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<|description|>Stargaze Pronouns: She, Her Playbook: The Orphan Colour: White Look: (Either describe how your dragon appears or put a picture.) Stats: (Adding +1 to Courage) Charm: 0 Courage: +2 Cunning: -1 Virtue: Empathy House & Obligation: As an Orphan, you have no House and no obligation to one. Instead, choose how you will discover your true destiny: Path of Omens: Discover an artifact or tome connected to your fate. Moves: Your signature move is... THIS IS MY DESTINY: Your fate is intertwined with Adulare's future, now and forever. Pick two portents the seers have revealed about what is to come: [] you will defeat a great enemy in battle [] you will discover a dark secret of the Moons [X] you will prevent a terrible, natural disaster [] you will uncover a shadowy, dragon conspiracy [] you will recover an important ritual, once lost [X] you will restore an ancient or sacred place At the beginning of the session, roll +Courage. On a 7-9, hold 1. On a 10+, hold 2. Spend your hold, 1 for 1, to take a 10+ instead of rolling when acting despite danger to move closer to your destiny. On a miss, you still hold 1, but a dark omen comes to light that reveals more about your role in shaping Adulare's fate. When you advance your signature move, add another basic move to This is My Destiny. You can spend your hold to take a 10+ instead of rolling on that additional move. Tell the DM which dragon's display of Housely virtue expanded your horizons. [] Mislead or Trick [] Study Another [] Convince Another [] Stand Up to Someone [] Survey an Area SEEK THE PATH: When you consult an older dragon for advice, roll +Courage. On a hit, they reveal new information about your past or future that is useful to your current problems. On a 10+, your counselor devotes serious thought to the issue you've raised; ask a followup question. On a miss, the older dragon's advice causes you to remember your own role in the problems you face; mark a Shadow. Advancement: (There are five dragon age brackets, and these basically represent your in-game level. Every time you gain 5 XP, take a new advancement from your age bracket, and reset your XP to zero. Once you've taken all the advancement from your age bracket, you age up.) Rawscale Drake (2 XP): You start with a +0 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take another move from your playbook [] take +1 to any stat (maximum of +3) [] advance your signature move Winged Drake (0 XP): You still have a +0 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take another move from your playbook [] take +1 to any stat (maximum of +3) [] advance your signature move Longtooth Dragon (0 XP): You now have a +1 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take another move from another playbook [] take +1 to any stat (maximum of +3) [] advance your signature move Bearded Dragon: You now have a +2 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take a ritual of your House [] advance your signature move Elder Dragon: You now have a +3 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] your house dedicates a stronghold to you [] retire your character, arise as an Ancient or a Mystic Moons: (Cross of one moon every time you age up.) - Liberty Moon - Spirit Moon - Stone Moon - Storm Moon - Void Moon Shadow Track: (The shadow track represents how much hold the Darkness has on your dragon. You can mark Shadows in any order. When you mark a Shadow, you must take one action associated with that Shadow. When you mark the last Shadow, you lose yourself to the Darkness and become your Shadowself. While you are lost to the Darkness, do not mark any further Shadows, even if a move asks you to do so. Once you return to normal, erase your shadow track.) [] Anger - Lash out at a friend. - Break something valuable - Escalate a delicate situation [] Doubt - Question a friend's loyalty - Steal something valuable - Reject a tradition [] Shame - Blame a friend for your mistakes - Mock or belittle someone vulnerable - Seek isolation or solitude [] Fear - Hide something from your friends - Avoid a difficult task - Exaggerate the danger of the situation Shadowself: Your loneliness is your strength. You can prove the doubters wrong without any help from your clutch. You will act alone to save Adulare. You are the Orphan. Return from your Shadowself when a friend convinces you that friendship can be as strong as any family tie, and that the family you chose is as important as the family that hatched you. Fellowship: Shieldwing was a friend to you when you felt all alone in the face of your destiny. Explain how they exemplified your virtue and give them a Friendship "Accident!" "Beggar!" "Worthless!" "You don't even have a color, let alone a house!" Stargaze had heard it all before. She didn't want to be here--at this place, at this event--but she had to with all of the other dragons her age. That's what the Nymph, Echo, had told her. This was a ceremony where the Houses would give younger dragons their first job, and where the dragons her age finally form clutches. This was where they were supposed to learn about their purpose, their destiny...right? Well, at least that's the case for those who actually belong to a House. She could honestly feel their emotions behind their vitriolic words. They didn't want her here either. They didn't just hate her, but they were also having fun saying those awful things... But...why? What had she done to them to earn their hatred? She didn't understand. "Why are you even here?!" "Yeah, you don't belong here!" "Just do everyone a favor and disappear!" Disappear...? Was that it? Was her destiny just to...disappear? Then...why was she even born to begin with...? What was the point? The laughter grew louder and crueler as Stargaze could feel herself grow tired. She could only lower herself to the ground, try to make herself as small as possible, in a futile attempt to just...disappear. She felt alone...perhaps she should disappear...right now... What happened next surprised not just her, but everyone around her. Someone came to her defense! Shieldwing of the Brynbak House! Stargaze was stunned by her bewilderment as Shieldwing shouted at the bullies. He had shouted at them, calling them out not just for their cruelty, but also for the fact that they were bullying Stargaze, someone weaker than them, in order to feel strong! She hadn't even considered that the bullies were teasing her relentlessly because they also felt weak and uncertain...! Thanks to Shieldwing, the bullies left her alone. But she still kept herself low to the ground, fully expecting Shieldwing to leave her alone. But he didn't. Instead he stayed by her side, and spoke with her. She expressed that the bullies were right and that she didn't have an obligation like the other dragons with houses did. She would never forget his answer to that: It's not that she didn't have a destiny, but instead, she gets to choose her destiny or obligation. What does she want to do? He also told her that he knew that destiny can be overwhelming, especially when everyone seems to be against her. But he was willing to be her friend. Stargaze couldn't help but shed tears over that kindness. Thanks to Shieldwing and his empathy, she found her clutch and is now emboldened with the ability to choose. Shieldwing is consumed by the Isle's immediate problems; you will show them why they must focus on the future. Take a Friendship Gem from them. Skeboloff showed you that the Darkness lingers everywhere. Tell them what Darkness you see in them, and take a Friendship Gem from them.</s> <|message|>Shieldwing, the Warrior of Shieldwing Shieldwing couldn't help but grin a bit, tail lashing slightly in anticipation. He was excited; and why wouldn't he be? He'd heard all kinds of stories about Echo from Stargaze since the clutch came together. And there was a part of him that couldn't wait to see what made her so special. Plus, this was going to be a new kind of creature he'd get to meet; exactly the kind of thing he had been looking forward to: seeing creatures and beings that you just couldn't find living with the other dragons back in the capital. However, something he hadn't taken into account was just how bad the situation was going to be on her. Shieldwing's excitement soon gave way to concern as there was a longer wait than he had expected. He glanced at the white dragon in front of them, and got a prompt response from her before he even got to ask his question. Luckily, the muck soon began to shift, and a form began to peak itself out from below. But then he caught a look in the Elemental's gaze. One that he was able to read as relief, but there was also a grimace...? Was it just from how much effort she was having to put forward to mee with them like this...? He listened to Stargaze's question, but then also to Fell's follow-ups. Oh yeah, that's right. Fellwing's visions had mentioned something like this, including an injured dragon. But to the red dragon, there was something a bit more concerning for him.... "Er..." Shieldwing interrupted, moving to step forward again himself. "Maybe we should wait a sec before pelting her with all the questions at the same time. She's having a hard time as it is." He then shifted his attention back to the elemental. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've introduced ourselves yet, have we? My name's Shieldwing, and that's Fellwing. We're Stargaze's clutchmates, and we're here to fix things over here. There's another one, but he went off on his own...." Shieldwing's gaze fell slightly, but he quickly shook it off. "And the big, strong guy back there is Garrok, he's watching over us while we're here." Shieldwing adjusted himself, standing taller, with his head held higher and wings tucked at his sides before continuing. "Is there a better way to talk? Or place? One where you might be a bit more comfortable? Like Fell said, we've got a lot of questions, but we don't want you to strain yourself or anything."</s> <|message|>Garrock Fogdance's expression shifted many times as she listened to Skobeloff's explanation. However, as he finished speaking, her turned towards her tea cup and there was a long solemn silence. "This isn't exactly a topic I feel comfortable discussing with anyone, particularly ones as young as you," she says eventually. "However, given the circumstances, I feel I owe you an explanation for my behaviour." She sighs and reluctantly looks up so she is eye-to-eye with Skobeloff. "However, what I am to tell you may go against the beliefs the Houses instill into young ones such as you. As such, I'd ask that everyone here promise on the Moons themselves not to breathe a word of this to any dragon outside this room." The twins look at each other apprehensively, obviously having no idea about where this is going. They then look over to Skobeloff, waiting for his response. --- Echo glances at Fellwing, not seeming at all bothered by the black drake's familiarity with her, before turning her gaze towards Shieldwing. She nodded weakly. "It might easier for us to talk in my cave, as that's where my power is at its strongest. It's also where Kyte is resting, and I'm sure they'll be glad to see other dragons after only have me for company for the last few days." she says with a weak laugh. She glanced up towards Garrock. "Though your friend will have to stay outside." Garrock shrugs. "Fine by me," he says. "I'll keep watch out here, just in case trouble finds us." Alpin speaks up at this point. "Err, not to be a bother," he says. "But I don't know if I'm up for swimming in, erm, a dark cave." Echo raises a hand. "You need not worry. You will not have to swim," she says. "As being part water elemental, I can manipulate the water to get you all safely to the cave. All need do is step out onto the water surface. I will do the rest. I may not be at my best, but I am strong enough to do this."</s> <|message|>Skobeloff Skobeloff Skobeloff looked at the twins and smiled reassuringly before looking back at Fogdance and nodding in acceptance of her request. "With the Moons as my witness, I promise to never speak of anything you reveal in this room." Skobeloff vowed.</s>

<|message|>Stargaze Stargaze could only listen as Fellwing asked Echo her numerous questions, and Shieldwing had introduced themselves as her clutchmates. She added onto his introduction happily for a moment, remembering she wanted to introduce them to Echo, "Yeah, they're my friends!" Her tail wagged happily, but not as fast as it did when they first arrived here. It was slower because she was worried about Echo's condition and the events happening here. Naturally, Echo suggested that they talk more in the cave. She nodded in agreement. After Echo reassured Alpin that she can help him, she also offered, "I can help too if you need it," She then nods to her friends and starts to lead them into the cave.</s>

<|description|>Shieldwing, the Warrior of House Brynback Pronouns: He/Him Playbook: The Warrior Colour: Imperial Red/Scarlet Look: Primarily a vibrant red color, with a pale yellow underbelly from jaw to tip of the tail, same color under the wings. Piercing green eyes with a black iris and red claws. Two white horns on the crown that reach straight backward and one very small one on the tip of his muzzle. Along the back are ridges that extend down to his back but not to the tail. For a more visual idea of the description, take the body of the first image, and then impose the body features of the second: the horns (though white instead of black), ridges stopping at the tail, underwings matching underbelly) Stats: Charm: +0 Courage: +2 Cunning: +0 Virtue: Bravery House & Obligation: Brynbak, the House of Steel: Destroy an unnatural menace born of Darkness. Moves: SCALES OF HONOUR: You have dedicated your life to the betterment of dragonkind. Choose one boon: [] A mark of lunar authority; take +1 ongoing to call upon the Moons. [X] A voice that penetrates the Darkness; take +1 ongoing to act despite danger in the face of the Darkness. [X] A lineage that commands respect; take +1 Charm (max +3). [] An heirloom from the War of Shadow; take +1 ongoing to stand up to a superior. [] A large and valuable hoard; take +1 ongoing to give into the Darkness. Mark a Shadow each time you conceal or hide one or more of your boons. When you advance your signature move, mark a new boon. Tell the DM which of your adventures has earned you such an honor. BATTLE PLAN: When you face an enemy in combat, roll +Courage. On a hit, you can ask the DM questions. Whenever you act on one of the DM's answers, take +1. On a 10+, ask 2. On a 7–9, ask 1: - Which enemy is most vulnerable to me? - Which enemy is the biggest threat? - What's my enemy's true position? - What's my enemy's mission or objective? On a miss, they catch you off guard. Take a -1 ongoing until you can assert your dominance or rally your allies. Advancement: Rawscale Drake (1 XP): You start with a +0 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take another move from your playbook [] take +1 to any stat (maximum of +3) [X] advance your signature move Winged Drake (0 XP): You still have a +0 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take another move from your playbook [] take +1 to any stat (maximum of +3) [] advance your signature move Longtooth Dragon (0 XP): You now have a +1 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take another move from another playbook [] take +1 to any stat (maximum of +3) [] advance your signature move Bearded Dragon: You now have a +2 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] take a ritual of your House [] advance your signature move Elder Dragon: You now have a +3 bonus to calling upon the Moons. [] your house dedicates a stronghold to you [] retire your character, arise as an Ancient or a Mystic Moons: - Liberty Moon - Spirit Moon - Stone Moon - Storm Moon - Void Moon Shadow Track: [] Anger - Lash out at a friend. - Break something valuable - Escalate a delicate situation [] Doubt - Question a friend's loyalty - Steal something valuable - Reject a tradition [] Shame - Blame a friend for your mistakes - Mock or belittle someone vulnerable - Seek isolation or solitude [] Fear - Hide something from your friends - Avoid a difficult task - Exaggerate the danger of the situation Shadowself: You are unstoppable, a hurricane whose might will singlehandedly shatter the Darkness. Adulare must be protected and no one else is strong enough to help you. Make sure the clutch knows you are the only one who can save Adulare. You are The Warrior. Return from your Shadowself when a friend convinces you to ask your Clutch for help. Fellowship: Fellwing has stood by your side in a fight against a monster of the Darkness. Explain how they exemplified your virtue. Give them a Gem. Stargaze has recently joined your Clutch and you are training them in the art of combat and the importance of self defense. Take a Gem from them. Fellwing was there when you were most vulnerable. Explain how they helped you and give them a Friendship Gem.</s> <|message|>Skobeloff Skobeloff Skobeloff landed the same way he had spent the journey to the nameless, sinking island: In complete silence and with an inscrutable smile on his face, his eyes rarely straying from the clutch's bearded guide. Ever since he'd learned of their task and had met their leader for the duration of the assignment, the wheels in the young Trickster's head had been turning non-stop. Their business on this island wasn't the only mission that Skobeloff had today. He'd received an obligation from his superiors in Myndoth. An obligation to use his skills as a Trickster to swindle a secret away from someone to add to the House of Secrets' vast hoard of hidden knowledge. And with how Garrock had been acting towards the clutch so far, Skobeloff was already scheming up ways to trick a tidbit out of that bearded boor. Skobeloff studies Garrock. He rolls an 8* to figure out how he could get Garrock to give away a secret or vital piece of information. *Note: In my current drowsy state I forgot to add the +2.</s> <|message|>Stargaze Stargaze It was certainly strange. It wasn't just flying for as long as they have, but also the fact that their first mission as a clutch is taking them to her home! The place where she grew up. She was going to show her friends her home! She did feel a little uneasy around Garrock. He clearly didn't want to be around them either. He wanted to be alone... She was mostly silent as they made their way to the Tailbone Island. As soon as the island was in sight, Stargaze's mood brightened. Not even Garrock's sneer dampened it. Compared to whenever she had to land on another island for an event with other clutches, Stargaze's landing was a lot better than when a large crowd was watching her. Her landing did include her moving forwards and stumbling a bit, but she didn't hurt herself. After checking herself and realizing she's stable, she turns to face her friends and she speaks to them, showing a happier and excited side to herself, making small excited jumps while her scaled tail wagged happily "Guys! This is my home! Welcome, welcome! Sorry, there isn't any red carpet to roll out for you," She then notes the creature snapping its claws at the others, and she warns them, "Oh! Watch out for that one. Once it's claws catches you, it won't let go!" She learned that the hard way! She remembered sniffing that creature inquisitively when she was younger, only to have a claw latch painfully on her nose. It hurt, and Echo laughed as she helped remove the creature.</s>

