about how they could use that preference. They needed another edge the next time they met the Fists, who by this time had likely salvaged some of her previous work and started gleefully installing it on some of their mechs. Her lips pursed slightly at the thought. It was like fine artwork stolen and hung up in the gutter shanty of a criminal. She had some ideas, but their limited resources hadn't allowed much opportunity. Again she thought about the Ostroc's original Totschlagen SRMs. She wanted to keep at least one of them because they were so rare and in case they ever needed to refit the mech back to original spec for some reason. She was definitely going to make sure Sol didn't turn them into blasting charges. Trapped in a battle for survival and you're being a hoarder. She thought to herself. She shrugged one shoulder at no one in particular. Yep. What she hadn't expected was for her name to be called out for another mission. She didn't know what a "dive" bar was, but instinctively glanced over at the still smoking Ziska at the first mention of it. Unlike the raid, there wasn't a pang of apprehension in her stomach at the legitimate prospect of violent death, apropos, being with Ingrid and a contingent of the 'Boys in plain clothes felt very reassuring and dealing with people as a representative of the Knights was more her forte. She caught Ingrid's glance from the corner of her eye and thought that maybe Lyons would have the particulars, but her soon-to-be partner went ahead and questioned the Colonel directly, in front of everyone. Are we going to be using our own names? Something about Ingrid's tone towards the Colonel or the way she said the words, made the bizarre question echo forward in Reya's mind. She assumed the answer would be, No. Obviously. That would be ridiculous, but it felt more like a strange premonition than an inquiry she would ever verbalize. She shook her head a little and glanced at Tarak for a moment before looking back at the Colonel.</s>

<|description|>Pyrus Age: 27 Star Sign: Scorpio Blood Type: AB- Spirit Ally: Pyrus' spirit ally is a massive wolf named Lobo. At one point, Lobo was the 'king' of the American Southwest, leading a large pack and terrorizing farmers and native tribes alike. It was only when Lobo's mate was killed by a pack of hunters that he was drawn out. Seeing no reason to live, Lobo allowed himself to be captured and he eventually starved himself to death. In death, Lobo's spirit roamed the Southwest, calling out for his mate. One day, he and Pyrus found each other. Finding kinship in their shared loneliness, Lobo became Pyrus's spirit ally on the condition that he would assist him in searching for Blanca, Lobo's mate. Oversoul Medium: Pyrus's main medium is a bracelet made from wolf bones that he wears on his right arm. In addition, he is also able to manifest Lobo's spirit inside his own body as well and 'sync' with him, turning Pyrus into a wolf for a period of time. Oversouls: Lobo Utlunta By placing Lobo's spirit in Pyrus's bone bracelet, Lobo is able to manifest as a pair of large claws on Pyrus's hands. Lobo's spirit can manipulate the shape of the bones, allowing Pyrus to extend/fire the claws forward like spears. Skinwalker Thanks to intense training from his mentor Quarta, Pyrus is able to use his own body as a medium and 'merge' with Lobo's spirit. This form grants Pyrus the strength and speed of a wolf as well as sharpened senses. The drawback is this form consumes a large amount of mana, so it's only used in dire situations. Background: Life was never easy for Pyrus. Being born in the Kee Tribe of Native Americans, his mother died in childbirth and his father died on a hunting trip shortly thereafter. Viewing him as a 'bad omen', Pyrus was outcast from the tribe and left to fend for himself. One day, he found himself being chased down by a pack of vultures when his cries for help caught the attention of Lobo, who's arrival awakened Pyrus's shamanic power. A nearby Patch shaman named Quarta sensed this awakening and brought Pyrus and Lobo to the Patch Tribe where they began their training. Having lost a child of her own, Quarta became a mother figure to Pyrus in addition to his teacher. Pyrus joined the Darkstars as a means of repaying the Patch tribe for letting him in among them and to travel the world in the hopes of finding Lobo's mate and reuniting them.</s> <|message|>Pyrus Welcome! Place Character Sheets in the characters tab if you want to join. Once you receive approval on your character, you are welcome to start posting in the RP. OOC is reserved for meta stuff like determining how fights flow, lore, etc. Let's have a good time and don't forget... Look around you, look beyond.</s> <|message|>Pyrus A scream could be heard coming from the house of the Patch chieftain as Goldva awoke from a nightmare. The recently named Patch Chieftain was struggling to adjust to her new guardian ghost, the Patch Tribe's Big Chief. The spirit of a former chieftain, Big Chief was passed from chieftain to chieftain and harbored a collective knowledge of the Patch's history. This knowledge presented itself in the form of prophetic dreams. Whenever she went to sleep, Goldva would receive a vision in the form of a dream. Tonight however, something was different. As Goldva struggled out of bed, her thoughts drifted back to the dream she'd just had. The Big Chief had shown her a vision of Hao Asakura, the shaman who 400 years had reincarnated into the Patch Tribe and made off with the Spirit of Fire. It had been a humiliation for the Patch Tribe and many chiefs had sought to protect the four remaining high spirits at any cost. In the dream, she saw Hao sitting with the Spirit of Fire, only for Hao to split into two! The second Hao proceeded to become covered in shadow and morph into a new form, covered in darkness, but without the Spirit of Fire. The young chief's eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together. "A second Hao..." Her voice came out as barely a whisper before the realization of what she said sunk in. If another shaman were to acquire the power of Hao Asakura, the results could be disastrous. Taking a moment to compose herself, Goldva strode over to her window and summoned the Big Chief into her pipe. For the last 400 years, the Patch had been preparing for a moment like this: The Darkstars. A special task force composed of shamans from around the globe. Shamans who could have competed for the title of King had they been born at the right time. Channeling her pipe into the Patch Arrow, Goldva shot it skywards. The arrow soared into this air, leaving behind a trail of brilliant green light. Shamans who were part of the Darkstars task force would see the light and be summoned to the Patch Village. As per the agreement with the Asakura Clan, the Patch couldn't intervene in their affairs with Hao, but this was a unique case, deserving of the best forces the Patch could muster to protect the Great Spirit. As it reached the zenith of its flight, the arrow burst as the green light scattered around the globe, alerting the Darkstars.</s> <|message|>Jarrah Ahmat Jarrah was headed to a client with Gaiya "walking" next to him and Coen floating behind him. Suddnley the warrior ghost noticed the light of Goldva's arrow. "Tjilku, look!" While Jarrah didn't like being called "child" by his ancestor he could tell the ghost was concerned about something and looked just in time to see the green light fade away. Concerned that the light meant what he feared it did he stopped and went back home. Since his appointment was only a routine check up of the wires he didn't feel too bad about missing it but he still wrote a message claiming a family emergency as an excuse. After he dropped the message off Jarrah left town and kept going for a fair distance to make sure he wouldn't be bothered sat down on the ground. Trusting his two ghosts to keep him safe from any dangerous animals, he began the practice of dadirri or meditation. Having closed his eyes he listened to his surroundings without saying or doing anything to empty his mind, eventually he went into a trance and opened his spiritual senses to the world around him and spent a few hours like that. What he learned during that time wouldn't have made any sense if he didn't already know about the Darkstars since it was all symbolic, including visions of an Eagle which he interpreted as either America or the Patch and an invented night sky where everything was bright but the stars themselves were countless dark spots. With his fears seemingly confirmed he went back home to pack for a trip to America, some part of him still hoping he was wrong. Before leaving he double checked if he had packed Coen's boomerang and that the string for Gaiya's tooth didn't show any signs of breaking.</s> <|message|>Fata Ndiaye It was days after the false comet has sailed across the sky that Fata appeared in the territory of the Patch tribe. She'd never been outside of her home continent before, and she was fully intending to get the most of sight-seeing... but that could come later. She did have a job to do after all, a duty to fulfill. Before leaving Africa she'd conferred with the spirits of the ancestors that had made their pact with the Patch in the first place, so she had at least some idea of what they looked like and where they could be found. She approached the village, padding along the desert with her friend floating in orb form beside her. The heat was bearable thanks to that, given the spirit's naturally radiating coolness. Her preparations hadn't been much. She had the basics, her mediums, and not much else. She expected the Patch to be generous hosts for whatever mission they would be needing from her. Fata didn't yet know what the summoning was for, only that it had happened. And, naturally, that it was important. She skipped the last few feet through the mountainous pass. Whether she was the first or the last of the illustrious "Darkstars" to arrive didn't matter to her. She smiled at the men who greeted her at the fringes of the village, looking up at them due to her stature being on the smaller side. "Your chieftess summons me," she informed them, showing her pearly white teeth. The two men looked at each other, and seemed to put two and two together after a few seconds. "You are one of the Darkstars?" The wider of the two watchmen asked, to which Fata nodded animatedly. "Apparently. Now take me to her, to..." She clicked her tongue a few times, conjuring the woman's name from her recent memory. "Goldva. Goldva! I would discuss the circumstances with her." The man jerked his chin in his chieftess' direction and turned to lead the way, leaving his partner at his post. Sango made a happy chirping sound, flitting around to take in the sights of the village. For her too it was the first time leaving her home, even in all her years of existing.</s>

<|message|>Pyrus Pyrus had been out on his travels when the green light moved across the sky. He and Lobo found themselves sitting on a deserted mesa following another failed search for Blanca's spirit. Pyrus struggled to get a campfire going while the wolf ghost forlornly looked out across the dark expanse. "Lobo, I know I promised you we'd find Blanca eventually, but it's been over a decade. Are you certain her spirit hasn't already passed on?" The young man heard an irritated growl rumbling in Lobo's throat. "Of course. You can still feel her presence, and that's more than enough reason for you to keep searching." After another strike, Pyrus had a small fire burning for warmth. He was about to stretch out on the bedrock when the night sky suddenly lit up in a brilliant green flare! It didn't take long for Pyrus to realize what it meant. "Lobo!" The Native American leapt to his feet as the wolf spirit bounded towards him, "Spirit flame mode!" Lobo's body vanished and a small silver fireball burned in his place. Taking hold of the ball, Pyrus spoke the command he'd practiced for emergencies such as this. "Spirit Unity! Skinwalker!" In a matter of seconds, the ghostly apparition of silver limbs appeared over Pyrus's arms and legs. The silver light extended across his body and covered his eyes in a wolf-like mask. With the oversoul completed, Pyrus turned his head in the direction of the Patch Village. Taking a leap off the mesa, the shaman hit the ground and took off running with a speed that would make an Olympic sprinter green with envy. The next day, Pyrus found himself sitting in a meeting hall with Goldva, the chieftain of the Patch Tribe. Little by little, new shamans began to trickle into the hall; the shamans who were to make up the task force known as the Darkstars. According to Quarta, Pyrus's mentor, the Darkstars came from all over the world and only convened in times of great distress. As this was the first time he'd ever been summoned, Pyrus wondered what event could have caused such a fuss that the Darkstars would be called.</s>

<|description|>Fata Ndiaye Age: 27 Starsign: Aquarius Bloodtype: B+ Origin: West Africa Guardian Spirit: Sango A seirei-class spirit known as a Fangool, in this case a protective and sacred river entity. Sango takes the form of a large and colorful cobra, with a human-like chest and arms. She has a light-hearted personality, loves jokes and romance and is always willing to give others advice - whether they ask for it or not. Spirit Medium: She uses two, depending on the Oversoul she summons. The first are anklets made from the clay of a riverbed. The second are capsules of various liquids that she keeps strapped to her person beneath her robes. Pangool are known as spirits that love offerings, and the liquids function as both offering and medium. Oversouls: Saloum River Serpent - Takes the form of a snake-like tail that envelopes Fata's legs and abdomen. It gives Fata incredible movement capabilities, being able to move swiftly as if swimming through water over ground and obstacles. The tail is flexible and able to wrap around people and objects as well, though that is not it's main purpose. Split Arms: Ndepp and Loup - Tendrils that form around one or both of Fata's arms. They are capable of functioning as short-to-mid range whips, flails, maces, needles, and ropes - because they can easily change their shape to suite the situation. They are prehensile and capable of precise movements, and more than strong enough to lift things into the air. Depending on the type of liquid Fata uses as a medium, it will change the properties of the tendrils slightly. The most drastic of changes is in using blood as the medium, which significantly shortens the range of the tendrils but also gives them healing abilities. Background: Being the daughter of a tribal priest, Fata's future as a shaman was pre-determined. When she came of age and it was time to seek out a spirit partner for herself, Fata traveled the length of her country in order to bond with one of the Pangool that her culture revered. Eventually she found an ally and friend in Sango, a Fangool that happened to save Fata's life when a storm washed her into a river. They've been together ever since. The experiences Fata had while traveling became a part of her strength. When she returned home to continue her training, she proved to be adept at handling the flow of furyoku and spirit unity. This extends into her Oversouls as well, as what she lacks in strength she more than makes up for in speed, control, and fluidity. Years later when the green star sailed across the skies of Africa, Fata answered the call as the new high priestess of her people to fulfill that old promise between tribes.</s> <|message|>Pyrus Welcome! Place Character Sheets in the characters tab if you want to join. Once you receive approval on your character, you are welcome to start posting in the RP. OOC is reserved for meta stuff like determining how fights flow, lore, etc. Let's have a good time and don't forget... Look around you, look beyond.</s> <|message|>Pyrus A scream could be heard coming from the house of the Patch chieftain as Goldva awoke from a nightmare. The recently named Patch Chieftain was struggling to adjust to her new guardian ghost, the Patch Tribe's Big Chief. The spirit of a former chieftain, Big Chief was passed from chieftain to chieftain and harbored a collective knowledge of the Patch's history. This knowledge presented itself in the form of prophetic dreams. Whenever she went to sleep, Goldva would receive a vision in the form of a dream. Tonight however, something was different. As Goldva struggled out of bed, her thoughts drifted back to the dream she'd just had. The Big Chief had shown her a vision of Hao Asakura, the shaman who 400 years had reincarnated into the Patch Tribe and made off with the Spirit of Fire. It had been a humiliation for the Patch Tribe and many chiefs had sought to protect the four remaining high spirits at any cost. In the dream, she saw Hao sitting with the Spirit of Fire, only for Hao to split into two! The second Hao proceeded to become covered in shadow and morph into a new form, covered in darkness, but without the Spirit of Fire. The young chief's eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together. "A second Hao..." Her voice came out as barely a whisper before the realization of what she said sunk in. If another shaman were to acquire the power of Hao Asakura, the results could be disastrous. Taking a moment to compose herself, Goldva strode over to her window and summoned the Big Chief into her pipe. For the last 400 years, the Patch had been preparing for a moment like this: The Darkstars. A special task force composed of shamans from around the globe. Shamans who could have competed for the title of King had they been born at the right time. Channeling her pipe into the Patch Arrow, Goldva shot it skywards. The arrow soared into this air, leaving behind a trail of brilliant green light. Shamans who were part of the Darkstars task force would see the light and be summoned to the Patch Village. As per the agreement with the Asakura Clan, the Patch couldn't intervene in their affairs with Hao, but this was a unique case, deserving of the best forces the Patch could muster to protect the Great Spirit. As it reached the zenith of its flight, the arrow burst as the green light scattered around the globe, alerting the Darkstars.</s> <|message|>Jarrah Ahmat Jarrah was headed to a client with Gaiya "walking" next to him and Coen floating behind him. Suddnley the warrior ghost noticed the light of Goldva's arrow. "Tjilku, look!" While Jarrah didn't like being called "child" by his ancestor he could tell the ghost was concerned about something and looked just in time to see the green light fade away. Concerned that the light meant what he feared it did he stopped and went back home. Since his appointment was only a routine check up of the wires he didn't feel too bad about missing it but he still wrote a message claiming a family emergency as an excuse. After he dropped the message off Jarrah left town and kept going for a fair distance to make sure he wouldn't be bothered sat down on the ground. Trusting his two ghosts to keep him safe from any dangerous animals, he began the practice of dadirri or meditation. Having closed his eyes he listened to his surroundings without saying or doing anything to empty his mind, eventually he went into a trance and opened his spiritual senses to the world around him and spent a few hours like that. What he learned during that time wouldn't have made any sense if he didn't already know about the Darkstars since it was all symbolic, including visions of an Eagle which he interpreted as either America or the Patch and an invented night sky where everything was bright but the stars themselves were countless dark spots. With his fears seemingly confirmed he went back home to pack for a trip to America, some part of him still hoping he was wrong. Before leaving he double checked if he had packed Coen's boomerang and that the string for Gaiya's tooth didn't show any signs of breaking.</s>

<|message|>Fata Ndiaye It was days after the false comet has sailed across the sky that Fata appeared in the territory of the Patch tribe. She'd never been outside of her home continent before, and she was fully intending to get the most of sight-seeing... but that could come later. She did have a job to do after all, a duty to fulfill. Before leaving Africa she'd conferred with the spirits of the ancestors that had made their pact with the Patch in the first place, so she had at least some idea of what they looked like and where they could be found. She approached the village, padding along the desert with her friend floating in orb form beside her. The heat was bearable thanks to that, given the spirit's naturally radiating coolness. Her preparations hadn't been much. She had the basics, her mediums, and not much else. She expected the Patch to be generous hosts for whatever mission they would be needing from her. Fata didn't yet know what the summoning was for, only that it had happened. And, naturally, that it was important. She skipped the last few feet through the mountainous pass. Whether she was the first or the last of the illustrious "Darkstars" to arrive didn't matter to her. She smiled at the men who greeted her at the fringes of the village, looking up at them due to her stature being on the smaller side. "Your chieftess summons me," she informed them, showing her pearly white teeth. The two men looked at each other, and seemed to put two and two together after a few seconds. "You are one of the Darkstars?" The wider of the two watchmen asked, to which Fata nodded animatedly. "Apparently. Now take me to her, to..." She clicked her tongue a few times, conjuring the woman's name from her recent memory. "Goldva. Goldva! I would discuss the circumstances with her." The man jerked his chin in his chieftess' direction and turned to lead the way, leaving his partner at his post. Sango made a happy chirping sound, flitting around to take in the sights of the village. For her too it was the first time leaving her home, even in all her years of existing.</s>

<|description|>Narantuyagiin Bataar Place of Origin: Mongolia Background: In Mongolia, everyone has what is known as a Sülde; a guardian spirit. Sometimes it is an ancestor, sometimes it is even someone they knew, sometimes it is the spirit of a shaman or a lord or even a great historical figure. Everyone is watched over by a Sülde. As a child it was discovered that Bataar's Sülde was a great and powerful one; something that was seen as a sign that he would do great things in life. It was decided that he would train as a shaman, to learn to harness the power of his Sülde and use it to protect his people, to learn and preserve their traditions and to prepare for whatever life had in store for him. When the call came from the Patch Tribe for shamans to help deal with a great evil, he was ready to answer it. Guardian Spirit: The Khan; a former leader of Bataar's clan from several hundred years past, before the Mongols could even claim to have an empire. A man of great renown and strength. Medium: Lightning-struck drum; made from wood taken from a tree that was struck by lightning and with skin made from a horse's skin. An important artefact in Mongolian Shamanism, the drum is said to represent the mount that carries the spirit to the shaman when invoked. Oversoul: Bataar's oversoul takes on the form of a giant drum held against his side; when it is summoned ethereal storm clouds float around Bataar and the drum.</s> <|message|>Pyrus Welcome! Place Character Sheets in the characters tab if you want to join. Once you receive approval on your character, you are welcome to start posting in the RP. OOC is reserved for meta stuff like determining how fights flow, lore, etc. Let's have a good time and don't forget... Look around you, look beyond.</s> <|message|>Pyrus A scream could be heard coming from the house of the Patch chieftain as Goldva awoke from a nightmare. The recently named Patch Chieftain was struggling to adjust to her new guardian ghost, the Patch Tribe's Big Chief. The spirit of a former chieftain, Big Chief was passed from chieftain to chieftain and harbored a collective knowledge of the Patch's history. This knowledge presented itself in the form of prophetic dreams. Whenever she went to sleep, Goldva would receive a vision in the form of a dream. Tonight however, something was different. As Goldva struggled out of bed, her thoughts drifted back to the dream she'd just had. The Big Chief had shown her a vision of Hao Asakura, the shaman who 400 years had reincarnated into the Patch Tribe and made off with the Spirit of Fire. It had been a humiliation for the Patch Tribe and many chiefs had sought to protect the four remaining high spirits at any cost. In the dream, she saw Hao sitting with the Spirit of Fire, only for Hao to split into two! The second Hao proceeded to become covered in shadow and morph into a new form, covered in darkness, but without the Spirit of Fire. The young chief's eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together. "A second Hao..." Her voice came out as barely a whisper before the realization of what she said sunk in. If another shaman were to acquire the power of Hao Asakura, the results could be disastrous. Taking a moment to compose herself, Goldva strode over to her window and summoned the Big Chief into her pipe. For the last 400 years, the Patch had been preparing for a moment like this: The Darkstars. A special task force composed of shamans from around the globe. Shamans who could have competed for the title of King had they been born at the right time. Channeling her pipe into the Patch Arrow, Goldva shot it skywards. The arrow soared into this air, leaving behind a trail of brilliant green light. Shamans who were part of the Darkstars task force would see the light and be summoned to the Patch Village. As per the agreement with the Asakura Clan, the Patch couldn't intervene in their affairs with Hao, but this was a unique case, deserving of the best forces the Patch could muster to protect the Great Spirit. As it reached the zenith of its flight, the arrow burst as the green light scattered around the globe, alerting the Darkstars.</s> <|message|>Jarrah Ahmat Jarrah was headed to a client with Gaiya "walking" next to him and Coen floating behind him. Suddnley the warrior ghost noticed the light of Goldva's arrow. "Tjilku, look!" While Jarrah didn't like being called "child" by his ancestor he could tell the ghost was concerned about something and looked just in time to see the green light fade away. Concerned that the light meant what he feared it did he stopped and went back home. Since his appointment was only a routine check up of the wires he didn't feel too bad about missing it but he still wrote a message claiming a family emergency as an excuse. After he dropped the message off Jarrah left town and kept going for a fair distance to make sure he wouldn't be bothered sat down on the ground. Trusting his two ghosts to keep him safe from any dangerous animals, he began the practice of dadirri or meditation. Having closed his eyes he listened to his surroundings without saying or doing anything to empty his mind, eventually he went into a trance and opened his spiritual senses to the world around him and spent a few hours like that. What he learned during that time wouldn't have made any sense if he didn't already know about the Darkstars since it was all symbolic, including visions of an Eagle which he interpreted as either America or the Patch and an invented night sky where everything was bright but the stars themselves were countless dark spots. With his fears seemingly confirmed he went back home to pack for a trip to America, some part of him still hoping he was wrong. Before leaving he double checked if he had packed Coen's boomerang and that the string for Gaiya's tooth didn't show any signs of breaking.</s> <|message|>Fata Ndiaye It was days after the false comet has sailed across the sky that Fata appeared in the territory of the Patch tribe. She'd never been outside of her home continent before, and she was fully intending to get the most of sight-seeing... but that could come later. She did have a job to do after all, a duty to fulfill. Before leaving Africa she'd conferred with the spirits of the ancestors that had made their pact with the Patch in the first place, so she had at least some idea of what they looked like and where they could be found. She approached the village, padding along the desert with her friend floating in orb form beside her. The heat was bearable thanks to that, given the spirit's naturally radiating coolness. Her preparations hadn't been much. She had the basics, her mediums, and not much else. She expected the Patch to be generous hosts for whatever mission they would be needing from her. Fata didn't yet know what the summoning was for, only that it had happened. And, naturally, that it was important. She skipped the last few feet through the mountainous pass. Whether she was the first or the last of the illustrious "Darkstars" to arrive didn't matter to her. She smiled at the men who greeted her at the fringes of the village, looking up at them due to her stature being on the smaller side. "Your chieftess summons me," she informed them, showing her pearly white teeth. The two men looked at each other, and seemed to put two and two together after a few seconds. "You are one of the Darkstars?" The wider of the two watchmen asked, to which Fata nodded animatedly. "Apparently. Now take me to her, to..." She clicked her tongue a few times, conjuring the woman's name from her recent memory. "Goldva. Goldva! I would discuss the circumstances with her." The man jerked his chin in his chieftess' direction and turned to lead the way, leaving his partner at his post. Sango made a happy chirping sound, flitting around to take in the sights of the village. For her too it was the first time leaving her home, even in all her years of existing.</s> <|message|>Pyrus Pyrus had been out on his travels when the green light moved across the sky. He and Lobo found themselves sitting on a deserted mesa following another failed search for Blanca's spirit. Pyrus struggled to get a campfire going while the wolf ghost forlornly looked out across the dark expanse. "Lobo, I know I promised you we'd find Blanca eventually, but it's been over a decade. Are you certain her spirit hasn't already passed on?" The young man heard an irritated growl rumbling in Lobo's throat. "Of course. You can still feel her presence, and that's more than enough reason for you to keep searching." After another strike, Pyrus had a small fire burning for warmth. He was about to stretch out on the bedrock when the night sky suddenly lit up in a brilliant green flare! It didn't take long for Pyrus to realize what it meant. "Lobo!" The Native American leapt to his feet as the wolf spirit bounded towards him, "Spirit flame mode!" Lobo's body vanished and a small silver fireball burned in his place. Taking hold of the ball, Pyrus spoke the command he'd practiced for emergencies such as this. "Spirit Unity! Skinwalker!" In a matter of seconds, the ghostly apparition of silver limbs appeared over Pyrus's arms and legs. The silver light extended across his body and covered his eyes in a wolf-like mask. With the oversoul completed, Pyrus turned his head in the direction of the Patch Village. Taking a leap off the mesa, the shaman hit the ground and took off running with a speed that would make an Olympic sprinter green with envy. The next day, Pyrus found himself sitting in a meeting hall with Goldva, the chieftain of the Patch Tribe. Little by little, new shamans began to trickle into the hall; the shamans who were to make up the task force known as the Darkstars. According to Quarta, Pyrus's mentor, the Darkstars came from all over the world and only convened in times of great distress. As this was the first time he'd ever been summoned, Pyrus wondered what event could have caused such a fuss that the Darkstars would be called.</s> <|message|>Jarrah Ahmat Some time after he left Australia Jarrah arrived in America and headed for the land of the Patch. While he walked as much as possible because it was Gaiya's preferred way of traveling, even letting Coen take over his body during more dangerous parts he also hitchhiked. Not having a lot of money he entertained whoever gave him a ride with stories and boomerang tricks. In towns in order to buy food and such he would act as a street performer/storyteller. Sometimes he would bet that he could pull off literally impossible tricks using his Coen possessed boomerang, but never for large amounts of money. Traveling this way Jarrah eventually arrived at the land of the Patch, slightly richer than when he arrived in America. At first he didn't know if he had met up with the right native Americans but after confirming that most of them could see his ghosts he was sure of it. He walked up to a random Patch member and explained his situation. "Could you tell me how to find the person that created the green light a while back?"</s>

<|message|>Narantuyagiin Bataar It was two weeks before Bataar reached the village of the Patch. Settling matters in his home and arranging travel had taken a day, travelling to the coast by foot and finding a boat heading to America had taken almost a week by itself, followed by several days of cross the ocean by steam boat and then finally another trek across the heartland of America to reach his destination. Incredible. Truly, the world was more connected now than it had ever been before. To cross half the globe in so short a time would have been unthinkable in his teacher's day; hell, it had been unthinkable for him too until he had set out on what he had expected to be an arduous journey, only to find it far easier than expected. The world outside his home had advanced while they had been dragging their feet and being stuck in the past; that advance had brought wonders that awed and humbled him. They also worried him. The journey had been eye opening in many ways. Bataar had seen things he had never imagined he would see on a scale that staggered him, but he also saw less than he had expected. Fewer spirits, fewer places where they could be, fewer people who knew of them and even fewer who cared. Many years ago, his teacher had told him that their way of life was dying out; their traditions and their spirituality. Snuffed out in some cases. Bataar had thought he understood. He did not, until now. Arriving at the Patch village was like coming home, after all of that. A place where spirits and people lived together. A place where the old ways flourished. Approaching the village, Bataar waved to those he could see, catching the attention of the warriors on watch and waiting for them to come to him. As he did, he conversed with his Sülde. "What do you think Khan? Do you have any idea why the Patch called us here?" The spirit in question appeared at his shoulder; taller even than Bataar, broad shouldered and wearing the traditional armour and battle gear of the steppes, the man looked pensive as he considered Bataar's question. "I do not know for certain, but I feel… something strange. I've felt it since the night we first saw the arrow. Something is amiss." Cocking an eyebrow, Bataar turned to regard the spirit who had accompanied him since childhood. "Amiss? More evil spirits?" The Khan shook his head. "No, this is something else. As I said I do not know, but I am sure that this is part of the destiny that led me to you." "That so?" It was now Bataar's turn to look troubled. "I thought we were already done with that business years ago. I can't imagine anything being worse or more urgent than that night." The Patch warriors drew close enough to be within earshot and Khan faded away without another word. Bataar let them lead him into the village to where the other Darkstars were to meet with the one who had called them here; he was not the first to arrive, it would seem.</s>