<|message|>Shieldwing, the Warrior of Shieldwing had spent much of the trip concentrating on his gliding. It wasn't difficult to figure out that this older dragon that had been assigned to lead his clutch didn't like being in charge of them. Even though this "Garrock" wasn't a member of House Brynback, he knew that this could be an excellent opportunity to get on good terms with an older dragon from another House. Most of the ones he knew grew frustrated with his educational endeavors outside of his very combat-centric mindset. But this one didn't really know him very well. Which meant that if he performed well on this mission, then he could finally start making some progress and start proving himself. He'd have something he could really show off to his superiors in Brynback. However, he unfortunately got a little excited at the prospect of showing off his abilities when they were taking off. He had put too much into his original jump and glide and had tired himself out faster than the others in the process. On top of that, he had spent much of the flight looking over at Stargaze to make sure she was handling herself alright. After all, she was the smallest of the group and their newest member. He couldn't help but be concerned about what might happen if she would get caught up in a stray wind or something and get blown away. So he had spent extra time and effort to try to get closer to her, so that he could grab her if she needed it. And all of this while also, whenever their guardian was glancing back at them, making sure to maintain the outward appearance of a dragon who was confident and collected, ready to succeed in the mission at hand. After all, he wasn't going to be impressed if he saw the Brynback struggling or squirming awkwardly in the air to shift around. Because of these needless actions on his part, he felt himself growing tired somewhat quickly even though they were relying largely on the winds between the islands to keep themselves up without too much of a problem. However, when he turned his head to look at the others, nobody else had been showing any signs of the same. That wasn't good. Maybe he was dividing his efforts too much? Or maybe it was all the constant corrections his wings had to make to get him where he wanted to be. But it didn't matter. At this point, it was too late to do anything about it. His wings were growing tired and started to ache...but he maintained a brave face, making sure there was no outward sign that he was struggling. By the time they were closing in on the other shore, though, Shieldwing was starting to hang back ever so slightly. Finally, the older dragon turns to look back at them, and he focused his attention on him again. Oh, good. They were finally landing. He did his best to hide the relief from showing on his face. "Of course we can land, don't worry about us, flying is just second nature!" Shieldwing would call back. "We can handle ourselves!" He had spoken pretty quickly and without consulting the others first, but he was sure it was fine. He didn't recall any real accidents when learning to glide before, so why would it be a problem now? He intentionally shifted his wings to slow himself down; this put a bit more strain on them, but he wanted to make sure that Stargaze was going to be fine. He knew deep down that he should just trust her, but part of him was still concerned anyway, due in no small part to his role as her tutor for how to fight. However, once Stargaze had landed successfully and even began to cheerfully call out to the group, he smiled to himself. As it turned out, he'd been worried over nothing. Of course she was fine. And so, Shieldwing adjusted his wings once more, redirecting himself so that he could come down at last...only to suddenly realize that he was...falling faster than what he was used to. "Agh!" he cried out as he quickly raised his limbs, trying to make up for his faster rate of descent by using his stronger legs to brace himself from the impact with the powder shore beneath him. His claws collided roughly with the ground, kicking up a bunch of the powdered crystal "sand" as he practically slammed his body down on top of the shore...only for one of his claws to slip on a shell and caused his body to turn a bit. His momentum, however, did not care about his predicament, and he soon came tumbled a bit across the powdered crystal and finally came to a crashing stop as his chest struck the ground, and his belly fell to the sand a second later with a thud. "Ugh..." Shieldwing murmured, raising his head. He shook himself, causing shell fragments and crystal sand to fall from his head and get flung aside. Luckily, he'd tucked his wings to keep them from getting injured in the crash; a trick he'd learned from Brynback to avoid wing damage if he got thrown or smacked to the ground in a fight. But he was still somewhat disoriented as he looked up from his spot and soon realized that, directly in front of his face where he'd just come to a stop...was a small creature poking out of a shell, clicking claws raised in the air. He blinked and stared at it for the moment; it was actually kinda cute the way it was snapping at the air like that....</s>

<|description|>Sebastien Tomas "Let's get one thing straight. I am not your stepping stone; you're mine." --- MAIN PROFILE Age: 24 Gender: Male Birthplace: Stow-on-Side Appearance Information: Sebastien is someone of roughly average height at 5' 11", with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. He tends to dress plainly, but neatly, looking well put together but not someone who cares overmuch about looking stylish; typically he will wear jeans or cargo pants with either a sweater or a long-sleeved t-shirts. Occasionally he will wear gloves as well, to cover his bruised knuckles, after being told that having them visible was not "professional". He always makes sure that he is clean shaven and gets regular haircuts to keep his appearance consistent. Personality: A stern, humourless individual who takes everything seriously and has little time or regard for anything that he considers to be a distraction or a waste of his time. He places high expectations on himself and demands a lot of himself and of those around him. On top of this he is also inflexible, expecting those who want to work with him to keep up with his pace and refuses to slow himself down to their speed; he expects others to bend to his concessions and not the other way around and generally considers his time to be worth more than theirs. This extends to his Pokémon too. Among the gym leaders he is likely the one with the fewest Pokémon at his disposal at any one time as he tends to only keep those who can work alongside or around his personality on his team. Sebastien does not have much regard for his position of gym leader; or at least, he does not want anything to do with the parts of it that aren't related to battling or training. He hates being dragged away for anything publicity related or anything dealing with the media or fans. He does not accept the idea that he is supposed to be a public figure or that he needs to set an example or act as a role model; a stance that frequently puts him at odds with the league officials. Short Biography: There was a boxing gym just down the street from where Sebastien grew up. He would walk past it on the way to school each morning and on the way home as well and every time he did he could hear the sounds of people hard at work inside; the squeaking of shoes of floorboards, the rattling chains and heavy impact of people hitting the punching bags, the rhythmic staccato of the speed bags, the shouts of the trainers. For years he had no idea what kind of place it was or what was going on in there, his parents would always pull him along when he tried to stop and peer inside, and that mystery meant the place occupied a place in his mind for most of his childhood. Looking back, he probably could have just asked someone what it was and gotten an answer; instead he waited until he was allowed to walk to school by himself and instead of walking past like he always had, went inside to see what was happening inside. For most people that should have been it; he had the answer to his mystery, it wasn't particularly interesting, so he could go on with his day, but for Sebastien the fascination remained and an interest in boxing was born. A few years later he returned to the gym as a student, training to become a boxer himself. A few more years after that and he was competing as an amateur and was even preparing for his debut as a professional. He had the skill and the talent to do well and maybe even make a career of it, but more than that he had to drive and the competitive spirit to be great, to reach for the top and possibly even become a champion. Not the kind champion most people first thought of when they heard the word, Sebastien had never been interested in that title, but a champion nonetheless. That would be years away though and even if the chance did come, the title didn't matter much to Sebastien; he just wanted to box. He had always been a competitive person. He was only really content when he was working for something. Rather than fighting for a title, for the money or for the prestige, he was just interested in the challenge. If becoming the champion was the consequence of competing and winning enough times against enough people that you eventually reached the top of your field then he would become the champion. He would be at the top. In his second professional fight he broke his hand. Badly. In his third, he broke it again. His career was over before it ever began, while he was still in his teens. The doctors said he had nerve damage, that it was too dangerous to keep boxing, that another injury might cause him to lose all functionality in that hand entirely. Sebastien couldn't get back in the ring again. That fact left him adrift for a while, unsure of how to proceed from that moment. It wasn't until he happened to see the opening ceremony for the new season of the Galar Pokémon League that he found an answer. Becoming a Pokémon trainer was never something that Sebastien had considered; growing up his family had never owned any Pokémon and his focus had always been on a different kind of gym. The usual childhood fascination with being a trainer kind of just passed him by, but now that he was where he was, with a cast on his hand and no route towards the future he had expected for himself, he was beginning to consider it. Another challenge, different from what he was used to, but still another championship he could work towards. He wouldn't be doing it on his own, but he hadn't been able to do anything on his own anyway; and this stage was bigger, more prestigious. It was worth going for. His journey as a trainer began at a later age that most, but the same drive that he pushed him to become a professional boxer at a young age and the determination with which he tackled this new path meant that he progressed rapidly. His only path to the Gym Challenge was through the minor league, as no one was going to sponsor a nobody like him; it took him a year to beat all of the lesser gyms. The next year he joined the gym challenge itself, bowing out after the third gym after failing to get past it. During his second year he made it past the fifth gym, then next year the sixth. He felt himself hitting a wall and took the next year off, then made it all the way to the eight on his next attempt. From there he would hit another wall, but this time wasn't able to overcome it; his next couple of attempts ended in the same place, falling to the final gym leader and never even getting the chance of getting a chance to face the champion. It almost seemed like that was going to be it, that this was as far as he would go; another competition he failed to succeed at. However, it seemed that somebody had different plans for him, as not long after he was approached by a league official about becoming a gym leader. Sebastien almost refused out of hand, at first seeing the offer as a way out, a way to give up and settle for a lesser title than champion. He stopped himself though and considered the opportunity being presented; being a challenger wasn't the only way to get a shot at the champion after all. Unlike other leagues in other regions, gym leaders in the Galar region faced each other at the end of every season and potentially got to battle the champion as well. Becoming a gym leader meant he wouldn't have to worry about travelling or training expenses again; he would get his own facilities, his own resources, plenty of time to dedicate to his training and would even have people lining up to be his punching bags. He accepted. Likes: Boxing Rainy/foggy days Rock music Swimming Dislikes: Sweets Media attention/publicity Hitting a dead-end Hot weather Quirks: Right handed, but mainly uses their left hand due to the nerve damage in his right. Still keeps up with his boxing training regularly, sometimes at the expense of his Pokémon training. When he starts to wear gloves in public you know he has been hitting the punching bag recently. As someone who only became a trainer later in life, there are still a lot of things about Pokémon and training he doesn't know. He will never admit to his ignorance, however. --- LEAGUE PROFILE Type Specialty: Water League Ranking: Major League League Placement: TBC Gym Location: TBC Gym Description: TBC --- POKEMON [Pokemon #1]: [Pokemon #2]: [Pokemon #3]: ... Gyarados – Tyrant: Lapras (G-Max) – Sonata: Tentacruel – Tempest: Golisopod – Chief: Swampert – Murk: Barbaracle – Whirl: --- RELATIONS TBC</s> <|message|>Astrid Jennings @Solace @Serei2477 Even if not for Hyacinth's warning, the next week made it clear there was precious little the gym leaders could do about the situation. Not that the police were turning up any leads either. With each day that passed, the chances of finding Ryker looked slimmer. Astrid, however, wasn't one to give up. As part of the minor league, she didn't exactly have gym duties to carry out right now anyway. After returning to Motostoke, she continued to communicate via text with the other gym leaders who'd spoken up. Obviously they weren't going to get in the way of the investigation, as Hyacinth had warned against, but there was a difference between interfering and assisting. If there was any way she could help, she would. Besides, in such uncertain times, they all had to protect each other. Thankfully, even with the league challenge kicking off, the leaders stuck by each other when they could. Hence the gathering at Iris' gym. Astrid, clad in a black and purple bodysuit to fit the aesthetic, sat close to Mika and Hestia, leaning forward as she watched the spectacle unfold. "This intrepid young adventurer has made it through the haunted woods," she commented like a cheesy video game streamer, "but now the boss battle commences! Does he have what it takes to stand up to spooks and spirits?" Fraught as the situation had been over the past week, she figured it couldn't hurt to lighten the mood. That and she recalled her own early days as an official Pokemon trainer, how nerve-wracking yet exhilarating it had been to climb the ranks. She'd learned a few tough lessons, but it had all been worth it in the end. Harsh as it was that the first gym had the ghost typing, it would help the boy grow as a trainer.</s> <|message|>Fiona MacConnell At Wyndon Central Lab... MENTIONS: Sawyer @Vertigo, Nordrin @Yankee, Isaiah @PrankFox By the time any of Sawyer, Nordrin, or Isaiah made it to Wyndon, the commotion would have been obvious from at least a few blocks away. Explosions, screams, and rumbling could all be heard on the approach. Once the lab was in sight, the scene before them would be desperate: Most of the police were already knocked out of the fight, their Pokemon splayed unconscious across the street. Some officers remained to command what few police Pokemon were left standing, but most were either tending to their own Pokemon or recalling them to their balls. A veritable horde of Pokemon were charging out of the lab, commanded by about a dozen thugs in hoods, long coats, and electronic masks and goggles. A majority of the criminal Pokemon seemed to be the usual assortment of various Dark and Poison types, but there was enough type diversity among the lot that just about anything could be thrown at the defenders. "Too many of these bloody fuckin' bawbags!" A familiar voice could be heard cursing up a storm from the middle of the street. Fiona stood in the thick of it, commanding her entire team as they were the only major point of resistance left preventing the robbers from escaping. "Cannae even Earthquake spam, everyone an' their mum'd have my arse pullin' that in th' middle of Wyndon," She murmured under her breath before barking out commands. "Lightning, strafe th' left flank, as many Dragon Pulses as ye can give 'em! Raptor, Felon, straight down th' middle! Clear these dobbers out-" Fiona cut off as something caught her gaze, eyes widening. "Berkut, bank right, now!" Fiona's Talonflame did as he was told, narrowly evading a Feint Attack from...something. It wasn't clear, with the Pokemon still engulged in Dark-type energy. Two more of the exact same silhouette burst from the shadows and struck the Talonflame with two more simultaneous Feint Attacks, knocking him out. "Motherfuckers!" Fiona cursed, hurriedly returning Berkut to his ball as she looked over the newcomers. "Gonna-" She did a double-take, staring. "Th' hell is that?!" As the Feint Attack energy faded from the three new interlopers, released by what seemed to be the lead thug in charge clad in a gas mask, a confusing sight greeted everyone: Three Pokemon with what seemed to be the body of what looked like a Scizor, and a Bisharp's head and claws. Fiona looked nonplussed for a moment before getting her game face back on, and that was exactly when she managed to notice her fellow Gym Leaders just arriving. "Good, backup's finally here!" Fiona bared her teeth with a grin, raising her Dynamax Band with the back of it facing outwards instead of the front. "Just in time fer me tae start playin' hardball! Let's get these bastards!" The Key Stone on the back of Fiona's Dynamax Band gleamed, and Felon roared to the heavens as he Mega Evolved, the newly formed Mega Salamence hovering in the air for a brief moment before charging back into the fray.</s>