<|description|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel * Gender: Female * Appearance: "... Don't ask." With the appearance of a child no older then 10, Aleksiya can still put off a surprising amount of menace. * Abilities: Aleksiya is known as the Ice Princess for a reason. In addition to a high capacity with blood magic, Aleksiya specializes in magic that permits the manipulation and creation of ice. Ice created by Aleksiya is extremely cold, enough to produce a burning sensation on contact with unprotected skin and prolonged contact causing tissue damage. She can rapidly form ice in different shapes, commonly in the form of spears and spikes to be used as projectiles. Given sufficient time, she can even freeze a target solid. Before her death and revival, she could freeze targets much more rapidly. But her signature technique is the combination of Blood and Ice magic. By freezing blood, she can enhance blood projectiles to fly further and penetrate more deeply, raining shards of frozen ichor upon her foes or creating exotic patterns of crimson frost to use as a barrier. Her second title was earned due to the use of her favorite weapon, a scythe composed entirely of frozen blood that she can create at will as long as she has sufficient blood to manipulate. She does not need physical contact with her own blood, or disembodied blood, in order to freeze it and alter its shape. Therefore, an enemy who gets her blood on them could easily be unaware of the danger until too late. When given enough excess blood, she is capable of manipulating the blood in her body to force herself to operate at a higher degree of strength and speed. This technique is known as Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel, and is the origin of one of her titles. Excess Blood forms in icy veins stretching from her back, twisting together to resemble a pair of wings, where it can be stored for use to maintain this form. It is crucial that she maintains the 'wings' and does not overuse this technique, as the strain from the manipulation of her own bloodflow can cause her veins and many internal organs to rupture. While this may not kill her outright, it would be catastrophic in battle. Her most powerful technique, Endless Crimson Crystal Prison, is currently too complex and requires far too much power and blood for her to activate. On activation, ice rapidly encases the target, who is then skewered by numerous spears of ice before being frozen completely solid. The target is left a permanent ice sculpture, a bizarre art piece filled with gleaming spears. An overkill technique intended to be used against large or particularly stubborn foes, it has slipped from her grasp due to the lengthy period of time she spent dead. * Personality: Arrogant and cruel. Sadistic and capricious. These are words that describe the demeanor of the Ice Princess Aleksiya. High-handed, judging those around her by if they offer value only in how much they amuse her, this is the Crimson Reaper's attitude. But, while describing her in this manner is not necessarily incorrect, it perhaps does not capture the whole picture. It's impossible to deny Aleksiya's sadistic streak, and she is cruel to her enemies and will often speak in a callous and unforgiving manner. Her smug attitude is no exaggeration either. But, in spite of this behavior, she shows favor to the weak and downtrodden, those who suffer under the thumb of the kind of people who recklessly abuse their own power. Human or vampire, those who prey upon the helpless are viewed scornfully by Aleksiya, who reserves her cruelest acts for those who show such cruelness themselves. She is especially sensitive to the plights of children. She will at times exaggerate her more cruel and villainous streak specifically to grow her reputation, but it isn't uncommon for her softer side to show through. In some respect, her willingness to serve Ichor is likely due for the sake of providing further structure to the world's current state, in hopes of punishing those who exploit the weak. Regardless of her softer side, Aleksiya's arrogance cannot be overstated. She has nothing but confidence in herself, and her abilities, and will mock and belittle any that she sees as beneath her. * Bio: Aleksiya was born to a noble family, long ago. As nobility went, they were quite fair-handed, and loved their daughter, showering her with affection and spending as much time as they were able to with her. The Ravennarts were also friends of another neighboring family, the Mierret, and Aleksiya frequently played with their youngest daughter, a girl of her age named Brigette. Aleksiya and Brigette rapidly became close friends, and spent many days together playing in and around the grounds of her family's mansion. Unfortunately, these days were not to last. Tollivor Burian, head of the Burian family, had long held a rivalry with the Ravennarts and the Mierret. Manipulating minor nobles, he was able to stage a surprise attack on the Ravennarts' mansion during a celebration where much of the Mierret family, including Brigette, were present. In spite of their best efforts, their defenses eventually crumbled, and Aleksiya and Brigette's families were slaughtered. Given no time to mourn, they were snatched away by Lord Burian, who claimed their lands and intended to use the young girls as trophies, enslaving them for the sake of a spiteful vengeance against his slaughtered rivals. Subjected to Lord Burian's cruel whims, the girls were frequently beaten and subjected to starvation, as the wicked lord subjected the common folk to monstrous acts for his own amusement. Aleksiya witnessed horrific tortures and cruel games carried out in Lord Burian's court, and was sometimes subjected to them herself. But she felt far worse pain when Brigette was targeted, as the other girl's health steadily wore down. One morning, she awoke to learn that Brigette had apparently died in the night, her body tossed away like trash. From that point onwards, Aleksiya did not care what else happened. She would take revenge on Lord Burian, and make him suffer for his crimes. But her young body could only take so much cruel treatment, and soon she too was cast out, starved and beaten, to die in the cold one winter's night. And yet, it was not to be. A figure she thought she recognized as a noble she had once met prior to Lord Burian's attack made her an offer of survival, and power, and she found herself accepting without a second thought. The next morning, Lord Burian was dead, his skinned corpse hanging from his bedroom window. Aleksiya Ravennart, now a vampire, claimed ownership of the land that once belonged to her family, as well as the lands of the Mierret and Burian families. The nobles who participated in her family's slaughter were killed, their heads displayed on pikes and their properties absorbed into Aleksiya's territory. From this point on, the girl's life was one filled with that which brought her pleasure. Finery, sweet blood, and punishment for the wicked. As time went on, she became more and more active in moving against those who had earned her ire, and her reputation as the Ice Princess grew. Her manipulation of ice grew to become quite famous. Unfortunately for Aleksiya, not even her considerable magical capabilities were enough to save her from the surprise attack of the Hundred Paladins, and she was killed. In her last moments, her thoughts drifted to Brigette, and the smallest hope that she would see her once again... * Anything else: Carries a stuffed rabbit that belonged to Brigette. It is quite weathered by this point, but somehow mostly intact.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros From Dragan's perspective, this was the second time in two days that he'd been struck by silver. Fortunately, there was far less of it this time. And of much reduced quality. The blessed metal still burned, of course. But its corroded state meant that the bulk of his strength remained intact. The Death Knight hissed in pain as he was cut and knocked back, his hammer still in his grasp. He wasn't given much time to collect himself, as the paladin was on him, blade raised up and drawn back for a vertical cleave. Dragan only narrowly evaded the blow, sidestepping the swing. Given how much the skeletal knight had committed to that blow, Dragan was out of immediate danger as it tried to recover. The only issue was that they were both too close in for him to effectively get a swing in with a two-handed hammer. Instead, the vampire lord lashed out with his free hand, a plated fist crashing into the skeletal paladin's skull to attempt to knock him back before Dragan took up his hammer with both hands and swung for the open wound that he'd already made with his first blow.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha smiled as the Gorebats returned. "Go support the ones fighting that monster." The Cleric said, tilting her head. "I have quite the rude one to deal with here." She said hefting her axe onto her shoulder. She looked over this... Creature. It paid no due respect to Ichor by assisting in defending the Cathedral. Well, if it was to get in her way, then so be it. She gripped her axe with both hands. "Surrender to the Goddess, is what I would say but really, you'll just be yet another that doesn't care for my words today." With that, Akyasha launched herself at the monster. She just needed to distract it at the least until they had finished the other monster. Starting with dismemberment was good. After all, if it couldn't move because it's legs were gone, that made it easier on her. Her axe swung from her shoulders, hands guiding it to strike at one of the thing's "legs" if they could be called that. Meaning to cleave through leg and crush bone to prevent it from possibly reforming.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist That was a neat trick, wasn't it? Shadows retreated in the presence of purifying light, and this time, Ilena fled with it, dissolving into an amorphous blob of darkness as she slid between the legs and limbs of those that still fought, narrowly dodging through the gaps of the giant's furious strikes. So long as the paladin continued to expel its light so greedily, the shadow-witch had no reason to approach. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the Gorebats, so plump with blood that it was a shame to waste it on mere servants when the lords starved, but she stifled her hunger and instead turned her thoughts within. Within the black abyss that she had kept her two Exsanguinating Skeeters, Ilena began her profane surgery, stripping away carapaces, refolding wings, weaving together flesh and nerves, and instilling it all with shadow and bone. Flesh was but a weapon. And no matter how bright a light was, without heat it could not sear away a monster. From the puddle of darkness extended a slim hand, pointing towards the paladin's back as Dragan closed in from the front. "Dragonfly." And with the buzzing of six wings designed only to propel one forwards, a spear made of insect flesh bloomed outwards from that extended arm, ready to smash through ancient armor with nothing more than physical force.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- That little set of actions could have gone better, but Giselle didn't complain. This creature, as pitiable as it was, had still been a paladin. Even if he had never commanded respect for his political or religious views, his skills in combat commanded its own degree of respect, even now. And Giselle was an administrator and a creator, not a true frontline combatant, even if she had picked up some formidable skills over a millennia prior. She followed her momentum as her last strike was deflected up and away, shifting on her feet just in time to witness Dragan crater in its torso with his Warhammer. She had hoped for a victory then and there, but experience told her that it would not be so simple. Indeed, the skeletal beast reacted… poorly. Yet, they finally knew where the silver sword was, a fact that Giselle was not particularly appreciating as it was cast down at her, forcing her to rapidly and somewhat inelegantly scramble away from the threat. Nearby, the paladin itself had seemingly conjured up its own silver blade. The fight, it seemed, would only escalate from here. It took a split-second decision for her to decide to reinforce the male vampire lord. Injured by the silver weapon, she quickly moved to intervene, even as Dragan recovered. From the other side, Giselle double-teamed the paladin. Using the full reach of her scythe to stay out of reach of its blade, she swung out for his head as he was knocked back, intending to loop off his head entirely—or, at least, bring him off his feet, so that he could be smashed into the ground with a follow-up.</s>

<|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel Aleksiya danced backwards, the barrier of ice she had thrown up in a bid to deflect a direct attack dissipating simply due to the fact that it would never reach her. This undead paladin, and the great skeleton it was somehow associated with, were proving to be a greater foe then the prior enemies that they had been set against. But ultimately, that didn't matter. They would destroy it all the same. With the smaller undead preoccupied, the diminutive vampire's attention shifted now to the great skeleton, which was not being hindered in any direct way at the moment. Both of these bodies were their enemy, regardless of whatever it was that was the nature of their connection. Thus, both of them were to be taken into consideration. Taking aim at the monstrous skeleton's head, crystal ice spears formed once again as she sent them hurtling for the empty eyesockets.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel Moments before greeting Giselle in kind, Aleksiya was quite dismayed by the sudden embrace of a certain overly-zealous cleric. How irritating. Perhaps hate was far too strong a word, and Aleksiya did truly believe in Ichor, but the fanaticism displayed by Akyasha had always rubbed her the wrong way. That, and her lack of concern for personal boundaries. In spite of the situation, the diminutive vampire felt there was absolutely no reason to tolerate this invasion of her space. Small hands latching onto to Akyasha's arms, she irritably pushed them away and took a step back at the same time. "The fact we have returned to undeath is no reason to ignore personal boundaries," she complained with a huff, running fingers through her silvery hair, shimmering strands drifting into the air, "So refrain from invading mine, thank you very much." And that was that. Clearing her throat, a smirk crossing her lips as she had a moment to introduce herself, Aleksiya curtsied, bowing her head slightly. "As it has been far too long, allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Aleskiya Ravenn-" Her greeting was interrupted again, this time by the screech of some sort of terrible beast or undead. It was promptly followed by the cacophony of even more undead, screaming their withered lungs out into the night. "How dreadful," commented Aleksiya, crimson eyes narrowing, "I won't abide-" Pausing for a moment, the small girl placed her hand at her side. Nothing was there. For a brief moment, panic clutched at her heart like a fist(though she did her best not to show it), aand she immediately turned back towards the coffin she had departed from and quickly looked inside. Nothing. Aleksiya's small hands clutched, curling into fists, but she showed not a single sign of her frustration when she straightened. Instead, she chose to resume her reintroduction as if nothing had happened. "Now, where were we... Ah, yes, I am Aleksiya Revannart, the Ice Princess." She curtsied again. "I believe it's for the best if we depart, unless you want to languish in this dismal grave much longer rather then discovering what's going on," she added, her smirk having returned. Now she could leave, and find her precious belonging as soon as possible. Even if there were those mindless skeletons in the way. Aleksiya turned towards the gate and began to approach, with little care for the undead that lay ahead. They were no threat to the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel. Even in her current state, her body feeling weakened, her hunger impossible to fully ignore, she had no doubts. The first of the skeletons turned to face her, jaw hanging open as it lurched towards her, one arm raised. "Out of my way." Her pale arm flashed, and she felt it briefly come into contact with something firm. At least, until the object broke apart, crumbling under the impact of the back of her hand. The skeleton flew apart as it was lifted into the air, Aleskiya's backhand having shattered the side of its skull. @Pyromania99@Click This</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Sitting cross-legged atop her sarcophagus, Giselle's left eye imperceptibly twitched as she watched a nearby lid launch itself into space, before coming back down with an almighty crash. She frowned in displeasure at the interruption, lamenting once more the company that she was forced to keep on the day of her resurrection. It didn't quite help that she was still ambivalent about being brought back to unlife. Although in normal circumstances she was not too against receiving hugs and skinship from her trusted friends and certain acquaintances, in this moment of time, it took almost all her willpower to not scowl at the overenthusiastic vampire cleric as she was embraced. "Akyasha. Perhaps," she allowed, speaking curtly, before responding with more warmth to the younger looking of the two vampire lords that she had awoken with. Hopping up from her seat on her would-be sepulcher, she smoothed and fixed the hem of her black dress, teasing a thin strip of bare skin where her thigh highs met. "From my perspective, it has only been some weeks or months since we've last corresponded, no matter the real gulf in time, Aleksiya. Though, from princess to princess—" This time, she genuinely scowled, even as she spoke through the dreadful screeching that broke the dead peace of the garden. Giselle had wanted some more time to truly get her bearings, but it seemed even her fellow undead would not give her the proper peace and solitude for such a thing. "I believe we can save any formalities we wish to pursue for later. As much as I wish to wallow in despair of my own loss, perhaps I would also be better served doing so elsewhere," she dryly agreed, nodding at the smaller vampire. She was at least somewhat curious to see what awaited them at the cathedral, after all. Glancing towards the gate where hordes of mindless, feral undead creatures were beginning to gather, she probed herself, searching within her for her power reserves. With the hunger she felt, Giselle found herself wanting, very much so. Nonetheless, she reached out to the side as she materialized a blood-red lance to fall into her grip. Despite her unrivaled efficiency in blood magic, she felt the toll on her recently awakened body. Strained as is, she didn't dare attempt to transmutate the blood weapon into something less fleeting and more metallic, lest she needed the blood before she was able to feed on something in this cursed world. "Well, girls, let's clear the rabble, shall we?" Spinning her polearm in her hands, she stepped out to join her counterpart at the gate. This city had really gone to the dumps in the intervening centuries, if somebody was letting unshackled hordes of skeletons and goddess knows what else roaming about. Perhaps it needed some personal reorganizing. Advancing with a sweep of her lance, she smashed into a small group of shambling undead, the force of the blow tearing through their bodies and sending their bones clattering against the nearby stonework.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros A somewhat familiar sound clattered through Dragan's ears after he returned his fellows' greetings, with him taking but a moment to recognize what it was. Firearms. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with them, but they'd not factored into his tactics much. The kingdom he'd conquered had made use of a few, but they hadn't been enough to turn the tide against his undead hordes. Still, that meant the city was populated. Not much of a safe haven as it once was, but it was something, at least. "I believe it would be best for us to recover our strength, even if we must resort to beasts over man for the moment. We can hardly serve the Goddess fresh out of torpor, weakened as we are." Dragan replied to Ilena, deciding on pragmatism over taste. He could already tell that his abilities were heavily diminished from what they were. In his current state, Dragan doubted he could raise more than a dozen undead in an instant, where once he'd be able to reanimate several times that number. Unfortunately, the being that appeared before them was hardly a viable candidate for being fed from, even with his lowered standards. For one, it was a fellow vampire. The smell of rotten blood at least meant that this wretch could be slain without issue, whether it be from degenerating into a lowly beast or having incurred the Goddess's disfavor. Or, quite possibly, both. "Pitiful. I'll dispose of this one, and we can be on our way." Dragan sniffed down at the undead, forming a crimson rapier with blood magic to clutch in his hand. Not his preferred choice of armament, but a smaller weapon meant less blood used, and he needed to save as much as he could at the moment. He lunged forward, intending on staking the lesser undead through the chest.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist Putrid was the blood that stagnated within the corpses and the undead, while the air itself was abuzz now with the vibrations of the mosquitos' wings. Fortunate, that in such a ruined, desolate world, her servants would present themselves to her unbidden. Unfortunate, then, that her magic had been so drained that the creation of a single familiar was felt by her. Fallen from grace, fallen from might, fallen from stature. Ilena would pace herself then, and allow her kindred to exert themselves. One hand raised up, fingers wrapping around the form of two of the Exsanguinating Skeeters. She clenched her teeth, amethyst eyes burning with a dominating light, and then let out a quick shriek, one too high to register in the ears of her companions. The large insects shuddered for a moment, then immediately launched themselves into the first beastman to approach Luna, their proboscises piercing into his back while their wings lifted him airborne, even as he swung in vain to dislodge himself. But every movement caused his blood to quicken, caused his heart rate to rise even as his life essence was drained further and further. A drained corpse fell, bones clattering loudly enough to signal the rest of the vermin to the two vampires' presence. Ilena motioned for her new thralls to descend, their abdomens bright as apples, and she drew a small incision in each, drawing the blood out. "A sip to wet the tongue?" the shadow witch spoke, gaze turning towards her martially-inclined companions. "If not, then feast as you wish on those beasts."</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel "My, having to use my bare hands like this is so distasteful. I could really use a meal." One skeleton's arm was caught. Such a slow, crude swing, with a rusty old cleaver. Aleksiya's dainty hand twisted, snapping decrepit bones and redirecting the undead's swing, bringing the edge of the cleaver into the path of the other attacker's skull. With a crunch, worn and yellowed bone crumbled as the cleaver buried itself almost all the way through the undead's head, sending it stumbling backwards. The diminutive vampire finished off her attackers by swinging the armbones in her hand downwards sharply, crushing through their decrepit structure and sending them crumbling to the floor. She was hardly among the most physically powerful of the Lords, but at the same time these opponents were old and barely more then dust. It didn't take much to destroy them. And while she was weakened considerably... Raising her right hand, Aleksiya focused. She channeled the magical energy to her fingertips, her palm, and the air just in front of her immediately lowered in temperature as a circle of light materialized. At its center, moisture gathered, coalescing and condensing as it was chilled even more, a spinning orb of ice assembling itself. Ah... this wasn't quite as easy as it was before she died, but at the same time it wasn't particularly difficult either. A solid orb of ice drifted in the air, much the size and shape of a black powder rifle slug. Frigid mist drifted off of it, as it began to spin rapidly, its form blurring. And then, with a flash of blue light it rocketed from the center of the circle, directly into the head of the next nearest skeleton. The force of the impact from the dense ball of ice was sufficient to shatter the skull on impact, fragments of bone and dust scattering into the air. The shriek she'd heard was in the back of her mind, but she'd hardly admit to having any concerns. "I have little interest in remaining here any longer, so let's finish this rabble off, shall we?" @Pyromania99@Click This</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Disgusting. No matter how much Dragan was willing to ingest such putrid blood to regain his strength, it didn't change the fact that the smell alone was revolting. Regardless, he watched Ilena create her thralls, nodding in polite thanks as she offered the first sip of blood. "My thanks." Dragan gestured the blood his way with an application of magic, sipping slightly. He couldn't help the grimace that crossed his face at the taste of this vitae, but as he'd already told the other two, they had little choice in the matter at the moment. "In any case, if you insist on making corpses, it would be a waste for me to not use them to their fullest." His rapier in his right hand, Dragan raised his left and called forth his own specialty magic. Tendrils of sickly green energy extended from his outstretched hand, wrapping themselves around the bones Ilena had left. The skeleton quickly reanimated and rose, awaiting its master's command, whether it be delivered verbally or mentally. Dragan frowned. He knew torpor had left him weak, but to experience it was something else. He'd not had such difficulty animating the dead since his earliest nights as a fledgling vampire. Disgust at his weakness overrode disgust at the quality of the blood available in an instant, and Dragan surged forward, his hand wrapping around one of the mosquito-like insects before crushing it. A minute application of blood magic caused the blood to gather into an orb, and he ingested it as quickly as he could before beginning to move on to the rest. Of course, he only took an equal share, as was fair. There were still enough insects left for his two companions to feed on as they wished, if they wished.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha internally cheered herself on as perfectly as she executed the throw. That took down more of these shambling bones than she could have hoped to otherwise with such an oversized weapon. Perhaps she could have used it for a longer period of time had she more blood in her system, but she didn't. She was to reply to Gisella as she noticed three skeletons closing in to her. One was a small bit further out than the others, but moved at a slightly faster pace. One intended to skewer her with a pitchfork while the other attempted to cave her skull in. She couldn't let either of such things happen, of course. She moved towards and to the side of the pitchfork. She got a hold of the shaft of the improvised weapon and used her strength to easily reposition the skeleton as it held on. She held on to the pitchfork and spun around, forcing her victim to take the clubbing blow of it's fellow. The third was almost upon her in the few seconds it took to do so. As the original owner of the pitchfork crumpled to the ground from it's blow to the cranium, Akyasha spun around again and used the forks to grab the third around where it's neck had been at one point. With her foot she kicked the forks, and skeleton, up into the air soon making them land heavily on the second one with the club shatter the two skeletons apart. Letting go a sigh of relief, Akyasha picked up the club the second skeleton had and walked toward the on-coming horde. "Whatever that beast is, I fear we'd be hard pressed to hold our own at present." Akyasha said with a small sad note toward the end. "With that in mind, yes, let us move forward." She would press forward, using the pitchfork to swat at the heads of skeletons from a small bit of distance and the club to clobber them when she got close enough. All the while, Aleksiya and Giselle could hear her making small prayers to Ichor as they moved.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Gate @VitaVitaAR@Click This --- The skeletal creatures fell easily beneath their assault. As they slowly thinned the hordes of undead, they'd soon break through and find themselves heading towards the Cathedral area. The skeletal creatures would thin as they traveled, slowly becoming less and less common until they seemed to mostly be entirely gone. The only roadblock would appear…when they'd discover the gate to the Cathedral ward was shut tightly. The entire thing with its ornate gate, depicting serpents and clockwork imagery was completely closed, and there did not seem to be any immediate way to open it. The shrieks from the beast had gotten further and further away as they traveled, but it was clear that while they were faster than it was…it was slowly getting closer and closer to them putting the trio of vampires on a timer. Which meant, how to get around this gate? Perhaps they could destroy it if they pooled their might together? There was also any number of side streets to go down, alleyways and houses near the wall…perhaps there would be a way in through there? Alternatively, they could wait to face down this beast, whatever it was. Location: Alavaris Squalid Ruins Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- The insects commanded by Illena only struggled briefly to resist becoming her playthings. The thralls quickly drained their victims of most blood, the large proboscis doing their function perhaps, too well. Too easy, perhaps? Regardless of thoughts on that, the large insects would then present themselves to Illena. An incision. Sweet blood oozed from their abdomens. It was far from the perfect meal the vampires had ever had, but it was enough. The blood from the mosquitos seemed to have the odd effect of concentrating and purifying the filthy, rotten blood of these shambling half dead corpses. As Dragan turned his attention towards the corpse, it would shudder as a new soul from the world would find the body of its host, rising to its feet with a groan. Raising the dead would leave Dragan just as weakened as Illena had been from raising a single familiar. Indeed, their skills had deteriorated quite far. It seemed that even the basics of tasks seemed to escape them. Still…with enough blood and time, they would quickly regain their lost power. That just left them to head towards the Cathedral. Easy, in theory. Perhaps not so much in practice… The road the trio were on curved around the lower part of the city, eventually meeting up with the Cathedral from the northern end, going under the main gate bridge as well as going through most of the rest of the city in the process. This would eventually lead the trio to a bridge. A quite large bridge…that was completely broken, making the road impossible to pass in its normal state. The entire body of the bridge seemed to have collapsed at some point. There did not seem to be any immediate way across. There was a small path down some stairs, though, that seemed to lead into what was once one of the bridge's support legs. Rubble laid strewn about too, and there was the skeleton of some large creature lying alongside the road, about a hundred meter's long. A few what seemed to be half eaten corpses of the half dead creatures and insects seemed to be laying near its body, too.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist After the others went off to slay those in their path, Ilena partook in what remained of the concentrated blood within her thralls. The scent, unpleasant as it was, could be ignored, while the thickness of what she drank meant that nothing clung to the insides of her mouth after the fact. Perhaps it was closer to a pudding or a sauce than a liquid. Regardless, starved as they all were, it was bearable, perhaps even novel. "There's no reason to delay the instructions of the Goddess," Ilena responded, tilting her head towards Luna. "And there is no guarantee my familiar will return either." That was all that was needed, then, for the trio to continue forth, past the corpses that they've all created. Bones shambled and wings buzzed as they strode through the ruination, only for their path to be paused by the simple fact that the bridge was destroyed. Obscured by fog and darkness, the skeleton of some great beast laid, picked clean by scavengers that even now returned to the site in hopes of uncovering new scraps. No need to condescend then, even if there was the promise of more thralls below. Ilena raised her hand, grasping onto the legs of one of the Exsanguinating Skeeters. Its wings buzzed a bit faster, but it would hold her weight, as light and insubstantial as she was. She doubted that her might was substantial enough to craft her own wings. "I will take to the air then, and will extend the offer to the two of you as well." A glance towards the man in their company, fully armored as he was. Knights. So cumbersome. "But in your case, I suspect you will have to be ferried after the two of us, Dragan."</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros The blood went some way towards restoring a measure of Dragan's strength, but he was still far from what he judged to be an acceptable level of competence. Of course, he supposed this was still preferable to suffering true death, but his current weakness rankled nonetheless. As they reached the bridge, Dragan found himself tempted by the large skeleton on the side of the road. Oh, how those bones would make for a magnificent minion. But alas, he already knew that he lacked the power to raise such a skeleton for now. Even with the mosquito blood restoring a measure of his power, it would still leave him to drained to fight properly should he somehow manage to reanimate it. So for now, Dragan turned away from the bones, frowning beneath his helmet. Said frown only grew as he beheld the obstacle in their way, as well as Ilena's proposed method for circumventing it. While he supposed he could simply descend the bridge from the stairs and go along the bottom before climbing up with blood magic-granted agility, that was also a waste of time when their mission was to arrive at the Cathedral as soon as they could. So with great reluctance, Dragan nodded his assent to Ilena. "In my current state, I suppose I've no choice but to accept. You've my apologies for inconveniencing you so."</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide "I must admit," Luna began, "The state of this city has me worried of the rest of the lands. If it's in this terrible a shape, what remains of the other castles, the cathedrals? Perhaps I'm being impatient. I feel as though we'll know soon enough," she said, half-musing to herself. She continued, making idle talk, "Do any of you recall what you'd been doing before going under -before you awoke in the coffin? Without a familiar, I'm finding it difficult to guess how long I'd been in there." Stopping at the edge of the ruined bridge, Luna peered over the side. Dilapidated, unmaintained, filthy -Alavaris was well past its prime, long descended into obscurity and hauntedness that cried out in her mind as the first sign of an exceptionally long sleep. Whosoever remained of the past, besides themselves, surely had long since shifted and evolved into something unrecognizable. Besides feeding herself, acclimating to the new world already began to exhaust her spirits. Finding a place to live was foremost on her mind, aside from understanding Ichor's luring call. Luna extended a hand to follow in Ilena's suit, grabbing onto the spindly leg of another flying insect. From beneath her lightly-transparent veil, she smiled back at Dragan. "How many wings would Dragan take?" she giggled, "Do we actually have enough?"</s> <|message|>Akyasha "Perhaps there is even a way to scale the wall in some shape or form." Akyasha mentioned, looking along the street and houses. "The wall may have crumbled in places in our many years of absence with places we might be able to climb over. That said, you two, please feel free to get checking on ahead. I'm going to find a place where I can hide behind a building and get a peak at what pursues us. In the worst case that we can't find a way forward, perhaps if it's something big enough we can trick it into opening the path for us... As much as it would dismay me to destroy things in the cathedral district... I would find it sad but necessary in the worst case... Damage to the Cathedral itself however is unforgiveable." The Vampire Cleric said her thoughts on that matter. Giselle was on the move already so Akyasha smiled at Aleksiya as she found a nearby building she could peak out towards the approaching monster from. "I'm going to watch from there." The woman said before making her way over. She should be able to get a peak out without grabbing it's attention if she was careful enough. If there was anything to find, she was sure her sisters would find them.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Ancient Garden @VitaVitaAR@Click This --- Giselle and Aleksiya easily found their way down a small street near the wall. An alleyway wedged between it and a row of buildings. Even if they couldn't find a way through the closed gate, there was little room for whatever was following them to pursue them down this road. As luck would have it, however, they would find a side door that led into the walls interior. Slipping inside would show what was once likely a guard station. The room wasn't too big. Just enough room for a desk, a bookshelf, and a set of stairs on the opposite end of the room that led up and out of the room that seemed to lead up onto the wall. Weapons and armor laid old, rusted, forgotten inside their racks or armor stands. There was just one small, little problem. Between them and the stairs, was one of the undead that seemed to inhabit this place. It was hunched over, its body stiff and rigid as it struggled to move or stand. Decissicated flesh clung to its bones, giving it an old, leathery appearance. Its head twitched in an unsettling manner as it slowly turned to face the two that had entered the room. The moment that it laid eyes on the two vampires it responded with a high pitched, disorienting screech, loud enough to temporarily deafen the two vampires as it would slowly walk towards them. Akyasha would dash into a nearby building. Not perhaps, the smartest move all things considered. It offered shelter from whatever was hunting them, but she'd be lucky if the building was uninhabited entirely. At least, if nothing else an immediate scan of the surroundings seemed to reveal nothing aside from the fact that this seemed to have once been some sort of residential building. Outside, if she waited only a few moments she'd see the creature that had been slowly chasing them, or at least part of it. A skeletal hand wrapped itself around the front of the building, the tips of its bony fingers reaching in through the window and gripping the edges of the building as it seemed to drag itself along the ground towards the gate, stopping itself at the same house Akyasha had taken shelter in. Its ragged, ghostly breathing filled the streets as the skeletal creature's head swiveled from side to side, seemingly looking for something. Finding neither living nor the vampires, it shrieked and rose from the ground, using its hand to drag itself back down the street. She couldn't get a good look at it from here, but she at least could tell it was some sort of massive skeletal creature. Not that she'd get long to ponder it. The air around her noticeably chilled, a cold hand wrapping around her neck as a ghostly figure attempted to grab her from behind. Location: Alavaris Squalid Ruins Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- The skittering insects complied with the whims of the one they were enthralled by. Carrying the two women would prove a somewhat trivial task for the two insects. As Illena accepted Luna's hand to be ferried across the bridge, however, Dragan would become increasingly aware he was not alone. Perhaps he should have paid better attention to the corpses that laid by the skeletal creature that laid upon the road. Its bones shifted, the sound of earth and rock grinding against its body as it dragged itself to wakefulness while Illena and Luna attempted to cross the bridge. Its skeletal head passed right by Dragan as it lifted its long, serpentine body into the air. Scraggly, matted fur hung from its skull while its eyeless sockets and bestial skull stared down the vampire. It opened its jaws…and howled. Something was off about this skeletal creature, that much was certain as far as Dragan could tell. Even as weakened as he was, this creature in front of him was difficult to get a grasp on with his necromancy almost as if it wasn't quite dead. It would then attempt to slam its head right into Dragan.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel To be honest, there were more then a few reasons why Aleksiya didn't want to try breaking the gate down herself. For one, it was a part of this city and a valuable barrier. For the other, she wouldn't be able to stand being unable to do it. She couldn't let anyone see her fail. It simply wasn't an option, and she unfortunately couldn't be sure about her own capabilities given how hungry she was. Thus, the petite vampire really had no choice but to follow Giselle's lead. Thankfully, it seemed this choice was a fruitful one. The small door led them into a fittingly unimpressive room, but at least it was shelter away from all those obnoxious skeletons and whatever irritant was pursuing them. She'd pay it back tenfold for forcing them to rush in such an unbecoming fashion. Unfortunately, this particular bit of shelter was not unoccupied. There was another tenant, and sadly it wasn't even an interesting one. A dried out, desiccated, leathery corpse that didn't even appear to have any blood left inside of it. Was that all they were going to encounter here? Aleksiya was so hungry, too! She was already preparing to cast a spell when it suddenly screamed, letting out an awful, deafening shriek that left her ears ringing. Putting one hand to her head, the small vampire winced as she took aim. So shortly after she awakened, and she's met with such an obnoxious sound!? "Shut up!" A ball of ice formed at the tip of her finger, surrounded by circles of light for a moment before being sent hurtling through the air, aimed squarely at the undead's head. @Click This</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Ah. It seemed he'd missed a spot leading up to the bridge. Dragan raised his rapier with a frown, instinctively leaping out of the way of the skeletal beast's head slam. Dragan could chalk that up to his post-torpor weakness, but that would be making excuses. No, he simply hadn't been paying enough attention, it seemed. Something to work on for later. In the meantime, there was still the immediate matter to deal with. Dragan took up a fencing stance, calling back across the bridge as he did so. "There is little need to concern yourselves overmuch!" He yelled in his companions' direction before lunging forward, juking one way and then the other before leaping up and plunging his rapier straight into one of the beast's eye sockets. He would have to determine if this thing was truly alive or not before committing more to the fight.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Ancient Garden @VitaVitaAR@Click This --- The ball of ice formed, slamming into the undead's head with force enough to crack its skull open, making a large gash across the top of its head but not enough to put it down. Giselle followed up with her lance, the point of the weapon aiming for the wretched undead's 'heart'. Impact. The lance struck its target. The creature wailed, but there was no heart or blood beating in the creature's chest for her to eviscerate. It writhed on the end of her lance, screeching once again. And from the stairs beyond, they could hear a few shallow groans and raspy gurgles of more undead as some more fleshy zombies wearing what seemed to be old armor and weapons made their way down the stairs. Had this screeching one alerted them? They'd have only a few moments to gather more weapons here should it suit them. Giselle would find a nice selection once she had completely ended the one on her lance. Old, but still serviceable enough swords of varying lengths, spears, even a few war hammers. Akyasha would have a somewhat easier time. The ghost that had been attempting to choke the vampire out would soon find the tables being easily turned on it. Making a simple pair of blood-knuckles to smack something with was easy enough, the warm crimson liquid covering the entirety of her hand as she reached out, twisting the ghosts hand from her neck. It hissed a ghostly wail as she'd pull it closer, promptly slamming another fist right into its spectral face without pausing so much to get even a good look at it before it'd shortly dissipate into an ethereal dust. No doubt it'd be back soon enough without a proper sending off of some sort, but for now the ghost had lost its physical form. As she'd leave the building she'd be pleased to find the skeletal monstrosity had dragged itself back down the road. Most of the undead too, had fallen silent and had either gone into some sort of slumber or disappeared back into the houses or back with the skeletal creature. As she'd head down the road back towards the gate however, she'd notice something odd. Where an alleyway presumably existed on the opposite side of the street, Akyasha would notice something perhaps a little intriguing. A swarm of rats, scurrying down the alleyway. Large, over sized things with beady red eyes and fur as black as night almost as if they were shadows themselves. They disappeared shortly afterwards, down the alleyway. Well...it was probably nothing at all, but they certainly might help alleviate some blood thirst if you could get some... If not, then she'd easily arrive back at Aleksiya and Giselle soon just as the other undead began making their way down the stairs. Location: Alavaris Squalid Ruins Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- The beasts head slammed into the ground with a mighty thud, kicking up dust and debris as it seemed entirely unfazed by the fact it just headbutted the ancient stone bridge. As he dodged one way, the beast would slide its head and long neck across the bridge, trying to seemingly shove Dragan off of it, only for the vampire to successfully leap out of the way. The armored vampire would thus lash out with his rapier… And miss entirely. Well, sort of. The blade of the weapon seemed to bounce off something that was unseen, directing the blade from its eye socket down the side of its serpentine skill across what felt almost like some sort of smooth armor or perhaps hide. It seemed there was some sort of invisible barrier protecting the things bones. A low growl followed as the beast was suddenly assaulted from a second source. Illena's claws would fare just as well as Dragan's rapier had. Her claws never reached the bones, instead seemingly gripped what felt like some sort of smooth, hardened armor or carapace. The creature reared its head back, contracting its meter's long neck as it pulled itself away from Illena and her shadowy claws. Another roar that shook the air as it raised its long neck once more, not giving Illena or Dragan much time to strategize as it darted forward nimbly, mouth agape as it attempted to bite Dragan in two and it was too quick for him to merely dodge out of the way.</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Luna idly kept hold of the skeeter, its lazy, meandering flight ferrying her further to the other side of the bridge. Critical as the situation was the moment the half-dead beast awoke, Luna maintained a placid demeanor. A side-eye cast to Ilena at her question, and she looked skywards in thought. "I could nary command a ghoul to shatter its own neck, t'would be difficult with this one, I imagine," she answered. Still she hung on for a moment more after Ilena's dive, marveling at the brazenness of her assault, before opting to drop back onto the bridge lest she find herself soon floating above the yawning ravine between. Luna landed with a small stumble -she was never one for much acrobatics- before righting up and squaring off against the beast's maw. "But... I can try at least," she mumbled to herself. Luna unsheathed her saber, and her eyes flickered with crimson energy. The beast, seemingly half-reanimated and sporting an unseen barrier, reflected a lingering command from someone else magically-inclined, and perhaps long lost by this point. Even if its master was now dead, their presumed magic still puppeteered the beast; her enthralling magics would be a toss-up, she thought. Still, she stared it down with conviction. Luna's pupils flared -a starry flash of red- and she exerted herself to influence the creature, if even for a moment. "Halt, decayed creature!" she shouted. All she needed for now was a moment; just one moment to slow its movement and grant Dragan the second to dodge.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha was glad to be rid of that ghost. She was ready to meet up with her comrades... However, the shadowy looking rats... Well, it didn't seem like Aleksiya or Gisella was too keen on her anyway. They probably wouldn't even notice she was still missing. Well, if she could recover some of her strength, then it would be worth it. She could summon some cute helpers if she managed enough blood. "Guide my path, Goddess." Akyasha said before she took steps towards where those rats had went. She was cautious whilst she moved about, caring not to awaken any more of the undead guardians of this forsaken place.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Invisible protection around this beast? How vexing. Dragan narrowed his eyes as he observed Ilena's claws fare no better than his blade. Brute force didn't seem to be an option with the power he currently held, but magical assaults were still in play. Before the former paladin could capitalize on his hastily-formed plan, he was taken off-guard by the sheer speed the creature exhibited in snapping its jaws forward at him. Even as Dragan reflexively moved to sidestep out of the way, he knew that he wouldn't make it in time- "Halt, decayed creature!" Ah. The benefit of having allies. Dragan's blood magic surged, increasing his speed further at the last moment to propel him out of the way of the slightly-slowed skeleton's bite. He skidded along the ground upon landing, coming to a sudden stop by plunging his rapier into the street. "You have my gratitude, Lady Emeraltide!" Dragan called out, raising his rapier. "We'll have to erode its protection first! Impede it as best as possible until we do!" From his position, the vampire lord surged blood magic through his legs again, leaping onto the beast's back. Dragan raised his free hand as he mounted the monster, channeling necrotic magics in his palm before slamming it straight towards his foe, aiming to accelerate the decay of whatever protection was surrounding it.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist No sensation of magic breaking beneath. No sensation of any barrier shattering. Just scale pierced, and then, her foot was caught in meat. They had made the incorrect presumption then. This monster's ability was natural, strange as it was, and Ilena retreated instantly at that, using her other foot to launch away from the snake as it smashed its head against the ground, then bucked madly to rid itself from Dragan, before it finally settled for slamming the swordsman into a mountain, sending an avalanche of stone tumbling down. Conveniently, forming a bridge. Inconveniently, incapacitating one of them. Most irritatingly though? Displaying an amount of strength that Ilena had once considered insignificant. Amethyst eyes sunk into the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat, an animalistic growl seeping from within her body. But the foe before her was gargantuan and, more importantly, living. She had tasted its blood, sweeter than anything else she's had all day. Energizing, but not fulfilling enough. So... "We're leaving." A high-pitched shriek sounded, equal parts command and challenge, and Ilena bounded off, headed at an angle for the Cathedral. Luna was fast, but Ilena had always be the wilder child, as agile as the beasts she melded into her flesh, and she sought to draw the attention of the camoflaguing monstrosity, this snake-headed feline. And so long as it was distracted properly, her two Exsanguinating Skeeters could descend upon Dragan, pulling him out the rumble and flying him over to Luna.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel Aleksiya sighed heavily. As irritating as the priestess's attitude was, she would never consent to simply abandoning her. That, and these vile things were an eyesore. "Very well, as much as it pains me to make considerations towards that woman," she commented with a pout, as further circles of light condensed ice at their centers, "She had best be thankful." With that, the balls of ice were sent whistling through the air, hurtling towards their targets. This time, rather then specifically targeting the head, the diminutive vampire instead was more choosy. After all, simply targeting the head was clearly not enough to cripple these unpleasant abominations, and so instead she selected points of structural weakness. Ancient kneecaps shattered and came apart, sending legs flying off and causing the dusty walking dead to hit the ground. Heads sailed into the air, leaving flailing corpses to bump into each other before toppling over. All the while, Aleksiya glanced with no small amount of jealousy at the scythe in Giselle's hands. When she was better fed, she'd definitely show off her far superior scythe! Still, for the moment, Aleksiya didn't want to spend too much time lamenting her own state. Rather, she focused instead on pelting the undead with ice bullets, tearing through their decrepit flesh and dusty bones in order to rip them to useless pieces scattered across the floor. Perhaps her feelings or irritation were pushing her to be even more thorough, one particular undead being unlucky enough to be shredded by several balls of ice being dispensed in rapid succession, falling apart into an unrecognizable pile of desiccated flesh and organs. It wasn't simply a longing to feed and regain her power. There was something missing. She would get it back. @Click This</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros It seemed his hunch was wrong. The beast's defense was natural, and his magics weren't recovered enough to wear its body down. Unfortunate. More unfortunate was the fact that this single thought was all Dragan had time for before he was uncermoniously smashed into a mountain, crashing to the ground as he gasped in pain and lost his grip on the beast's back. He was so weak and starved as to not be able to react to such a move in time? How vexing. A creature such as this would have been nothing to any of the vampires present in their prime. Of course, the more immediate concern was the pain in his chest and back. A cursory inspection revealed that his plate had dented inward on both sides, but was still usable for the immediate moment. Considering all the other damage it had suffered already, that was a miracle in itself. He'd have to find a competent smith as soon as possible once he made it out of here. Dragan struggled to pull himself up to one knee, planting his blood rapier in the ground to brace himself. As Ilena made the call to leave, he couldn't help but agree with her, despite how much he hated the thought of simply fleeing this fight. As it stood, this was but a distraction to their main mission, and further conflict would gain them nothing. As a result, Dragan didn't struggle when his compatriot's insect minions began to pick him up and drag him back towards the bridge, silently nodding his thanks in her direction.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist It was enough to make her feel religious. But Ilena did not prostrate herself. As they settled into surroundings that appeared safe, the shadow-witch waved at her minions once more, sending them off into the rest of the city to fill their stomachs. Five long bounds brought her towards the satchel where she had smelled the blood, and she immediately uncorked one such vial, downing it all in a single gulp. Delicious. But only in the way that anything would be delicious to someone thirsting. The heart looked edible as well and she pulled the dagger out of it, sniffing at residue left on the blade to see if she could identify it. Dragon? Giant? Or something less common than either? "Luna," a gesture towards the collapsed thrall. "Please."</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Luna mused to herself that, were she still alive, she might have been gasping for breath then. Their escape complete, and their safety secured, Luna's body relaxed, her shoulders loosening in the soothing presence of her patron goddess long before they reach the main interior. As they tread through the halls, she remained quiet and reverent, recalling the old days in which she'd visited this holy site. Within the main room, her red eyes glimmered before the sight of Ichor's stone grandeur, and pious appreciation filled her still heart. She rushed up alongside Ilena, and knelt beside the collapsed thrall, briefly looking over them before gently turning their body over, cradling them in her arms. "Perhaps, their task was to deliver this meal to us. They are weak, dying," Luna said, looking into the thrall's shut eyes. "I've nothing to help them." Luna looked up to Ilena and Dragan, as if searching their expressions for any sign of a solution. She set the thrall down, leaning their back against the altar, and took a vial of blood for herself. She too downed the vigor in one swift gulp, and exhaled satisfactorily as she felt renewed power well from within her cold veins. She touched her fingers to her lips, reveling in the taste. A great deal of self-control reigned in her desire to consume the rest, and leave Dragan starving. "The heart may have been cut out within the city itself, to ensure freshness. I hope that they might awake, so that we can ask questions."</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Fighting the shambling hordes of the fallen undead together with her lordly companion was but a trifle for Giselle. But even a trifle was no minor thing for herself and probably Aleksiya in such a deprived state, though having an enduring weapon that didn't actively use her own blood helped wonderfully in that regard. Once she had reaped the mindless undead and found the upper levels free of offending hordes, she was nonetheless glad for the momentary respite. The white-haired vampire couldn't help but to remain a tick annoyed at the tardiness of a certain overly-religious redhead, though. It was perhaps because of her drained state that it took an extra mite of time for her to realize that the two of them were not actually alone atop the ramparts. Poising her weapon to strike at the new figure, her eyes slightly widened in mild surprise as she beheld a man, and a human, at that. Nonetheless, she flicked her scythe back into a defensive position, even as he spoke. Giselle still had no clue as to the political and cultural landscape of this new era, after all. Certainly, she did not jump to thinking of him as a quick meal as some of her peers might. "Indeed, and likewise. I would not have expected to find a simple human here, but if you were merely one, you would already be dead if you were." She gauged the man as she parroted some of his words, albeit in a diplomatic manner. The man seemed exhausted; Giselle ventured it was from fighting against the selfsame hordes that had been giving them trouble. More intriguing, and far more interesting, though, were the red vials of what obviously had to be blood adorning the sides of his coat. Combined with the mention of a partner, she was very curious who this man was, and all the more so his partner. What did he mean by vermin, though? Was he referring to that beast's screeching from earlier? "Hunters, then." She paused, before adopting a slightly apologetic and pained look. "Ah, where are my manners? I am Giselle de Farry. You have us at a slight disadvantage here, ser…" Whether he supplied a name or not, she continued on, after giving Aleksiya the chance to give her own introduction if she wished. "I am curious about that partner of yours, no less than those vials of yours." Frankly, the both of them needed the blood, but they would be negotiating from a very disadvantaged position if she didn't want to take it by force of arms, something she'd quickly pondered and dismissed as a last resort. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. "We would have use for some of those vials, if you can spare them," she finally said, after a moment's pause, before glancing at her smaller companion. "In return, we could assist you in locating this vermin you seek, within the best of our abilities."</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros They'd managed to retreat in good order, and now found themselves on far safer ground. He'd been here before, of course. Centuries ago, back when he'd first explored the world as a fledgling vampire. And now he returned once again, no more powerful than he was when it all began. Full circle. At least he could begin to remedy that in part now. Dragan took a single vial of blood, and with very great reluctance, only a single vial. It wouldn't do to leave any more vampires starving should they make it to the cathedral, of course. He doubted the three here would be the only ones called. Dragan uncorked the vial and sipped slowly, relishing the taste of fresh vitae after so long in torpor. He could feel a small measure of his strength returning to him. Not nearly enough, of course. But anything was better than nothing. When the vial was drained, he set it down and looked to Luna and Ilena, pondering the situation before them. "The thrall will likely awaken on her own in time. I don't much care to interfere with another kindred's servant. Some don't take kindly to such, and it would be poor manners after they so generously provided us with fresh blood. In any case, I believe we ought to give thanks to Ichor for our deliverance, before anything else." With that said, Dragan faced the image of the goddess and knelt down, murmuring a prayer under his breath. It seemed old habits died hard for a former paladin.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist The heart of a great snake, and a ritual dagger that stank of something divine, something not of Ichor's domain. Her 'father' would no doubt be pleased with these gifts, but as for Ilena herself? The shadow witch toyed with the dagger briefly, allowing it to spin from one digit to another, before flipping it hilt-first towards the former paladin. "Take it," she rasped. She would let it drop even if he did not. The serpent's heart, she kept in her hand for a while longer. Plump still, fresh still, and reminiscent, in a manner, of that feline-serpent they had encountered on the way there. It could not have been that creature's heart though, not unless it possessed multiple. Too large to belong to giants, too small to belong to humans. Regardless, Ilena lifted her cloak to the side and slipped that heart into her fabricated form. "Your piety shall be rewarded," she spoke, setting aside for a moment the idea that other lords have survived, have revived. "Do you wish to join your master, Thrall? Or be reborn again, under the servitude of another?"</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Luna allowed the dwindling thrall to touch her cheek, albeit briefly, before softly taking her hand and pulling it lightly away. The tenderness of the dying woman was a welcome feeling after eons of sleep, but at the same time the gesture was unsolicited, and by a servant no less. She nevertheless held the woman still, and followed her words towards the heart Ilena held up until it disappeared into blackness. "Other lords? Were they awoken here in Alavaris as well?" Luna hummed, then turning her eyes to the cathedral's entrance. "And you... where did you come from? How did you even survive?" The vampiress listened to Ilena, and promptly squeezed the thrall more tightly -possessively. She offered Ilena a wholly lighthearted glare -almost pouting- and retorted. "She will not die! Such a dedicated servant could never be discarded. Look at her," she continued, "She has surely gone through quite the ordeal just to rejuvenate us. And... all without drinking a single drop herself; otherwise she would not be in this state. To say nothing of completing it without a master. Tell me thrall, what is your name?" she asked.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros As his companions bickered over the fate of the thrall, Dragan murmured quietly in prayer. The familiar practice, in life and in death, centered him. Ichor saw fit to reverse his fate after what should have been his true death, and for that, he would be forever grateful. To say nothing of his centuries of service in her name already, of course. As the vampire lord finished his prayer, a sensation bid him to look up. A red light came from the doorway leading to the cathedral yard's balcony. A sign of the Goddess's favor, perhaps? Dragan stood, placing his helm back onto his head as he looked to Ilena and Luna. "Enough." His voice rumbled as he gestured up towards the balcony door. "I agree with Ilena. For leal service, we ought to reward the thrall with the fate she wishes for herself. Should she want to continue to serve, we will allow it. Should she desire the peace of the grave, we ought to allow her to make that choice." He stared Luna down unflinchingly. Of course the bloody siren would choose to be obstinate now and disregard a loyal servant's choices for her own wants. "In the meantime, it seems we are beckoned. Join me if you wish, or continue to debate over the thrall." With his piece said, Dragan leapt up toward the balcony, extending a hand to crack the door open and see what the source of the crimson glow was.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel When Akyasha finally showed up again, Aleksiya couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, arms folded across her chest. She spent all that time, wasted all that time, to find some rats? What drivel was this? What utter nonsense. She wasted their time for some rats? The small blonde girl huffed, but at least in this case the waste of time was potentially fortuitous. This hunter, Rikard, had deigned to be uncooperative, but just as he stated he was willing to potentially part with some of his blood vials for information on 'vermin'. And lo and behold, here arrived that obsessive priestess carrying vermin with her. If not for this stroke of luck, the diminutive vampire would have expressed her irritation with the priestess far more vocally. But, for the moment, she chose to hold her tongue. If only for now. "Indeed, I'm rather curious, myself," Aleksiya commented, cocking her head to one side as she fully turned to face the fanatic and her collected rats. This@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha was slightly taken aback. She had just returned but instead of being glad of her return one questions her and the other disparages through looks and then questions her. No, perhaps she should have known better. "Well, if you don't want your meal, you don't need to have it." Still, their questions where hanging in the air. "I'm really not sure what you want me to tell you. I stayed behind to see what was chasing us in case it would be able to follow us further. On my way back to meet up with you two, I saw some rats. Interested, I followed. Caught some rats and might have seen some shadow out of the corner of my eye as I said prior." Might as well protect Est a small bit. She had no idea what was going on between the two. "If something was that way, it might be gone by now."</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Gatehouse @Click This@Pyromania99 --- Rikard didn't seem too impressed with Akyasha's response. Really, how tiring this all was. He knew that she had a run in with what he was hunting. She likely knew it as well, even after having just shown up. There really was no reason to refrain from telling him when they could instead, be friends. Unless of course, this particular one decided she was friends with the vermin itself after an encounter with it…hm, perhaps… "...then it seems I won't be giving these up after all." Rikard replied in his usual tired seeming manner. "It's unfortunate, I would have much rather had a…working relationship, of sorts. Shame really." The human would reach into his coat, slowly pulling out an object. A globe, consisting of multiple rings within rings and inlaid with blue gems, and in the center was a small glass globe of water. For those in the know, it seemed like it was an Armillary sphere, though the usage of one in such a blackened sky seemed difficult to determine. "Now then, if there will be nothing else I should take my leave. I've overstayed my welcome." A faint, blue colored light could be see shining from within the glass sphere within as the rings slowly started to shift and move. "But a word of warning, vampire." He narrowed his eyes as he turned to leave. "The Vermin we hunt is not your friend." Assuming the other two had nothing else to say, soon, Rikard would have disappeared into the shadows of the city. At least, if nothing else, getting to the cathedral proper would be a simple matter for the three. Across the hallowed ground of Ichor, the stagnant quiet as they'd travel across the cathedral's front lawn and gardens, an unseen wind blowing through the trees withered branches as they'd walk up the front steps. The door creaked open, and they would find themselves inside the cathedral, bathed in the blessed red light of Ichor… Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- "A-ah…please do not…concern yourself with me…" The Thrall choked out, her hand losing strength as Luna held her. "My former…master stripped me of my name for incompetence and cowardice…" She'd turn her head briefly towards the altar and statue. "I…have only lived by Ichor's will…so that I may use my pitiful life to set in motion your revival…" She turned her head towards the red light upon the upper floors. "...she…wishes to speak with you all…when the other three arrive…soon, very…soon…" The Thrall fell quiet, the womans weakened form falling limp in Luna's care. If she wanted to claim this thrall as her own, it would really be a simple task. All she had to do was in some manner, mark the thrall as her own, take her for herself either through a blood ritual or even something simpler, though she likely did not have terribly much time on her hands to do so, nor would it seem she would immediately be able to. As Dragan leaped up to the balcony above, extending a hand towards the door the crimson glow grew more and more intense as he reached towards it. The warm, familiar light was something any vampire should be familiar with as it embraced him. The comforting warmth of Ichor herself. The doors creaked open, revealing a landscape beyond that was the city they were familiar with, but…off. The balcony itself seemed far too high, and the ground below seemed far away as the cathedral loomed over the city. In the red sky beyond, he could see giant creatures, trapped within swirling red storms that reached to the heavens. Monolithic stones inscribed with alien, ancient letterings dotted the city. In the sky, high above, a single bright star far, far away, the color of crimson which seemed to color this entire world in its light. ς๏๓є ๓ץ ςђเɭ๔гєภ. Շђє ๒คɭς๏ภץ. קгєรєภՇ Շђץรєɭשєร ๒єŦ๏гє ๓є. And this, would be what Akyasha, Giselle, and Aleksiya eventually would stumble on once they had arrived at the cathedral. Hey, perhaps, had a few moments to speak with their allies they had not seen in ages, but they likely should not keep Ichor waiting too long...</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist It was not Ilena's duty to defend the desires of a thrall that had none. "Then do as you will." Though Dragan disdained such behavior, the shadow-witch could not care, in truth, for what perverse charities the former priestess held, not when the Crimson Star, the voice of Ichor, rang so clearly through the opened doors. The dark skies burned with sanguine light, shadows of greater demons swirling in the savage firmament. Behind her, others emerged, familiar, storied faces, but for now, they meant nothing. The Sovereign, the Progenitor, has made her request, and it was something to make even a god-disdainer feel pious. She joined Dragan's side, slipping into shadow to slink soundlessly up onto the balcony, before reconstituting her form from the fluid shadows once more. Even now, her loyalty remained, and the shadow-witch kneeled, eyes downcast. "Goddess, I am Ilena. Once more, my fangs are yours."</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan frowned at the thrall's response, turning away to let Luna do as she would with her. If the poor woman truly had no desires of her own left, then she would continue to serve. As a bewitched minion of a siren, no doubt. But he could not defend the wishes of a thrall that had no such thing. Just as the door opened and Ichor's voice began to be heard, Dragan noted the arrival of yet three more vampires out of the corner of his eye. The newcomers were, at the very least, somewhat familiar to him. The ambassador, the ice princess, and the cleric of the blood lily. Over the course of his unlife, he'd either met or heard of each of them enough to recognize all three by sight. Each was at least respectable in some way, perhaps moreso than either of the other two vampires he'd been accompanying. By reputation, at least. In practice, things could be entirely different. Regardless, Dragan nodded towards the newcomers, removing his helm as he turned towards the door. "Welcome, compatriots. It seems you're just in time to hear what the Goddess wills for us. Shall we?" With little more said, he followed Ilena through the door and onto the balcony, kneeling before the light. "Command us, Goddess Ichor. We are your swords, to do with as you will."</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Akyasha "How ungrateful the both of you! I get put in a dire position and this is the thanks I get?" Akyasha was justifiably angered. The Cleric pondered if she should help the either of them if they were in a bad situation again, considering how rude the two of the have been to her since they had woken up. She had made an oath to treat her sisters well but she felt, in the situation, that treatment didn't have to extend to the rudest of them. If their unlife were in danger, perhaps. Otherwise, they were on their own. This would not be a violation of the oath she had taken, surely. It took some small amount of time, but the troop walked into the Cathedral proper and, as Akyasha was taking in the beautiful sight of it all, she noticed some few others here as well. Ilena, Dragan, and Luna and a thrall of some sort? Curious. "More of our fellows! Perhaps you all will be less of the rude sort than my current company." Akyasha said before hearing the voice of the Goddess. "Ahh! Goddess! To the balcony?" The woman rushed to the top happily, "Goddess! I beseech thee, bless your unworthy children with thy words!" The cleric had said after practically sliding into a kneeling position at the top of the balcony. This was standard fare for the Cleric, of course.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- "...ร๏ Ŧคг…ร๏ ร๓คɭɭ…" The red light gently caressed the undead that presented themselves. Not even the titans, entrapped by the storms could make them feel threatened in their weakened state. The commanding voice they had initially heard faded into a quiet caress. "...๓ץ ς๏๓๓คภ๔…เร รเ๓קɭє." Though the crimson star was worlds and realms away, her voice was still clear despite the quiet echo they could all hear. "...รєשєภ…รєשєภ ๓๏гє…ยรє Շђє ђєคгՇ. ๒гเภﻮ Շђє๓…Շ๏ Շђє ợยєєภ…" The queen? Seven more? Perhaps it would have been more cryptic to others, but for any of the vampires with an inkling of how things were before the end of the last era, there was no doubt who the seven were. "…ฬєรՇ…รՇคгՇ Շђєгє…ђย๓คภร…" Slowly, the crimson light faded. The swirling storms far in the distance slowly spiraled out of view, the darkness that had become familiar to the six upon their resurrection. They had a direction from their goddess, at last. West. Humans. Were it not for the giant undead blocking the main gate in that direction, this would be a simple task. But it seemed, the only way they were to go on their journey is by through it. If nothing else, the few vials of blood left that the Thrall was carrying, now would serve their purpose. It would not grant them major strength, but if nothing else, they would certainly be able to take this shrieking undead with little difficulty. Supposing Giselles' group informed the other three of it. Or perhaps the six had other ideas. Their goddess certainly gave them a heading, but then what of Rikard? Or this mysterious partner of his? Or the odd serpentine creature Ilena's group ran into? So long as they ultimately completed their goal, it likely mattered not to the goddess.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist Westward, then, to claim blood more human, more satiating. And to seven more lords, resurrection to grant, the seven whose fall marked the vampires' end. The sanguine light faded, Ichor disappearing into the cosmos, and Ilena let out a breath, rising up from her position. Amethyst eyes flickered from one new arrival to another, faces indistinct but repute well-marked enough that unfamiliarity would still bring forth fragments of knowledge with regards to their pedigree. Two royals, and a true-blooded cleric of Ichor. Of the naturalborn aristocrats, Giselle de Farry was more tolerable of the two, an architect of crimson constructions compared to the more child-like pretensions of the Rime-Winged Vermillion Angel and her hedonistic pursuits. And as for that Blood-Lily Cleric... ...well, Luna may have found her a like-mind, but the two were incomparable in methodology and grace. "If the Goddess desires it, then westward we depart." This city and its mysteries could be left to be uncovered at another time, for vampires truly had but an excess in time. As for her familiar, for the Skeeters she's sent out to hunt? She can await their return on her own time.</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Much as the thrall had her own ideas of servitude and punishment, Luna had her own -and who would have a better handle on what was best: herself, or a thrall? As the nameless woman slipped back into unconsciousness, Luna disregarded Dragan, and began the quick ritual to revive the woman as her new thrall. With shut eyes, she could hear Dragan's motion in the background. Quickly, blood dripped from her eyes as gentle tears, and ran down her cheeks. She cradled the thrall with one arm, and with her other hand reached up to pry a single droplet. She paused, her body freezing at the feeling of something washing over her. A warming voice, distant and pleasant, roused her ears and fluttered her unbeating heart. Ichor's voice rolled over the balcony and banisters, and its familiar, enlightening spirit drew greater power from Luna's eyes; her tears flowed more freely, more voluminous, and in turn poured greater power into the ritual. It was not her intention, but this thrall would given more strength than Luna had planned for. In her trance, it was difficult to care. Prying a single large droplet from her closed eyes, she fed the blood to the thrall through her lips, and offered a short prayer. "Beneath Ichor's gaze, this child, this master commands thee to rise anew. Born again as servant to Luna Emeraltide." Whether the thrall awoke or not, Luna stood, still carrying the woman, and hurried up the stairs to the second floor where the others had gathered to witness their Goddesses' light and hear her command. She set the thrall to the side -away from the gates which Dragan had opened- and joined the others. She practically fell to her knees, and clasped her hands in silent prayer as her ears caught the last vestiges of Ichor's mystic presence. Even as it left, she remained there in pious reflection for a moment more. Standing, Luna only then acknowledged the three additional faces. Little introduction was needed for so notable a crew. Though, truthfully, Luna had little inclination to give regards to one in particular. Their journey was just beginning, and there was little room for petty squabbling and rivalry Luna felt. It was time to behave and consolidate. "Have we any needed preparations before going?" she asked to the group at large, "Did you find anything of note yourselves?" she directed to Akyasha, Aleksiya, and Giselle.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan merely kept his head bowed as he received his orders, waiting for Ichor's light to disperse before he dared stand once more. As he did, the Death Knight contemplated the directives they'd all been given. Head west, and resurrect the seven vampire lords in the Queen's service before bringing back the Queen herself. Understandable goals. If the current group had all been brought back to life, it stood to reason the same could be done for the greatest among their number. Of course, there were some that Dragan would have preferred not be brought back, but a command from the Goddess was inviolatable. The Blight Lord and the Sanguine Regent were stains upon their shared race as a whole, but their abilities and knowledge were invaluable. No matter his opinion, though, what was left of the paladin inside of Dragan drove him to follow Ichor's decree. Even he could see the logic in bringing them back, and if what he assumed of the crusade had been true, vampires had been all but wiped out until their recent rise. "Westward, then." Dragan murmured as he placed his helm back atop his head, turning to exit the balcony. He turned back towards the others. "For those of you that just joined us, Lady Ilena is already bearing the heart that the Goddess mentioned. It ought to be safe in her care until the time comes for it to be used."