<|message|>Sebastien Tomas It wasn't often that Sebastien found himself watching a fight or a battle purely for the entertainment value. Whether it was during his brief career as a boxer or his newer endeavour as a trainer, the only time he ever really watched someone else fight was when he was doing research on an opponent or was just looking to improve his technique; research, scouting, it was never just for the fun of it. Truthfully, as much as he loved competing in them, he couldn't really say he was a fan of either of the sports he took part in; maybe he would have been, if he hadn't tried to make a living out of both, but now he couldn't watch a battle or a boxing match without trying to critique or analyse everything. It was too much like work at that point. Even so, with nothing else to do until his gym was renovated and the minor league season started, he'd decided to drop in on Iris' gym and check out some of the new challengers; this was the first time since he had become a trainer that he wasn't among them after all. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had picked a bad day to come. This battle wasn't going to last long. The kid challenging Iris was in over his head right now; he was nervous, his Pokémon weren't performing too well and he didn't seem to have much of a game plan in mind. At least he'd known enough to show up with a team built with Iris' Pokémon in mind, but if it meant using weaker or less experienced Pokémon as a result any advantage you gained was offset by the disadvantages you placed on yourself. Well, maybe he'd have better luck next time. As it was, Sebastien found his interest in the match waning.</s>

<|description|>Alan Cross "Come on, show me whatcha got!" Age: 16, almost 17 Status: 2nd year student at the Knights' Academy Personality: Alan is pretty extroverted. He's not afraid to solicit strangers for conversation and loves getting people to laugh or smile. He'll often gas people up as a "sincere joke", and is pretty thick-skinned. Although he doesn't hate losing, he likes winning more, and has a bit of an ego. At times, he can be stubborn or confrontational, but he's hard to make genuinely mad. He doesn't take much seriously other than battles, which he takes extremely seriously, sometimes even when he's trying not to. Biography: Alan had a rather ordinary childhood. His mother was a Knight of Rallen and his father ran a flower shop. They had a large garden in their backyard where they grew most of the flowers, and it attracted a variety of pokémon to their home. Eventually, however, at the age of 14, he and his father got caught up in a plot against his mother made by Decree. They forced their way into their home, busting down the doors and eventually attacking his father. Alan didn't know what to do. His father told him to run, and in the panic of the situation, he did. Though, As he thought it through, he wasn't confident he could escape trackers with Unity powers for long. Perhaps that was just an excuse not to leave his father behind, but he decided he was either going to save his father or die trying. As such, he went to the gardens and beseeched all the pokémon within for help. They were all pokémon he had known for much of his life, pokémon he grew up with, but most weren't confident they could take on the intruders. He still hadn't managed to trigger the Unity phenomenon, and as much as he tried, he couldn't rally the pokémon to attack together. Time was of the essence, so he gave up, cursing the pokémon, calling them selfish and ungrateful, but just as he turned around, he found a Spewpa quietly waiting behind him. He knew this one; it was the son of his mother's Butterfree. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but beggars can't be choosers, and at least it could use Protect. He rushed back into the house, carrying Spewpa, and immediately put himself between the assailants and his father. Spewpa managed to block a single attack for him and retaliate with Stun Spore, but he knew better than to expect much from him. Right after guilt-tripping the other pokémon, he wasn't about to let Spewpa fight an unwinnable battle, so he never let go of it, protecting it from every attack that came their way. He knew the only way they'd make it out alive was with Spewpa's disabling abilities anyway. It was during this time when he was being cut, burned, and beaten to a pulp that he finally awoke the power of Unity, donning Unity Armor and finally being able to fight on even footing... with one of them. His father was unconscious and badly wounded, so he scattered Rage Powder to drag the fight outside, back to the gardens. Using himself as a distraction, he managed to allow his Spewpa and even some of the other wild pokémon still in the garden to gang up on the attackers. They became inundated with negative status effects, paralyzed, slowed, and struggling to inflict meaningful damage, but they were far stronger than an amateur and a bunch of wild pokémon. They eventually burned the garden down, forcing the wild pokémon out of hiding and soon after, out of the fight. They gradually beat Alan within an inch of his life, unable to land a decisive blow but having nothing to fear from him and Spewpa in return. It was only at the last possible moment, when Alan's legs gave out from under him and he fell to his knees did help arrive. His mother had come personally, and finished the assailants off with a single Hurricane, putting out the fires and leaving the arrests to her compatriots. Attending to her son was more important, but all Alan could think about at the time was his dad. His father died that day, unable to be saved from his injuries even with the medics they had brought. Alan came to regret listening to his father, wishing he had never left him. Even if the more logical side of him recognizes the futility of stopping or even delaying the attackers without Unity armor, he never got to say goodbye to his father, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't let go of the feeling that he failed him. Alan eventually decided to become a Knight, like his mother. Although protecting people is one of his goals, he can't say he chose his current path for purely moralistic reasons. He mainly wants revenge on Decree, seeking nothing less than their complete dissolution. Partner Pokemon: Spewpa. He keeps an eviolite given to him by Alan tucked within his cloak and knows a variety of uncommon moves. He possesses the hidden ability, Friend Guard, and is not particularly capable in 1 on 1 battles. Contrary to Alan, Spewpa is rather reserved. Unity Abilities: After entering his armored form, Alan gains a massive defensive boost, covering his body in a chitin-like armor and providing him with a fur cloak highly resistant to cutting forces and magic attacks. He gains large gauntlets on either hand that can emit various powders (Poison Powder, Rage Powder and Stun Spore) or create and launch webbing to help him disorient, weaken, or distract his opponents. Finally, he is capable of a small selection of magic abilities, able to channel electricity through his webbing, letting him perform Electroweb attacks. He can also create energy barriers; either a short-lived one to block attacks, (Protect) or a weaker but long-lasting one to continuously dampen attacks on an ally. (Friend Guard) From an offensive perspective, Alan's armor form does almost nothing for him, only able to poison and moderately electrify. He can simply wrestle people into submission, but this is easier said than done against armored opponents. Likes: * Spewpa * Games & Competition * Winning * Making people happy * Talking * Meat * Sweets * Flowers Dislikes: * Anyone who dares to insult his Spewpa * People who put other people down / Gatekeeping * Gaslighting * Getting stuck in the rain * Shutting up * Spicy food * Flowers Quirks: * Tries to be extremely positive with people. Success is mixed, and it's not always welcome, but he genuinely finds it enjoyable to ambush people with compliments just to try to get them to smile or turn away in embarrassment. Either is fine. * Real life-or-death battles put him on edge, and although he is very confident and capable in terms of keeping calm under pressure, the stiff and serious demeanor still bleeds into his behavior in less serious battles, causing him to seem standoffish. It's a huge contrast to his cocky attitude when playing sports or games and he's been trying to remind himself to loosen up, with mixed success. * Never lost a mock battle at the academy by knockout * Never won a mock battle at the academy by knockout either. * Generally unpopular as a sparring partner. Relations: -</s> <|message|>Calliope Voland @FrogRFlowR Calliope's sigh of relief came out as a strained laugh. The new girl was thankfully ok, but still, that wasn't a great start to the year for either of them. As Okido was quick to point out. "Ehhh..." Calliope couldn't help inching back. As much admiration as she had for the ronin, he still intimidated her, even after a year of having known him. It was his air of mystery, his tales of his achievements, and of course the fact that he'd tamed a Gyarados. Trying her best to hide this, she forced a chuckle at the nickname he'd called her by yet again. "Technically that's dragon girl! Rawwwwrrr!" She considered reminding him that an Altaria was more of a dragon than a Gyarados was, but thought better of it. By her side, Seraphine chirped with laughter, before fussing over her and neatening up her hair. "Oh Sera." Grinning, Calliope reached up to pet her. "No need for that, it'll get messed up again anyway..." She and Seraphine both startled at the sudden yell from the dorms, followed by a cacophony of steel on steel. She nodded up at Okido. "Wow, sounds like it." Okido wasn't the only one who could be scary, Kaizer having quite the impressive presence too. A glance around the training grounds revealed the task ahead - pick a partner and, ugh, go over the boring old mundane drills. Calliope bit back a sigh. Why couldn't they all train with their Unity abilities? Weren't those their main skills? There was nothing quite like the sensation of lightness and freedom that Unity mode granted her, even if the occasional accident did happen when she kept up Dragon Dance too long. Even so, she grabbed two wooden swords from a barrel and headed over to the green-haired girl, who looked rather less than comfortable as others chortled about the mishap. Calliope winced inwardly. She had to make it up to her somehow. "Hey, again, apologies." She gave a friendly smile, hoping to put her at ease. "You up for sparring?"</s> <|message|>Morgana Blackwood "That won't be needed, Miss Voland," came Kaizer's voice as he walked across the courtyard. A group of bleary-eyed second-years followed behind him with their heads lowered. They sheepishly walked past and grabbed their own weapons to begin drills. "The first-years will be spending their morning classes with Professor Blackwood today. She wishes to test their proficiency with Unity before we begin putting them into combat. From across the courtyard, a tall raven-haired woman could be seen leaning against a pillar, notebook and quill in hand. When she locked eyes with Calliope, Morgana offered a smile and a curt wave before returning to her work. Kaizer returned his attention to the students and addressed the crowd, "Alright, students! If you are warmed up for the day, we'll begin with morning announcements! First of all, I would like to personally welcome back each and every one of you to the Academy. I know you've all likely heard the rumors about Decree's influence spreading within the kingdom, and I commend you for your willingness to return. I assure you, you are all safe here. Now... As you may be aware, we have some new students joining us this year." He gestured to Willow and the other four first-years who suddenly felt a multitude of eyes fixed on them, sizing them up. "I'm sure you'll all get to know them later, but for now, you'll be breaking off into groups. First years, you'll meet with Professor Blackwood today. She will be testing your skills with Unity and how strong you are with your partners. Third years, you'll be joining Okido at the lake for mock-battle training. Finally, second years are with me today. We're going out in the field." The old knight watched as the second years perked up at this news. Kaizer accompanying the students outside the academy was rare. While the students broke off into their groups, Morgana Blackwood strode forward and gestured offered a hand to the first year students, "Come with me please, children. You'll be getting started with me today." As the little group debated whether or not to follow, they felt a gentle push from behind. Turning, they saw Titania the Hatterene looming over them and pushing them forward with her long ponytail.</s>

<|message|>Alan Cross Alan Cross & Lillian Valecourt Deep breaths. A pair of wooden swords. It was just a practice battle with pretty much zero stakes, but it got Alan's heart racing anyway. He must have a wire crossed somewhere, because it seems to happen every time. It wasn't quite excitement, nor fear. It didn't feel like much of anything, really, or perhaps it was more accurate to say it felt like too many things at once. It was an odd mixture of anxiety and drive, a fight or flight reaction but with flight dismissed out of hand. He knew what getting competitive was like; he's no stranger to friendly competition, but fights and fights alone always felt different. For her part, Lillian was placid and poised to rip out Alan's throat. Perhaps not literally, given the weapons, but the vibe was the same. Why she chose him as a sparring partner, Alan couldn't imagine, but he nonetheless reflected her calm intensity like a mirror. Lillian struck first. She lunged towards Alan, swinging the wooden blade with speed that was hard to track. Alan did his best to defend, and managed to deflect her strike, only for Lillian to spin with the momentum and kick Alan in the chest. He slid back, but didn't stumble, recovering quickly for a counterattack of his own. A thrust, a slash, a wide swing, a low sweep. Lillian continued to dodge any attack he threw at her. A sidestep, a backstep, a duck, and a crouching leap back at him. She grabbed his shoulders and vaulted over him, then lifted him by the shoulders and tossed him overhead. He caught himself before hitting the ground, tumbling into a crouch, but Lillian was quick to follow up. Lillian feinted an overhead swing, pulling back to slither around the sword Alan raised to block in response. She went for a direct stab, only to catch sight of blood blooming out along her sword. The wooden blades weren't sharp, but they weren't just sticks either. It was reasonable to expect the tip to break skin, but the resulting bruise should be of more concern than any shallow puncture wound. Likewise, the edges probably wouldn't cause any cuts, unless someone was dumb enough to try grabbing the blade thrust at them with a single bare hand. Like Alan. Despite the surprise, Lillian did not abort half way. Her sword was stopped solely by Alan's grip, holding it tightly despite his hand leaving a bloody skid mark on it. If Alan was feeling the pain, he didn't show it outwardly, simply staring Lillian in the eye before using the leverage on her sword to tackle her, shoulder-first. She stumbled back a bit. It was refreshing, having a sparring partner who wasn't afraid of taking things too far with a princess. Lillian gave Alan a smirk as he shook some of the blood off of his hand before going back to a two-handed grip on his sword, never taking his eyes off of Lillian as he did so. They continued, trading minor blows, never able to get a decisive strike in on each other. Lillian was clearly the superior duelist, setting the tempo of the spar, but she couldn't dismantle Alan's guard, and whenever she took a risk, he'd pull off something crazy to turn the tables on her, if only for a moment. Eventually they were the only ones still sparring. Kaizer had long since returned, and it was starting to become clear that they were probably going to continue all day long if left uninterrupted. Since some basic sparring wasn't the only thing on the agenda for today, Okido had to step in to stop the duel so that they could all get on with it. Amidst the post-fight panting and bandaging, Alan broke the silence of their long spar. "You're amazing. You just dodge everything I throw at you, don't you?" "Well, you certainly didn't fail to leave a scratch. Every time I thought I had you cornered, you'd hit me with a surprise. Really, you're quite excellent for tempering my patience." If the compliment was meant to be backhanded, Alan didn't notice in the slightest. "Thanks! I try." "..."</s>