</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- The flurry of activity within the cathedral was an interesting feeling. Even before their great slumber, it had been many hundreds of years since she'd banded together with others in something that actually felt like it had… potential. It would have been a heady feeling, had the circumstances the surrounded it all not been so dire. Giselle hadn't paid attention to the thrall that Luna had picked up until now, having had other things to do, but she spared her a nod of acknowledgement when the woman voiced her agreement of her observation. "If there is something to be salvaged, I would like to have a hand in rebuilding what was lost." The attack of the paladins upon what once had been sanctuary ground remained her greatest and most severe failure, even if it had been inevitable. Being given the chance to rebuild it all once more, in a time that needed it more than ever more than fueled her desire to see the directives from her goddess through. It would certainly be interesting to see her queen once more, at least. For now, though, there were more undead and a certain paladin to enact some revenge upon. Going about it was something else, though, especially when the beast seemed to have taken notice of her groups' activities. She gave her own input on the matter. "Perhaps, perhaps not. One or the other may be harder than one might think, but its sword would certainly make a lovely trophy for one of our number. That said, let it drive itself and its hordes against the gates of the cathedral. Best not squander the advantage we have been given." She briefly glanced over at the red-haired priestess, idly wondering for a moment if the zealot would raise an objection in the grounds of desecrating the monument. It seemed Illena agreed with her position, as a moment later, the brim-hatted witch ferried her up on top of the gatehouse alongside Aleksiya. It wasn't as optimal as it could be, but it still worked. If she'd known, she would have spent more effort on restoring a rifle, though… But in times like these, beggars could not be choosers. Drawing her new revolver, she made sure the weapon was loaded before she leveled the weapon at the undead below. Were she a lesser being, it would have been impossible to land a shot with such a weapon from such a distance. But she was not, and each of the six shots of her opening salvo found their mark.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Being in the immediate vicinity of the turned undead, Dragan was far quicker on the mark than their foe, and his own undead began to rip into their former fellows faster than their slow reactions could respond to. As his minions began to viciously assault the undead around them, Dragan leapt up to the gatehouse and entered, watching over the battle from above. For now, he made no move to actually open the gate. At his mental command, one of the two spectral shades hovered in front of him, brandishing its dagger. "Go. Find the one with the silver sword, assault him but once, and lure him back towards the gate." He commanded, sending the spectre flying off while the unarmed one remained by his side for the moment. From his vantage point, Dragan oversaw the conflict below, directing his enthralled skeletons to assault weak points in the opposing horde and be far more effective than they would be otherwise. Any skeletal warrior that fell would soon be replaced in Dragan's forces by another one of their number ripped from the enemy's control. "Would that my former brother could emerge already, so we can end this farce sooner..." He murmured under his breath, his warhammer planted into the floor as he placed both hands upon it.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- As commanded, the spectral shades would leap from the wall, heading out into the darkness, swiftly flying past the skeletal undead that were engaged in a seemingly unceasing melee with each other as steel severed bone, only for the bone to reform and assault its attacker to repeat the process. Dragan's small horde could react faster…but they still lacked numbers as occasionally one would fall in the melee, bones crushed into the earth in their battle. Giselle's marksmanship proved somewhat effective. Normal bullets could only do so much to an undead. Even were its skull cracked it wouldn't immediately die, but they did at least, offer some manner of deterrent and aid, allowing the horde of Dragan's undead to have a much easier time, taking advantage of openings she created. They would not have to wait long, for this supposed skeletal beast would soon show itself. Some distance away, looming over the city, towering above the remaining houses stood a massive skeletal creature. The very same Akyasha saw earlier, though now they could get a much better look at it. Ancient, tarnished armor rested on its chest, its heavy footfalls leading it ever closer, slowly towards the gatehouse and the vampires. But no silver blade. No, its hands were empty, but then, where was it? It would not take long for the massive skeletal creature to reach the gate, and the vampires watching could see beneath its feet now, what seemed to be a humanoid dressed in armor that seemed quite similar to the giant skeleton advancing towards them in time with it. The horde of undead below were growing numerous, too, and thicker as some would break off from the group and start looking for other ways up to the vampires on the gate. Akyasha would be pleased to see both her bats return swiftly. A chittering reply from both in an ancient, ethereal tongue that only clerics could understand. "Two. Humans. Leaving. Small caverns in the slums lead outside." "Armored creature. Silver sword. Possessed. Coming this way." They'd both light on her shoulder, chittering in a mildly annoyed seeming fashion. "Hungry." "Feed." Seemed like they wanted some food.</s> <|message|>Akyasha "Hmmm, Humans leaving and Armored creature, silver sword, possessed, coming this way." The Cleric had to ponder for a small time. She quickly made her way closer to her companions. "Fellows, I bring word from the skies above the city." Akyasha then delivered the message verbatim, though as well as one could do such a thing with a translated sentence. "Two. Humans. Leaving. Small caverns in the slums lead outside." "Armored creature. Silver sword. Possessed. Coming this way." Smiling after delivering the statement, the Cleric pet her adorable little Gorebats. They would definitely need to be fed here soon. "I ponder then, perhaps, where might the silver sword be? This behemoth hiding it? Another one approaching? Or is it perhaps our human friends have stolen it and made escape through caverns in the slums?" Akyasha couldn't help a small, giddy laugh. "I relish the the truth of the matter." She added, smiling. Her next words were quite obviously directed towards Giselle and her slightly ponderous look in the Clerics direction. "Had we more strength, we'd not need let them come in force against these gates. Alas, I've yet the ability to bring forth the Matriarchs again. A pity, but we must make due with what we have. So long as we drive them back, I'm quite sure the Goddess blesses our actions. Though, I'd prefer not to have anything damaged in the first place if possible." A small plea, if anything, carried in her voice.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros "No, that isn't it..." Dragan spied the approaching armored skeleton, dismissing it the moment he noted the lack of silver sword in its hands. He had other concerns to deal with at the moment, namely micromanaging his small number of stolen undead to decimate a much larger force. A mental command sent the two spirit wraiths he'd ensorcelled to harry and harass those of the horde that split off to try to circumvent the gate while Dragan listened to Ayakasha's message with one ear. Now this was curious. Was there simply a second skeleton commander, and the first merely lacked a sword? Or was this the actual skeletal paladin and the two humans mentioned somehow managed to steal the blade for themselves? The latter would be something of a problem. A silver blade in the hands of someone who knew how to use it would be a great threat, as every single one of his companions knew. Their relative lack of strength at the moment only compounded said threat. In truth, Dragan was hoping that the humans could be reasoned with. But if they insisted on hostilities, they'd have to be chastised first. "I am trying." He ground out in response to Ayakasha's plea to avoid damage to the cathedral. "However, that is what the gate's purpose is. So long as we stop the horde here, the actual cathedral itself can be preserved."</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel While this was certainly a better position to be in when it came to her current limitations as an attacker, Aleksiya could not say she particularly cared for being picked up and carried as if she was a piece of some sort of luggage. Still, she couldn't deny this was a more advantageous position to attack from given her current power level lending her to ranged attack more then anything. Thus, she refrained from voicing any complaints and instead focused on the task at hand. More boring, dull undead. The most irritatingly uninteresting kind, dried out old bones that wouldn't even die in an exciting fashion. Still, it was for the sake of her comrades and herself. And that giant skeleton, with the absent blade, made for an interesting sight as well. Just what was going on? Where was the undead paladin's weapon? Regardless, given the advance of the skeletons, it was best to strike first and destroy as many of the undead as possible. "I suppose I shall begin the cull, then," she commented, waving her hand. Crystalline spears of ice formed in an arc over her body, condensing whatever moisture there was in the air into razor projectiles that immediately tilted, training themselves on numerous skeletons below. All save for one. As she released the first seven projectiles into the skeletal horde, the eight tilted upwards, aiming at the smaller figure beside the skeleton. She wasn't confident it would hit, but if it didn't that was acceptable. Rather, she wanted to see how the giant skeleton would react. The crystalline spear of ice was loosed, tearing through the air. @ERode@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Click This@Pyromania99</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- The wraiths Dragan had sent out circled back around, heading for the undead that were currently attempting to find their way up to the cathedral wall. Being incorporeal, they were particularly suited to the task, ripping and crushing the skeletons with their bare hands. Alas, though, there were merely two of them and as the ones spectral blades ripped through the ribcage of one skeleton, it was quickly replaced by another. And well, the skeletons seemed at least smart enough to run through the spectral entities. Thankfully, though, it seemed that Luna's song was working mostly as intended. The dulcet tones that waved through the air didn't disorient, but it weakened and it would make Dragan's own control stronger as the skeletons would slow their movements further, some seemingly mildly confused as they'd start attacking their own allies. Still, it would not stop them entirely form breaching the same stairs that the trio had used earlier to climb past the gates, and eventually they had made their way up to the ramparts, a dozen or so having managed to get through and were not rushing towards the vampires - By now, too, the large skeletal creature had nearly made it to the gate. It was only a few of its long strides away as it shrieked, a pale mimicking of human breathing emanating from its hollow chest while it seemingly studied the vampires, and pausing just long enough for Aleksiya to lob one of her ice spears towards it. The large skeletal beast didn't budge as the spear slammed into the smaller, armored knights chestplate, not strong enough to tear a hole through the armor, but enough to give it pause. This close, it was much easier to see now. Tattered, old armor of the old Silverlight god, tarnished and in its hand was a blade…but it was not silver, no. Had Fra been wrong? The humans likely couldn't have pilfered it, but that just left one question more…on where exactly it was. The smaller human barely turned its head up towards the vampires atop the wall. It'd raise an empty hand towards them as Giselle's own firearm fired, a bullet hurtling towards the skeletal creatures skull, burying itself in its off white colored dome, whatever action the armored human taking briefly stopped as the skeleton turned its eyeless gaze towards Giselle. And in the same instance that it would bring its skeletal hand down on top of Giselle, the Paladin would make a similar motion with its own hand.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist No silver sword in sight, only a necromancer wearing the armor of the Silverlight God. "This isn't the paladin." A simple, cutting phrase. It was a decoy. If death alone was enough to cause a paladin of that abominable order to abandon their blade, then those zealots would have been so much easier to deal with. Ilena turned her gaze to the others. Dragan, instrumental for preventing them from being overwhelmed, and Luna, who assisted him with her emotive manipulations. Giselle and the Rime-Winged Vermillion Angel maintained the high-ground advantage, raining projectiles down below. And Akyasha herself, in this instance, looked to be most suitable for the task of tracking down that silvered blade. Fine. She wasn't hungry, and this was not a hunt worth expending any energy on, but Ilena would do it regardless. She sighted her target, gathered her might, and...pounced. A black wolf bearing two sets of buzzing wings, dove downwards from the top of the gate, its form as fluid as ink, as mud. But its fangs and claws were very real, and the shadowmeld weapons scattered the undead beneath the beast, before the beast itself sank into their shadows. Snaking through the chaos of the disorderly horde, it circled around the armored lich as nothing more distinct than a puddle of mud, before bursting out once more to strike at it from behind, jaws opened to take its head clean of its shoulders.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros By now, Dragan's suspicions were confirmed. This absolutely wasn't the paladin they'd been warned about. In that case...this was a waste of time. "Enough of this." Dragan said, hefting his looted warhammer up as he stepped out onto the edge of his perch. "Either the battle ends here, or our actions prove drastic enough to lure the other one out. Regardless, I've had quite enough of sitting back and merely directing matters." If a lord did not sally forth into battle himself, how would he ever inspire his people? With that in mind, Dragan channeled blood magic through his legs and leapt, his hammer gripped in both hands as he descended upon the large skeleton at the same moment that Ilena sicced her shadow wolf on it. The Death Knight's leap had him on a direct trajectory with the skeleton's raised arm, and Dragan swung as he came into range, his warhammer aiming to utterly crush the bone arm that was raised to assail Giselle.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Dragan's previous ingestion of blood hadn't restored as much strength as he'd thought it would. Otherwise, his strike would have utterly shattered the giant skeleton's arm. Instead, Dragan found himself straining against the bastard as said arm bore down on him. He could still get himself out of this predicament, but it would sap a good portion of his strength to muster up the magics required. Fortunately for Dragan and his blood pool, Luna's chains pulled the skeleton's arm off of him, and Dragan's helm tilted in her direction before dipping slightly as thanks. He picked himself back up and hefted his warhammer, taking a moment to send yet more mental commands to his undead even as he began to focus on the fight before him. It seemed Ilena and Giselle already had their assaults under way, and Dragan charged forward to join them, following up on their attacks. As Giselle kicked off of the undead paladin, Dragan leapt onto it, bringing his hammer down onto its exposed and weakened chest with as much force as he could muster. Hopefully this time, his target would shatter after having received blows beforehand.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha had finished cleaning up the skeletons on the stairway up to where they were on the gate. Good. Still, there were plenty of the buggers left to clean up. The others seemed to have the big enemy under control. She couldn't expect Dragan to keep absolute authority on the battlefield with his command over the lesser undead, especially not whilst their powers were diminished and doubly so while fighting that monstrosity at the moment. Instead, she would just clear the field of hostiles. This was what she had always done, though she doesn't have her divine creatures of Ichor to assist at the moment. With the tight space behind her as she stepped down to the ground level, she changed the shape of her Blood Weapon from the two heavy maces into one great-axe as she charged into the fray where Dragan's forces were fighting. She made a powerful leap into the obvious group of enemies, landing the axehead down on some poor skeleton. After recovering from the recoil of slamming into the ground, she hefted the axe up above her before swiping it across a number of enemies to give herself some room. She hummed some prayer to herself as she swung left and right, having little problems taking care of skeletons, or, really fragile enemies in general. She had no problem keeping up her pace at the moment, she just hoped the others would be fine taking care of the Paladin.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- Could an undead paladin even care about its hands being sliced into fine, bloody ribbons? Likely not. The armor was old and weary to be certain, but it was still armor. Steel and once holy blessed by light and silver, even as corroded as it was. The blade cut through the armor, but not enough to sever the fingers or hands of the paladin as it was wrenched from his grip mid lunge that was only stopped by the timely intervention of Illena. Shadows wrapped around the undead's limbs, coiling around its legs and arms restraining the former holy warrior and rooting him in spot just as Giselle's blade found its target. The sanguine blade sliced through the armor deeply, the downward strike cleanly slicing through the armor just as the paladin managed to wrench his left arm free of Illena's restraints in time to deflect the upwards strike, but leaving him completely open for Dragan. The hammer met its target, the clang of metal on metal as the already weakened armor gave way, the hammer embedding itself inside of the wound as bones and armor cracked beneath the heavy weapon. For a moment, the thing did not move, slumping over as its body momentarily went limp. The massive skeletal creature above screeched, as it'd wrench its arm free of Luna's restraints that had stopped it from finishing off Dragan. A light twitching of its hand. The Skeletal beast above screeched once more, its gargantuan arms beight brought down upon the rooftops of the nearby buildings as with its other hand, it'd reach into its own mouth and with the sound of metal grating against bones and a ghastly wail, from somewhere it its chest it would thusly pull a blade, a blade of silver from its maw, aiming to slam it on top of Giselle and drag it along the ground in front of the Paladin. The paladin too, was not quite finished yet. As Illena's shadows held fast, she'd feel her shadowy body start to burn as the Paladins armor bega shining, glowing with vestigial holy power as it'd wrench its second arm free from her grasp the shadows retreating from the purifying power. In a swift motion, it'd bring its right arm around, and Dragan could watch as in its right arm, a flash of silver manifested, a silver blade now in its hand as it'd strike out just enough to slice dragan's arm followed by a rough, powerful kick to the vampire lords midsection that would wrench the warhammer from its position to finally free itself from Illena's grasp. Thankfully for him, the silver seemed to be old and weakened, corroded, and the blade seemed significantly blunted. The poisonous silver would only diminish his abilities enough to be a minor inconvenience to his physical might. As The ancient, heavy blade would swing forwards as the undead creature struck towards Dragan, bringing down the weapon in a heavy vertical swing as behind him the massive skeleton swung its own blade in an attempt to catch the rest of the vampires. Thankfully for them, between Akyasha, Luna, and Dragan's own minions the tide of the skeletal creatures were being stemmed enough to not cause them any significant problems. Luna's fluids strikes cleaved through the skeletons and zombies, severing their vestiges of life from their corpses. Akyasha took a far more direct approach, smashing and crushing the undead creatures with a hefty axe, showing no mercy for such rude, mindless undead that could not even recognize their own once goddess. It was now, then, that her Gorebats would return, bellies full of blood and ichor, and ready to serve to their fullest capacity. They'd chitter between themselves as they'd hover on either side of the cleric, awaiting her command. Just in time, too, it seemed. From within the mass of skeletons something came barreling out of a nearby alleyway, having apparently heard the commotion. A mass of skeletal arms, leaping from the nearby alley and landing in front of Akyasha. It looked like a horrid mass of skeletal arms, ribcages, and leg bones stitched together in some manner to mimic a spider with eight skulls stitched together to serve as its face. Wherever this thing had come from, it immediately set it sights on Akyasha.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros From Dragan's perspective, this was the second time in two days that he'd been struck by silver. Fortunately, there was far less of it this time. And of much reduced quality. The blessed metal still burned, of course. But its corroded state meant that the bulk of his strength remained intact. The Death Knight hissed in pain as he was cut and knocked back, his hammer still in his grasp. He wasn't given much time to collect himself, as the paladin was on him, blade raised up and drawn back for a vertical cleave. Dragan only narrowly evaded the blow, sidestepping the swing. Given how much the skeletal knight had committed to that blow, Dragan was out of immediate danger as it tried to recover. The only issue was that they were both too close in for him to effectively get a swing in with a two-handed hammer. Instead, the vampire lord lashed out with his free hand, a plated fist crashing into the skeletal paladin's skull to attempt to knock him back before Dragan took up his hammer with both hands and swung for the open wound that he'd already made with his first blow.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Dragan been prepared to abandon his attack on the skeletal paladin when the giant reached for him, but fortunately, it appeared that he didn't have to. Aleksiya's assault upon the giant distracted it enough that Dragan could continue his offense without reserve. A quick scan of the battlefield revealed that most of the enemy undead had been taken care of, leaving only the abomination remaining. Dragan mentally commanded his horde to continue slaughtering the stragglers before moving on to the larger targets, freeing Aleksiya to deal with the more threatening elements without distraction. As the paladin turned to face Illena, Dragan raised his hammer once more, preparing to strike it from the back. The gorebat sent to support him was immediately commanded to distract the paladin from above, and Dragan hefted his warhammer. "Goodbye, brother. Rest now." He murmured quietly before dashing forward and swinging with all his might, aiming to pulverize the undead paladin's helmet and skull in a single stroke while it was distracted.</s> <|message|>Akyasha It was speedy, that was for sure, but it was just a pile of bones. If it wanted to charge at her, she'd let it. The Cleric spun her weapon above her head, and as the bone spider was about to reach her the cleric, she struck with it. The spinning's momentum transformed into a horizontal strike that would cleave through leg and smash the "creature" across its "face". Continuing through with the movement, she spun with the swing, hefting it up above her mid-spin and then swiftly swinging it down on the hopefully staggered spider. She probably didn't need too many hits on the thing to dispose of it, if the vampire had to make a guess about it at all.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- So close. In a vacuum, Giselle would have ended the fight right there, but large skeleton destabilized the ground briefly enough that her blow didn't strike true. It did damage, clearly, but the majority of it had been deflected… but it was clear that the undead paladin was not going to weather the fight. The three of them had done far too much damage to it, and if it wasn't Giselle, then it would be another that would deal the 'mortal' blow. Indeed, it didn't take long for the paladin to become distracted once again, and Giselle saw Dragan move in for the final blow. It was just a bit poetic, and she decided to stand aside to allow him to deal with his brother, moving her attention to the larger skeleton in the event that removing the paladin from the board would simply allow it to free-roam instead. Keeping her weapon at the ready to strike at it in case it didn't collapse, she placed herself in between it and Dragan.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- The paladin grabbed Illena, its silver blade piercing the shadow witches heart. Faded holy power flared. Shadow fled from the light as Illena's body burned from within, cracks of light forming on her features as the blade burned the undead creature and her remaining insect abominations away. As it pulled the blade from her body, it immediately made a move to swipe at the bat that was assailing it - thunk Dragan's hammer came down right on its skull. A feral hiss, as its entire body immediately crumpled as it was smashed from above. In an instant, it was over. The paladin hit the ground, unmoving its sword clattering to the ground. The skeletal beast that had been roaming from above would shudder, its bones and body creaking…and then, falling in one swift motion as the paladin had, draping its massive body over the roof of the city and crushing the buildings where it fell. Dragan could tell that though it was defeated, it was merely sleeping. Dormant, for now. Akyasha made short work of the rest of the horde too, and in an instant, the fighting was over. Yet, despite their victory, perhaps it was not one they wanted. Illena's shadows had yet to reform. Where she had been stabbed by the paladin instead, was now the warm, still bloody serpents heart she had hidden away in her mass earlier - but no sign of her shadows or voice reforming. The only consolation would be the paladins old, tarnished silver blade itself. Old and worn, but likely still effective against the creatures that roamed here. "Oh…oh, you managed to defeat it…" Fra quietly interjected. "...it was not without complications, but well done my lords! That thing had been making surviving here difficult…" She shook her head. "Still, we must move onwards…there's a village not far from here. Humans live there, not well, but they manage it between the madmen and the beasts nearby. If you don't mind, my lords, once you're ready I can tell you how to go there." It seemed like Fra didn't wish to leave the city herself, but that would be entirely up to Lady Luna at the moment.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros They'd lost one of their number already, before even leaving the city. Dragan was no master of Ilena's own brand of magic, but he could tell that even if she by some miracle hadn't faced the final death for a second time, she was at least in no state to continue on with them. Damnably unfortunate. The skeletal giant was another issue. He could feel that its reanimation still held, merely in suspension without a necromancer to command it. And Dragan knew he didn't have the strength to wrest control over it yet. Even if he had, the logistics of traveling across the land with such a beast would be...difficult. With that in mind, he cut the link between himself and the remainder of the undead horde he controlled, allowing their reanimation to fade and for the shambling bones to crumble back to the dirt. "This...was not part of the plan." He gestured towards the spot where Ilena had fallen. "Though we must move on." The Death Knight glanced to Luna. "In lack of a better guide, your subordinate's suggestion seems our best course of action for the moment. Thoughts, anyone? Objections?"</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- "O-oh uhm, well," Fra fidgeted with her dress. "Someone should look after the cathedral…it would be a shame for it to be empty, even for only a little while…" The thrall couldn't meet her mistress gaze as she'd reply. It was hard for Luna to get a read on her, but it didn't seem like she was being dishonest, just timid. "Uhm, as for defenses…its not a big place. I'd say roughly a few dozen people or so live there. An old stone wall runs along the south and eastern sides of the village, but the northern gate was destroyed at some point the west has a river next to it. They don't have many people capable of fighting…mostly, if something attacks they usually just try and hide, waiting it out…" She shook her head. "Uhm…there is this one woman though. I-I think she's a blacksmith or something? She tries to hunt things near the village where she can to help keep it safe. She's uhm…well she doesn't like me, aha…" Fra rubbed her arm nervously. "They usually light the village with silver lamps. I don't know how they work, but they seem to be able to keep most small creatures away from the village. I apologize I can't be of more help, Mistress…" Akyasha's gorebats alighted on her shoulder, chirping pleasantly, but seemingly restless. Might be best to keep them around for now, or send them out scouting ahead in case they ran into anything on their way to this supposed village. For now at least, it seemed as though nothing else needed to be done in the city. They could consider rebuilding and strengthening the city itself once they had the manpower, thralls, and other lords revived and willing to help. With the still oddly fresh and bloody heart safely secured, once everyone had made their preparations and were ready, Fra would point them in the proper direction. Out the nearby city gate, down the old, dusty path that once would have allowed traders and people through, around the old, gnarled forest, towards what would have at one point been a riverside town. From the way she described the journey, it would likely take a few hours and be an overnight trip or two…for an average mortal, at least. They didn't have as much need for rest, now did they? Regardless, Fra would not wish to come unless she'd be forced to by the lords. The trip would be blessedly uneventful, the darkness of the world around them hiding little from their vampiric sight. Where humans would hear noises and creatures scampering, howling in the distance, the vampires only saw ragged beasts, who in turn, saw them, and cautiously stalked their presumed prey for some time. Of course, they themselves soon became the prey. And soon, the village would finally come into view. Lamps lit two ruined pillars, giving off the only source of light for miles. A number of corpses of four legged creatures that looked like some amalgamation of deer and wolf, with antlers sprouting from their head but possessing a body structure more like a wolf with an elongated muzzle and far too long limbs littered the area near the pillar. Beyond the stone pillar, they could see a number of shoddily built and old dwellings. Some looked like they had existed since the Ophidiel Era with quick repairs and patchworks to keep them mostly livable, while others seemed completely hastily constructed. The tallest of the buildings they could see had a lamp atop it, illuminating someone standing up there. They could hear some people jovially talking not too far away, though they were just out of sight in a nearby building.</s> <|message|>Akyasha It was a somewhat long journey, though it was hard to tell sometimes. Perhaps it was the curiosity of the situation they were in that made her anticipate going and once they got there, she was slightly amused by the sight of the odd deer-wolf hybrids. "If most people here dont fight, then it must have been that blacksmith girl that slew these creatures, no?" The cleric mused, looking around. "She would make a fine addition to our depleted forces." Akyasha thought on the situation forbsome small seconds before turning to her bats. "Stay hidden but I want you two to find try and find the blacksmith or where that girl might be. Additionally, tell me the general layout of this place and any other bits of interest." There was quite a bit the Vampire wished to know, but it shouldnt be too difficult for her two Gorebats. She gave them both a small nuzzle nefore she sent them off.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Perhaps the journey was long for a day trip, but Giselle spent most of the time keeping a keen eye on all that they passed. In the absence of major threats, with what existed merely acting as inferior food for the her and the other lords, she could spare the time to investigate the state of what the world had turned into. It was a luxury that she unfortunately didn't have to examine in detail in the city proper given the state of Alavaris. Sadly, the state of the world had become as drab as Giselle expected. In the absence of Light, most living beings of the good and proper variety had long died and withered to dust. The state of vegetation, sadly, was in a dire state, and it was a miracle in and of itself that humans and more wretched beasts managed to eke out an existence in this dead world. Even so, aside from speaking with the other lords on details and musings on things that had happened since their slumber, she occupied most of her time keeping a mental journal on all that she saw. Nonetheless, she was glad when the human settlement came into sight. She observed the architecture, noting its familiarity with buildings from her era, and then the ramshackle repairs and inferior new construction. More importantly, she kept in the mind what was likely a sentry of some type at the settlement's highest vantage point. If they hadn't already been observed, they would be seen soon—which meant the time to make a decision would be short. And short it would be indeed, given that they could already hear voices of the people inside the village. Perhaps surprisingly, they seemed rather happy. Giselle turned to her fellow lords as Akyasha sent off her gorebats. "I suppose it's time to see how the humans of this era will react." If there were no objections from her peers, she would approach the village entrance, a story already crafted in mind. With absence of any gate guards, she would speak to those speaking, but not without being cautious. She remained casual, but alert, and elected to make enough noise on her approach as to not startle before she appeared. "Greetings. Perhaps you might spare time for questions from some travelers?"</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Somehow, the state of the world didn't surprise the Death Knight as he strode across the earth with his companions. Without the sun, very little grew. Vegetation could not sustain prey animals, which meant that predators and humans alike suffered. Which led to the quality of blood suffering. An illiterate farmer could have connected these dots. And yet Dragan had once heard some among his peers desire the world in the exact state of eternal night it was in now. Frankly, he hoped those fools had burned when they suffered their final deaths. Still, it was good to see that humanity survived in some form despite these setbacks. And enough to have organized settlements, at that. Once their mission was complete, there would be much work to do to shepherd what remained of Man to thrive in this new world. Hopefully, his companions would be able to see the need for such, if only to ensure a steady supply of quality blood for the...less charitably inclined vampires. As Giselle began to approach the settlement, Dragan voluntarily hung back, staying relatively out of sight as he allowed his peer to do the talking. Despite the fact that he was also an adept speaker, the Death Knight's current appearance wasn't quite suited to reassure frightened villagers that they meant no harm. Best to have a softer face represent the group for the moment. Dragan planted the head of his warhammer into the ground before removing his helmet, if only to have a less terrifying visage.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR@Click This --- "...I don't trust them. What kinda people even travel these days? Maybe if there was another village close by, but we haven't heard anything from the other places in what feels like months." One of the men rebuffed the group, the appearance of Akyasha and Dragan making them feel just a bit uncomfortable from the looks of things. "Beastmen? Are you certain?" The one that seemed to be more receptive to them silenced the other man with a glare. "They've been attacking so frequently lately, barely five lantern-lightings ago did they attack last." "Do we sound the alarm?" "If we do and they aren't attacking anything nearby will definitely hear it." "We've no reason to trust you, but you've also no reason to lie." He'd say, shaking his head. "We live in strange times, since the last age and the sun fell. I won't question it. If you've got your reasons then we won't get in your way." He'd reach for the bell, pulling on it loudly and cleanly, a resonant, melodic clang echoing through the village. The other men quickly gathered their things, running deeper into the village. "You're welcome to stay at my place to wait them out." The man said, just as the sound of several more bells rang through the small village. The gorebat tha Akyasha had left behind, landed on Giselle's head, uncaring for the humans' rather startled reaction upon seeing it. It seemed to be trying to pull Giselle towards the direction of the forest. Location: Human Village --- Akyasha swiftly left the group, heading towards where her gorebat was leading her much to the startled humans who seemed to be growing more wary that this group of travelers were all both well dressed as well as somewhat large in number than what they were used to seeing. Still, she'd run down what served as the main street, running past some startled villagers who had as of yet been alerted to the newcomers as well as past the old buildings that served as the peoples homes. As Akyasha approached, she couldn't yet hear the sound of fighting, but she could see both the water as well as the human in question. A strong, somewhat severe looking woman was going around dressed in a thick dress, apron, and gauntlets with long, slightly messy blond hair and a well maintained chestplate. She was walking calmly not far from the river, a silver lantern hanging from her hip that seemed to cast light much further than one would think from the small amount of light it contained. Akyasha would find this light uncomfortable as she approached. Had her gorebats gotten things wrong? There was definitely a woman here, a ways off from the village near the water but there were no undead just yet. Thankfully, she had more than her eyes to see here. She was no necromancer, but as a cleric of Ichor she could definitely feel the familiar sense that every undead gave off for a vampire…and it was coming from the river. Beyond what the human could likely see immediately, Akyasha could see drowned corpses slowly climbing onto the shore, not quite having made it all the way out of the water yet. Location: Pirates End Paladin --- "Says the one who hardly paid her any mind during your first unlife." The maid replied curtly, the ship creaking as a rough sea breeze battered its frame. "But you're in luck. The Violet Witch has no desire to go against Ichor. If anything, you should be on your knees groveling your pathetic thank yous for her infinite mercy." Despite the maids harsh words, she'd pull a vial of sanguine colored fluid from her dress, tossing it in Argus' direction. A vial of blood. "A vial. My own, if you're curious. It should get you back on your feet, for now." The maid walked past, away from the desk and out towards the black skies, towards the battered coast below. "You can see for yourself, or are your eyes worse than mine? Everyone lost in that war. Vampires. The Paladins. The earth, gods, devils…all fell, and all we can do is just…survive." Her mouth curled into a frown, hands balling into a fist, speaking just low enough that Argus could not hear her entirely above the wind and creaking of the ship. She turned her gaze towards Argus. "What we want from you is simple. We would like you to…claim an artifact that has recently come into possession of your vampiric brethren and acquire it for us. I can not say much other than it is a blade of great power. Its blade mimics the waves of the oceans and if used correctly can be used to both take life from a divine being…and return it to one. It has lost most of its power, but it still has its uses. I could take it myself…but my lady has instructed discretion and hopes that we could have a…continued relationship, Captain Fellborn. Should you accept, we will support you in what ways that we can, and as a show of good faith I will assist you in escorting you to a village not terribly far from here where you will no doubt meet your brethren."