<|description|>Lillian Valecourt Faceclaim: Quote: If you have any sense at all, I suggest you get out of our way! Age: 17 Status: Third Year Student at the Academy Appearance: Lillian stands at exactly six feet tall. She's used to being the tallest woman in the room at any given time. She has perfect posture, something that has been ingrained into her since young. She moves with elegance and grace. Things a princess should always have. She has a slender build, but still has a feminine figure. She was born with fair skin that does not tan easily. Her hair is long, silky smooth, and perfectly straight. It's naturally blonde, and and her bangs are side swept. She normally wears it down, but does put up for occasions that require it. She has a heart shaped face, with a small upturned nose, and her features are soft and feminine. She has bright blue eyes, a feature that is common in her family. When it comes to clothing, Lillian wears only the best. Her royal gowns are made from the finest silks and fabrics you can get. She wears elaborate gowns around the palace, usually in various shades of purple, the color of the Royal family. Around the academy, she wears a more practical purple dress and overcoat. It is still made from expensive fabrics most people can't afford. On her feet are purple boots that are more comfortable than the heels she often wears around the palace. She also wears a lot of gold jewelry, as is common for royalty. Her most prominent accessory is her golden tiara that sits on her head. A symbol that she is next in line for the throne. She is never seen without it. When using unity, she dons special armor. It is white in color, and has red and blue triangles patterns carved into it. Her entire body is covered with matching chestplate, greaves, gauntlets, shoulder pads, and cussies. She also wears tall white boots, as well as a flowing white cape, and her signature gold tiara on top of her head. She also has a hair clip of white feathers with red and blue tips on the side of her head. Personality: Lilian is a true princess, and carries herself as such. Since birth, she was taught to be elegant and graceful at all times, and still holds herself to those standards. She's a cool, calm, and collected young woman, who can keep a level-head when going into stressful situations. Her calmness also means she doesn't openly show her emotions too often. She is very slow to anger, and if she finds something funny the most you'll get is a smirk. When she talks to someone, she'll be blunt and get straight to the point. Lilian is not shy and submissive in the slightest. She was trained to be the queen one day, which means she can't allow people to walk all over her. She will not hesitate to correct someone she deems is being rude. Until she started attending the academy, Lilian spent much of her time on her family's estate. She was homeschooled her entire life, and taught all of the rules and expectations that come with being the future queen. She spends a lot of time alone, or with her Togekiss. She doesn't have much experience dealing with people who don't work for her. She expects to be treated like a Princess at all times, and as such often doesn't know how to respond when she isn't. She also can be a spoiled brat at times. She enjoys living the glamorous princess lifestyle, being given lavish gifts, and having wealth to spend on whatever she likes. Her mother was a well respected ruler, and she knows she has a lot to live up to. Lillian is eager to prove herself the best queen this kingdom has ever seen. Her calm nature sometime makes her come off as cold to others, but that assessment couldn't be further from the truth. She's actually quite friendly around people she actually does know. She does have emotions, it's just that one has to try very hard to get her to show them. In conversation, she is a great listener, who will quietly and politely take in and absorb what others have to say. She pays attention, and offers advice if it's wanted. She's also very good at calming people during bad situations. She has a fascination with myths and legends, and has read a bunch of books about them. She is particularly fascinated by Zaican, and often prays to the legendary before doing anything important. Biography: The queen of Rallen and her husband wanted children. It was their duty to produce heirs. They've tried many times to conceive, and would either fail to do so, or miscarry. After praying to Arceus many times, the queen finally got pregnant, and carried the child to term. Queen Sophia gave birth to a baby girl. Queen Sophia and her husband were thrilled to have a daughter, and loved her dearly. Queen Sophia is well loved within the Rallen Kingdom. This puts a lot of pressure on Lillian to live up to the standards set by her mother. Lillian was groomed to be the next queen. She was given etiquette lessons, and given a very expansive education to teach her everything she would need to know in order to become a good ruler. Lillian worked very hard to excel. She was determined to be best queen this country had ever seen! Lillian didn't really have much time to spend socializing with others her own age. Her only friend was a Togepi named Apollo her mother had gifted her when she was young, that evolved into a Togekiss over time. When it was discovered that Lillian and her Togekiss could achieve the unity phenomenon, she was immediately enrolled into the Knights Academy. It was important for a future queen to be able to defend her country herself after all. Despite being surrounded by others her own age, Lillian didn't have much interactions with her fellow students. She was preparing to be the next queen, she didn't have time for friends. The Companionship of her Togekiss was good enough. Partner Pokémon + Unity Abilities: Lillian's partner is a Togekiss named Apollo she's had ever since she was a child. He is her closest, and honesty only companion. In addition, he serves as a mount for her in battle. Even he is gentle and kind towards his partner, he is not one to be messed with in a battle. In her unity form, she gets a white lance with red and blue triangles on it, and small wings on the sides. In her Unity form, she gains magic over air. Whether that's summoning blades of air to slash at opponents (Air Slash) Summoning gusts of wind that leave behind a trail of pink dust (Fairy Wind) or summoning a whirlwind that boosts her and her allies speed (Tailwind) She can also use magic to heal the wounds of herself and her allies (Life Dew) Likes: Pretty dresses Sweets (You wouldn't expect it from her, but she does) Myths and legends Cute/Pretty Pokémon Dislikes: Having nothing to do Rude people Messes Being underestimated Quirks: Insists on being called Lillian, Princess, or Princess Lillian. Only close friends/family members are allowed to call her Lilly. Is a morning person. She feels like the day is wasted if she wakes up too late Relations [You can leave this empty for the time being. This section will be used to write down what your character thinks of other character in the rp whether they be PCs, or NPCs in the world of the Rallen Region]</s> <|message|>Willow "...are you kidding me..." Willow thought as she saw Calliope come straight for her. As she apologized about the whole thing and offered her sparring, William's stare went up and down the girl and, in a funny display, Iris did the almost exact same to Seraphine. Nevertheless, the 1st year was about to answer when Mr. Drachen interrupted them. "I..." she looked to the old man, making herself scarce when he gestured to them. Willow and Calliope had to - fortunately or unfortunately - split up. Still, the shy girl bid her good day as best she could before walking away with the first years, pushed gently by the Hatterene in the right direction while Iris was giving Titania mean eyes for pushing Willow. "It's fine, Iris..." Despite everything, Willow made her way up to the professor and, making sure no one else was near them, gently asked; "So...w-what exactly will be the 'test' of our skills?" she asked, slightly worried.</s> <|message|>Calliope Voland Calliope turned to face Kaizer, who led a group of exhausted-looking students. "They get to use Unity? Aw, lucky first years." She glanced at the green haired girl, who shuffled away with her peers, gently guided by Blackwood's Hatterene. Her own Unity training last year had been exhilarating - why couldn't the second years begin with that? Surely that was the most important skill to hone? "Still, I'm gonna give it my all!" She hurried to where the other second years trained and joined them, sweeping and parrying with her wooden swords as Seraphine watched. She was only a few seconds into the drills when Kaizer's voice boomed through the courtyard once more. Her head perked up, a thrill coursing through her. Field training, at the side of an accomplished knight. Instead of merely singing about adventures, she was finally going to experience one. "Ooooh, a mission?" She dashed to Kaizer's side, bouncing on her heels. "What's the task? Whatever it is, we've got this!" Grinning over her shoulder at her fellow second years as they gathered, she raised her fist, attempting to bolster morale. Exciting as this was, a hint of trepidation nagged at her - the deeds of Rallen's heroes were a lot to live up to. Would this go like it did in the songs?</s> <|message|>Kaizer Drachen As the students broke into their respective groups, Kaizer addressed the second years, "You will all be assisting in a Pokémon hunt today. It seems a wild Metagross has taken up residence in the nearby mountains and some noble brat wishes to have it brought in as his personal pet. Metagross are notoriously tough opponents so this will be a good opportunity to test your battle skills as well as your Unity abilities. Orders are to subdue and bring the hunk of metal in, but you can faint it if you must. If there are no objections or questions, you have ten minutes to gather your equipment and meet me at the academy gates! Move out!" The second years immediately broke off running for their dorms in order to prepare for the incoming ordeal. Turning his attention to Okido, Kaizer saw the samurai moving the third years down to the lakeside. The headmaster had long since planned for them to begin with full contact sparring before moving into the command-oriented aspects that were commonly associated with third year studies. Morganna meanwhile, had brought her pack of first years into the castle and up a flight of stairs to her classroom, "Now students, I trust many of you are aware of what Unity is, but I have doubts that you have seen it performed properly. Titania, if you please..." The Hatterene gleefully bounded over to her mistress as Morganna reached out a hand, placing the other over her chest. A bright pink light emanated from the duo and covered the room; nearly blinding the new students. When it cleared, Morganna stood before them, now clad in a flowing pink dress, witch's hat, and carrying a long bejeweled staff. Her once-black hair was now pale blue in color and tied back into a long ponytail to match her partner. "Hehe... Do you see?" Morganna twirled for the students as she fought to keep the encroaching grin off her face. Even when it was for the purposes of demonstration, she couldn't stop Titania's influence from forcing her to smile while in Unity form. It just felt so... wonderful. "With the power of Unity, you and your partner will truly become one and the same. You share the same sensations, feel the same stimulations, and in return, the Pokémon shares their power with you!" To demonstrate, Morganna aimed her staff at a wooden target in the room and fired a Psybeam. The beam struck and obliterated its mark. As the students gawked and clapped, Morganna released herself from the Unity form and composed herself, "Ahem... As such, the purpose of my classes will be to test how strong your Unity is with your current Pokémon partners. For those among you who don't have one..." She eyed the few students who stood without a Pokémon at their side, "We'll see to it that you are paired with a partner that will best bring out your latent abilities. Now... who wants to go first?" Morganna stepped aside and retrieved another target from her desk. Back in the courtyard, Kaizer stood at attention as his students returned carrying their equipment for the day's journey. He didn't like the idea of securing such a powerful Pokémon to be some noble's pet, but orders were orders and he could at least get an opportunity to see how well Morganna had trained this crop of students in the last year. With a smirk, Kaizer mounted Ignis and signaled for his partner to take flight. He addressed his students from the air, [color=orange]"As for my role in this assignment, I'm simply to navigate you to the last known location of the Metagross! I will simply be observing your progress and will step in only if absolutely necessary. I trust I'm understood." Without waiting for a reply, Kaizer and Ignis turned and began flying away, expecting the second years to follow. @FrogRFlowR@Ryik@GingerBaron@Crimson Flame</s>

<|message|>Lillian Valecourt After her sparring session with Allan that was a lot more challenging than she expected for a simple practice session, Lillian was all warmed up. Professor Drachen gave the morning announcements, and then they were all split off into groups. The third years were all sent to the lake for mock battle training. She dutifully went along with the other third years to the lakeside. There was discussion of Full Contact Sparring. Lillian raised her hand. "I beg your pardon Professor Okido, but how is this different from the sparring we were just doing?"</s>

<|description|>Calliope Voland "Are you ready to make history?" Age: 16 Status: 2nd year student at the Knights' Academy Personality: If Calliope could be described in one word, it would be theatrical. Growing up in a family of performers has given her a flair for the dramatic. As such, she's loud and peppy, moving with exaggerated gestures, and she doesn't always get when said behaviour annoys others. She has a deep admiration for the Rallen Knights, because of the songs glorifying them, and becomes star-struck whenever she meets an accomplished one. She aspires to be like them, however she still has a rose-tinted view of the world, believing it to be as it is in the stories. She thinks in terms of black and white, good versus evil, without realising that her heroes are flawed and conflicts are more complex than history makes them out to be. Biography: Calliope was born into a troupe of travelling musicians. Between constantly moving from place to place, and hearing tales of epic deeds, she developed a sense of adventure from a young age. She longed to someday accomplish something great, like the subjects of many songs, the Rallen Knights. When Calli was 12, her mother became sick and passed away, leaving her the Altaria who'd been her performance partner. Said Altaria, Seraphine, helped her cope and step into her mother's shoes, singing along as Calli composed her own songs on her lyre and performed for people. The music played by humans and Pokemon alike in the troupe drew cheering crowds, but also attracted the wrong sorts. Some of the Pokemon, such as Clefable and Wigglytuff, were particularly rare - hence, targets for poachers. One night, a group of thieves ambushed and attacked the wagon. Calli was only 15, and had no idea what to do, but she wasn't going to just stand around and do nothing while her loved ones fought. The knights immortalised in song certainly wouldn't. As Seraphine dived into the fray, fending off the attackers, Calliope herself physically tried to pull a Mightyena off of her brother before it could bite him. The Mightyena turned on her, but Sera saved her, knocking it away with Moonblast. That was when her Unity power awakened, an elaborate blue costume and protective cloak replacing her usual attire. With her newfound agility, she sent the thugs stumbling backwards with a gust of wind, brandishing two airy swords. The tables having turned in the troupe's favour, the would-be thieves retreated. Shortly after the incident, Calliope was accepted into the Rallen Knight's Academy, where she now trains to be like the heroes she sings about. Partner Pokemon: Seraphine, the Altaria. Although she enjoys singing and dancing just as much as Calliope does, she's much more calm and sedate. Since the passing of Calli's mother, Sera has taken on some maternal traits, such as fussing over Calli and fixing her hair. And of course, becoming fiercely protective if her trainer is in danger. Unity Abilities: While Calliope's "armour" may not look like much, it's built for ease of movement, and her fluffy cloak is much, much tougher than it looks - she can use it to dampen incoming attacks, much like Cotton Guard. She can also use it to glide short distances, and channel a small amount of magic which creates wind bursts. In terms of weapons, she gains two shortswords. Her fighting style involves a technique similar to Dragon Dance - the more she dances, the stronger and faster she becomes. She becomes surrounded by a blue aura while doing this, and can achieve up to twice her base speed and strength. However, if her dance is interrupted (for example if she's hit or distracted), the effect ends and she has to build it up again. Finally, with a song and an effort of will, she can slightly heal one person at a time (a variation of Heal Bell). Likes: * Music * Dancing * Travelling * Stories * Celebrations Dislikes: * Bullies * Negative people * Cold weather * Waiting * Being told to shut up Quirks: * Often hums and whistles to herself. * Sings battle anthems while sparring or fighting, as a morale boost for herself and others. * Playfully treats ordinary situations as more epic than they are, for example a casual sports game.</s> <|message|>Willow "...are you kidding me..." Willow thought as she saw Calliope come straight for her. As she apologized about the whole thing and offered her sparring, William's stare went up and down the girl and, in a funny display, Iris did the almost exact same to Seraphine. Nevertheless, the 1st year was about to answer when Mr. Drachen interrupted them. "I..." she looked to the old man, making herself scarce when he gestured to them. Willow and Calliope had to - fortunately or unfortunately - split up. Still, the shy girl bid her good day as best she could before walking away with the first years, pushed gently by the Hatterene in the right direction while Iris was giving Titania mean eyes for pushing Willow. "It's fine, Iris..." Despite everything, Willow made her way up to the professor and, making sure no one else was near them, gently asked; "So...w-what exactly will be the 'test' of our skills?" she asked, slightly worried.</s> <|message|>Calliope Voland Calliope turned to face Kaizer, who led a group of exhausted-looking students. "They get to use Unity? Aw, lucky first years." She glanced at the green haired girl, who shuffled away with her peers, gently guided by Blackwood's Hatterene. Her own Unity training last year had been exhilarating - why couldn't the second years begin with that? Surely that was the most important skill to hone? "Still, I'm gonna give it my all!" She hurried to where the other second years trained and joined them, sweeping and parrying with her wooden swords as Seraphine watched. She was only a few seconds into the drills when Kaizer's voice boomed through the courtyard once more. Her head perked up, a thrill coursing through her. Field training, at the side of an accomplished knight. Instead of merely singing about adventures, she was finally going to experience one. "Ooooh, a mission?" She dashed to Kaizer's side, bouncing on her heels. "What's the task? Whatever it is, we've got this!" Grinning over her shoulder at her fellow second years as they gathered, she raised her fist, attempting to bolster morale. Exciting as this was, a hint of trepidation nagged at her - the deeds of Rallen's heroes were a lot to live up to. Would this go like it did in the songs?</s> <|message|>Kaizer Drachen As the students broke into their respective groups, Kaizer addressed the second years, "You will all be assisting in a Pokémon hunt today. It seems a wild Metagross has taken up residence in the nearby mountains and some noble brat wishes to have it brought in as his personal pet. Metagross are notoriously tough opponents so this will be a good opportunity to test your battle skills as well as your Unity abilities. Orders are to subdue and bring the hunk of metal in, but you can faint it if you must. If there are no objections or questions, you have ten minutes to gather your equipment and meet me at the academy gates! Move out!" The second years immediately broke off running for their dorms in order to prepare for the incoming ordeal. Turning his attention to Okido, Kaizer saw the samurai moving the third years down to the lakeside. The headmaster had long since planned for them to begin with full contact sparring before moving into the command-oriented aspects that were commonly associated with third year studies. Morganna meanwhile, had brought her pack of first years into the castle and up a flight of stairs to her classroom, "Now students, I trust many of you are aware of what Unity is, but I have doubts that you have seen it performed properly. Titania, if you please..." The Hatterene gleefully bounded over to her mistress as Morganna reached out a hand, placing the other over her chest. A bright pink light emanated from the duo and covered the room; nearly blinding the new students. When it cleared, Morganna stood before them, now clad in a flowing pink dress, witch's hat, and carrying a long bejeweled staff. Her once-black hair was now pale blue in color and tied back into a long ponytail to match her partner. "Hehe... Do you see?" Morganna twirled for the students as she fought to keep the encroaching grin off her face. Even when it was for the purposes of demonstration, she couldn't stop Titania's influence from forcing her to smile while in Unity form. It just felt so... wonderful. "With the power of Unity, you and your partner will truly become one and the same. You share the same sensations, feel the same stimulations, and in return, the Pokémon shares their power with you!" To demonstrate, Morganna aimed her staff at a wooden target in the room and fired a Psybeam. The beam struck and obliterated its mark. As the students gawked and clapped, Morganna released herself from the Unity form and composed herself, "Ahem... As such, the purpose of my classes will be to test how strong your Unity is with your current Pokémon partners. For those among you who don't have one..." She eyed the few students who stood without a Pokémon at their side, "We'll see to it that you are paired with a partner that will best bring out your latent abilities. Now... who wants to go first?" Morganna stepped aside and retrieved another target from her desk. Back in the courtyard, Kaizer stood at attention as his students returned carrying their equipment for the day's journey. He didn't like the idea of securing such a powerful Pokémon to be some noble's pet, but orders were orders and he could at least get an opportunity to see how well Morganna had trained this crop of students in the last year. With a smirk, Kaizer mounted Ignis and signaled for his partner to take flight. He addressed his students from the air, [color=orange]"As for my role in this assignment, I'm simply to navigate you to the last known location of the Metagross! I will simply be observing your progress and will step in only if absolutely necessary. I trust I'm understood." Without waiting for a reply, Kaizer and Ignis turned and began flying away, expecting the second years to follow. @FrogRFlowR@Ryik@GingerBaron@Crimson Flame</s> <|message|>Lillian Valecourt After her sparring session with Allan that was a lot more challenging than she expected for a simple practice session, Lillian was all warmed up. Professor Drachen gave the morning announcements, and then they were all split off into groups. The third years were all sent to the lake for mock battle training. She dutifully went along with the other third years to the lakeside. There was discussion of Full Contact Sparring. Lillian raised her hand. "I beg your pardon Professor Okido, but how is this different from the sparring we were just doing?"</s>

<|message|>Calliope Voland Eyes shining, Calliope eagerly awaited the command. What would the students' heroic deed ahead be? Drive away mischievous ghosts? Rescue a missing Pokemon? When Kaizer announced the second years' task, her expression fell. "Wait... what?" She stood stunned, her peers' footsteps drowning out her murmur. Subdue a Metagross and bring it to a noble as a pet? Against its will? This wasn't the kind of thing the knights in the songs did. Was there more to the situation than Kaizer had said? There had to be. Rallen Knights were known as a force of good. With a sigh, she headed after the other students. Once she'd gathered a bag of supplies from her dorm - she didn't need to bring weapons, being able to summon them while transformed - she rejoined Kaizer in the courtyard. As he took to the air atop his Charizard, Calliope hopped onto Seraphine's back. "Ready?" With a nod and a chirp, Seraphine spread her fluffy wings and took off. It was usually a pleasure to fly, to feel the wind against her face as she watched the land spread out below her and Sera, but the task ahead rather dampened Calliope's enjoyment. "Uh, sir?" Steadily catching up with Kaizer, she turned her head. "This Metagross is actively causing trouble and needs to be stopped, right? Or it's lost and lonely, and needs a good home? And what's this noble like?"</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "Finally," he said aloud in the still air. Stood on a mountain of rubble and concrete, Isaac Storm looked on the vista of New York, his home. It'd been a long trek back from the Commonwealth. The young hero had volunteered himself to be part of the massive trade caravan that was built to send aid to The Minute Men, who'd finally taken back control of Boston in the name of the people. 'The Good Fight was winning' - that was the chatter on lips. Slowly but surely, evil powers were being vanquished and this once-great country was getting back on its feet. And so, Isaac had been a bodyguard on the long road to the Commonwealth, stayed for a week or two, then headed back on his own. And now he was back, on the edge of New York, in the wake of familiar sights. There was still a few nights of camping ahead of him, before he'd get back to the settlement of New Brooklyn, so he looked about for a suitable building to settle down for the evening. It was about to get dark and there was no point in travelling through the night, unless you were ready for trouble. Tomorrow would be a precarious part of the journey. Just a little south of him was a known raider town, home to some big-time gangs. This was their territory. And he'd be brushing close by as he headed for New Brooklyn. He could've gone around - given the town a wide berth - but to hell with it, he'd just have to be extra careful. He found shelter in a two storey building with boarded up windows, setting up his bedroll on the second floor. After making a small fire and charring some squirrel meat for dinner, he spent 20 minutes cleaning his trusty pistol. Taurus P90 aka The Raging Bull. 50 cal. Isaac's most prized possession. He'd gotten it as a present from Katie Wensdale. She'd modified it herself, and even put little aesthetic touches here and there to remind the young hero that 'Big Sis' was always thinking of him. He disassembled it smoothly, shined it up real nice with some oil and a rag, then put it back together, checked the slide and tested the trigger action before giving it a kiss. Once it was loaded, he lay down with a single airpod in his right ear, and listened to the radio until he fell asleep.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh The sun was setting over the raider base. It was one of the bigger ones known in the area and tended to be quite successful in their raids. Tonight was not unlike the others. Caps and supplies stocked up, innocent lives lost for defending the good guys. Zara had seen it all and had chilled her heart. There was no stopping the Diamond Backs once they had their sights on you. Unfortunately, those whom hated the raiders did not differentiate between willing members and unwilling staff. Zara knew she had but one choice. She needed to leave, though she had no clue where to go or how to get there without dying. There was nothing for her to take with her so it was just a matter of patience. Waiting until the freshly fed and drunkard men toppled over to their night long slumber. The fires began to burn out, one by one. Basking the base in nothing but moonlight. Zara figured this was as good as time as any. Their leader was asleep in bed with his latest spawn incubator, the night shift guards were thin in posts due to the partying. She tiptoed around people and the tamed wolves kept as pets and guard dogs. She pushed hard on the wooden door that gave the impression of security. Lightly biting her lip, she leaned against the wall and walked as carefully as she could. Pausing only a moment when one guard passed overhead. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as she held her breath. Escape was certain death as any servant could spill about the Diamond Backs weaknesses. Feeling the coast being clear, she took off running towards the ruins, wanting to hide as quickly as she could. She didn't bother looking back, which was a downfall she had. A couple of the guards saw her book it, ringing out the alarm. It was only moments before she had half a dozen men after her. 'Fuck me.' She thought to herself as she attempted to duck and dodge the arrows whizzing past her head. Glancing up, she saw the overhang of a fallen floor of a building. The wooden beams and joists visible within. She jumped with all her might and managed to snag one of the rebars within the structure. Grunts and groans gave her away as she pulled herself up to the second floor and hopefully out of the eyeline of those chasing. Ducking low beams and jumping over holes in the floors, she ran her way through what used to be a nice hotel. What she didn't see or expect was the sleeping form on the bedroll. She ended up by tripping right over Isaac, crying out in shock and smacking her head off the wall he was by. Raiders voices below as they called out to each other that one heard her cry.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm The alarm in the distance woke him easily. One of his blue eyes peeked open. One hand fished under his blanket and switched off the hand-radio by his side so he could listen for a moment. It sounded like trouble at the raider town. Maybe they were being attacked. Perhaps it just some wasteland critters trying to breach the defences. Either way, he felt far enough away from the town that he wouldn't need to get up. At least, that's how he felt at first. Until the shouting voices he could hear, seemed to be slightly closer. Surely they weren't heading for the ruins, were they? "Get her!" was a much, much clearer voice this time. They were indeed getting closer. Too close for comfort. "Ah shit," Isaac muttered to himself, gun in hand, still lazily spread-eagled on his back, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. "Why me, universe? What did I do to ya, this time?" He thought a little too long about getting up. He should've just done it. Because before he could, he heard groan and a strain before, down the other end of the broken building, a person appeared. Isaac could see the silhouette form in the moonlight, all the inner walls of the floor collapsed enough not to obstruct his view. And that silhouette form started bolting toward him. Isaac still hadn't moved, but now he raised his gun, looking sidelong down the barrel, pointing it at the person who was rushing toward him. Taking a shot lying on one's back like this was hard, and this gun's recoil would make it all the more difficult, so Isaac waited for the target to come closer. The person was approaching fast, hopping and skipping over holes in the floor, ducking low beams. Isaac had 3 pounds of pressure on a 4 pound trigger. Just a little closer..... "She's getting away!" was the rusty, evil-toned voice of a pursuing raider. That made Isaac pause for thought. This person was running from the raiders. He relinquished his aim as he realised the situation, so glad that he didn't just blast a potentially innocent person. As he did, she almost blew past him, but her foot caught on his leg as he got to his feet, tripping her and sending her head first into a wall. She cried out and Isaac was up, a little too late to silence her when he pulled her into his embrace, his hand covering her mouth. "Sshh," was his instruction. They were face to face - damn-near nose to nose - one arm around her waist, his free hand still over her mouth until he was sure she got the message. But one of the voices of her pursuers made Isaac break eye contact and let her go. "I heard her! Top floor!" He dipped down and started stuffing all of his things into his backpack. There was no time for the bedroll. Slinging the rucksack over his shoulder, he grabbed his gun off the floor and was on the move before he'd even risen back to his full height, grabbing the girl's hand and pulling her along to follow. They snaked through the broken down building quickly and quietly. "Boss wants her alive!" was another voice. Isaac counted three voices, at least, but he couldn't be sure. They got to the top of the main stairwell and paused. Unless she'd resisted, he was still holding her hand. "How many?" he whispered as he looked back at her. Four raiders converged at the bottom of the stairs and charged up toward them. And their shouts of surprise and alarm was a clear indicator that they did not expect to see a man lean out from behind cover with a big canon pointing right at them. "Shit!" "!" "Huh!?" BANG! ....The first shot hit one square in the chest and sent him flying back down the ground floor. The recoil sent pains up Isaac's arm all the way to his shoulder.... BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG! The raiders tried to flee but it was too late, only one getting away, managing to dive behind cover on the lower floor. The surviving raider's arm was mangled from a bullet, but he fired back with his own gun and Dante leaned back into cover upstairs. "Guys! There's someone else here!" the raider shouted. "Go get help!" The raider and Isaac traded a few shots, but none found their mark. "We need to get out of here," Isaac said to the girl, keeping the raider downstairs busy with a shot or two.</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm When she tapped Isaac on the shoulder and put a finger to her lips, Isaac gave a brisk nod, his breathing heavy because of the adrenaline. She started to sneak off and Isaac fired another shot off down the stairs before following her, trying to stay as quiet as possible. The injured raider at the bottom of the stairs fired more shots back, not realising that they were gone. The girl led him down a different stairwell, descending beyond the groundfloor and to the basement level parking lot. Perfect. As soon as she let go of his hand, Isaac changed his empty gun clip to a fresh one, all the while running after her. Out of the parking lot and into the dead streets, Isaac followed the route she was taking until he suddenly took the lead. He looked back to see why she had stopped, then halted himself to watch her go start looting a table for something that'd caught her eye. Looting at a time like this! "Really?" he asked breathlessly, once she caught back up. There was an exasperated smile on his face as they got back on the move. "Come on." They ran for another twenty minutes, taking a left turn here, a right corner there. On his left arm, Isaac wore two wrist-watches. One of them was like any other watch, it showed the time. The other was a compass. He used it to make sure that they were steadily heading south-west and deeper into New York. After the running, they walked for 5 minutes to catch their breath. After that, they were jogging. Isaac had to be sure that no one was following them. It was late. Luck was on their side that no animals, bugs or feral ghouls had crossed their path and attacked. They made a good distance between themselves and the raider town. Isaac began looking for a good, sturdy building to make camp - they needed to rest soon as the girl was exhausted, her breathing and wheezing sounding like she might collapse at any moment. "There," Isaac pointed 200 yards down the street to the big townhouse on the corner. It was three floors tall, its walls looked in tact, and the buildings around it were rubble, so the top floor would have a good view of the surrounding area. "We can rest up in that townhouse over there."</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara picked up the locket, rubbing it off on her tank top. Her eyes moved up to meet his for a moment. She sheepishly put it in one of her pockets before returning to him, unpausing their current task of escaping. 'At least he didn't leave me for dead.' Her thoughts spoke to her. After their running, her lungs hurt, her legs hurt and she felt like she would lay down right there and not get up for hours. She crouched as she rested her arms on her knees and began looking around at the buildings too. Her eyes did spy the one he had, but had crossed it off as she didn't feel like climbing again. Hearing that being his choice, she hung her head and groaned. "That one? Hope you plan on sleeping on the main floor cuz I can't make it up more stairs." She boldly assumed they were now traveling together, not just escaping the raiders then parting. She began the dragging walk toward the bulding of his choice, very much mimicking that of a teenager. She got inside the door and looked around. A dirty but still intact couch sat along one wall, the television across the room from it. "You can have the couch, since I made you leave behind the bedroll you had." Once again assuming they'd be on the main floor. --Meanwhile-- Back up had arrived to the hotel where their injured and fallen members were. One had stayed with the injured one to tend to wounds he had while the others began searching the hotel. "Second floor. They were last seen on the second floor." One of the female raiders barked out, taking lead on this scouting mission. She ran her hand along the wall freshly damaged from the bullets. Climbing the stairs up, she had her 10mm drawn and ready to go. Spotting the make shift camp, she headed over to it and put her hands right kn the burnt wood. Hot or not, she didn't care. "It's still fairly warm. I see one bedroll. The dirt hasn't been displaced by another." She pointed out to her fellow raiders. "I'm thinking the girl and one, possibly two others." "There is only one bedroll, so wouldn't that mean only one?" One of the newer members asked. Tasha rolled her eyes and looked at him. "One to sleep and one to guard. Never assume someone sleeping is alone. Not out here. Not in these lands." She growled at him as she tried to look for other hints.