</s> <|message|>Akyasha That silver light wad an annoyance, but that didnt matter too much to her. It was uncomfortable for the moment but no more than that. She approached, letting her voice be heard. "Fair Maiden, pardon my intrusion. Would you kinda step away from the water before some water geist or ghoul gobbles you up?" The Cleric mentioned as she walked in closer. "Shine your light at the water there if you don't believe me" Her approach went so far as the woman didnt take an immediate defensive againat her nor the light burned her. "The dead crawl ashore." She gave a small smile as she reached down and grabbed a rock almost hand sized and threw it at thr head ofone of the dead crawling up.</s> <|message|>Captain Argus Fellborn, the Red Tide Captain Argus Fellborn "The Violet Witch herself, you say? All the cutting words in all the languages of the world cannot sink the flattery, nay, the honor of being returned to undeath by her grace," he assessed, as he looked down upon the vial she had given him. The state of the world, as described by the maid, was a sad thing. This pitiful, broken world was not a place for a pirate. There would be no great trade and treasure fleets to plunder. There would be no infrastructure through which to carry myths of ghost ships far and wide. And even if there were, would such tales frighten someone who grew up in such a dark, broken world? And just how strong would they be? Had this dark new world made humans tougher and more resilient, or were they broken and struggling to survive on the scraps of the old world's rotting carcass? Whatever the state, the tenets of Ichor would guide him. Despite what this maid was suggesting, Captain Fellborn took Ichor's commandments quite seriously in his career as a pirate. "Aye, I accept your terms. Obtain the god-slaying blade, deliver it to you, and be discreet." Argus spoke, before taking the vial and imbibing the blood. He needed his strength back, and he needed his thirst slaked. "Lead the way, lass, but first...do you truly believe my brethren may get in the way?"</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Beastmen? The villagers were simply going to wait them out? Dragan supposed it made sense if the villagers were as defenseless as they seemed. But to simply cower in the face of annihilation and pray it passed them by was distasteful to him. But he wouldn't get these people killed just because he deemed it best. The world had passed him by for what seemed like centuries. He would have to learn much more of it before he could come to a final decision. The armored vampire reached to place his helmet back on and heft his hammer up, offering the villagers a brief nod. "Ordinarily, I would protest. I am not one to sit and wait for the enemy to approach first. But this is your village. If your ways have kept you all alive this long, I would be remiss to suggest otherwise and risk your lives without due cause. In any case, lead on, then. Should they attack, I will aid in your defense. I trust I'll receive no argument in that regard, yes?" Dragan glanced back towards his companions for a moment, taking special notice of the gorebat upon Giselle's head. He paused. It was acting rather strangely, wasn't it? "Is there an issue?" He asked Giselle, curious.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Captain Argus Fellborn, the Red Tide Captain Argus Fellborn Argus' failure to establish any control over his old crew was rather disheartening. For his magic to have diminished so far that he couldn't even control a single skeleton, it cut him deeper than the incoming sword could hope to. He could have parried or avoided the blow, but the shock of his powerlessness had blindsided him. It was thanks to Cynthia's intervention that prevented him from being wounded, her spear literally disarming the skeleton. Her elaboration of the situation came as a shock- these skeletons were now under someone else's control, someone that Argus couldn't hope to beat in his newly resurrected state. On the other hand, it was something of a relief to know that his magic wasn't entirely useless- just not effective enough to override this unknown adversary's own power. Furthermore, news of this foe gave Argus something else- a motivation. For his very brief existence from his resurrection until this point, he had been letting the current carry him, but now he had a reason to do it, to go along with the Violet Witch's machinations in hopes of the promised reward. However long it would take, he would aspire to regain his strength and rebuild his arsenal, until he had the power to challenge the skeletons' new master. "So they serve another now," he responded to Cynthia, picking up the sword. "Very well. I'll send them all back to the deep!" He thrust his sword into the skeleton's ribcage, and used it as leverage to throw the undead into one of its fellows. He then charged the nearest skeletons still standing, swinging his newly obtained sword with intent to dismember or decapitate. Perhaps he had some twinges of pointless sentiment, but he needed to put them down. Undead minions were all more or less the same, and he could always mend them later, if it was really that important to him.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Giselle internally chided herself the moment the humanoid creatures homed in on her, regardless of the illusion. Of course such creatures might react with different senses. In her haste and pragmatic sense to preserve most of her meagre vampiric energy, she had crafted merely a basic illusion. Had she taken the time to create something more comprehensive, then perhaps she would have remained undiscovered for longer… But that was all water under the bridge. Seeing the creatures quickly react, she immediately met them with her sword, helped on by the gorebat with the vampiric equivalent of a shot of adrenaline as the small creature injected the blood it had been carrying into her body. Invigorated by the boost of energy, she fell onto the humanoid abominations with the paladin's sword, slashing and dicing at them, as it once had against other undead in the hands of the fallen paladin eons prior. Despite its legacy, she had no qualms using such a weapon as a practical tool. In truth, had the paladins merely stuck with culling such creatures, abominations that made a bad name for the rest of the beings that shared a moniker of 'undeath,' she might even have tacitly approved of some of their actions. "I suppose it would seem fit to use such silver as it was truly intended," she mused to herself. With characteristic elegance and grace that had been her brand, the white-haired vampire leapt out of the way of the charging beast, before using the momentum to turn back in towards the creature and stab it in the back with the holy weapon. Pulling the weapon from its burning wounds, she met the next creature with a great slash, giving little quarter as she advanced on the rest while they were still stunned. If the situation didn't change, Giselle intended to destroy them all where they stood with the silver blade.</s> <|message|>Akyasha "My arms are probably weapon enough though?" Akyasha said before dashing towards a zombie, delivering a powerful kick towards it's midsection, launching it at at another nearby one causing them to crash together and crumple toward the ground. She gave a jump towards another, her forearm connecting with that zombie's head in a strong swing mid-air. She could probably manage to kill all these zombies in no time at all, however, she didn't want to startle this human with any of her blood magic. For now, she just needed to hold her strength back a bit and not obliterate the zombies in some simple blows. Still, the blacksmith girl shot another bolt, taunted the zombies and ran off. "If only she'd just give me her sword." Akyasha muttered to herself before shrugging. She turned to look towards the zombies. While not threatening really, she thought on it for a few seconds as one started to close in on her. She gave a sigh before noticing that there were two lined up behind it. One swift kick to the pelvis and the one closing on her would launch towards the two behind it, causing a broken pelvis and three piled up on each other. Then, she followed behind the blacksmith. Well, if there was an abandoned house, there was probably something that could be used as a weapon. A fire poker, ax or even a board from the house. "Does this house have any weapons, miss? If there is, I'm pretty sure the two of us could easily dispatch the lot of these." She asked, wondering if she should be putting on an entertained face or worried.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan shared a look with both Luna and Aleksiya at the headman's words. While he didn't know either on a personal level before the death of the gods, their reputations gave him enough of a profile for him to make an educated guess. Hopefully, he would be correct. But first, there were other considerations to be had. "I'm surprised you've all held out this long, then. Commendable." Dragan remarked as he shoved the last crate into place. "I suggest you gather up any able-bodied fellows you have, Master Gilles. In the meantime, I need to confer with my associates." Dragan retreated to an empty corner of the room, gesturing for Luna and Aleksiya to join him. When they did, he removed his helmet, speaking in low tones to the two other vampires so that the humans in the room with them wouldn't overhear. "Once we're finished here, I propose we set out into the forest. Both to recover our other companions, and to nip this beastman problem in the bud. Destroyed settlements pose something of a problem for us." He said wryly, choosing his words carefully on the off chance that they were overheard.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Captain Argus Fellborn, the Red Tide Captain Argus Fellborn It was clear that this sea monster wasn't fooling around, Argus observed as one of the pieces of floatsam was pulled beneath the waves. Argus pressed onward, wanting to stay ahead of the beast. As they got closer to the mast in the distance, another platform beneath him was pulled under. Fortunately, he still had both his reflexes and sea legs, and was able to avoid losing his balance and falling into the water. Unfortunately, there were more skeletons coming. One of them came at him with a fishing net, intent on immobilizing him. Argus would be impressed with the creativity of it if he weren't the target. He probably could cut his way through the net, but that'd still slow him down, and he couldn't afford even a momentary delay with that monster practically nipping at his heels. But just as a ship could sail against the wind, this could be used to his favor. "Thanks crewmate, I need this," he mockingly spoke as he caught the edge of the net and threw it into the water behind him, hoping it might be able to slow the beast down even for a moment. Just as he began to parry and cut his way through those in his way, Cynthia's spear came hurtling forward, impaling several skeletons as it hurtled into a mast. She's got a bit of a competitive streak, Argus noted as he took advantage of the strike to resume his flight forward. She'd make a poor candidate for a thrall- it'd be a great waste to suppress such a spirited, defiant personality with a surrender of one's will that accompanies enthrallment. Perhaps he was jumping the gun- they still needed to escape these skeletons and this sea monster before he could think about rebuilding his crew.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR --- Whether Giles had much to comment on the vampires words, he didn't speak it. He'd merely order the rest of the villagers to do as previously ordered. Quickly they'd clamor to grab anything they could, barricading and sealing off the door to the basement as the vampires made their descent… Dragan was the first to engage, the beast hearing him approach as he'd rush towards it, hammer raised and poised to smash its face in. The creature, quickly turned its head towards the vampire knight in response and with little care for its own wellbeing met Dragan's charge with its own. Dragan's hammer met flesh, slamming the creature's face against his hammer with a sickening crack. Whether through its own momentum or power though, it didn't have the intended effect of smashing him through the ground. Instead, it would carry through, its antlers slamming against his armor as the beasts claws, in a frenzied, gluttonous rage tried to rip and tear at his armor, trying to find anyway to get to the fleshy bits within as it gnashed its teeth and howled. Luna's assault was as elegant as she was, it seemed. The beast, upon feeling the magical restraints on its flesh, chains attempting to bind it, shrieked, looking up from its meal just in time to see the vampire launch her assault upon it. Her sabre slashed its flesh, right near its neck, the blade cleanly cutting through it as blood oozed from its wounds. It struggled against its bonds, arms flailing and shrieking, wrapping its gnarled claws around one of the chains, pulling and wrenching the chain as another cut was delivered to its head, right through its eye. Finally, with a hiss and a loud shriek, it managed to break the chains, flapping its weak wings and leaping into the…well, it tried, only to bang its head against the ceiling, and then promptly fall upon Luna, still aiming to claw and otherwise injure her in a somewhat admittedly unconventional manner. From further down the hallway, the shouts of more humans, cut short. They likely weren't going to be able to save many unless they hurried. There didn't seem to be an obvious way that the beasts had gotten in down here. Location: Forest of Beasts This --- Landing on the beast, it struggled, throwing its head and bucking its body as it'd slow to a halt, trying to throw the vampire off as she'd plunge the silver blade into the creatures arm as it made an attempt to grab her, earning another pained shriek as it'd recoil, but still not down as it'd clutch the injured arm, giving her just enough time to plunge the blade into the skull of the antlered beast, having a near immediate effected as it bucked and tried to remove the pest from its back coming to a near complete halt and almost throwing her off - and it would have, had it not been for the first creature that had finally managed to grab her. She'd feel pain in her stomach, the beasts claws having impaled her as it'd pull her from the beast, slamming her into the ground where it'd pull its claw from her stomach, proceeding to try and maul her. Location: Human Village, Riverside --- Akyasha engaged the beast, bloody axe sinking into the creatures knee as it hadn't even seen or acknowledged her presence up until it was too late to avoid it. The beast howled, gurgling as it'd immediately tur blood oozing from the wound but the cut was far to shallow to reach bone, cutting through what seemed to be nothing but fat, making the beast more agitated then anything. Immediately, it'd turn, making a wide sweep with the ship mast in its arm in an attempt to slam it into the vampire nun. Inside, Julene made it back down to the first floor, the building quickly lighting up with fire, but the undead were not so easily deterred. Not caring for their own unlife, and still burning they'd leap from the upper floor, trying to accost and drag her down with them, while the ones on the stairs and lower floor still made their way towards her. "Tch, just die already." She'd growl, managing to block a strike from one of the undead creatures, shoving it back into a wall that was on fire. She had to get out of here before the other barrels ignited - but the things were being awfully persistent in slowing down her escape from this place. Location: Pirates End Paladin --- Perhaps, Argus better be glad even considering making a servant of the Violet Witch a thrall was not considered some form of treason. "Not far now captain!" Cynthia called back, retrieving her spear from the wood that it had found itself resting in as argus tossed the net into the water nearby…whether or not it had some effect for the moment. More skeletal undead would pull themselves from the water around them, earning an annoyed growl from Cynthia as she'd quickly engage, slicing through more and leaping through an open hole on the ships hull that she had pulled her spear from. "This way! Hurry! That thing-!" Too late. Whatever it was, slammed its bulk into the ship hull, cracking its weakened frame, splintering it and sending it sinking into the waves, Cynthia disappearing further within. In the same instance, the platform under Argus was slammed into with enough force to completely shatter his already unstable footing! He'd need to act fast unless he'd want to find himself swimming with the undead and whatever creature that was.</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros The beast was more durable than he'd expected. Even factoring momentum into play, Dragan's strike should have done more damage to its cranium than this. Enough to disable or disorient it, at least. Or perhaps the beastman just wasn't cognizant of pain. Either way, he didn't have time to waste with this one any further. The sound of screams down the hall told him as much. As the beastman began to claw and tear at his armor, Dragan took one hand off the haft of his hammer and gripped the creature by the throat, bodily lifting it up with one hand. A sickly green glow started to emanate from his gauntlet, and the Death Knight's necrotic magics began to slough the beast's skin off its bones, rotting its flesh away. Moments later, the process was complete, and Dragan released his new skeleton minion down to the ground, where it obediently fell in line at his side. With that done, the armored vampire turned his helmet's gaze towards the cowering humans off to the side. "Flee upstairs! Your headman is ordering the door barricaded! Let him know of our progress, we will go to aid the rest." He commanded before tearing off at a sprint towards the other set of screams, his skeleton matching his pace.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel Tch. Uncouth, unpleasant beasts. She had assumed as much from the manner in which the townsfolk spoke, but to actually see them right before her eyes was another experience entirely. Aleksiya could even detect a rather unpleasant odor. It was best to be rid of the abominable things as quickly as possible, particularly the one that was directly endangering one of her peers. The former paladin wore armor, but the Lady Emeraltide could have suffered a much more unpleasant(though hardly existence-threatening) experience. The crystalline spear of ice twisted in the air, spinning rapidly as red light surrounded it, Aleksiya suffusing it with power as the beast tried to throw itself down on Lady Emeraltide. "Unsightly." With that, the spear was sent hurtling through the air, tearing directly for the creature's head. Without pause, she formed another spear from the air, the glistening ice gleaming before it was sent to join its fellow. Landshark@Asuras@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR --- Aleksiya's spears quickly found their marks. A spear of ice halted the winged beasts attack, sending it flipping in the air and crashing into the ground some distance away from Luna. The second quickly joined it, ensuring that the beast would no longer be a problem, its murky, blackish red blood quickly staining the ground. A quickly made undead beastly companion. Skin fell from bone, flesh rotted. Organs stopped beating. The creature seemed to howl, almost as though it was somewhat fearful of what was happening…but it was sort lived as whatever sort of free will such a beast had was stripped from it. It fell obediently in line. The villagers couldn't respond, still paralyzed both by fear from the beasts, and by what they had just seen these people in front of them do. One woman's legs went weak, and another had pulled a child close to stop them from seeing it. Well, unless someone wanted to drag them away they'd likely stay here for a few minutes in shock. The narrow passage Dragan was in, certainly wasn't great for fighting in. Barely two people wide, the undead beast could not walk alongside him. Either behind, or in front. Not much room to swing his weapon either, should he have to, but thankfully it seemed as though the beasts were too focused on whatever was on the other end of the hallway… And what was on the other end of the hallway, was a most unpleasant scene. It appeared to be a central chamber of some sort. The villagers had carved a large, dome shaped cavern into the rocks beneath their village, about roughly the size of a decently sized middle class house. Storage rooms had been carved into the sides, so had houses, beds. It seemed as though whenever they were beset by monsters, the people would flee down here for safety. It seemed as though that was no longer an option. A number of beasts, some humanoid like the bat winged one were feasting on the fresh kills they had gotten. Some more hound and deer like ones were trying to break into some places that had been hastily barricaded. Location: Forest of Beasts This --- The beast missed its follow up, barely grazing her face with its claws. Two shots, and the beast would stagger. A howl, then cut short as Giselle's blade would cleanly cut through the rest of its body, finally sending it to the ground where it no longer moved. Whatever had made these beasts, certainly made them quite…resilient. As the fighting died down, she'd find herself greeted with silence. The rest of the beasts, if there had been any…had fled, it seemed. A few more had been taken care of by the Gorebat, who's now fattened belly was making her have a hard time flying so she'd plop herself back down on Giselle's head, making a mess of her hair and turning it into a little bat nest. The only sound that followed was that of an explosion near the river and the sound of someone shouting in the night. Perhaps she could go see what Akyasha was up to, or head back to the village to make sure there weren't any more stragglers hanging around. Location: Human Village, Riverside --- The Monstrous undead let out a gurgling howl as Akyasha avoided its swipe, instead leaping into the air and digging her heels into its shoulder, only to have her slam the axe into its face. Blood spilled from its almost split in two visage, but it wasn't going down so easily. It stumbled back from the first strike, but it quickly planted its feet in the ground, steadying its stance and just barely not meeting the burning wood. As she'd give her orders to the Gorebat, the creature would retaliate by simply grabbing her as she finished, strong hands grabbing her. Pain shot through her body as she'd feel several bones break from the crushing strength. A feral, gurgling roar as it'd slam her onto the ground, and proceed to point the old cannon it was carrying at her. Normally such an old, waterlogged canon would never be able to fire…but she could feel it - magic was building in its barrel! Whatever it was going to do, it was going to try and just obliterate her. The gorebat acknowledged Akyasha's orders, chittering mildly irritably at being told to protect a human, zooming into the now burning building to help Julene. Location: Pirates End Paladin --- He managed to pull himself onto a piece of flotsam just in time, the roiling water growing more and more agitated as the undead tried to grab and reach for his heels, pulling him into the watery grave he had just barely escaped from. It was difficult to maintain his balance at times, each platform barely supported his weight and quickly gave way under his quick movements, but even so he'd eventually leap towards the shattered remains of the old hull that Cynthia had disappeared through. He'd pull himself up over the small ledge, the ground swaying under him as the waves continued to rage but it would serve as if nothing else, better footing than that now watery pit behind him. There was, however, now a clear path for him to leave. The ship was angled to have its bow jutting out from the water, towards the shoreline they were heading towards. A small climb up to what remained of its hull, and running across its front figurehead. If he could make a leap across a watery chasm and onto a beached ship across. That just left Cynthia. She had been knocked against the deck of a ship that had jammed itself half sunk against this one, barely managing to keep both of them afloat it seemed. A large piece of jagged wood jutted from her shoulder, but that was the least of their worries. She was managing to get to her feet just as Argus would pull himself up into the capsized ship. And the beast below, too, was just now starting to claw its way up from the depths. Behind Cynthia, the water began to swell upwards, pulling the water up with it along with the various pieces of flotsam. "Captain fellborn!" Cynthia shouted, wincing in pain slightly. "Get to the shore! I can handle myself! Your survival is imperative!" She shouted, as the shadowy, watery figure behind them continued to rise from the ocean like some sort of primordial creature, keeping itself cloaked entirely in water. She managed to get to her feet, twirling her spear. "This thing gets a hold of you its over!"</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros The villagers' reaction was unfortunate, but not unexpected. There hadn't been enough time to adjust his own tactics to be more...palatable towards ignorant mortals. Still, if even Aleksiya's ice was terrifying to them, no amount of control would have likely helped at the moment. It was good that nothing else had decided to bar the hallway he'd passed through. Not enough room to swing his hammer, to say nothing of having his newly created minion fight at his side. Of course, he could have managed with a conjured weapon, but that would have been a waste of blood. As Dragan emerged into the central chamber, he took the situation in with barely a second, his hammer raised as he started to charge. A wave of his hand raised the fresh corpses that were being feasted on as zombies, all of which began to extend their hands and attempt to throttle the beasts that had just been feasting not even a second ago. Hopefully, the shock and surprise of the attack would let those hastily-raised zombies do a significant amount of damage, if not kill their assailants outright. Meanwhile, Dragan leapt up and descended upon a crowd of beastmen that were attempting to break through a barricade, his hammer glistening with blood as it smashed back and forth. His remaining minion barrelled into the crowd from the side, creating a distraction for its master once the initial shock of the assault had faded.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Thankfully, with some more application of violence, the injured beast stayed down. Still, whoever had created the abominable creatures had certainly known what they were doing, even after all this time. Once this entire episode was over, she would have to convene with the other vampire lords to deal with whoever or whatever was behind the creation of these beasts. Normally, she would have dealt with this herself –or via her subordinates—but clearly that would not be viable at this junction. With a brief gesture, she made to repair her ripped dress, the fabric quickly rebuilding itself with thin strings of her blood before reforming into proper thread, closing up the damaged garment as if it had never been ripped in the first place. She knelt down to examine the corpses in closer detail, but not without a tinge of annoyance as she directed another flick towards the gorebat that had now returned atop her head and was making a right mess of it. Well, it had helped her some in the battle, so she wouldn't do much more than flick at it. She would tolerate it… for now. Giselle's after-action inspection was interrupted, however, by an explosion in the direction of the river. Hadn't that been in the direction that Akyasha had headed when they split up? She certainly didn't remember pyrotechnics being in her skillset. Frowning, she stood up, and after a moment's thought, decided to render the cleric some aid. The scene that she came upon was no less chaotic that the sounds of explosion had implied. It reminded her of the all too vivid scenes of the end of the Era, with a building rapidly aflame, agents of terror and undead on the streets –although this time the undead were hardly on the side of the vampire cause. More importantly, there was some particularly monstrous undead creature locked in combat with the red-haired cleric… armed with a cannon. Giselle would normally have dismissed it as harmless, but she too could feel the magic potential of the weapon. Without hesitating, she broke out her firearm once more –now fully reloaded—and with six sharp reports, emptied the entirety of the revolver's chambers into the creature even as she closed the distance, switching the revolver for her silver sword as she watched Akyasha maneuver around it. She flicked the gorebat once more, nonverbally urging it to go help its mistress. Once the immediate danger was over, though, she turned to the cleric. "What's going on here? Anybody in the building?" Depending on her answer, she'd move next to enter the building, too.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR --- "I-I uh…w-well yes okay…! T-thank you!" Being spoken to at least, seemed to help the villagers regain their senses if only a little. The child with them couldn't help but to look back at Aleksiya as she was swiftly pulled away by what was presumably her parents as the vampires disappeared further into the tunnels, the sounds of the vampires swift assault soon echoing through the cavern system… Dragan's hammer tore into the undead attempting to breach a barricaded house, smashing the skull of an antlered beast and sending it to the ground. Retaliation was slow, as it'd attempt scrambling back to its feet, only to them have the undead beast slam into the crowd from the side again, completely clearing them from the barricade and scattering them in the confusion. The undead beast tore into the other creatures, biting, clawing, ripping and tearing. A particularly large beast lunged towards Dragan, attempting to knock him over with its size. Aleksiya wasn't far behind. Dragan's magic worked to resurrect the fallen villagers as zombies, the beasts that had been feasting on them were in quite for the nasty surprise as the corpses began clawing and biting, ripping and tearing back. It was a gruesome, macabre sight as the beasts still in a feeding frenzy continued trying to eat and devour the corpses while the zombies themselves did much the same. It was perhaps, a fairly ingenious strategy. Though it'd take quite a lot of focus to raise so much, the beasts, if they did happen to kill one only lessened the burden after quite a fight leaving Dragan able to focus more on his own battle. The zombies, though, at least had Aleksiya's magic to hinder the beasts too. Unseen bullets of ice pierced numerous beasts hide and heads, if not killing them outright, making them easy pickings for the zombies. Now that they were in the area proper, they could see something perhaps a bit odd and out of place. One of the houses looked as though it had a wooden barricade or door or some such, ripped off from the inside. Location: Human Village, Riverside @Click This --- The creature's cannon did not need much charge time it seemed. Only a mere few seconds. As a small orb of light appeared at the end of the canon, Akyasha managed to move out of the way, quickly stepping…and having a bit of help from an unlikely ally. Six shots rang out, all slamming into the undead fishman, throwing its aim off balance. The canon fired in the same instance Akyasha's weapon met its face once more. It tried to grab her, but it was too late as it fell back to the ground. A blast of highly dense magical energy launched off into the air as it fell to the ground, it soon exploding into the sky somewhere above. The beast didn't move again. The gorebat atop Giselle's head chittered grumpily before flicking its ears towards the house and hissing… Inside the burning building, Julene deflected another blow, but the smoke was growing thicker and the flames had completely engulfed the building now. A swing of her blade, managing to crack open the skull of a nearby undead. And there was the sound of wings flapping, and a small chitter. "...A beast!" Julene quickly turned, brandishing her blade and aiming to attack whatever it was…only to have the Gorebat latch right onto her face and chitter a bit irritably. "What…the blazes are you!?" She'd shout, grabbing the thing and pulling it off her face before roughly throwing it to the ground. "Tch, some new beastie crawled out of the woodworks…didn't that weird lady…bah, whatever." The gorebat hissed in pain as it slammed into the floor. Oh it didn't like this human. It was going to complain to Akyasha about this. Julene made to leave, but something heavy fell to the ground outside, and the ensuing shockwave rattled the building, collapsing the front door of the building. "Geh, just my luck!" Location: Pirates End Paladin --- Cynthia hesitated for only a moment, briefly glancing back to the figure looming over the both of them. It truly was gargantuan in size, water draining from the shoreline as though an oncoming tsunami was rushing towards the land as it rose higher and higher into the darkened sky. Ancient shipwrecks clinging to the water as though it was using them for makeshift armor. She'd pry the wooden shrapnel from her shoulder, the wound miraculously closing in seconds as she'd use her free hand to grab hold of the bowspirit. "Captain Fellborn, on my mark, swing this bowspirit around and hurl it towards the beast and infuse as much of whatever spell you want into it as you can!" Cynthia shouted, deftly pulling herself up onto the bowspirit, running atop it as an expert tightrope walker may. From the depths of the watery visage, a single, vertical eye opened, dwarfing even a ship in size. A single melodic, sing-song voice was heard. What could only be another part of the beasts body began rising from the sea next to it. "Now Fellborn!"</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros The presence of ice around the battlefield reassured Dragan that at least Aleksiya was still present. Raising so many zombies at once while he was still weak drained him significantly, but there was strength yet to match these beasts in combat. Dragan leapt out of the way of the beast lunging at him, drawing his hammer back as he did so. Upon touching back onto the ground, the Death Knight dashed forward, bringing his hammer down onto the large beastman's skull to crush it to pieces. Between Dragan's zombies and Aleksiya's ice, the battle in the outer chamber began to wind down. Dragan's skeleton was brought low by what remained of the horde, only for them all to be summarily crushed by the vampire lord shortly after. With the immediate threats taken care of, he spied the torn open door and hurried towards it. "Damnation." Dragan murmured before calling out to his companions. "With me! I fear this may not be over yet. What minions I've remaining will be enough to warn us should more appear out here."</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@Asuras@VitaVitaAR --- Running into the building that had the door violently ripped open from the inside - it became clear this wasn't just your average building. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a number of instruments of alchemical and scientific nature had been scattered on the floor. Ripped pages from books. Medical diagrams that showed of all things, what seemed to be dissected beasts. Aleksiya, peeking inside and following just behind Dragan would notice a bit more than he would have. A few pages referencing the source of these creatures. Something about humans and beasts both being warped by something further in the forest - possibly a vampire being the cause of it. More, was research about various notable vampire lords, but the pages were ruined, caked with blood and torn in some areas. The only notable thing she could make out 'The forest is likely where one fell, but who, I can't say.' Dragan, rushing in and heading further back, would see a second room full of cages. All had been opened, some smashed open…but in some were carcasses of beasts from above, but he wouldn't be able to observe the room for much longer. In the room was a large, beastly looking creature pinned to the floor. Thick, heavy chains were keeping it locked down, stakes drove into its claws and arms in several places were keeping its arms locked to the ground, with similar treatment for its legs. Its head had a large, thick shackled collar around its neck. Part of its back had been surgically tore open, revealing its bone structure as well as its beating heart and other still functioning organs. A blindfold over its eyes, a nose that had been stitched shut, ears plugged with spikes, mouth muzzled and gagged. It hadn't noticed him yet, but no doubt it would notice him if he got closer. Behind it, off to the side seemed to be a small ladder leading upwards to the surface. A hole had been dug, quite recently. Well, they had found the source of the beasts. Location: Human Village, Riverside @Click This --- "Damn it, the only other door…" Well, she had boarded it up. Didn't want anyone else escaping. A perhaps reckless and short sighted decision in the end. Had she been over confident? Julene's expression softened only somewhat as the smoke became thicker, the crackling of fire filling her ears. Well…perhaps this was fitting in the end. "What's the matter, creature?" She'd say to the gorebat as it'd chitter in an annoyed fashion. "Shoo or you'll get burned, too-ah?" The bat forcefully grabbed her head, turning it in the direction that Akyasha and Giselle were attempting to pry open a hole in the weakened, thin walls of the building. "...tch, that lady is crazy." Still, if it was a way out of this alive, then she'd take it. Normally the bolt would probably be too weak to blow a hole in the wall, but if nothing else, it could help. Her head was starting to get dizzy from the smoke inhalation anyways. "Ack-ngh-cough-Move you-cough-!" She aimed the bolt, and loosed it towards the wall. Another explosion. The wall split open, with thankfully Giselles' reinforcement holding the rest of the wall and building around Julene up just enough for the blow not to bring down the rest of the building down around her. And a hole, just big enough for Julene to be pulled through. The human fell forwards, crawling on the ground as she'd move towards the hole, the gorebat tugging on her sleeve as she'd soon manage to get through the opening. "...you…are a crazy woman…but thanks…" Julene sputtered out, needing help standing currently. She was covered in mostly superficial wounds. A few light cuts and scrapes, a few burns and was singed in a few places but she was otherwise mostly fine. Location: Pirates End Paladin --- Ignition. Flame. It would leave the captain feeling a bit weakened, but it'd be enough. Fire alighted on the large, makeshift harpoon. It was incomparable in size to the creature that was gazing at them with a heavy, imperious gaze, but it was the only weapon they had for now. As it sailed through the air, Cynthia pulled herself up next to Fellborn. And slowly, she'd lower just one side of her blindfold, revealing beneath a single eye the color of clearest blue. It lacked any pupil, iris - it was just a completely, blue sphere in her eye socket - but it was only the briefest of glances for the captain, for just as quickly as she had revealed it, she'd recoil in pain, clutching the side of her head. Whatever she had done, if anything, was not something Argus could see. All he'd see was the result. As the titanic creature rose its tendril from the sea in order to crush them, the bowspirit slammed into the watery wall that served as its armor, but it did not stop. It pierced through the armor, and right through to what was presumably the beasts flesh. An explosion rocked the beast, sending it swaying to the side, and sending its tendril sinking back into the water as the beast itself closed its eye, a sing-song like voice shuddering with what seemed like pain and annoyance. "Nngh…I hate to ask this but…land…carry me…" He'd feel Cynthia's hand on his wrist. "While its stunned. Can't hurt us there…"</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- As mundane as the combined rescue attempts of two vampire lords were, it was not a surprise that the human rescue attempt was a success, even if it was a very close thing. The moment Julene crossed the makeshift threshold, Giselle tossed her crowbar aside, dematerializing back into a mist of blood before she grabbed her outstretched arm and pulled her away from the burning building before it could collapse on top of them all. Once they'd cleared the danger zone and were out in a proper open space, she paused and reached out a hand to help the singed blacksmith girl stand. She looked superficially fine except for some scrapes, but she knew that any human that had breathed in that much smoke would likely be winded for days afterwards or internally injured. She wouldn't fault her if she couldn't stand, but if the village had a healer, she would recommend her to see them. Still, she had been impressed. Had she used explosives to help take down that wall? It explained the fire, but she was surprised that knowledge of the complex chemical formulae for such things persisted to this day. Even if it did, it would still be rare for somebody to grasp making such things well. She gave Julene a thoughtful expression for a moment before speaking. "You're very welcome," Giselle responded, despite the human having addressed those words to the cleric rather than herself. "If you can walk, we should head back towards the village proper. I believe we have taken care of all the creatures we've encountered thus far, so we should check in on the others."</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan had been expecting many things when he'd entered the building: more beastmen, mortals being terrified by them if he were lucky, and more corpses if fortune decided to not favor him on this day. A mangled, imprisoned beastman kept seemingly as a test subject was not on his list of expectations. A deep frown marred the vampire lord's face beneath his helmet as he took the scene in, starting to piece together what had happened here. Whatever experimentation had been done here clearly attracted the attention of the beastmen. The little fool who'd worked here hadn't fortified well enough, providing a breaching point for the beasts. One man's negligence was responsible for who knew how many deaths today. Further proof that mortals brought ruin upon themselves when left to their own devices. As for the test subject itself...Dragan stood where he was, considering it for a moment. The measures taken to shackle it damaged the body too much for his liking to use efficiently. He only had so much power to use right now, and this would be a waste. Best to put it out of its misery, then. His course set, Dragan extended his free hand, a small spike of blood forming before it launched straight towards the beastman's exposed heart. With that taken care of, Dragan returned to the previous chamber, noticing the notes Aleksiya was reading. "Aught there anything of use to us?" He inquired. "Whoever was making use of this building was imprisoning beastmen in the back chamber and experimenting upon them. The breach from outside was also present there."</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Dragan had removed his helmet as he made his way back up, graciously accepting the villagers' cowed thanks. There was no point in being angry at the ignorant. Human peasants didn't know better, especially in this dark age. Of course they would be suspicious of armed strangers. So with that in mind, he simply smiled and nodded as he returned to the village headman. After Giles spoke, Dragan favored him with a single nod before beginning to explain. "The beastmen have been driven back. As your villagers will attest, they are either slaughtered or in full retreat. However, you have another problem." This time, the vampire lord gave Giles a hard stare. While he doubted the headman was aware of what exactly had been going on underground, he still had to impart the gravity of the situation upon him. "Were you aware that someone among you has been experimenting on captured beastmen? He'd had a specimen in his chambers that I put out of its misery. Moreover, I suspect the breach originated from that building. I can take you to it, and then you can point out exactly who occupies it. Whomever it is has brought these raids upon your village, be it inadvertently or otherwise."</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel "It was an atrocious scene, to be sure," commented Aleksiya, cocking her head back with a smirk on her lips, "Whoever was responsible surely seems to be a depraved sort. But you wouldn't have any idea, would you?" Of course, she didn't expect he was actually involved. But at the same time, it was hardly a poor idea to prod him towards divulging any guesses. He had the most experience with the people around here, so even if he didn't have any idea who did it specifically it was possible that he had a guess. Still, she had another goal in mind. Stepping away from her fellow lord, the diminutive vampire approached the nearest of the beast corpses. Perhaps, if there was traces of the force that caused this... Extending one small, pale hand, she reached into the creature's lost blood, splattered across the ground. It began to vibrate, the puddling ichor responding to her power. It was vile, distasteful, but even blood of such grotesque nature could offer information. She just had to see if it was there. Landshark@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@VitaVitaAR --- "I beg your pardon, sir? Show me, immediately." Giles demanded, frowning deeply at the statements Dragan was making. How could…why would someone do such a thing? He couldn't fathom it, let alone someone among the villagers. Certainly some had thought that capturing and training or studying them was a good idea, but he had always refused. Too dangerous. Had someone gone against his orders? However, when he was taken to the scene, all he could do was sigh. "...So that's how it is." He'd grumble. "This building was unoccupied, until very recently you see." He'd hold a hand to his mouth, quietly stifling a gag as he'd observe the scene. "Quite a dreadful scene…ugh, anyways," He'd glance towards Dragan. "Three travelers arrived some time ago. Asked if they could stay. We had no reason to refuse. A man and two women. Two dressed like they had come right out of the old world, and the third claimed to be a traveling scholar and alchemist, though her manner of dress was much more…shall we say, old." He'd frown. "She made an effort to inform everyone she was just traveling with them for a mutual deal for now, but the other two claimed to be from something called the 'Ithica Society'. They left for that damned city some days ago now. The alchemist left a few days before them, into the forest." Aleksiya's own investigation however, would not go unfruitful. It was faint. Diluted. Horribly so. To call it the blood of a prestigious vampire lord was laughable…but she could feel it. Something familiar. Something ever so faintly familiar. A feeling of animalistic vigor…but also irritation and anger. An almost feral rage at…something. There was no mistaking it. Kordelia…but what was she so angry at, and was she doing this on purpose if she was still alive? Location: Human Village, Riverside @Click This@Asuras --- The gorebat chirped, a bit annoyed it couldn't eat the human and was forbidden from snacks, but it did as it was told, swooping off into the darkness. "Hmph, any gods that do exist aren't ones I'd want to-Weh!?" Julene shouted, not expecting the woman to just pick her up so easily. She'd struggle only briefly. "Y-you put me down! This instant you hear me!" But alas, her pleas fell on deaf ears as Akyasha would refuse to do so. "Tch, fine. Whatever you fake nun, fine! Thata way." Julene's directions would soon enough lead them towards a surprisingly well kept and reinforced home, from the looks of all the others. The walls had all been reinforced, remade, and several walls had obviously been replaced. The first floor had even been expanded quite a bit, to make room for an indoor forge as well as a general workshop it seemed. The second floor had well, been completely removed. One of the walls completely knocked out, a ladder leading up to the roof with several platforms along the way stocked with barrels and also what seemed to be toher supplies. Intentionally done, perhaps? "You can put me down now." She'd huff, and if Akyasha didn't drop her, she'd give the nun a whack on the top of her head until she did. "Here. Workshop takes up most of the place…ah? Another one?" This was about the time Luna would walk up on the trio, earning an exasperated sigh from the Blacksmith. "...I ain't even surprised anymore. Whatever." Location: Forest of Beasts Paladin --- The woman, did not respond. She'd keep writing into the small book she was writing in for a few long, awkward seconds after Argus responded. It was only after these few long seconds, that she'd turn around, and immediately set eyes on the pirate. "Moons tears!" She'd shout, jumping back a few feet and bumping into the table and causing the glassware to rattle. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to sneak up on someone? They might turn you into a toad!" She'd close the journal she was carrying, stuffing it into her tattered robes. Now that he could get a good look at the woman in question, she was…well, she fit right in with these woods. Short, shoulder length messy brown hair with yellow eyes with more baggage than an emotional nobleman from the old world. The clothes under them seemed to almost be falling apart at the seams, with just a cloth covering her chest and a small skirt covering her lower body. The cloak though, was the most curious thing. Well taken care of…but it certainly wasn't something she could have made herself. It seemed older. Almost more regal. A bone ring adorned her finger, made out of some sort of small bird skull. "What do you want? I am a busy woman and have no time for idle chatter. If you're heading towards that village in the distance, there's a place you can cross the river not far down that way." She'd huff. "If you're looking for my services…I'm curious as to how you found me all the way out here, but stranger things happen. I don't come cheap as a healer or scholar."</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros Giles's reaction told Dragan all he needed to. The man had no knowledge of what was going on down here. Good. Dragan at least somewhat approved of the man. He was simply trying to keep his own people alive, something that the Death Knight wasn't exactly unfamiliar with. A good man, thrust into a nearly impossible situation. Whatever suspicions the headman had towards him were more than warranted. And likely justified, considering some of the company he traveled in. What he said further was cause for much greater concern, though. The Society? Elena had spied something related to...whatever that organization was, back in the city. Before she'd most likely passed on. This was the second time they'd come across this group, now. Their status in relation to Ichor's brood was still unknown, but whatever they were, they were at least able to pass as human, if what Giles said was any indication. Dragan paused, trying to remember what exactly Elena had said about them, before the memory ran through his head. "These 'Society' people. What were their names? Was either a Rykard or Rhea? Of the three, how did they behave while they were within the village? Moreover, what does your village know of this city, exactly?" He added the last one on as an afterthought. It would be good to know exactly what was said of Alavaris in the centuries that had passed. Judging by what little Giles had said of it already, it would seem prudent to not mention they had come from there originally.</s>

<|description|>Dragan Meszaros Gender: Male Appearance: Stands at a large 6'4. Broad of shoulder and hulking in build. Well-defined muscle, though deeply scarred across his body. Favors furs over silks when outside of his armor. Typically favors massive two-handed weapons, and is most commonly seen wielding a massive flanged mace. Abilities: Dragan primarily utilizes both blood magic and necromancy in tandem, befitting a vampire known as the Death Knight. As a blood mage, Dragan specializes in physical enhancement, preferring to fight in melee with a physical weapon in hand. Of course, he's entirely capable of utilizing the other aspects of blood magic as well, resorting to blood weapons when disarmed and blood barriers to defend against magic. Strangely, though, he has never been seen actually casting a ranged blood spell. As a necromancer, Dragan keeps it simple, traditional, and efficient: zombies, skeletons, and other such more mundane undead with which to drown his foes in a sea of corpses. One will occasionally see larger abominations within his forces, but these are rare and tend to be pre-prepared, with Dragan seemingly unable to raise these at will in the field as he could with groups of lesser undead. Of course, Dragan cannot simply raise armies at will. Without preparation, he tends to be able to create a dozen or so undead soldiers at a time, given enough materials. With the proper rituals and rites, however, Dragan is entirely capable of acts such as raising entire graveyards at once or binding the shambling bones of large creatures into his service. Both of these aspects combined leave this particular vampire as a frontline general, leading undead armies into the thick of battle. Personality: Dragan follows a twisted sense of noblesse oblige in his dealings. To him, vampires are inherently higher life forms as compared to humans, and thus bear responsibility towards them as a result. Humanity in Dragan's eyes are, at the very least, higher than cattle. It would be more accurate to say that he treats mankind as ignorant children: unable to fend for themselves or make wise decisions. Thus, vampires are to safeguard humanity within their borders, and for this service, deserve the blood they require to survive. After all, this was simply the feudal contract as existed in eras past. Only now with more worthy lords to rule over man. As a follower of noblesse oblige, Dragan strives to be as great as he can in his personal conduct. He conducts himself with elegance and decorum. However, this is also matched with a penchant for violence and direct action. Where other vampires prefer subtle manipulations and secrecy, Dragan simply strides through problems with a suit of hulking plate armor, a massive weapon, and an undead horde at his back. He is a lord, after all, and lords do not skulk like cowards when their authority is challenged. In regards to the Goddess, Dragan is a loyal enough follower that he swears to fulfill his divine mission without complaint. Having served the Queen once already, he sees little issue with working to bring her back. Bio: The vampire lord known as Dragan Meszaros, the dreaded Death Knight of eras past, was once known as the crusade's greatest shame. Born as an orphan ward of some irrelevant church of a now-dead god, Dragan grew to be a paladin of the same church, setting out on quests throughout the land. He slew monsters, saved the innocent, and championed the light of his god. Despite his successes, however, Dragan slipped ever into deeper frustration and melancholy as he saw the same stories happen time and time again. Men create problems for themselves that he had to solve for them. Tragedies and villians were created through human sins. The apathy, greed, and wrath of humanity were greater foes than any mere monster that had ever stood in his path. Men were ever more incapable of managing themselves. Dragan's final days as a paladin were spent chasing the rumors of a vampire in a great duchy of a now-forgotten kingdom. When he arrived, however, every value he held was challenged. The duke was a vain tyrant, working his people past the breaking point and abusing the fruits of their labor to glorify himself. The commoners barely cared about this vampire in the territory: a few deaths a month barely compared to the starving masses. In fact, when Dragan did finally track the vampire's thralls down to an outlying village, he saw something there that broke him. The people in that village, the vampire's cattle, were doing far better compared to the rest of the duchy. Better fed, working for themselves, and just...happier. It was then that Dragan knew his truth: man was inherently unable to rule itself. Left to its own devices, humanity would eat itself alive. Dragan gave up. He fell. Returning to the duchy's capital, the once-vaunted paladin launched a brazen assault on the duke in broad daylight, slaughtering him and his meager guard. Afterwards, Dragan returned to the vampire's village, throwing the unworthy ruler's head into the middle of the town square. With the vampire's attention piqued, Dragan knelt before him, stating that he had seen the true light. Bemused at the thought of taking a fallen paladin as Ichor's child, the vampire turned Dragan. After a period of time adjusting to his new existence and learning all he could of vampirism, Dragan took his leave, setting out on his own with his patron's blessing. Centuries later, the vampire known as the Death Knight scourged the land, conquering a kingdom with his undead army in the name of the Queen. He sought to replace the incompetent rule of man with his own benevolent tyranny. But this was not to be. Not in this era. Such a public, reviled monster was one of the first targets of the Hundred Paladins, made more urgent by the shame that he was once a paladin himself. While the bulk of the Hundred tore through his armies with their silver swords and divine blessings, their strongest champions engaged Dragan himself and laid him low. The Death Knight was shattered with his kingdom, his dreams dashed as the Hundred moved on.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Giselle frowned at the news that the towns' defensive perimeter had been breached. How had these humans survived at all, even with what appeared to be a survival expert of sorts in the form of Julene? Unless events had been engineered for the arrival of the vampires. She couldn't discount that thought, especially with how little they still knew about this future that they had been thrust into. She acknowledged the blacksmith girl's words with a nod. "Perhaps I can help with that in the future," she replied, her offer still standing from earlier. Giselle was not lacking for skill in this discipline, even at the height of the Ophediel era, and a lack of materials would easily be remedied once she had a stable source of blood to draw from. "Vegetables? I suppose I don't mind salad from time to time, but perhaps later. I'm more interested in this undead problem, though. This is a separate issue from the beasts?" If they were from the river, it was unlikely to be directly from the city. Was the village being plagued by two separate threats? Once Akyasha leaned in with more information, she kept on a poker face, but she remained curious what the gorebat had found together with the other two vampire lords. The cleric had beaten her to the chase in asking questions, so she nodded at Luna before adding her own. "Indeed. I would like to deal with the threat in the forest sooner rather than later. Though, I am curious. Are there other settlements in the area, or is it just your village, Julene?"</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel "I believe it's for the best if everyone comes along," responded Aleksiya with a nod, "It's quite a bit wiser to attack in force then to leave anything to chance, is it not?" Aleksiya would have liked to say she could do it by herself. In fact, it was rather painful to admit she couldn't in her current state. But more than that, she decided it would be rater unwise to reveal what the target was until they were out of earshot of the villagers. Only an idiot would bear them ill intent at this time, and Aleksiya fully believed in the cause of removing the threat the beast posed. However, to reveal the source was one of their allies would immediately set the villagers' suspicions running high no matter what the situation may be. Thus, it was quite a bit wiser to wait until they could talk amongst themselves without such risks. With that being said... "Though... perhaps a volunteer could stay behind to help ensure the villagers' safety..." Landshark@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Human Village Landshark@VitaVitaAR --- "...I will keep your words in mind, but if she continues to help with healing I may not be able to take that decision lightly." Giles replied with a frown. "But if you intend to head out, I'll have a room prepared for the three of you. If you're looking for your companions, I'd suggest Julene's. Her home is…well, it stands out. Close to the waterfront. Looks heavily fortified." Giles wouldn't stop the two of them from leaving, shaking his head with a bit of exasperation. An eventful day he'd need to mull over. For now, though, he'd see about preparing a room for the three of the guests. Julene's place wasn't terribly difficult to find. Near the waterfront, and heavily fortified. The stories that rose above the others were stacked with barrels and what obviously were sniper nests, and from within they could already and easily hear the voices of their companions… Location: Human Village, Riverside @Click This@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR --- "Make yourself at home. I already told ye ya could." Julene shrugged, taking her blade into her abode shortly following behind Akyasha. "Other settlements? Mhm, there's a few…though we're definitely the largest." She'd respond to Giselle as she'd lean her blade against the forge, motioning for the rest of them to come inside and finish talking. "Don't have a quick and easy way to contact them, though. We often use runners to run messages, lamp signals. light carries really well out here. Only for emergencies though, some beasts are…smart." The human leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. "The beasts have been rearin' their ugly faces since before I was born, but the vampire is news to me. If it is the source of these beasts, well…guess there's nothing I can do. I'm good to fight if I hafta, but I'm not a reckless dumbass that's gonna jump against something that can kill me with a flick of their pinky." She'd grunt. "Undead are new though. In the past…mhm, thirty lamp lightnings. Dunno where they're comin' from, likely the ocean. Ain't too far, but that place ain't no place for people. Undead crawling all over it and there's something there that sleeps in the water." Julene shrugged. "Not much else to say. I doubt you wanna hear about the food problems…ah?" Julene turned her head towards the entryway. "...More of you? At this point I'm startin' to think people are just' dropping from the heavens." She'd sigh. "...or crawlin up outta the demon pits. Come in, make yourself at home. Those three already have. Julene." Location: Forest of Beasts Paladin --- "Eheheh, aren't you a most agreeable vampire. Excellent, excellent." The witch would produce an admittedly large flask and handing it to him. "Fill it in whatever way you want. Now lets see…" The witch would pull her journal from her pocket once more. Now that Argus could get a good look at it…it was far too ornately decorated and well made for someone like the witch to possess naturally. "Hmhm…what can you tell me about the ocean, little book…? Go on, wake up! I've not all of this long night, ehehe!" With a drop of the vampire's blood from her ring onto the pages, the book would slowly start turning its pages by itself, the seemingly blank pages filling with text. Briefly, he could see the words 'Good tidings, Lady Charlotte' at the top before she'd manually flip through some more. "'Thiefs End' or 'Graveyard of Refugees.' I've come to the conclusion that in the old days people tried to flee across the seas only to be destroyed by a demon…a god? Or something from beyond the stars. Apparently a vampire was put to rest there, too! Too long ago to say but they say the dead there were cursed with grudges and hate…hm, no no not that. Further on. What is the ship?" The book would flip through another few pages. "The ship…and the force that commands them. I can't say what beast lurks in the depths, but that ship is…mhm, it's been floating out there ever since the death of the world. I believe some creatures have taken up residence in it. They worship whatever that thing below the waters are." She'd conclude, swiping the now filled flask of blood before he could do anything else. "Can't say much more than that. Eheheeh, I hope you're not too disappointed?" The witch, apparently named Charlotte, turned to Argus with a smile. "That said…I've a particular interest in that ship as well. Specifically something those cultists have. Its the entire reason I'm out here, you see. Perhaps, if you intend to go at some point, Mr. Vampire…remember little old me out here. I could and would be more than happy to assist. In the meantime…I could perhaps try gathering more information about it if I get something in return for such work, too."</s>

<|message|>Dragan Meszaros It seemed Giselle and Akyasha had been busy. Evidently, they'd been ingratiating themselves with one local in particular. As the woman introduced herself, Dragan removed his helmet and simply nodded back politely. "Dragan." Was all he said in response, setting his hammer aside at the door as he entered the blacksmith's home. Evidently, Luna had found them beforehand. Good. It would save him time in explaining. "I take it Luna has apprised you of what we found beneath the village? In that case, allow me to add on with what we've heard since then. Our mad alchemist was traveling with two companions in particular when they arrived in this village. Two by the name of Rikard and Rhea." He paused, choosing his next words very carefully with one of the villagers listening in. "Indeed, the same two that Ilena spied in our last locale before her...passing. Given that we seem to have traveled in different directions since then, I don't foresee them becoming a problem in the near future, but it is something to look out for should we ever return by this way."</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel If only... Brigitte... It had been her last thought before the end. A hope, a desire, that if she had to die, then perhaps there was some way. How many times had her body been pierced? It was practically inconceivably she was still moving. So small, so frail, and yet she was on her feet. The flesh of her arm split, ruptured blood vessels spraying red. Her internal organs were breaking down. She'd pushed herself harder then she ever had before. Harder then she ever should have. And yet, she smirked. Very well. If they were to kill the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel, she would show them exactly where their dedication ended. The destination at the end of their journey of zeal. She stood in a field of frozen dead, forever locked away. This cold place was her graveyard. The final spot she could recall anything before all faded to darkness. If only... And yet Aleksiya Ravennart found her eyes open. It was strange. She certainly recalled her death, even if, obviously, she didn't remember dying per say. She remembered her entire body falling apart, the field of ice and dead she had created. And yet now, here she was. At least if she was going to awaken within a sarcophagus, it seemed to be one that befit her status. She raised one hand to push at the lid. Her thin, pale arm was entirely unblemished, not a single sign of her death. Certainly, she didn't expect scars, but given the state of her body on death, it was almost strange to see it fully intact once again. Raising her other arm, she pushed the sarcophagus lid up and to the side. "... How dismal." Perhaps she should have been more grateful to be alive(or rather undead) once again. But the small vampire's thoughts, incohesive as they were, found themselves resting on the deplorable state of the garden. What a shame. It had been lovely, once, but now it was withered and decayed. It would have been far nicer to awaken in more upbeat surroundings. Awaken. She placed a hand to her chest, running it all over her body. As her thoughts steadily cleared, Aleksiya's grasp of her situation began to solidify. She was well and truly undead once more. She could move. She could think. And the yawning pit in her stomach indicated she could most certainly feel hunger. Her entire body felt stiff, tightened up. Just as if she awakened from a long nap in an awkward place, the childish vampire stretched her arms, trying to ward off the stiffness. Indeed, she could feel the tenseness almost immediately dissipate. A dismal location, to be certain. But she could see the familiar silhouette of a familiar place in the distance. The vampire hopped to her feet, brushing herself off as she did. "Ah, after such a long nap, I was hoping there would be breakfast," she complained, jokingly, to herself. Though to be truthful, her lament wasn't entirely a joke. She could feel the hunger eating away at her, no matter her composure. Aleksiya stepped out of her coffin, running her fingers through her silken hair as she adjusted her clothing. They'd even preserved her favorite dress? She was certainly pleased by that. It was far better then the alternative. That crimson voice that leaked into her thoughts could only be one person. Or rather, one goddess. Ichor's call, to guide her to the Alvaris Cathedral. Hopefully, she could address her hunger on the way. She was not eager to lose her composure by failing to feed quickly enough. Ah, but she wasn't alone, was she? @Pyromania99@Click This</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros The Last Age The lord of this land fell to one knee, his mace clattering from his hands as battle wounds, silver, and holy smites took their toll upon his ravaged form and rent armor. Numerous paladins surrounded him in his throne room, each mightier than he had been in his mortal life. "It is over, Death Knight." One particularly mouthy champion uttered from within his bucket helm. "The shame you bring upon your church, upon your brothers, upon my order, shall be ended at last." Ah. That explained it. They'd been pledged to the same deity at some point in time. Separated by centuries, of course, but the sentiment apparently still stood. Self-righteous fools. "Allow me to extend my congratulations, brothers and sisters." Dragan chuckled mockingly, ripping his helm off his head. It wasn't as if he had any need for it anymore. Not with his unlife fast approaching its end. "In slaying me, you have doomed the people of this land. In assauging your precious egos and pride, you have stripped away any bastion of safety and security that any person within this kingdom could have had. After I butchered their mad tyrant of a king, this is the first time that this realm has seen stability and peace within decades. And you've all just stripped it away. No armies defending their borders. My presence stayed the hand of vampires that would have been worse than myself eyeing this territory." A bitter, rasping laugh escaped his lips even as his vision blurred. "But by all means, crusade onward. Leave the shattered lives of an entire kingdom behind. You've more creatures of the night to slay, after all..." Dragan spoke his last, the final dregs of his strength expended as his body succumbed, collapsing. ___ Present Day Dragan rose, and was given succor. An unfamiliar setting greeted him, and he frowned from...beneath his helm? A quick inspection of his body revealed that he was still wearing his armor, damaged as it was from his final battle. How odd. He could have sworn that he'd at least died without his helmet on. Still, while the plate was servicable in its current state, it was far from acceptable. That would have to be fixed after he got a handle on his surroundings and dealt with the thirst creeping up within him. He was in...the middle of a city slum? This certainly wasn't where he'd died. Someone had moved his body. Their bodies, judging by the forms of the occupants of the other two sarcophagi rising from their torpor as well. And yet...ah. A familiar sight at last. The Cathedral. They were in Alavaris, then. Safe ground, at least in theory. The Death Knight removed his helm as he beheld his two compatriots, tucking it under his shoulder. Well, well. He was at least familiar with the other two. The love martyr, and the shadow witch. Dragan certainly could have had better companions at the moment. Still, he could also have had worse. After all, neither were the Blight Lord, though that was certainly an admittedly low bar. With no one else saying anything for the moment, it fell to him to break the ice. "Well met, the both of you. Our goddess has given us a call to answer. Shall we oblige her?"</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Her eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling. However long her slumber might have been, the fall to her was just yesterday. Just yesterday that she had failed her most sacred duty as a sovereign, to that of her people—to protect and lead them in their time of need. Just yesterday were those darkest days, in which every safeguard, carefully cultivated and shepherded over countless centuries, came crumbling to an end as the men of the hundred paladins finally came thundering through the mountain passes, the rivers, the fields, the trenches, and finally, the city walls. For all of her overtures of peace, to gain an understanding, to bridge the gap to a… careful coexistence, with a deft blow, they had shattered what she had so carefully built. In doing so, in their ignorance, they had doomed the last sliver of land untouched by war and the blight of a dying age. By not stopping them, she had damned the people of her land, humans, vampires —her friends-- to a shattered, pitiful end. She had made a last, futile stand in the field. As a vampire and a great lord, she would not debase herself to selfishly await death in a throne room, long after her loyal subjects had expended themselves in her name. No; they had come for her, for who she was, perhaps what she represented, but not, perchance, her cause. It was a fight she gave, and if her end gave her enemies a reason to spare who remained, or to even allow them to escape, then all the better to die with a sword in her hand. Yet the bitter regret of failure remained. It could have all turned out so differently. Giselle de Farry had died, along with those that she had failed to protect. Yet now, she existed once more, within this elegant, but poor substitute for a proper bed. Why, then, had her goddess deigned to grace her with undeath once more? She remained still for some time, staring up at the carved lid above her long after she had awakened, a single teardrop falling from her eyes and down the pale skin of her face. It was only then that she rose, somberly, lifting the sarcophagus lid aside so that she could figure out where she was. Devoid of light, and ruined as it was, she was in some manner of courtyard garden. She could tell, once upon a time, that it had been a grand and beautiful one, a fitting sepulcher for a vampire lord –or lords, for who else could lie in tombs as elaborate as her own had been?—to lie in state. That this place existed at all, with those dying, awful days, was a complete mystery to her. By the very end, there was precious little to give respect to the lords of the undead, let alone their desecrated remains in the aftermath of the paladins. Yet, as she examined herself, running her fingers over the cold, pale, and unblemished skin that she knew from unlife, it was clear that this was not the broken body that she had left in her last hour. Even her favorite dress, woven by her own hands, remained untouched, something surprising but welcome, considering such artifacts would likely have been put to the torch after her death. Would it be that the same could be said for her maids and loyal friends… It was obvious that some manner of sorcery had happened, but the magnitude and manner of it, she could not yet fathom. Standing up, she took in the rest of her environment. A dead city greeted her, emphasized by the lightless world that she found herself in. How much time had passed? Yet this place remained familiar. She was in Alavaris, with its cathedral in its rightful place in the northern skyline. She even remembered a familiar voice as she gazed upon it, though she frowned as the vague feeling coalesced enough that she could recall the curt form of address that she had been given in that memory. She had to make a wry smile at that. She gave her goddess her due respects, but they hadn't always seen eye to eye philosophically. Giselle replaced the lid where it belonged, before taking a seat atop her sarcophagus. Hungry and melancholic as she was, she was not alone, after all, as she watched the nearby lids of her counterparts open. It seemed her counterparts for this lovely evening was to be a certain annoying cleric, and the Rime-winged Angel. Unfortunate, perhaps, especially given the presence of the former, as she had wished to be alone with her thoughts for longer, but she was glad all the same to see former allies and compatriots in this new undeath. "Greetings, and good morning. It seems we have been summoned once more, for better or for worse."</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Akyasha The Garden. Akyasha's little public place to show off her collected Blood Lilies. It was saddening to see such a wonderful place being used as a gallery of fire. The battle that was currently taking place mattered little. The summoned creatures of Ichor battling Paladins weighed only slightly on her mind as Akyasha watched all of her precious Blood Lilies burn. She frowned as she turned to see a small swarm of Gore Bats harrassing one of the Paladins. Thirsting Sisters and Savage Priests savaging a corpse... The fighting was intense but the end result is what mattered and without said Blood Lilies, the result was clear in the vampire's mind. Akyasha was impaled, battered and broken. And still, the Cleric of Ichor had the will to spit in the face of her murderers, cursing them in the goddess' name. It didn't take much longer for the fire to engulf her. Her existence had come to an end. Or, so it should have been. Now... The Cleric had found herself inside... A box? Rather... She felt fairly weak as if she had slept for many years too many but more importantly something familiar had awakened her. A voice. A wonderful, beautiful voice. One that she had dedicated the near entirety of her undeath to. "Goddess!" Akyasha exclaimed from her confines. "Goddess! To the Cathedral!?" With a good hard kick, Akyasha launched the lid of the sarcophagus off of on top of her and it sailed through the air for a few seconds before loudly and rudely hitting the ground with clatter. The Blood Lily Cleric hopped out of the sarcophagus and looked around to catch her bearings. "A... Garden... Or was." No, this wasn't hers. The frantic look on her face changed to hope when she turned and saw the cathedral. It was probably her favorite place on this world, after all, though, she wondered what had happened. This place didn't seem to be in the shape she would expect it to be, though, perhaps that would be expected. If she had fallen, what of everyone else? If there was no one to take care of things, of course they would fall apart in disrepair and lose the beauty they once had. Regardless, the Goddess' voice echoed in her ear. The Cathedral. She took a breath and paid attention to the things at a more grounded level. Specifically, the two other vampires that had also been in the vicinity. The cleric's face warmly converted to a friendly smile. "The Goddess is quite merciful, is she not? Aleksiya? Giselle?" Everyone else in the past had been somewhat evasive of her for some reason or another but how could she not remember her fellow vampires? Akyasha moved in closer to the two an put an arm around each, bringing the two in for a hug. "How glad I am to see some of my sisters after reawakening." She brought the two in close to her with a tight squeeze before releasing the two. "You two have heard the Goddess' voice as well, I hope?" The cleric said, doing her best to remove a somewhat melancholic look from her face. "Shall we away to her command? I for one would wish to check on the state of it... What with those lights... Are they friend? Foe? Or, perhaps, feast?" Akyasha mentioned, licking her lips, her hunger speaking of it's own accord on what it had emphasized more than the other options.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Ancient Garden @VitaVitaAR@Click This --- As Akyasha made the mistake of earning Aleksiya's likely annoyance from a simple hug, the trio would be interrupted by a horrible, ghastly shriek from somewhere to the south, towards what was supposedly the city's main gate. It was loud enough to temporarily deafen, and immediately following it the other undead in the area would too, shriek, filling the air with the wails of the undead before they'd quietly fall off into the darkness. Whatever it was, did not seem friendly from that alone. It also seemed to rile up the undead in the area. Several skeletal piles of bones would shamble towards the entrance of the garden, though they didn't seem to immediately concern themselves with the vampires, but they were likely hostile as uncontrolled undead, without a master or lord to give them purpose. Lacking intelligence or sapience too. It'd be a mercy to put their souls to rest, really. Location: Alavaris Squalid Ruins Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- As the three recently resurrected vampires stood in the sorry excuse for a city street, the occasional howl of a beast or buzzing of insects would shortly be interrupted by a loud, somewhat familiar sound echoing across the ancient city walls. A sound that perhaps, was familiar to some of them more than others. A sound Illena would certainly found familiar, as her 'father' favored that sort of weapon. Gunfire. A single shot, silencing the cries and buzzing briefly as the vampires, were they so inclined to look below they would notice that perhaps, they were not the only beings currently in the city. Far below, further within the slums that the balcony was overlooking, the three would see a fire light up within the darkness casting long, black shadows against the nearby buildings. They were too far away to really get a good look at the person in question, but they were moving at a fairly quick pace and the only identifiable feature was the torch they were carrying. Judging from the way the direction hey were heading towards that Manor and soon they'd disappear into one of the half sunken buildings, perhaps, to take some cover from the sudden noise the gunfire brought. A curious happening…but perhaps not too important right now. You had other places to be, after all. The still lit braziers of the cathedral called to you in the distance and it seemed that the gunfire had indeed alerted some of the cities current residents. Not far up the path, where the road opened up just a bit more the vampires could see what seemed to be a ragged looking humanoid, shuffling across the street. Wounds crossed its body, small bits of…fur? Growing out of them. It looked like some sort of…zombie, but smelled heavily of rotten blood, like what might happen to a vampire if they go too long without feeding or one that had been marked for death by Ichor. Nothing more than a beast to be slaughtered, really.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel Moments before greeting Giselle in kind, Aleksiya was quite dismayed by the sudden embrace of a certain overly-zealous cleric. How irritating. Perhaps hate was far too strong a word, and Aleksiya did truly believe in Ichor, but the fanaticism displayed by Akyasha had always rubbed her the wrong way. That, and her lack of concern for personal boundaries. In spite of the situation, the diminutive vampire felt there was absolutely no reason to tolerate this invasion of her space. Small hands latching onto to Akyasha's arms, she irritably pushed them away and took a step back at the same time. "The fact we have returned to undeath is no reason to ignore personal boundaries," she complained with a huff, running fingers through her silvery hair, shimmering strands drifting into the air, "So refrain from invading mine, thank you very much." And that was that. Clearing her throat, a smirk crossing her lips as she had a moment to introduce herself, Aleksiya curtsied, bowing her head slightly. "As it has been far too long, allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Aleskiya Ravenn-" Her greeting was interrupted again, this time by the screech of some sort of terrible beast or undead. It was promptly followed by the cacophony of even more undead, screaming their withered lungs out into the night. "How dreadful," commented Aleksiya, crimson eyes narrowing, "I won't abide-" Pausing for a moment, the small girl placed her hand at her side. Nothing was there. For a brief moment, panic clutched at her heart like a fist(though she did her best not to show it), aand she immediately turned back towards the coffin she had departed from and quickly looked inside. Nothing. Aleksiya's small hands clutched, curling into fists, but she showed not a single sign of her frustration when she straightened. Instead, she chose to resume her reintroduction as if nothing had happened. "Now, where were we... Ah, yes, I am Aleksiya Revannart, the Ice Princess." She curtsied again. "I believe it's for the best if we depart, unless you want to languish in this dismal grave much longer rather then discovering what's going on," she added, her smirk having returned. Now she could leave, and find her precious belonging as soon as possible. Even if there were those mindless skeletons in the way. Aleksiya turned towards the gate and began to approach, with little care for the undead that lay ahead. They were no threat to the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel. Even in her current state, her body feeling weakened, her hunger impossible to fully ignore, she had no doubts. The first of the skeletons turned to face her, jaw hanging open as it lurched towards her, one arm raised. "Out of my way." Her pale arm flashed, and she felt it briefly come into contact with something firm. At least, until the object broke apart, crumbling under the impact of the back of her hand. The skeleton flew apart as it was lifted into the air, Aleskiya's backhand having shattered the side of its skull. @Pyromania99@Click This</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Sitting cross-legged atop her sarcophagus, Giselle's left eye imperceptibly twitched as she watched a nearby lid launch itself into space, before coming back down with an almighty crash. She frowned in displeasure at the interruption, lamenting once more the company that she was forced to keep on the day of her resurrection. It didn't quite help that she was still ambivalent about being brought back to unlife. Although in normal circumstances she was not too against receiving hugs and skinship from her trusted friends and certain acquaintances, in this moment of time, it took almost all her willpower to not scowl at the overenthusiastic vampire cleric as she was embraced. "Akyasha. Perhaps," she allowed, speaking curtly, before responding with more warmth to the younger looking of the two vampire lords that she had awoken with. Hopping up from her seat on her would-be sepulcher, she smoothed and fixed the hem of her black dress, teasing a thin strip of bare skin where her thigh highs met. "From my perspective, it has only been some weeks or months since we've last corresponded, no matter the real gulf in time, Aleksiya. Though, from princess to princess—" This time, she genuinely scowled, even as she spoke through the dreadful screeching that broke the dead peace of the garden. Giselle had wanted some more time to truly get her bearings, but it seemed even her fellow undead would not give her the proper peace and solitude for such a thing. "I believe we can save any formalities we wish to pursue for later. As much as I wish to wallow in despair of my own loss, perhaps I would also be better served doing so elsewhere," she dryly agreed, nodding at the smaller vampire. She was at least somewhat curious to see what awaited them at the cathedral, after all. Glancing towards the gate where hordes of mindless, feral undead creatures were beginning to gather, she probed herself, searching within her for her power reserves. With the hunger she felt, Giselle found herself wanting, very much so. Nonetheless, she reached out to the side as she materialized a blood-red lance to fall into her grip. Despite her unrivaled efficiency in blood magic, she felt the toll on her recently awakened body. Strained as is, she didn't dare attempt to transmutate the blood weapon into something less fleeting and more metallic, lest she needed the blood before she was able to feed on something in this cursed world. "Well, girls, let's clear the rabble, shall we?" Spinning her polearm in her hands, she stepped out to join her counterpart at the gate. This city had really gone to the dumps in the intervening centuries, if somebody was letting unshackled hordes of skeletons and goddess knows what else roaming about. Perhaps it needed some personal reorganizing. Advancing with a sweep of her lance, she smashed into a small group of shambling undead, the force of the blow tearing through their bodies and sending their bones clattering against the nearby stonework.</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Giselle watched in grim satisfaction as the bones split and cracked against the stone surface. Even in this weakened state, this sort of thing was not a threat at all. Frankly, she thought the three of them could bully their way through to the cathedral just by shoving them aside, but even now, a certain level of panache needed to be upheld despite the lack of obvious witnesses. Clearing the skeletons out would be a public service, anyway—if the city was to ever to return to its former glory. Either through lack of power as a result of countless years of slumber or personal preference, her companions picked… alternate weapons for the slaughter. The backslap had its own bit of flair, and despite Giselle's mild distaste for the cleric, she had to admit using a sarcophagus lid as a melee weapon was a particularly creative and effective solution. Unfortunately, instead of using it like a particularly unwieldy buster sword, the thrice-damned cleric decided to use it as a projectile, creating an almighty crash that just about drew in all the shambling undead in the entire neighborhood. "It would seem your combat skills have grown rusty over the centuries, Akyasha," she commented dryly, frowning at the skeletons flooding in from the alleyways. These seemed to have actual weapons. On the other hand, those would be weapons that her companions could use, however disgusting and rusted they looked. "Perhaps the rusty cleaver would suffice instead of fisticuffs?" Giselle kindly offered a suggestion as said cleaver swung down towards the diminutive vampire's head. Her attention quickly turned elsewhere as she reflexively parried a sickle-wielding skeleton that had approached. With a twist of her lance, she smacked the skeletal frame aside and rent it into pieces with the blunt end of her spear, before ducking low and whipping around to disassemble a second skeleton with the pointed end. "Nor I," Giselle agreed, nodding towards Aleksiya. She began moving in earnest towards the cathedral, and away from the shrieking beast, batting aside skeletons along the way.</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Still Luna withheld her saber in its sheathe, hands entwined together with patience as the others chewed through those measly pests in the streets. Another wretch approached, and the vampiress deigned to test her own abilities after so long a rest. Even to the mindless creatures before her, her command could not be ignored -in fact, with so little intelligence, it had little in the way of resistance. Or so she assumed... Luna gave the beast-man but a glance, but in that mere half-hearted gaze, the creature was enthralled. It froze, and shuddered for a moment, the lethargic, lingering, neural pulses of its half-gone mind fighting against her order as they settled and then dissipated in its muscles. The creature groaned, and its head turned... and turned, and turned. It struggled with all its might to fulfill her silent demand to break its own neck without its hands. Sinewy muscles tugged it around as far as it could, but somehow, it resisted. Sighing, the siren understood then the shortcomings of her long sleep. She stepped forward to the groaning, twisting beast-man, and in a flash of silver, beheaded the mongrel with her saber. Not a splotch of red stained the blade as it was sheathed smoothly in the same fluid motion, though the creature's placid blood began to surge from the exposed arteries in its neck then. "If I must..." she exhaled, eyes low with disappointment. Luna left the twice-dead corpse standing there, and lunged for one of the insects; if she had to drink any of this putrid blood, she would at least take it from the creature which could itself stomach the filth -there was a sense of 'betterness' to it, she told herself. Another silvery cut, and one more monster was felled, this time coating the blade in dripping ichor. Luna maintained clean hands, and drank lightly from the dripping that slid from her weapon. Sickening as it was, the shiver in her body started first as disgust, and then as delight. It could only be so terrible when you were dying of thirst. Luna flicked the saber, and turned to the remaining creatures in the street. "We should reach the Cathedral first, and expect the familiar's news later, yes?" she asked.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha internally cheered herself on as perfectly as she executed the throw. That took down more of these shambling bones than she could have hoped to otherwise with such an oversized weapon. Perhaps she could have used it for a longer period of time had she more blood in her system, but she didn't. She was to reply to Gisella as she noticed three skeletons closing in to her. One was a small bit further out than the others, but moved at a slightly faster pace. One intended to skewer her with a pitchfork while the other attempted to cave her skull in. She couldn't let either of such things happen, of course. She moved towards and to the side of the pitchfork. She got a hold of the shaft of the improvised weapon and used her strength to easily reposition the skeleton as it held on. She held on to the pitchfork and spun around, forcing her victim to take the clubbing blow of it's fellow. The third was almost upon her in the few seconds it took to do so. As the original owner of the pitchfork crumpled to the ground from it's blow to the cranium, Akyasha spun around again and used the forks to grab the third around where it's neck had been at one point. With her foot she kicked the forks, and skeleton, up into the air soon making them land heavily on the second one with the club shatter the two skeletons apart. Letting go a sigh of relief, Akyasha picked up the club the second skeleton had and walked toward the on-coming horde. "Whatever that beast is, I fear we'd be hard pressed to hold our own at present." Akyasha said with a small sad note toward the end. "With that in mind, yes, let us move forward." She would press forward, using the pitchfork to swat at the heads of skeletons from a small bit of distance and the club to clobber them when she got close enough. All the while, Aleksiya and Giselle could hear her making small prayers to Ichor as they moved.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Gate @VitaVitaAR@Click This --- The skeletal creatures fell easily beneath their assault. As they slowly thinned the hordes of undead, they'd soon break through and find themselves heading towards the Cathedral area. The skeletal creatures would thin as they traveled, slowly becoming less and less common until they seemed to mostly be entirely gone. The only roadblock would appear…when they'd discover the gate to the Cathedral ward was shut tightly. The entire thing with its ornate gate, depicting serpents and clockwork imagery was completely closed, and there did not seem to be any immediate way to open it. The shrieks from the beast had gotten further and further away as they traveled, but it was clear that while they were faster than it was…it was slowly getting closer and closer to them putting the trio of vampires on a timer. Which meant, how to get around this gate? Perhaps they could destroy it if they pooled their might together? There was also any number of side streets to go down, alleyways and houses near the wall…perhaps there would be a way in through there? Alternatively, they could wait to face down this beast, whatever it was. Location: Alavaris Squalid Ruins Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- The insects commanded by Illena only struggled briefly to resist becoming her playthings. The thralls quickly drained their victims of most blood, the large proboscis doing their function perhaps, too well. Too easy, perhaps? Regardless of thoughts on that, the large insects would then present themselves to Illena. An incision. Sweet blood oozed from their abdomens. It was far from the perfect meal the vampires had ever had, but it was enough. The blood from the mosquitos seemed to have the odd effect of concentrating and purifying the filthy, rotten blood of these shambling half dead corpses. As Dragan turned his attention towards the corpse, it would shudder as a new soul from the world would find the body of its host, rising to its feet with a groan. Raising the dead would leave Dragan just as weakened as Illena had been from raising a single familiar. Indeed, their skills had deteriorated quite far. It seemed that even the basics of tasks seemed to escape them. Still…with enough blood and time, they would quickly regain their lost power. That just left them to head towards the Cathedral. Easy, in theory. Perhaps not so much in practice… The road the trio were on curved around the lower part of the city, eventually meeting up with the Cathedral from the northern end, going under the main gate bridge as well as going through most of the rest of the city in the process. This would eventually lead the trio to a bridge. A quite large bridge…that was completely broken, making the road impossible to pass in its normal state. The entire body of the bridge seemed to have collapsed at some point. There did not seem to be any immediate way across. There was a small path down some stairs, though, that seemed to lead into what was once one of the bridge's support legs. Rubble laid strewn about too, and there was the skeleton of some large creature lying alongside the road, about a hundred meter's long. A few what seemed to be half eaten corpses of the half dead creatures and insects seemed to be laying near its body, too.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist After the others went off to slay those in their path, Ilena partook in what remained of the concentrated blood within her thralls. The scent, unpleasant as it was, could be ignored, while the thickness of what she drank meant that nothing clung to the insides of her mouth after the fact. Perhaps it was closer to a pudding or a sauce than a liquid. Regardless, starved as they all were, it was bearable, perhaps even novel. "There's no reason to delay the instructions of the Goddess," Ilena responded, tilting her head towards Luna. "And there is no guarantee my familiar will return either." That was all that was needed, then, for the trio to continue forth, past the corpses that they've all created. Bones shambled and wings buzzed as they strode through the ruination, only for their path to be paused by the simple fact that the bridge was destroyed. Obscured by fog and darkness, the skeleton of some great beast laid, picked clean by scavengers that even now returned to the site in hopes of uncovering new scraps. No need to condescend then, even if there was the promise of more thralls below. Ilena raised her hand, grasping onto the legs of one of the Exsanguinating Skeeters. Its wings buzzed a bit faster, but it would hold her weight, as light and insubstantial as she was. She doubted that her might was substantial enough to craft her own wings. "I will take to the air then, and will extend the offer to the two of you as well." A glance towards the man in their company, fully armored as he was. Knights. So cumbersome. "But in your case, I suspect you will have to be ferried after the two of us, Dragan."</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros The blood went some way towards restoring a measure of Dragan's strength, but he was still far from what he judged to be an acceptable level of competence. Of course, he supposed this was still preferable to suffering true death, but his current weakness rankled nonetheless. As they reached the bridge, Dragan found himself tempted by the large skeleton on the side of the road. Oh, how those bones would make for a magnificent minion. But alas, he already knew that he lacked the power to raise such a skeleton for now. Even with the mosquito blood restoring a measure of his power, it would still leave him to drained to fight properly should he somehow manage to reanimate it. So for now, Dragan turned away from the bones, frowning beneath his helmet. Said frown only grew as he beheld the obstacle in their way, as well as Ilena's proposed method for circumventing it. While he supposed he could simply descend the bridge from the stairs and go along the bottom before climbing up with blood magic-granted agility, that was also a waste of time when their mission was to arrive at the Cathedral as soon as they could. So with great reluctance, Dragan nodded his assent to Ilena. "In my current state, I suppose I've no choice but to accept. You've my apologies for inconveniencing you so."</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Despite their number, the hordes of undead gave the vampire trio little resistance as they cut their path towards the cathedral. The shrieking beast continued to linger in the periphery of their senses, however, so Giselle wasn't able to affect as leisurely a pace as she wanted to examine the state of the city. Indeed, the thing that gave them the most resistance in their drive away from the creature was in fact the city's architecture. "Well, this is troublesome." The great iron doors to the Cathedral ward were sealed shut, barricading away the hordes of the mindless undead… but also higher beings, namely herself and her two companions. The white-haired vampire frowned at the ornate structure. It seemed centuries or even eons of neglect had not tarnished the grandeur of this structure and its ornate metalwork. That was good if they were to eventually rebuild, but here in the now, it was no small inconvenience. Once upon a time, such a barrier would have been little obstacle to any of them, but now was another thing. Giselle was confident that their combined might could siege down the gate eventually, but at what cost? At the expense of what meagre power, they had remaining, to destroy a valuable fixture that had withstood the test of time, and would otherwise continue to, if unmolested? No, that was a last resort. "I am loathe to squander what little power we have trying to blast our way through a relic," she decided, giving a nod of allowance towards the cleric. Giselle doubted Akyasha would approve of damaging fixtures in the Cathedral, religious nut that she was. "As it is, it's too tall to jump or scale at our current ability. I'm going to look for an alternative way in." Not wasting further time to dawdle with a soft deadline on their entry, she began to make her way down a side street. There must be some sort of side entrance, guard exit, or secret passageway somewhere along the wall. They always existed.</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist "If the rest of our Goddess's rightful domain is in such a state, that means our blightful foe has fallen destitute alongside our brethren," Ilena replied. But she was not sure whether to feel triumphant over that. To attain victory by outliving the natural lifespan of a human was the way of worms. And yet to become the rulers and rebuilders of a ruined world would be the surest way to stamp out the worshippers of lesser deities and extol the greatest of the Stained Queen. Complication unnecessary. Luna's second question was easier to answer. A short shake of Ilena's head, followed by a casual disregard for her jest. Dragan was armoured, but the Exsanguinating Skeeters have lifted knights in full plate and drained them dry before. An unfed paladin, no matter the renown, would not be so different. What would make things different, though, was the revival of that great skeleton, bones rattling against stone as it raised itself skywards, almost tall enough to reach the two flying vampires. Ilena fixed her gaze on Luna. "I suppose you could not command it to beg?" And she dropped, her right arm melting into shadow as outsized claws shunted out from where her fingers once more. They slammed into the skull of the skeletal creature, digging deep as it swung its head down towards Dragan, before the impact caused those self-same claws to rip deep grooves into ancient bone, Ilena sent flying by the impact. The giant mosquito caught her though, wings flaring with effort to stop her fall, and she landed gingerly beside Dragan. "Your verdict, Death Knight?" Amidst the buzzing of her thralls, Ilena's flesh began to tremble, muscles and organs changing from beneath the skin. "Will these bones be broken or merely displaced?"</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Giselle had been right, as she had expected. Alavaris was too old, too lived in, and too storied to not have such little entrances, despite the decrepit state the city and the land was in now. In this case, it was the easiest of alternative entrances they found, a simple guard door. Time had ensured that whatever door or lock that might have gotten in their way was not an issue. Still, it seemed to have done its job enough that the contents of the guard room seemed relatively unscathed for their age. Perhaps, if she was so inclined, she could quickly restore one of those weapons herself and stow away her blood to conserve her energy. Before she could do that, though, they had to clear the room. There was a single undead beast here. Giselle had been about to smack the degenerated body aside when it stared at her and Aleksiya, and screamed. She winced, placing a hand to her ears even as she lashed out together with the smaller vampire lord to destroy the lesser being for its heinous offense. "Nasty little thing, aren't you?" She could barely even hear herself as aimed for center mass, intending on eviscerating its undead heart if Aleksiya's headshot wouldn't do the trick. Immediately after, she began to move towards the weapon racks, intending to inspect them for anything that she could restore and use on the spot once the trouble in the room was dealt with.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha held her breath as the giant creeped around and soon enough groaned and disappeared back the way it came. She relaxed her shoulders a bit. She was positive that, at the moment, she could not fight that if it came to it. Not by herself at least. Then, she felt a cold grasp around her neck ever so slowly. A ghost? How crude. One would not find this Cleric of Ichor easy prey. She raised her hand and encased it with her blood magic to enable her manipulating this ghost. She moved her hand up and grabbed the hand surrounding her neck by the wrist and quickly pried it away. She twisted the ghostly wrist in such a way that it would have broke a human's wrist under the same circumstance. "How vexing to deal with a ghost at the moment." She'd continue supplying some of her available power to her hands to lessen the burden she would take in making a full blood weapon. She pull the ghost out of the wall and then gave it a good smack to get rid of it. These things were rather annoying at times. Well, at the least this problem was solved. So took a look outside the building, carefully peaking her head out to make sure the there were no giant skeletal monsters out here ready to devour her. It looked clear at least so she quietly made her way to where she had noticed her compatriots went.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Ancient Garden @VitaVitaAR@Click This --- The ball of ice formed, slamming into the undead's head with force enough to crack its skull open, making a large gash across the top of its head but not enough to put it down. Giselle followed up with her lance, the point of the weapon aiming for the wretched undead's 'heart'. Impact. The lance struck its target. The creature wailed, but there was no heart or blood beating in the creature's chest for her to eviscerate. It writhed on the end of her lance, screeching once again. And from the stairs beyond, they could hear a few shallow groans and raspy gurgles of more undead as some more fleshy zombies wearing what seemed to be old armor and weapons made their way down the stairs. Had this screeching one alerted them? They'd have only a few moments to gather more weapons here should it suit them. Giselle would find a nice selection once she had completely ended the one on her lance. Old, but still serviceable enough swords of varying lengths, spears, even a few war hammers. Akyasha would have a somewhat easier time. The ghost that had been attempting to choke the vampire out would soon find the tables being easily turned on it. Making a simple pair of blood-knuckles to smack something with was easy enough, the warm crimson liquid covering the entirety of her hand as she reached out, twisting the ghosts hand from her neck. It hissed a ghostly wail as she'd pull it closer, promptly slamming another fist right into its spectral face without pausing so much to get even a good look at it before it'd shortly dissipate into an ethereal dust. No doubt it'd be back soon enough without a proper sending off of some sort, but for now the ghost had lost its physical form. As she'd leave the building she'd be pleased to find the skeletal monstrosity had dragged itself back down the road. Most of the undead too, had fallen silent and had either gone into some sort of slumber or disappeared back into the houses or back with the skeletal creature. As she'd head down the road back towards the gate however, she'd notice something odd. Where an alleyway presumably existed on the opposite side of the street, Akyasha would notice something perhaps a little intriguing. A swarm of rats, scurrying down the alleyway. Large, over sized things with beady red eyes and fur as black as night almost as if they were shadows themselves. They disappeared shortly afterwards, down the alleyway. Well...it was probably nothing at all, but they certainly might help alleviate some blood thirst if you could get some... If not, then she'd easily arrive back at Aleksiya and Giselle soon just as the other undead began making their way down the stairs. Location: Alavaris Squalid Ruins Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- The beasts head slammed into the ground with a mighty thud, kicking up dust and debris as it seemed entirely unfazed by the fact it just headbutted the ancient stone bridge. As he dodged one way, the beast would slide its head and long neck across the bridge, trying to seemingly shove Dragan off of it, only for the vampire to successfully leap out of the way. The armored vampire would thus lash out with his rapier… And miss entirely. Well, sort of. The blade of the weapon seemed to bounce off something that was unseen, directing the blade from its eye socket down the side of its serpentine skill across what felt almost like some sort of smooth armor or perhaps hide. It seemed there was some sort of invisible barrier protecting the things bones. A low growl followed as the beast was suddenly assaulted from a second source. Illena's claws would fare just as well as Dragan's rapier had. Her claws never reached the bones, instead seemingly gripped what felt like some sort of smooth, hardened armor or carapace. The creature reared its head back, contracting its meter's long neck as it pulled itself away from Illena and her shadowy claws. Another roar that shook the air as it raised its long neck once more, not giving Illena or Dragan much time to strategize as it darted forward nimbly, mouth agape as it attempted to bite Dragan in two and it was too quick for him to merely dodge out of the way.</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Luna idly kept hold of the skeeter, its lazy, meandering flight ferrying her further to the other side of the bridge. Critical as the situation was the moment the half-dead beast awoke, Luna maintained a placid demeanor. A side-eye cast to Ilena at her question, and she looked skywards in thought. "I could nary command a ghoul to shatter its own neck, t'would be difficult with this one, I imagine," she answered. Still she hung on for a moment more after Ilena's dive, marveling at the brazenness of her assault, before opting to drop back onto the bridge lest she find herself soon floating above the yawning ravine between. Luna landed with a small stumble -she was never one for much acrobatics- before righting up and squaring off against the beast's maw. "But... I can try at least," she mumbled to herself. Luna unsheathed her saber, and her eyes flickered with crimson energy. The beast, seemingly half-reanimated and sporting an unseen barrier, reflected a lingering command from someone else magically-inclined, and perhaps long lost by this point. Even if its master was now dead, their presumed magic still puppeteered the beast; her enthralling magics would be a toss-up, she thought. Still, she stared it down with conviction. Luna's pupils flared -a starry flash of red- and she exerted herself to influence the creature, if even for a moment. "Halt, decayed creature!" she shouted. All she needed for now was a moment; just one moment to slow its movement and grant Dragan the second to dodge.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha was glad to be rid of that ghost. She was ready to meet up with her comrades... However, the shadowy looking rats... Well, it didn't seem like Aleksiya or Gisella was too keen on her anyway. They probably wouldn't even notice she was still missing. Well, if she could recover some of her strength, then it would be worth it. She could summon some cute helpers if she managed enough blood. "Guide my path, Goddess." Akyasha said before she took steps towards where those rats had went. She was cautious whilst she moved about, caring not to awaken any more of the undead guardians of this forsaken place.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Invisible protection around this beast? How vexing. Dragan narrowed his eyes as he observed Ilena's claws fare no better than his blade. Brute force didn't seem to be an option with the power he currently held, but magical assaults were still in play. Before the former paladin could capitalize on his hastily-formed plan, he was taken off-guard by the sheer speed the creature exhibited in snapping its jaws forward at him. Even as Dragan reflexively moved to sidestep out of the way, he knew that he wouldn't make it in time- "Halt, decayed creature!" Ah. The benefit of having allies. Dragan's blood magic surged, increasing his speed further at the last moment to propel him out of the way of the slightly-slowed skeleton's bite. He skidded along the ground upon landing, coming to a sudden stop by plunging his rapier into the street. "You have my gratitude, Lady Emeraltide!" Dragan called out, raising his rapier. "We'll have to erode its protection first! Impede it as best as possible until we do!" From his position, the vampire lord surged blood magic through his legs again, leaping onto the beast's back. Dragan raised his free hand as he mounted the monster, channeling necrotic magics in his palm before slamming it straight towards his foe, aiming to accelerate the decay of whatever protection was surrounding it.</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- The white-haired vampire clicked her tongue in annoyance as the creature continued to scream, despite having its skull caved in and a chunk of its chest cored out. Giselle quickly changed strategies and pivoted, yanking out her blood lance and taking bits with it, before willing her weapon to change shape once again. Keeping its pole, the lance blade immediately morphed into that of a reaper's scythe. With a swish, she moved to remove the zombie's head altogether, even as more undead began to creep down the stairs. Finding herself unwilling to deal with this escalated mess, she bounded over to the weapons rack. In a few seconds, she picked over the rusted weapons before finding a serviceable lance. Trickling her magical energy into the mundane relic, she merged her blood scythe together with it as it became liquid once more, coating the weapon with her blood. With a flourish and a spin, the weapon glowed with energy, even as her blood rushed back into her body, reinvigorating her, or at least to almost as much as she had felt when she woke up. The portion of blood that remained fused with the lance, shaking off its rust, reinforcing and restoring the ancient weapon to a form that it would have envied even in its best days. Still, even this was a fraction of her former creation abilities. New weapon weapon in hand, Giselle was still sorely tempted to blitz past the new group of walking undead. But without Akyasha with them, it was probably ill advised, even if she did annoy her. With a frown, she glanced over at the ice princess. "It would seem the priestess has fallen behind. As much I wish to hurry on… we should probably clear out these beasts, lest she might lose our trail."