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac felt bad for the girl. She was half-dead from exhaustion. They got inside, both stood at the door, Isaac silent as he tried to listen for movement inside the building. The place seemed empty. "You can have the couch, since I made you leave behind the bedroll you had." "What do you mean, doll?" he asked with a smirk. "We're going up. Top floor." He looked pointedly at the stairs and when he saw her reaction, his smirk turned to a full grin. "Don't worry, just two more sets of stairs and you can collapse in a heap until morning comes." He took the lead, doing a routine check on all three floors before finally setting his stuff down in the bedroom with the street view. He mentally acknowledged her offer of the couch. It was a nice gesture, but he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. No. Now, he was paranoid that trouble wasn't far behind. "This place has been lived in recently," he mused out loud, taking note of the oil lamps, the ruffled bed, the signs of discarded trash. But all supplies were missing. "Whoever it was, they're long gone by now." He switched on the three oil lamps in the room, brightening the place so that he could get his first clear look of the girl he was with. "Wow," he appraised. "Bit of a cutie pie, aren't ya." She was indeed cute. Her eyes were interesting, in particular. So sharp in shape, the two-tone hue making for a mystery. She was skinny, more malnourished than the average wastelander. Isaac guessed she'd been a prisoner of the raiders. And a prisoner for a while too. He didn't stare overly long, no more than a few seconds, before turning to leave the room. "There's a few snacks in that rucksack, if you're hungry. Water too." He set about securing the building; making sure the doors and windows on the ground floor were shut properly. He set up a rope from the third floor bathroom, tied securely to some piping and ready to throw out of the window and climb down, should they need to escape. Lastly, set up a tripwire at the front door, tied to a trigger of a small shrapnel grenade. Anyone trying to sneak in would be in for a nasty surprise. He made sure to let his new friend know about the trap downstairs when he returned, taking a seat by the window where he could keep an eye on the street below. Stretching and cracking his neck to one side, he light out a sigh and put his feet up on the broken radiator. "Name's Isaac," he finally introduced himself, his eyes on the street. "Isaac Storm. How'd you end up on the run?"</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Hearing his voice clearly for the first time, she couldn't help but give a slight brush. The deepness, the tone, even the accent seemed to be fitting of the stranger. His words though, top floor caused her whole body to slump where it stood. Mouth ajar as her eyes moved up the stairs to they disappeared on the next floor. He was mad, he had to be. Crazy mad, to think she would have the energy to go up to the top floor. Not to mention removing any real chances of escape if the raiders caught up to them. She figured they'd have lived if they had to vault out a second story window. Surely he was joking right? Nope, they ascended the stairs. Second story, third story. She pointed up "Don't want to see if they have an attic as well?" Her tone almost sarcastically rude. Following him into the chosen room, she blinked as the oil lamps came on and ruined what vision she had for the dark. She remained quiet as he sized her up, doing the same to him. He didn't look nearly as rough as the raiders she was usually around. "If you say so, though I feel I look a little grungy. You're actually quite easy on the eyes yourself." She smirked, moving to go look out the window. His mention of food and water did make her salivate but she wasn't about to go rooting through someone's rutsack. She almost lost a hand once or twice that way from said owner of the sacks. Been accused of stealing as well when there was nothing of value to steal. Nope, if he was intent on sharing, he'd have to get it out and hand it to her. When he finished setting up the traps, she moved to the bed so he could have the window unobstructed. She sat down on it, tucking her fingers under her legs, palms down. "Zara Singh is mine. I haven't Bern on the run long. In fact, it may surprise you, this is the first like.. hour or two I've been on the rub." She admitted to him, knowing full well he pegged her for a novice wastelander from the beginning. "I've lived in the raider base for thirteen years and just.. I can't do it anymore. I refuse to do it. So I left. Tonight they were celebrating a recent ambush, were all too drunk to care of their own noses."</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm "I've lived in the raider base for thirteen years and just.. I can't do it anymore. I refuse to do it. So I left..." Isaac kept his gaze on the outside, mostly because he didn't want her to see the pity in his eyes. He couldn't imagine what she'd been through, all these years. Raider's weren't known for their mercy. Inside, Isaac cursed the people of the past, who went to nuclear war and gave birth to this hellhole. "...Tonight they were celebrating a recent ambush, were all too drunk to care of their own noses." "Good thinking," was his first words in reply to her sad story. Then he looked over at her. "But they cared enough to come after you. And they might still be out there. So we have to stay sharp until we're far enough away. Do you have anywhere you can go? What am I saying, of course you don't." The young man out a loud breath as tried to think, placing a thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose. Where was the nearest town from here? "Hmmm... I think Grasscroft isn't far from here. Straight west, if memory serves. We'll head in that direction tomorrow. See if we can't find you a place to live, kay." The girl really could use a break. She looked so drained, so skinny. "Hey, I said there was food n stuff in my bag. You sure you're not hungry?" Isaac got back to his feet and retrieved his rucksack, rifling through it before pulling out his water canteen and throwing it on the bed beside her. Then he brought a couple of ration snacks, tossing her a pack before opening one himself and sitting back down. This time he didn't put his feet up. He was sat facing her, leaning forward a little, intent on seeing her get something in her stomach. It was just some beef jerky and a pack of peanuts - good for a little bit of energy, in a pinch. "Don't be shy, I'm not gonna charge you," he quipped, popping a peanut into his mouth and giving her a reassuring smile.</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara woke up to the sounds of the talking below, though she kept her eyes closed as tightly as she could. If she didn't make it seem like she was awake, or even there, they'd just move on right? There was no way they had tracked her here already. The duo had been walking for well over an hour at this point and she felt like she had only gotten to sleep. Little did she know that her light breathing had become deeper, almost held at some moments. Her eye lids fluttered with each movement her eyes did below them. She was trying to focus in on various zones to see where they could be coming from or if they were ambushing from all angles. The sound of the explosion was hard to ignore though. She shot up and covered her own mouth to prevent herself from screaming out in shock. Yup, they found the house, they found her. They were going to get her. Hearing the words from Isaac's mouth made her just stare at him in utter shock. 'And what if I do?' Her heart was racing as she kept shaking her head. Eyes begging him to not give her to them. She ducked back onto the bed, covering her head as she heard the rain shower of metal bullets being shot at the exact window that Isaac was just at. What was he doing? Trying to piss them off more? They knew where she was and they'd be getting back up if too many of them ka-boom'd all over the place. The smile on his face frightened her as well. Was he really getting off on this? He was one messed up twisted person, whom seemed to be attempting to keep her safe. Hearing the whispers, she nodded her head, moving to slide off the bed but keep her head down. She scurried off towards the room that had to be the bathroom. What escape route had he set up? She didn't think either of them would survive a three story fall to the cement below. Seeing the rope, her eyes widened as she got excited. She grabbed it and threw it over the edge of the window and rappel herself down the side of the building as silently as she could. Unfortunately in her haste, she didn't grab his knife off the mattress, leaving her defenceless if any of the raiders saw her come down. Luck was on her side as the moon was on the other side of the building, providing a massive darkened escape route for her. Once her feet hit the ground, she didn't wait for him before rushing off to find cover behind some fallen cement walls. Where to go now? He had mentioned something about Grasscroft being west but wouldn't that lead them right towards the raiders? Wouldn't they go there to look for her as it was the closest place? She needed to convince him of somewhere else to go. Even if it was off his beaten path, she didn't want to be where Diamond Backs would think to look.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm When Zara started towards the bathroom escape route, Isaac jumped back up and let fly a few rounds from The Raging Bull. That painful rush of 50-calibur recoil running up his arm, all the way to his shoulder... he enjoyed it. It made the gun feel like an extension of his own body and reminded him of his old lessons. I aim with eye. I shoot with my mind. I kill with my heart. The muzzle flash, in the dark bedroom, lit up Isaac's face to show bright blue eyes awash with excitement and a teethy one-sided grin. Here, in the middle of the gun battle, was a young man completely in his element. The wasteland was ruthless, unforgiving and dangerous. Animal or man - to survive you had to be the same. Isaac had learned that the hard way when he lost his mother. Such a tragedy had destroyed the boy he was. But that only allowed him to be built back up by the wandering hero who crossed his path. Cairo 'The Courier' Storm. It had taken some convincing by young Isaac to get Cairo Storm to teach him how to be a soldier of The Good Fight. But The Courier eventually did relent and take on Isaac as an apprentice for a year. And built back up, Isaac was... his heart just as big, but now with ice in his veins. After trading volleys a couple of times, Isaac snuck away towards the back of the building, about time he made his own escape. Unfortunately for him, two of the raiders had made their way around back to surround the townhouse. They saw the rope dangling from the third floor window, right about the time that Isaac was halfway out. "They're trying to escape!" Isaac dove back inside, escaping gunfire. He couldn't see Zara and worried for her safety, hoping that she got away or at least found a good hiding spot, while he figured a way out of the situation. The raider's began calling to eachother, maintaining a lock on the front and rear entrances, as they probed carefully for a way in. Isaac glimpsed one of the raiders creeping to the front entrance, but didn't get time to shoot as Tasha unloaded her Uzi in his direction. It wouldn't take them long to realise that there were no more traps downstairs, and then they would rush in for the final showdown. Think quick, Isaac, he urged himself. After going down the 2nd floor, he realised that there were indeed windows on the southside of the building (the front and rear entrance facing east and west, respectively.) He snuck and checked out of the window. No sign of the enemy. Quietly and carefully, he slid the window up and open, and popped his head out. Coast still clear. With that, he went back up to the 3rd floor, ran to the bathroom window and squeezed off two shots at his foes, who shot back. Then, sprinting into the bedroom at the front of house, he threw his last grenade out of the window and rushed down to the 2nd floor. The grenade bounced with a Clink before... "Grenade!" ...it exploded into shrapnel. The diversion was chaotic enough that he had time climb out of the window, hang from the ledge and then drop to the floor. The impact on the concrete almost broke his ankles and he dropped onto his ass. "Ugh. Shit," he moaned as quietly as possible. He got to his feet, a hand on the wall as he looked both ways. "I hope she remembered what I said about Grasscroft." And with that, he made a run for it. As soon as he got over the road, he turned around and started blasting again, getting the raiders attention before disappearing behind the houses. He could hopefully lead them south and away from Zara, then meet up with her at Grasscroft. The nearby town had it's own militia who defended the settlement from threats. It was about as safe a haven as they would get for now. After 20 seconds of running, he could hear shouts behind him. He smiled as he ran. His plan was working.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara managed to get behind a wall as he was spotted during his escape. It was dark enough that she wasn't easily spotted. If one had focused in her direction though, they would have seen movement in the night. She hugged the wall as the grenade exploded, lighting up the area with a quick flash. "Please be from Issac, please be from Issac." She whispered to herself, trying to peer back to the building to see if he escaped. Not seeing more than the raiders scramble to reassemble themselves for building penetration, Zara cursed under her breath. She didn't see him pop out another window, nor see him making a run for it. To her, he was still trapped inside the building and she had no weapon to try and rescue him. Squaring up her shoulders, she tucked her hair behind her ears as she prepared herself for a winless melee attack on the raiders. Just as she was about to bolt for the closest raider, more shots rang into the night air. Was that him? What was he doing? Their intentions were get away from the raiders. Not draw them closer. Moving to the corner once more, she pressed against the cement wall and looked around it. The raiders she could see were going in the opposite direction of her. They seemed to be going towards the sounds of the gunfire. "Fucking moron." She muttered herself and shook her head. "Get your ass killed then." She shook her head, pushing away from the wall. Slowly she began her walk through the shadows, heading west towards Grasscroft. At the very least, she could get herself a weapon and maybe trade a day or two of work for something to eat and a bedroll. Sticking to the shadows, she picked her way over the rubble. She managed to find herself on the second story of an apartment building that had leaned over onto a hill. Not very skilled at rock climbing, she did her best to maneuver her way down the side. Sliding the last foot though, she scrapped up her left forearm and right leg. It was already sunrise by the time she managed to see the city over the horizon. Beyond exhausted, hungry, sore and very irritated, Zara approached the gate guards. She looked ready to pass out, having been up for nearly a full 24 hours now and constantly on the move.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm Pistol Pete was chewing slowly on his chewing tobacco as he watched the young woman approaching the front gate. Paul, the other gate guard on duty, was stood statue-like. Pete was the superior officer on duty, Paul would let him do the talking. When the woman got closer, he could see that she was exhausted and wore a few injuries. He spat and continued chewing, looking for any tattoos that might signify she was a raider, but she had none that he could see. "You alright miss?" he asked. "You look like you've been to hell and back." He would normally tell outsiders sternly, 'What's your business?' but the girl was a sorry sight. He couldn't bring himself to be stern with her. His tone was sympathetic and he could tell Paul was looking at him in his sideview. The young guardsman was probably confused, but Pete was experienced to know that sometimes you had to judge the situation and change accordingly. This woman had no weapon on her, and her clothes were bare enough that she couldn't really hide one. She was without a weapon in the dangerous wastes and looked like she hadn't slept peacefully in weeks. Pete would bet that she'd been running from trouble too, with the fresh scrapes on her arm. Maybe she could use a break, this once. Whatever she answered to his inquiry, he told her; "Paul here will take you to the guards barracks where you can get some rest. We'll give you a day to get yourself sorted. After that, you'll need some caps or do some work if you want to stay longer. That's the best I can do for you." If she agreed, Pete would give a nod to Paul, to follow his order, and Paul would lead the way. *** Isaac Storm gave the raiders the run-around all night. Firing off shots at them and fleeing, taking corners, getting lost in the mazey ruins around them. He'd even took one of them down, leaving only Tasha and three others following him. And one of them was injured, with a bullet in his arm. It had been a fun night. In the end, Isaac watched the sun rise as he lounged on the broken roof of a building. "Shit, we've lost them!" he heard Tasha shout. He was tempted to fire a shot at them for giggles. He smiled at the thought. But he decided against that when he heard, "We need to fall back to base... report to the bossman that she's gotten away." "Someone in the Diamond Backs must've helped her out. There's no way this wasn't planned." Isaac watched them leave and then waited for a half hour before getting down to the ground and heading in the direction of Grasscroft. He moved carefully, and regularly checked to see if he was being followed. After an hour, he was just travelling normally. It was still a long walk away to Grasscroft. Isaac hoped Zara had made it there. He didn't want to abandon her. After all, there was no way she could just set up in Grasscroft. It was too close to the Diamond Backs base. She needed to get further away, and Isaac knew a settlement in Manhattan where she would be very safe. If he could just catch up to her, he would follow through on his vow to help her. All the way. It wasn't a vow he'd actually made to her out loud or anything. But once Isaac got himself into to some trouble, he would always vow to himself, to see it through. He just hoped she'd be there when he arrived.</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara dropped to her knees as soon as she was within talking distance of the guards, a mix of dirt and pebbles being displaced by the sudden impact of her body. Deep breaths were ragged as she inhaled, knowing she needed to breathe to speak. His question, if she was okay received a gentle head shake, though it was accompanied by a smirk with his observation. "I'm - I'm exhausted. Diamond back settlement." She gestured behind her vaguely as it was more effort to point than it was worth. These were city guards, they wouldn't be going in search of the settlement. They probably already knew where it was anyway, the statement was more of just so they knew why she was running and looked like hell. She had been to hell and was coming back. Hearing his offer of a bed to rest her head was music to her ears. She slowly rose herself up to her feet, stumbling a couple times. She wasn't sure her legs would get her that far but she was adamant on making it that far at least. She nodded her head with a gentle smile. "Thank you. I do intend on doing work, I just need rest first." She whispered to Pete before following the one called Paul into the gates of the city. For it being the middle of the night, the place was alive with people. Most shops were closed but there were a couple open like the blacksmith for weaponry and armour. She was lead down a hill which passed a tavern or someplace that had a few drunks at it. A few young women utilizing their bodies for caps that weren't very well hidden. Zara wrinkled her nose at that idea, shaking her head. Why would anyone stoop that low? She didn't think she could ever do it. Prude? No. Pure? Hell no. That had been taken from her a long time ago. But to willingly set your standards so low? She paused when she saw Paul start going up another hill, towards the large wooden and scrap metal building up top. A couple single lights haphazardly attached to the walls. A hill? She had to do another hill? Her legs burned as if she had dipped them in acid. 