</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide It felt like a test of her hope -having been killed once already by a band of paladins and feeling the despair of that desperate moment, only to be now thrown into another fire before something horrible only because of her weakness. Surely this was by Ichor's design, and was meant to assure the goddess of her determination and ability. Years of idle surety in her past unlife was exactly why she was twice-dead, wasn't it? As much as she wished to prove herself, intelligence was as much a proof of capability as muscle, and wisdom was telling her that Ilena was right. She nodded -if only to herself- and for a moment prepared her lithe legs to sprint away before pausing in wait for Dragan. Luna resented that the powers of her old god left her, whose absence meant she no longer had the ability to mend Dragan's wounds. She extended a hand towards the knight, absent-mindedly considerate even as she realized the knight might take offense to her sympathy. "If Ichor is yet guiding us, and the Church is where she has pointed us to, then surely it is also a safe haven. We must swallow our pride for some days still. Let's go," she said, eyes chained to the feline mutant in wait for its next savage move.</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha had walked into a trap of sorts. She recognized the corpse as dressed as a sort of doctor, one could say but she did not recognize thr creature that had wrapped it's unholy mitts on her. It squeezed her tightly so she couldnt escape before her vision faded and she came to wake somewhere. The cleric wasnt sure where though. It was familiar but alien. The vampire had further questions as she was being pelted with words from a woman in similar garb as the corpse. She introduced heraelf as Est and even helped Akyasha to her feet, though her head was spinning as she tried to comprehend what exactly she had seen before. She put that thought to the back of her head for the moment. "Greetings, Miss Est." The vampire said, looking at the woman as she continued to introduce herself. I am Akyasha, Devoted Servant of the Goddess Ichor. Though, I suppose you've deduced as such. Please call me Akyasha." Akyasha looked around the cathedral and, specifically the rats before her. A light smiled turned into a light frown as she pondered her current situation. Several thoughts ran through her head but she decided to reserve judgement. "Apologies for my delayed response. I believe I've merely been attempting to comprehend my situation and my stark lack of blood has been clouding my judgement a small amount." Akyasha looked around her surroundings a bit more, focusing on the bright light for some seconds before facing Est again. "I must say, I hardly believe I'm still in Alavaris. After all, it's much too bright to belong to the home of my kind. Rather, it feels like I've been spirited away by some mischievous rat that clings to ladies far too tightly." The Vampire said with a small smile crossing her lips as if she were talking about an adorable child. "Would you perhaps know of how I've come to be here, Miss Est?"</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Gatehouse @Click This --- Undead fell beneath their assault, though it would leave the pair feeling quite drained themselves. The undead may not have been individually strong, but slowly, and surely, their numbers were starting to weigh on the two as they spent their already weakened strength to fight off the creatures…but fall the undead would regardless, until all around the pair was quiet again. If they so happened to poke their head up the stairs, they'd find themselves standing atop the wall a short climb later, and it, seemed to at least, be blessedly free of any mindless undead not tethered to Ichor and in the distance, across the road and various buildings they could easily see the cathedral in the distance, imposing, high above the rest of the city as though looking down upon the both of them and the city itself. But of course, they would not dare to leave one of their own behind. Besides, the most important thing it seemed…was that the defensive wall, was not unoccupied. The two vampires could immediately tell - there was a human here, and he was making no effort to hide himself. "...I was wondering what the undead were wailing about, but instead of a monster I find two who appear to be hapless girls that have stumbled into this wretched place." A masculine voice made itself known to Giselle and Aleksiya. He was standing not far from them, at just the edge of the wall facing the Cathedral. "Yet you are neither hapless nor simple girls, are you? You'd already be dead if you were." The man was dressed in a long coat, and seemed quite tired. Vials of fresh, red blood seemingly hung from his coat alongside what was a very bright, very obvious lantern that illuminated the area around him. "Ah, sorry. Lucky you ran into me instead of my partner. Unlike her, I'm much more open to negotiating. Don't mind me, I'm simply looking for a vermin that escaped our trap." Well, it seemed at least if nothing else, humans still survived. He might make for a somewhat easy meal, too. He didn't seem all that strong…but then again, to be up here and seemingly be completely unharmed walking among the undead that had been here, or perhaps, unnoticed meant he likely had some tricks up his sleeve. Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode --- Taking a blow to ones pride was always a brutal moment. Even more so for such creatures as vampires. The beast before them was as of now, still beyond their capabilities, whatever this creature even was. Perhaps there would be some way to incapacitate the creature, but for now…perhaps this was the smartest choice. The trio fled, using the path the creature created when it shook both its body free and smashed Dragan into the wall. Not wanting to let its prey go, however, the beast shrieked and would initially give chase, pouncing along the stony road and reaching for the vampires with its long neck, attempting to swallow Dragan, the slowest of the bunch to flee in its massive maw only to just barely, barely, fall short as it hissed and shrieked, its lunch managing to just barely escape from it. Why it didn't follow into the cathedral ward and the city proper was perhaps, something to be found out shortly. The trip to the cathedral was, thankfully, much easier once they had gotten away from the rotten mess of the lower slums and once they had passed the wall that separated the Cathedral from the rest of the city things became…much quieter. Howls of the animals below quieted, almost as if something was blocking the sound. Not a single creature could be seen be it insect, beast, or undead. The three vampires would quickly know the reason, too. It was faint, but they could definitely feel it. Ichor's power seeped from the Cathedral still. Faint, weakened, but still it beat and this place, was thus, sanctified ground for those undead of her brood and her children. A safe haven. Dragan, Luna, and Illena would not be entering through the front gate. Rather they would be entering through a side hall that was used in the past by those of clergymen to enter into the building unseen. Up the stairs, through a few large backrooms of libraries and study halls and soon, out into the main cathedral hall which thankfully seemed just as grand as it had in the past. The worship hall was as large. Grandiosely built to satisfy someone's hubris. Against the far back wall, was the carved image of the Goddess Ichor. It stretched all the way from the floor to the ceiling high above, her stony visage looking down upon all in the hall. Long, flowing hair carved into the stone as her arms wrapped tightly around a depiction of the Violet witch and the Vampire Queen. The witch knelt next to the Vampire Queen, cradling her head in one arm and in the other held a bowl, the liquid pouring into the mouth of a depiction of the Vampire Queen as the Goddess embraced the two tightly. Under the Vampire Queen skeletal hands and figures began crawling their way out from under the bed upon which she lay. In front of the statue was an altar at its base, and on the altar…was a still mostly fresh body. Wait. No, they were still alive. Barely, if you count being 'undead' as alive in some fashion. No, this wasn't just a normal person. It was a thrall and she seemed to be passed out, slumped over the altar. On the altar was what seemed to be an oversized heart with a dagger plunged into it. A satchel with several vials of fresh, human blood were within just enough to satiate and definitely help with regaining their lost power. A thrall, here, of all things? And she didn't seem to be doing to well. Did this mean a vampire still lived and this was their servant?</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Rune_Alchemist It was enough to make her feel religious. But Ilena did not prostrate herself. As they settled into surroundings that appeared safe, the shadow-witch waved at her minions once more, sending them off into the rest of the city to fill their stomachs. Five long bounds brought her towards the satchel where she had smelled the blood, and she immediately uncorked one such vial, downing it all in a single gulp. Delicious. But only in the way that anything would be delicious to someone thirsting. The heart looked edible as well and she pulled the dagger out of it, sniffing at residue left on the blade to see if she could identify it. Dragon? Giant? Or something less common than either? "Luna," a gesture towards the collapsed thrall. "Please."</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Luna mused to herself that, were she still alive, she might have been gasping for breath then. Their escape complete, and their safety secured, Luna's body relaxed, her shoulders loosening in the soothing presence of her patron goddess long before they reach the main interior. As they tread through the halls, she remained quiet and reverent, recalling the old days in which she'd visited this holy site. Within the main room, her red eyes glimmered before the sight of Ichor's stone grandeur, and pious appreciation filled her still heart. She rushed up alongside Ilena, and knelt beside the collapsed thrall, briefly looking over them before gently turning their body over, cradling them in her arms. "Perhaps, their task was to deliver this meal to us. They are weak, dying," Luna said, looking into the thrall's shut eyes. "I've nothing to help them." Luna looked up to Ilena and Dragan, as if searching their expressions for any sign of a solution. She set the thrall down, leaning their back against the altar, and took a vial of blood for herself. She too downed the vigor in one swift gulp, and exhaled satisfactorily as she felt renewed power well from within her cold veins. She touched her fingers to her lips, reveling in the taste. A great deal of self-control reigned in her desire to consume the rest, and leave Dragan starving. "The heart may have been cut out within the city itself, to ensure freshness. I hope that they might awake, so that we can ask questions."</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Fighting the shambling hordes of the fallen undead together with her lordly companion was but a trifle for Giselle. But even a trifle was no minor thing for herself and probably Aleksiya in such a deprived state, though having an enduring weapon that didn't actively use her own blood helped wonderfully in that regard. Once she had reaped the mindless undead and found the upper levels free of offending hordes, she was nonetheless glad for the momentary respite. The white-haired vampire couldn't help but to remain a tick annoyed at the tardiness of a certain overly-religious redhead, though. It was perhaps because of her drained state that it took an extra mite of time for her to realize that the two of them were not actually alone atop the ramparts. Poising her weapon to strike at the new figure, her eyes slightly widened in mild surprise as she beheld a man, and a human, at that. Nonetheless, she flicked her scythe back into a defensive position, even as he spoke. Giselle still had no clue as to the political and cultural landscape of this new era, after all. Certainly, she did not jump to thinking of him as a quick meal as some of her peers might. "Indeed, and likewise. I would not have expected to find a simple human here, but if you were merely one, you would already be dead if you were." She gauged the man as she parroted some of his words, albeit in a diplomatic manner. The man seemed exhausted; Giselle ventured it was from fighting against the selfsame hordes that had been giving them trouble. More intriguing, and far more interesting, though, were the red vials of what obviously had to be blood adorning the sides of his coat. Combined with the mention of a partner, she was very curious who this man was, and all the more so his partner. What did he mean by vermin, though? Was he referring to that beast's screeching from earlier? "Hunters, then." She paused, before adopting a slightly apologetic and pained look. "Ah, where are my manners? I am Giselle de Farry. You have us at a slight disadvantage here, ser…" Whether he supplied a name or not, she continued on, after giving Aleksiya the chance to give her own introduction if she wished. "I am curious about that partner of yours, no less than those vials of yours." Frankly, the both of them needed the blood, but they would be negotiating from a very disadvantaged position if she didn't want to take it by force of arms, something she'd quickly pondered and dismissed as a last resort. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. "We would have use for some of those vials, if you can spare them," she finally said, after a moment's pause, before glancing at her smaller companion. "In return, we could assist you in locating this vermin you seek, within the best of our abilities."</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Akyasha "Ah, Aleksiya. Giselle." Akyasha said as she made her way through the places of carnage the two had left behind to find them talking to... A human? Hmm. She had to wonder if he was the man Est referenced earlier. And what was that he mentioned? Vermin escaped? Ah, he seemed to want her to tell him about the rats location. Est probably would have been long gone by now right? Well, she wasn't exactly sure why this guy wanted to catch her... Friend? "I did chance an encounter with some rats." The Cleric said as she showed off her bounty. "And perhaps caught sight of some shadows, though there's a large skeletal giant of some sort that way, though assuming that you're here at all, perhaps it would be a fair match for you." Akyasha walked her way up to Giselle and Aleksiya and held the rats out to her comrades. "Anything else that went that way is probably long gone. Wish I could have caught more of these." Akyasha seemed fairly truthful about it. After all, Est was hopefully and likely long gone by now, right? "What has you chasing after vermin is a place like this?" She had to ask, curious about the situation.</s> <|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Giselle couldn't help but to frown, a slight expression of annoyance momentarily flashing through her face as the human man began to respond in the negative. Alas, the more he spoke, the bigger the impression she got that this Rikard was not speaking of the giant skeletal beast. If it was shrieking and coming closer, how would hunters lose track of such a quarry? She was loathe to do nothing, but if that was his answer, then so be it. There were far too many unknowns to go about making enemies this early on in the game, and she wasn't in the habit of making enemies without good reason to begin with. That had been a great part in keeping her lands prosperous and untouched for centuries, until the death of the era brought an untimely end to even that. Thankfully, the two of them got their lucky break when a certain priestess unexpectedly showed up, seemingly no worse for the wear as she almost casually sauntered up to their conversation. Immediately catching the dead rats that she held by their tails, she arched her eyebrow at Akyasha, even as Rikard spoke again. Surely he wasn't looking after literal vermin? No, obviously not. Something larger, and associated with rats, then. Now, what sort of entity associated with that might still be alive? She pondered the question, even as she continued on. "Perhaps an exchange of information for the vials will be in order, then," she concluded diplomatically, shooting Akyasha a look that was intended to request her to acquiesce. "What did your encounter with these… rats look like?" Nonetheless, she took a rat for herself with a nod, though she refrained from partaking of it immediately.</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel When Akyasha finally showed up again, Aleksiya couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, arms folded across her chest. She spent all that time, wasted all that time, to find some rats? What drivel was this? What utter nonsense. She wasted their time for some rats? The small blonde girl huffed, but at least in this case the waste of time was potentially fortuitous. This hunter, Rikard, had deigned to be uncooperative, but just as he stated he was willing to potentially part with some of his blood vials for information on 'vermin'. And lo and behold, here arrived that obsessive priestess carrying vermin with her. If not for this stroke of luck, the diminutive vampire would have expressed her irritation with the priestess far more vocally. But, for the moment, she chose to hold her tongue. If only for now. "Indeed, I'm rather curious, myself," Aleksiya commented, cocking her head to one side as she fully turned to face the fanatic and her collected rats. This@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>Akyasha Akyasha was slightly taken aback. She had just returned but instead of being glad of her return one questions her and the other disparages through looks and then questions her. No, perhaps she should have known better. "Well, if you don't want your meal, you don't need to have it." Still, their questions where hanging in the air. "I'm really not sure what you want me to tell you. I stayed behind to see what was chasing us in case it would be able to follow us further. On my way back to meet up with you two, I saw some rats. Interested, I followed. Caught some rats and might have seen some shadow out of the corner of my eye as I said prior." Might as well protect Est a small bit. She had no idea what was going on between the two. "If something was that way, it might be gone by now."</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Gatehouse @Click This@Pyromania99 --- Rikard didn't seem too impressed with Akyasha's response. Really, how tiring this all was. He knew that she had a run in with what he was hunting. She likely knew it as well, even after having just shown up. There really was no reason to refrain from telling him when they could instead, be friends. Unless of course, this particular one decided she was friends with the vermin itself after an encounter with it…hm, perhaps… "...then it seems I won't be giving these up after all." Rikard replied in his usual tired seeming manner. "It's unfortunate, I would have much rather had a…working relationship, of sorts. Shame really." The human would reach into his coat, slowly pulling out an object. A globe, consisting of multiple rings within rings and inlaid with blue gems, and in the center was a small glass globe of water. For those in the know, it seemed like it was an Armillary sphere, though the usage of one in such a blackened sky seemed difficult to determine. "Now then, if there will be nothing else I should take my leave. I've overstayed my welcome." A faint, blue colored light could be see shining from within the glass sphere within as the rings slowly started to shift and move. "But a word of warning, vampire." He narrowed his eyes as he turned to leave. "The Vermin we hunt is not your friend." Assuming the other two had nothing else to say, soon, Rikard would have disappeared into the shadows of the city. At least, if nothing else, getting to the cathedral proper would be a simple matter for the three. Across the hallowed ground of Ichor, the stagnant quiet as they'd travel across the cathedral's front lawn and gardens, an unseen wind blowing through the trees withered branches as they'd walk up the front steps. The door creaked open, and they would find themselves inside the cathedral, bathed in the blessed red light of Ichor… Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- "A-ah…please do not…concern yourself with me…" The Thrall choked out, her hand losing strength as Luna held her. "My former…master stripped me of my name for incompetence and cowardice…" She'd turn her head briefly towards the altar and statue. "I…have only lived by Ichor's will…so that I may use my pitiful life to set in motion your revival…" She turned her head towards the red light upon the upper floors. "...she…wishes to speak with you all…when the other three arrive…soon, very…soon…" The Thrall fell quiet, the womans weakened form falling limp in Luna's care. If she wanted to claim this thrall as her own, it would really be a simple task. All she had to do was in some manner, mark the thrall as her own, take her for herself either through a blood ritual or even something simpler, though she likely did not have terribly much time on her hands to do so, nor would it seem she would immediately be able to. As Dragan leaped up to the balcony above, extending a hand towards the door the crimson glow grew more and more intense as he reached towards it. The warm, familiar light was something any vampire should be familiar with as it embraced him. The comforting warmth of Ichor herself. The doors creaked open, revealing a landscape beyond that was the city they were familiar with, but…off. The balcony itself seemed far too high, and the ground below seemed far away as the cathedral loomed over the city. In the red sky beyond, he could see giant creatures, trapped within swirling red storms that reached to the heavens. Monolithic stones inscribed with alien, ancient letterings dotted the city. In the sky, high above, a single bright star far, far away, the color of crimson which seemed to color this entire world in its light. ς๏๓є ๓ץ ςђเɭ๔гєภ. Շђє ๒คɭς๏ภץ. קгєรєภՇ Շђץรєɭשєร ๒єŦ๏гє ๓є. And this, would be what Akyasha, Giselle, and Aleksiya eventually would stumble on once they had arrived at the cathedral. Hey, perhaps, had a few moments to speak with their allies they had not seen in ages, but they likely should not keep Ichor waiting too long...</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist It was not Ilena's duty to defend the desires of a thrall that had none. "Then do as you will." Though Dragan disdained such behavior, the shadow-witch could not care, in truth, for what perverse charities the former priestess held, not when the Crimson Star, the voice of Ichor, rang so clearly through the opened doors. The dark skies burned with sanguine light, shadows of greater demons swirling in the savage firmament. Behind her, others emerged, familiar, storied faces, but for now, they meant nothing. The Sovereign, the Progenitor, has made her request, and it was something to make even a god-disdainer feel pious. She joined Dragan's side, slipping into shadow to slink soundlessly up onto the balcony, before reconstituting her form from the fluid shadows once more. Even now, her loyalty remained, and the shadow-witch kneeled, eyes downcast. "Goddess, I am Ilena. Once more, my fangs are yours."</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Dragan frowned at the thrall's response, turning away to let Luna do as she would with her. If the poor woman truly had no desires of her own left, then she would continue to serve. As a bewitched minion of a siren, no doubt. But he could not defend the wishes of a thrall that had no such thing. Just as the door opened and Ichor's voice began to be heard, Dragan noted the arrival of yet three more vampires out of the corner of his eye. The newcomers were, at the very least, somewhat familiar to him. The ambassador, the ice princess, and the cleric of the blood lily. Over the course of his unlife, he'd either met or heard of each of them enough to recognize all three by sight. Each was at least respectable in some way, perhaps moreso than either of the other two vampires he'd been accompanying. By reputation, at least. In practice, things could be entirely different. Regardless, Dragan nodded towards the newcomers, removing his helm as he turned towards the door. "Welcome, compatriots. It seems you're just in time to hear what the Goddess wills for us. Shall we?" With little more said, he followed Ilena through the door and onto the balcony, kneeling before the light. "Command us, Goddess Ichor. We are your swords, to do with as you will."</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- "Next time, perhaps read the room," said Giselle, as soon as Rikard had left. Pinching her nose, she gave the woman an exasperated look. While she was glad that she hadn't fully burned the bridge with the strange human, especially so after the man's warning and manner of exit, she remained rather annoyed with the priestess. If she had just played along, then it was very likely they would have had a far superior replenishment of blood than that of a filthy rat. As it was now, though, it was all that she had. Rather than sinking her teeth directly into the dirty fur of the rat carcass, she opened her palm upwards, letting the rat float upwards for a couple inches before she began to extract its blood from its body in a long stream of ichor that she then civilly drank. It had a displeasing, pungent taste to it, even if it did provide a kick of fulfilling energy to her starved body. For this act, she couldn't be entirely displeased with Akyasha, even if had bungled the entire thing in the final stretch. At the very least, the path to the cathedral was no longer barred. Without any further interference, they entered the sacred building soon after, walking into three more of her fellows, and a most peculiar scene. The new company she recognized, even if only passingly so for two of them. The third vampire lord –the only man among them for now, it seemed—she was more familiar with. Together with herself and Aleksiya, he was a lord in the more traditional sense. It seemed, however, that reminiscing about the past could wait for another time. She acknowledged Dragan's words with a slight incline of her head. "Indeed." Without further words, she followed the others onto the balcony. Kneeling before her presence, her light, she relished in the familiar comfort of Ichor's embrace. Giselle had always been more secular among the lords, but her loyalty, especially in these times, was never in doubt. Faced with such a bleak future, who else was she to look to for guidance? "My Goddess, I am once more at your disposal. Guide us as you will."</s>

<|description|>Giselle de Farry 'Sella' ♀ --- Abilities Personality Biography</s> <|message|>Aleksiya Ravennart, also known as Ice Princess Aleksiya, or the Rime-Winged Vermilion Angel "Tch. Idiot." Aleksiya's criticism of Akyasha's actions was far less gentle then Giselle's. Even as she snatched the rat, the scowl on her face made her feelings immediately obvious. They could have earned what was likely human blood by cooperating with that man, and yet they would be feeding on the blood of rats, and for what? The diminutive vampire hadn't the slightest idea as to why the priestess had chosen not to cooperate. For one who professed her love for her fellow vampires, it seemed that something else was more important to her at the moment. Still, she couldn't exactly ignore the prospect of a chance to feed, even if it was on some foul vermin. Her teeth were for the necks of humans, those who had earned the right to enjoy the privilege of her feeding, or her enemies who would be drained until nothing remained. A rat, by contrast, was vermin. She would not bite into the flesh of vermin. Digging her nails into its skin, she needed only a small injury to permit her desired manipulations. The rat's body spasmed as she began to move the blood inside of it, its flesh tearing as its blood began to freeze, tearing its way out of the rodent's flesh, a glistening crystal of blood steadily extracted from its body. It was that which she consumed. It tasted foul, but it was far more refined to feed like this then anything else. Tossing the bloodless body away, her attention refocused. The most important matter, indeed. Ichor's voice. Hearing it once more... The sight of the other long lost lords, especially the absence of certain ones among their number, was a pleasant one. "Indeed, we shall," she replied to Dragan's words, smiling as she approached the balcony. There was comfort in the Goddess's words. The framework through which this world would no longer be twisted, where monsters would be given their due punishment. It was a warmth that cut through the terrible condition of the world around them. Aleksiya curtsied. "My wings of frost shall always spread for you, goddess. Please, guide us." This@Rune_Alchemist@Pyromania99</s> <|message|>Akyasha "How ungrateful the both of you! I get put in a dire position and this is the thanks I get?" Akyasha was justifiably angered. The Cleric pondered if she should help the either of them if they were in a bad situation again, considering how rude the two of the have been to her since they had woken up. She had made an oath to treat her sisters well but she felt, in the situation, that treatment didn't have to extend to the rudest of them. If their unlife were in danger, perhaps. Otherwise, they were on their own. This would not be a violation of the oath she had taken, surely. It took some small amount of time, but the troop walked into the Cathedral proper and, as Akyasha was taking in the beautiful sight of it all, she noticed some few others here as well. Ilena, Dragan, and Luna and a thrall of some sort? Curious. "More of our fellows! Perhaps you all will be less of the rude sort than my current company." Akyasha said before hearing the voice of the Goddess. "Ahh! Goddess! To the balcony?" The woman rushed to the top happily, "Goddess! I beseech thee, bless your unworthy children with thy words!" The cleric had said after practically sliding into a kneeling position at the top of the balcony. This was standard fare for the Cleric, of course.</s> <|message|>The Queen Location: Alavaris Cathedral Landshark@Asuras@Erode@VitaVitaAR@Click This@Pyromania99 --- "...ร๏ Ŧคг…ร๏ ร๓คɭɭ…" The red light gently caressed the undead that presented themselves. Not even the titans, entrapped by the storms could make them feel threatened in their weakened state. The commanding voice they had initially heard faded into a quiet caress. "...๓ץ ς๏๓๓คภ๔…เร รเ๓קɭє." Though the crimson star was worlds and realms away, her voice was still clear despite the quiet echo they could all hear. "...รєשєภ…รєשєภ ๓๏гє…ยรє Շђє ђєคгՇ. ๒гเภﻮ Շђє๓…Շ๏ Շђє ợยєєภ…" The queen? Seven more? Perhaps it would have been more cryptic to others, but for any of the vampires with an inkling of how things were before the end of the last era, there was no doubt who the seven were. "…ฬєรՇ…รՇคгՇ Շђєгє…ђย๓คภร…" Slowly, the crimson light faded. The swirling storms far in the distance slowly spiraled out of view, the darkness that had become familiar to the six upon their resurrection. They had a direction from their goddess, at last. West. Humans. Were it not for the giant undead blocking the main gate in that direction, this would be a simple task. But it seemed, the only way they were to go on their journey is by through it. If nothing else, the few vials of blood left that the Thrall was carrying, now would serve their purpose. It would not grant them major strength, but if nothing else, they would certainly be able to take this shrieking undead with little difficulty. Supposing Giselles' group informed the other three of it. Or perhaps the six had other ideas. Their goddess certainly gave them a heading, but then what of Rikard? Or this mysterious partner of his? Or the odd serpentine creature Ilena's group ran into? So long as they ultimately completed their goal, it likely mattered not to the goddess.</s> <|message|>Ilena @Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist Westward, then, to claim blood more human, more satiating. And to seven more lords, resurrection to grant, the seven whose fall marked the vampires' end. The sanguine light faded, Ichor disappearing into the cosmos, and Ilena let out a breath, rising up from her position. Amethyst eyes flickered from one new arrival to another, faces indistinct but repute well-marked enough that unfamiliarity would still bring forth fragments of knowledge with regards to their pedigree. Two royals, and a true-blooded cleric of Ichor. Of the naturalborn aristocrats, Giselle de Farry was more tolerable of the two, an architect of crimson constructions compared to the more child-like pretensions of the Rime-Winged Vermillion Angel and her hedonistic pursuits. And as for that Blood-Lily Cleric... ...well, Luna may have found her a like-mind, but the two were incomparable in methodology and grace. "If the Goddess desires it, then westward we depart." This city and its mysteries could be left to be uncovered at another time, for vampires truly had but an excess in time. As for her familiar, for the Skeeters she's sent out to hunt? She can await their return on her own time.</s> <|message|>Full Luna Emeraltide Much as the thrall had her own ideas of servitude and punishment, Luna had her own -and who would have a better handle on what was best: herself, or a thrall? As the nameless woman slipped back into unconsciousness, Luna disregarded Dragan, and began the quick ritual to revive the woman as her new thrall. With shut eyes, she could hear Dragan's motion in the background. Quickly, blood dripped from her eyes as gentle tears, and ran down her cheeks. She cradled the thrall with one arm, and with her other hand reached up to pry a single droplet. She paused, her body freezing at the feeling of something washing over her. A warming voice, distant and pleasant, roused her ears and fluttered her unbeating heart. Ichor's voice rolled over the balcony and banisters, and its familiar, enlightening spirit drew greater power from Luna's eyes; her tears flowed more freely, more voluminous, and in turn poured greater power into the ritual. It was not her intention, but this thrall would given more strength than Luna had planned for. In her trance, it was difficult to care. Prying a single large droplet from her closed eyes, she fed the blood to the thrall through her lips, and offered a short prayer. "Beneath Ichor's gaze, this child, this master commands thee to rise anew. Born again as servant to Luna Emeraltide." Whether the thrall awoke or not, Luna stood, still carrying the woman, and hurried up the stairs to the second floor where the others had gathered to witness their Goddesses' light and hear her command. She set the thrall to the side -away from the gates which Dragan had opened- and joined the others. She practically fell to her knees, and clasped her hands in silent prayer as her ears caught the last vestiges of Ichor's mystic presence. Even as it left, she remained there in pious reflection for a moment more. Standing, Luna only then acknowledged the three additional faces. Little introduction was needed for so notable a crew. Though, truthfully, Luna had little inclination to give regards to one in particular. Their journey was just beginning, and there was little room for petty squabbling and rivalry Luna felt. It was time to behave and consolidate. "Have we any needed preparations before going?" she asked to the group at large, "Did you find anything of note yourselves?" she directed to Akyasha, Aleksiya, and Giselle.</s> <|message|>Dragan Meszaros Dragan Meszaros Dragan merely kept his head bowed as he received his orders, waiting for Ichor's light to disperse before he dared stand once more. As he did, the Death Knight contemplated the directives they'd all been given. Head west, and resurrect the seven vampire lords in the Queen's service before bringing back the Queen herself. Understandable goals. If the current group had all been brought back to life, it stood to reason the same could be done for the greatest among their number. Of course, there were some that Dragan would have preferred not be brought back, but a command from the Goddess was inviolatable. The Blight Lord and the Sanguine Regent were stains upon their shared race as a whole, but their abilities and knowledge were invaluable. No matter his opinion, though, what was left of the paladin inside of Dragan drove him to follow Ichor's decree. Even he could see the logic in bringing them back, and if what he assumed of the crusade had been true, vampires had been all but wiped out until their recent rise. "Westward, then." Dragan murmured as he placed his helm back atop his head, turning to exit the balcony. He turned back towards the others. "For those of you that just joined us, Lady Ilena is already bearing the heart that the Goddess mentioned. It ought to be safe in her care until the time comes for it to be used."</s>

<|message|>Giselle de Farry Giselle de FarryUndead Princess, de Farry --- Great, it seemed like the priestess was as clueless as she was stupid. Not that Giselle was ever going to say that, either to her or in public. She was too much of a class act for that, even if she did like to show her disapproval of things at times. Rather than correct Akyasha's misconceptions, the white-haired vampire thought that she had better things to do, such as to pay proper attention to the words of her goddess. She hardly rushed to hear her words like a giddy child, instead affecting a solemn pace and posture as she received her words. Her words of guidance were more worldly than what might have expected out of a god, but given the circumstances, it was very understandable. To revive more of her fallen brethren, together with the queen of her kind was only logical. Giselle did have her doubts about 'the seven,' but there was little doubt as to who the seven were—the seven remaining vampire lords that had not been resurrected and were together in the cathedral with her. Some of those remaining seven, though… Well, for somebody who valued good governance, administration, and the love of her people, she had no love for them and thought they should continue to rest as they were. But who was she to question the will of a goddess? She did have to admit, in these times, a strong set of hands would be needed to guide things onto a better path, no matter how flawed the tools might be… Eyeing one of the leftover vials of blood, Giselle made to partake of it, even as she continued to mentally curse Akyasha for the loss of an extra good vial. "West we shall go, but a word of caution, friends," she said, once she was done. "The three of us recently came from that direction. With six of us, it might not be so problematic, but it is worth mentioning that a great skeleton beast lies in our path there. Perhaps one of you have also encountered it?" She glanced over at Luna, Dragan, and Illena, inclining her head towards the latter as Dragan mentioned her as the bearer of the heart. "There are also other humans in the city we have encountered. Other entities too, though it was not I who encountered them…" Trailing off, she glanced at Akyasha.</s>