'Come on' was barked at her by her escort, already half way up the hill. Stones had been placed as a loose excuse for a stair case. Once brought in to the barracks, Paul explained the deal she was offered so she wouldn't be seen as an invader. Being shown to her temporary bed was rather quick and silent as there were others actually sleeping. The woman who showed her apologized for it not being comfortable but Zara waved off her apologies. She didn't need comfort. She needed safe. Last time she tried to sleep, she wasn't safe. Finally getting to lay down, Zara was out within moments. ~~ Morning came much sooner than Zara had hoped, pulling the blanket over her head to block out the sounds of people getting ready for duty or coming off night-shift. She was hoping to get a bit more sleep, curling up into a ball as if that would also keep the sun from lighting up the inside. Once shift change happened, she managed to get a bit more sleep in the silence. Noon came and she was prodded with a foot to wake up. Couldn't sleep the day away like she had been needing to do. Body demanded rest but the deal and the city demanded she make her own way now. She slowly sat up and nodded, waving her hand gently to Pistol Pete, showing she was awake.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "Up you get, sleepy head," Pete said, gentle but firm. He took a step back waited for her to rise. "I've found you some work at the local tavern, The Three Legged Dog. The owner, Pinocchio, is a nice enough guy. I'm sure he won't work you too hard. There's a washroom through that door there." He pointed at the bathroom. "Get yourself cleaned up, I'll be waiting outside." The veteran town guard watched the roads, down the hill, below. Grasscroft was steady bustling with lunchtime activity. He imagined circle merchants would be outside over the next few hours. Heading to and from places like New Brooklyn and Liberty Heights, Uptown and Sycamore Grove. There might even be some distant runners from the Commonwealth settlements. Grasscroft sat fairly close to the border of Boston, East New York and West New York, making it a sort of centre-point of commerce in the wasteland. Over the decades, it had grown from a small settlement, to about as big a city as one might see in New York. Only Liberty Heights could compare. And with that size, and good leadership over the generations, it was prosperous and safe, with well trained militia to withstand raider attacks and the weekly waves of feral ghouls. When the young woman appeared, he flicked his head pointedly down the hill and then lead the way. "Grasscroft is a nice enough place," he told her. "It's safe too, as you can probably tell." As if on queue, half a dozen guards armed with assault rifles went past them, heading up the hill. "Pinocchio will pay you decently - enough to get yourself some food and another bed. If he likes you, he might offer you more work. Who knows, maybe you'll settle down here." They walked through the streets, having to watch themselves as crossed right through a soccer game. Dodging the children as he laughed, the ball came toward him. "Pistol Pete! Pistol Pete, here!" He kicked it towards the kid that called him. "Hey that's not fair!" shouted another. The got onto Main Street - the big road through the town, and from there they shortly found the tavern, The Three Legged Dog. Pete stopped in front of it and gave her a dry grin. "It used to have four legs, but umm... a few too many bar fights." He went through the saloon-style batwing doors and raised a hand to Pinocchio, who was behind the bar. "You're back," he greeted with a smile. Pinocchio was tall, slender man. He had slick black hair, warm brown eyes and an equally warm smile. "And I suppose that this is my helper for today. My name is Pinocchio, how do you do?" He held out his hand to shake.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara rubbed her face as she trotted off towards the bathroom he had pointed out, slight nods of her head in the process. Work sounded like a good idea, though she'd like to have slept longer. Couldn't do that, work always needed to be done and if you were lazy out here in the wastelands, you'd just become food for those more driven to survive. Besides, this work she'd actually get paid for instead of just 'do it or die' rules. That felt pretty uplifting, knowing she'd be able to actually earn something for herself. After washing her face and using her finger to clean her teeth the best she could, she ran her fingers through her hair to get out any knots that had formed in her sleep. She used some water to dampen it so it wasn't poofed up in the wrong places and looking messy. She walked out to Pistol Pete as she gave him a weak smile. "Thank you for the opportunity and the safety to rest. It was much needed." She explained to him, sticking close enough to him that she wouldn't get lost. "Has anyone come calling for me? I'm expecting a friend of sorts." She didn't know what to call Issac. Was he a friend? Was he actually going to come here to meet her? Did he survive? She had a ton of questions but no one would know the answers. Watching him with the kids made her smile a bit, loving how lively the city was. It was bustling and in a good happy way. Not the grumpy, horny men who focused on pleasures of the body and funds of the pockets. Kids were actually safe to play in the paths, adults moved around without checking over their shoulders every few moments. This seemed like a very pleasant place to be after all. Maybe Issac was right about directing her here, despite her raider owners being only a few stones throw away. Meeting the tavern owner actually brought a wave of nerves upon her. She hadn't felt them in years so she wondered why this man made her feel that way. She wanted desperately to impress him so he'd keep her on his staff. Extending her hand to shake his, she gave a single nod of her head. "Yes I am. Zara is the name and I am willing to do almost anything and almost everything. I have skills in cooking, cleaning, waiting tables, and even tending bars. Though I'm sure you're reserving that for someone who has proven themselves more." She told him as she met his eye so he'd know she was an honest person.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac jolted awake, looking up at the sun. It was pretty high in the sky, and a little more west than he would've liked. "Shit, what time is it?" he asked himself as he twisted his wristwatch back the correct way around and read it. "Shit." He'd meant to nap for an hour or two of the morning, just to get his head right. It had been a long and tiring night. Unfortunately the alarm clock on his watch hadn't been loud enough, and somehow his instincts had told him that he'd been asleep too long. His instincts were right. It was 3pm. He climbed down the tower of the broken bridge, where he'd decided to take his nap, jumping down the last 12 feet and landing cleanly. He stretched, feeling a little refreshed and started heading in the direction of Grasscroft. *** Outside the town, there were a few bodies - a merchant and his bodyguards, a town shopkeeper and the gate guards. Isaac asked the guards about Zara, but they told him that they hadn't seen anyone come in as they'd just got on their shift. He'd have to inquire at the barracks if he needed more information. Inside the town, he headed to the barracks, but ended up passing by the gun store to grab some ammunition. "50 caliber rounds ain't cheap, young fella," the shopkeep said, eyeing Isaac suspiciously. "You got the caps?" Isaac was scanning the shelves behind the man, looking at the guns on display. He didn't look at the old man, but he smiled. "Probably not," was his reply. "How much for two cartons...? and that .38 snub nose, right there?" The old man turned around to spy his product, then turned back to look at Isaac, a little confused. "Well, if you ain't got the caps, what's the point of all this? I ain't taking scrap or goods for trade, right now. Caps only." Isaac pulled out a fat roll of pre-war money, held it up next to his smiling face. The shopkeeper's eyes lit up, which made Isaac smile turn into a full, teethy grin. "Two cartons of 50 cal. And the 38." Isaac left the store with replenished ammo for his gun, aswell as his new .38 pistol complete with its own ammo and holster. He;d put it all in his rucksack, for now. If he found Zara, then it would be better if she had a gun on her, but even if he couldn't find her, having a backup weapon was always nice. Against Tasha and her crew, he ended the chase low on ammo. If things had gone another way and he'd ran empty, things could've got very ugly. At the barracks, a man not much older than Isaac himself, named Paul, told him that a girl had come through just this morning. Apparently she'd gotten some work at a local tavern. When Isaac asked for a description and got 'skinny, brown hair, green eyes,' Isaac was overjoyed, thanked Paul for his time and headed to The Three Legged Dog. Pushing through the batwing doors, Isaac strolled into the tavern...</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac walked, turning his head face-front, expecting that she'd just answer casually and quickly. But then an awkwardly long silence fell on them. He peeked a glance at her in the corner of his eye, then did a double-take when he realised her reaction to the gun in her hands. She looked like she was holding an alien object. "Uh, a few times." "Huh," was his subdued comment as they stopped so she could don the new gear. He watched, somewhat in amazement, as she tried the gun belt on in different ways. It wasn't exactly something to be ashamed of; not knowing how to use a gun. It was just... not a common thing, in Isaac's circles. The young man ran a hand through his hair, finally deciding to help her out after a while. "Put it near the hand you write best with," he said, then turned his attention to passers-by, giving a nod to a few of them who met his eyes. "Hi," he said to one of them. He turned back to her and she was done. "You good?" he asked, giving her an encouraging smile as looked into those big green eyes. Interesting eyes. For now, he left the matter, as they wouldn't need to be shooting anyone whilst they were in the city of Grasscroft. "You sure?" he added as a joke. ... When they arrived at the next tavern, Isaac stepped inside and held the door for Zara as he took a look around. "Hey, this is nice. Cleaner than the last place." It was indeed. The floors were clean, the tables and chairs were in better condition. Even the streets outside were neater. This was clearly the more up-market establishment, for the richer folks of Grasscroft. "Probably more expensive too." Isaac ordered two glasses of flavoured, purified water. Then asked about the rooms for rent. "We have one room available. Upstairs, window. Expensive," the barman said. Then quirked a brow as he looked over the two of them. "We generally don't like wastelanders just rolling in when they feel like it, so we charge a high price to discourage it." "One room," Isaac echoed as he looked at Zara. Then back at the barman, "Is there at least a chair in there or something?" "There's a chair." "Guess I'll take the chair? You have the bed?" he asked Zara. It wouldn't normally be so awkward but it was clear that she had some issues after spending thirteen years with raiders. And he wasn't sure that sharing a room with a stranger was something she wanted to do. Funny that just the other night, they shared a room, but after the scuffle with the old man who smacked her ass, and the realisation that she'd probably been sexually harassed constantly as a raider slave (and worse,) it had suddenly made Isaac extremely aware and careful regarding her security. After that, they sat down at a table to let off some steam. Isaac stretched his neck around until it cracked. "Phew, what a day, huh. Glad to sit down and just chill for a second." He put a hand on his forehead, as if checking his own temperature, eyes closed as his mind calmed down. When he opened his eyes, they were on Zara. "So... How does freedom feel, Zara Singh? Has it hit ya yet?"</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara couldn't help the bright red that had encircled her neck and ears out of embarrassment as he assisted her with something one should know, being of wandering age for the wasteland. She had given a singular nod to his first 'You good?' but when he double checked with her, the nod became softer and a few more bobs to show she was indeed okay. The walk to the tavern was a silent one, which she was thankful for. She didn't want to answer a bunch of questions just yet about her defensive abilities. She just stayed close behind his step, to the point she tripped over his shoe one or twice. She kept her hands behind her back as she walked, looking around and taking it all in. This part of town didn't look as rough, that was for sure. Once inside, the room was inquired and she parted her lips. "I'm good with the chair. You should have the bed, you haven't had a decent sleep like I did and you're going to need to have your wits about you if the Diamond Backs pick up our trail again." She offered him her opinion on the matter, turning to rest against the bar counter. Her eyes scanned over patrons and decorations. The place was actually quite quaint. Maybe she could work in a place like this. He didn't seem to appreciate lewd acts like his competing tavern owner was. Pushing from the bar counter, she followed him to the table and sat down. Her head on a swivel still as if she expected trouble to come from any shadow that moved or a sound in the distance. "Hmmm? Oh freedom. Yea." She blushed a bit, returning her attention back to him. He looked so relaxed, so at ease. In this light, she could truly see him. The strength in his jawline, the small peaks of his lips . Those lips that beckoned to be touched. 'Those lips said something, they asked you a question' her subconscious reminded her. Blinking rather fast, she shook her had and looked away. "Well, seeing as I haven't had to polish some guy's pole, I was able to actually wash up, and I have some caps in my pocket. I would have to say I am quite enjoying this to be honest. I haven't had to watch my mouth or lie through my teeth to impress someone. Hell, I've even eaten better since I got free."</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm The way she kept her eye out for trouble, even in this tavern, reminded Isaac of what she'd told him last night: She'd been a raider slave for thirteen years. Thirteen years! What a life, Isaac thought as he watched her. Can that even be called life? The young man wasn't sure. He only knew that his first mission, back in the sweet city of New York, was to take them all out, once and for all. Raider gangs often weren't so big, or lasted so long, but when they did, they were usually fearsome. And racked up a long list of heinous crimes and terror in their tenure. The Diamond Backs needed stopping. New York needed it. And she'd mentioned that she knew some kind of weakness of the gang, or the gang's leader. A secret entrance to the town, perhaps? Or maybe a store of explosives that could blow the place sky high? Whatever that was, Isaac needed to know. A good plan could beat the worst of odds - that's what his mentor had taught him. Cairo Storm aka The Courier; The baddest man Isaac had ever known. Cairo had walked from one side of America to the other, delivering more than just packages. He was a one-man army, handing out justice and ass-whoopings, and it just so happened that he'd taught Isaac everything he knew. I've taught you everything you know. Not everything I know, the old man would say. He was funny like that. "...Hell, I've even eaten better since I got free." "Glad to hear it. You earned it," Isaac replied. She had indeed. Getting herself out of that situation was no mean feat. It took balls to break away from that mess. Most slaves, after being slaves for such a long part of their life, were conditioned and broken enough that they wouldn't even consider escape. Zara had a strong spirit, that was for sure. And, if Isaac couldn't tell just by looking at her, she'd made it clear with the scuffle back in the other tavern. She was down for action - a fire in her eyes and her belly - and Isaac liked it. "And one of these days, you might just get used to it; not having to look over your shoulder all the time." He gulped down half of his drink, smacked his lips and wiped his mouth. "Grasscroft is a nice place, but there's nothing like Liberty Point. People there really look out for eachother. Everyone knows the guards and the high walls means you don't even have to worry about attacks. Raiders don't even bother trying to attack, they know they'll be dog food if they try attacking. And 'Big Sis' is awesome," he added with a teethy grin. He always called Katie by that name, but realised that he should clarify to Zara. "Katie Wensdale's her real name. She's the town scientist and one of the most prestigious leading minds of wasteland technology and research. You'll love her. She's whacky as fuck." He laughed quietly as he thought of her. Katie had taken him in after he lost his mother to the wasteland. Her heart was as big as her brain. "But yeah, freedom is fun, but you'll still need to learn how to defend yourself. Well..." he paused and gestured to her. "You clearly know how to choke a guy. But shooting a gun can be useful too. We can get some practice on our travels. Shoot a few cans or something. Maybe blast some critters." "Where'd you live before you were captured?" It might have been a stupid question. Would she even remember? She seemed to be around his age, which would've made her like, ten years old or something. Still, it was worth asking. Perhaps she'd want to pay somewhere or someone a visit? "Not tryna bring back painful memories or anything? Just wondering."</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara listened to him speak about his sister, hoping that she was indeed as accepting as he claimed she was. Not many people would think twice about aiding someone running from a powerful gang like the Diamond Backs. It usually got them killed, so it wasn't a chosen position to be in. Her mind was starting to wander a bit when he asked her a question. What was the question? Crap, why did she have to be daydreaming then? The look of shock written all over her face as she tried to figure out what he had asked her. "Oh uh.. Georgetown. They were setting up a decent settlement there from what I can remember. Though I'm not sure what happened to it after the Diamond Backs tore through it. I suppose not very much is left standing." She commented a bit after her mind caught up to what he had asked. That was the right question right? He had asked her where she had been before her capture. Of course it was, it had to be right? She sipped at her drink while looking over to Issac, her heart racing in her ears. "We don't have to go back there though, I doubt my parents are still there. I'd rather not go and find out they had been slaughtered or something. So carrying on to see your sister would be a good start. Put as much ground between us and them." A soft nod of her head indicated she made up her mind about where to go.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac nodded his understanding at her words. It was a fair decision. He himself had never wanted to visit Vault 118, since he and his mother had left. Circumstances may be different between the two young adults at the table, but the sentiment was the same: There was only bad news, if any, waiting for them at the place they once called home. Isaac fell into a comfortable silence as he occasionally sipped his drink, throwing an arm over the back of the chair and leisurely gazing around the room. It seemed that Zara was in her own world and everytime he spoke, he was dragging her out of it. At first, it had seemed like a good idea to keep her in conversation and her mind off what was probably awful thoughts about her pursuers, but he changed tack and decided to let have some time to think. Maybe sorting her thoughts out, whilst in this safe environment, was a good thing. If she could clear her head a bit now, maybe she'd be sharper when they got back out on the road. After a while, he got up and went to the bar for more drinks. He double-checked with the owner that their room would be ready when they were, then returned. He eventually tried to start up some more conversation between he and Zara, talking about the latest news he heard around New York, (which wasn't much, considering he'd only just got back) and of course, the expedition and what was going on in Boston; The Minute Men defeating the Brotherhood of Steel and the evil Institute to finally free the Commonwealth of its oppressors. The two ordered some food and more drinks, before Isaac was ready to retire to their room. It was fairly early, but he was in need a good sleep tonight. Before Zara could protest, he occupied the chair in the corner of the room, used his jacket as a blanket and his rucksack as a foot rest. In the safety of Grasscroft, it wasn't long before Isaac drifted into slumberland.</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac awoke to the sound of chatter on the streets. He opened his eyes slightly to see the sun beaming in through the window, stirred in the chair, stretching an arm up in the air as he yawned. Sitting up, he looked to his right and saw Zara sprawled out in the bed, then his eyes widened as he realised that her flimsy tank top had moved and twisted in the night, revealing far more than it ever should about Zara's body. He turned his sight away and shook his head with a smile. "Jeez," he muttered as he walked around the bed, grabbed the quilt that was supposed to be covering her, and gently threw it over his companion. He left the room quickly after that, not before grabbing his toothbrush and going to the bathroom to wash up. When he went downstairs and straight outside, looking both ways before heading over the town square to grab some breakfast from the outdoor diner. Exchanging some smalltalk as he ate his squirrel-on-stick, he paid up. "Damn," he said to himself after the store owner took the bill to and turned around to get change. "I've burned through this cash faster than I thought." He had. Payment for the convoy to Boston was perhaps his biggest score to date, but he'd spent more than half of it while relaxing in Diamond City, not to mention the travel back to New York. "Yup," the store owner agreed as he gave Isaac his change in the form of caps. "That's what cash does... burns faster than we thought." Isaac shot the man a wry grin and finished his breakfast. He and Zara would need to start taking some jobs on the way to Liberty Point. Best to start now before all his funds were gone entirely. He went to the the notice board in the town square to if there was something he could do this morning, maybe a quick job he could wrap up before lunchtime. His eyes darted around at the various messages. One of the notes was the warning of an angry man who was threatening to find and kill the man who'd slept with his wife. That got a laugh. Most all of the jobs would take days and some would take he and Zara in the opposite direction to the way they were going. But there was one. Isaac snatched the note off the board and read it more closely. "The town of Brixton is in need of a gunman for pest control," he read aloud. "Bingo." With that, he headed back to the tavern to see Zara.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh By the time he arrived back at the room, Zara had aroused and washed up. She was currently brushing her hair out with her fingers as she stared out the window. She had been lost in thought, her eyes blurred and not actually taking in what she was seeing. She was thinking about her life and what had become of it now. She was a free woman, able to wake up when she chose, sleep when she needed or wanted to. She only needed to care for herself. Yet she felt oddly driven to care for Isaac as well. She cared to ensure he ate, washed and was looked after. Giving a startled slight jump when he entered the room, she looked over to him as her eyes refocused. "Good morning. I figured you had wandered off early. Got yourself something to eat? Slept well I hope." She asked him curiously as she attempted to style her hair. She contemplated growing it out so she could put it in a bun or style it. She did notice the paper in his hand, wondering what it was for.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm It seemed he'd caught her lost in thought. Or maybe she was just a little jumpy. As she turned about and washed that green gaze over him, he gave her a nod. "Mornin." "Good morning. I figured you had wandered off early." "Yup. Couldn't help myself," he bounced back, walking over to her as she styled her hair. He passed her and looked out the window, habitually checking the surround. Wasteland philosophy. Next to him, it was easy to see that the fire-cracker of a girl was only little. Couldn't have been more than 5' 4". Skinny too. "Got yourself something to eat? Slept well I hope." "Yeah not bad. A cushioned chair isn't bad when you've spent the last few nights on the floor with nothing but a bedroll for a mattress," he said. "I had breakfast down at the square. You should get something in you too. We've a long morning's travel ahead of ourselves, and err... you could use a decent meal or two..." he grinned mischieviously. "...or five." He hoped she didn't take offense. He just couldn't help himself. Raising his hand with the paper in it. "Got a job for us," he told her. "Pest control. Probably just some mole rat infestation. Good caps. We could use em. And it's on the way, so happy days."</s> <|message|>Zara Singh "Hey now, the slender body allows me to be stealthy." She giggled a bit, running her hand over her stomach and hip. Of course she was too slender, but she'd work on that. Food did sound good, though she wasn't sure what she would want. Maybe she'd let the chef decide something good for her. The freedom to be able to decide what to eat was a little overwhelming. She glanced over to him when he mentioned the job. "Seems decent enough work and easy to do. Wanna head out there once I've eaten and gotten some rations for the road? Or are we staying here another night?" She asked him curiously, picking up the gun holster he had given her and strapped it to herself. It still felt weird to be carrying it, but she'd get use to it soon enough. One last look in the mirror, she seemed to be pleased with her appearance and headed for the door. She was eager for their day to begin. She could work on her target practice dealing with these pests. She wondered if she should get a bladed weapon too, for the melee battles she was sure to get into.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "We're getting on the road just as soon as you're ready," he replied. When she was done in the mirror, he smiled at her, then made for the door. They went around Grasscroft, Zara got some breakfast and a few extra rations. When Isaac found out that Zara had left his knife back in the apartment block they'd stayed in the night before, he shrugged it off and they went to the weapons shop to get a replacement for him and one for her. Isaac secured his new knife onto his belt. It wasn't nearly as quality as his last one, but it would do for the time being. He'd wait to get a really good one from Katie Wensdale at Liberty Point. No doubt she'd have a few lying around at the General Store. After that, they hit the road. The sun beamed down on the dusty road, the wasteland vista of wreckage and dirt going on for miles. Isaac remained vigilant on the surround, his eyes constantly scanning left and right as he walked. "Brixton's a quaint little town, if I remember right," he told Zara. "Not so far off the main trade route that they're unwelcoming of visitors. But it's not a big place, and it'll likely go by the Sheriff's law and wasteland justice, so we should be careful - stay out of trouble, ye know." He gave her a glance, then looked back on the road. "We go in, get some details on the job, get it done, get paid. Light work and we're out before sundown." Wasteland justice meant no jails for criminals, just exile or death... usually death. People didn't usually waste time with arguments and fist fights. And town folk didn't often side with visitors or their own. It was worth explaining in advance. They walked for an hour on the big roads before turning off the main trade routes and heading toward Brixton. They arrived in good time and went to the Sheriff's office. "Hey," Isaac greeted as he walked in. There was an old man who was sat with his feet up on the desk. Two more younger men lounged about on chairs in the room. It was obvious which was the sheriff and which two were deputies. "We're here about the pest problem." "Uh, good. Had my deputy post that job just yesterday. Grasscroft always sends them in good time." The Sheriff took his feet off the desk and explained the siutation. "Mole rats breeding like mutants down in god knows which sewer. Rodents keep coming up and chewing up the wires at the town generator. We ain't got the resources to keep fixing the damn thing and none of our guys can pin down the exact location of the nest to nip the problem in the bud." "Uh huh," Isaac nodded. Seemed simple enough. He negotiated the pay without any hassle too. "Alright gentlemen, we'll get to it. Should be done by evening." "Oh yeah," one of the deputies said, looking Isaac and Zara up and down. "You that good huh?" Isaac smiled at the deputy, let the question hang in the air for a few moments, then looked back to the Sheriff. "By evening, Sheriff." And with that, they left and headed for the town entrance. This would be a good lesson in tracking and shooting for Zara. "That went smoothly enough," he said to her. "How are you holding up? Y'okay?"</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara walked with him to the town, enjoying the sights that were around them. The world was coming back, slowly recovering from the atomic bomb issues. It wasn't as beautiful and luscious as it was once told, but she was enjoying the views anyway. They just needed to find a way to eradicate all the ruins and broken buildings. She hummed to herself softly until they entered office. Opting to stay back and listen rather than intervene, she checked out the two deputies. Neither seemed relatively capable of doing their jobs either so why was one sneering at them? His question irritated her. She wouldn't be that good but she had seen Isaac in action. That was a man of talent and of skill. She was sure he'd get it done before supper if he wasn't training her how to actually fight and defend herself. Keeping her opinion to herself, and her gaze hard on him, she balled her hands into fists. She flashed him the middle finger before turning to leave the office with Isaac. Maybe being around a bunch of men who always underestimated her and other women had an effect on her and now she was free to express her disdain. Or maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but she wanted to fight him. Her eyes went to Isaac as he spoke to her. "I'm fine. I'm doing okay. Wanted to make that man taste his own balls but that's pretty average for me. Mole rats seem to be my target practice today? Good, a moving object would be a great place to start. How are you holding up? Having to cart around a novice such as myself."</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm "I'm fine. I'm doing okay. Wanted to make that man taste his own balls..." Isaac threw his head back and laughed. "...but that's pretty average for me." He went in front of her, walking backwards as he playfully pointed at his companion. "True. You are indeed a spicy one." He found that he was enjoying her company more than anyone he'd travelled with in a long time. She was unpredictable and a bit of a trouble magnet, but that's part of what made her so fun. He thought of the song 'Atom Bomb Baby' that played on the radio a lot. It was fitting for this broad, for sure. He remained walking backwards for a little longer, before turning around and fall into step beside her once more. "Mole rats seem to be my target practice today? Good, a moving object would be a great place to start." "Yeah," he agreed half-hearted. "To be honest, you could do with some stationary targets first, but screw it, let's throw caution to the wind, huh." "How are you holding up? Having to cart around a novice such as myself." "Please," he waved away her comments. "You're a blast, cutey-pie." He chuckled as they arrived at the engine house and he knocked on the door. "Playing the lone wanderer is cool n all, but it's gets kinda boring sometimes. Nice to have some company." The door was opened and a wiry old man was there to greet them. "What?" "Here about the mole rats. Just wanted to take a look around." Isaac raised his eyebrows expectantly, but the old man delayed. He thought about it with a grumpy expression, then looked outside both ways, before giving a sharp nod and disappearing inside, leaving the door open for them. "Don't touch anything," he shot at them. Isaac shrugged at Zara and smiled, then went in. So began the lesson... "What do you see, emerald eyes?" he asked Zara as they stood in the room with the generator. He didn't expect her to offer much, but it was worth a shot.</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara walked with him to the town, enjoying the sights that were around them. The world was coming back, slowly recovering from the atomic bomb issues. It wasn't as beautiful and luscious as it was once told, but she was enjoying the views anyway. They just needed to find a way to eradicate all the ruins and broken buildings. She hummed to herself softly until they entered office. Opting to stay back and listen rather than intervene, she checked out the two deputies. Neither seemed relatively capable of doing their jobs either so why was one sneering at them? His question irritated her. She wouldn't be that good but she had seen Isaac in action. That was a man of talent and of skill. She was sure he'd get it done before supper if he wasn't training her how to actually fight and defend herself. Keeping her opinion to herself, and her gaze hard on him, she balled her hands into fists. She flashed him the middle finger before turning to leave the office with Isaac. Maybe being around a bunch of men who always underestimated her and other women had an effect on her and now she was free to express her disdain. Or maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but she wanted to fight him. Her eyes went to Isaac as he spoke to her. "I'm fine. I'm doing okay. Wanted to make that man taste his own balls but that's pretty average for me. Mole rats seem to be my target practice today? Good, a moving object would be a great place to start. How are you holding up? Having to cart around a novice such as myself."</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "I'm fine. I'm doing okay. Wanted to make that man taste his own balls..." Isaac threw his head back and laughed. "...but that's pretty average for me." He went in front of her, walking backwards as he playfully pointed at his companion. "True. You are indeed a spicy one." He found that he was enjoying her company more than anyone he'd travelled with in a long time. She was unpredictable and a bit of a trouble magnet, but that's part of what made her so fun. He thought of the song 'Atom Bomb Baby' that played on the radio a lot. It was fitting for this broad, for sure. He remained walking backwards for a little longer, before turning around and fall into step beside her once more. "Mole rats seem to be my target practice today? Good, a moving object would be a great place to start." "Yeah," he agreed half-hearted. "To be honest, you could do with some stationary targets first, but screw it, let's throw caution to the wind, huh." "How are you holding up? Having to cart around a novice such as myself." "Please," he waved away her comments. "You're a blast, cutey-pie." He chuckled as they arrived at the engine house and he knocked on the door. "Playing the lone wanderer is cool n all, but it's gets kinda boring sometimes. Nice to have some company." The door was opened and a wiry old man was there to greet them. "What?" "Here about the mole rats. Just wanted to take a look around." Isaac raised his eyebrows expectantly, but the old man delayed. He thought about it with a grumpy expression, then looked outside both ways, before giving a sharp nod and disappearing inside, leaving the door open for them. "Don't touch anything," he shot at them. Isaac shrugged at Zara and smiled, then went in. So began the lesson... "What do you see, emerald eyes?" he asked Zara as they stood in the room with the generator. He didn't expect her to offer much, but it was worth a shot.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara smirked at the nicknames he kept giving her. Couldn't he just settle on one? Did he have to flatter her so much? She shook her head as she tried to dispel the feelings the nicknames were giving her. Cutie-pie, emerald eyes. All of them about her appearance. Well, she was determined to show him she was more than just a pretty face. It was true the gun thing had been a fiasco, but she knew more than just some protected princess. This task had just as much to do with cunning and intellect than pointing a weapon and hoping it hit the mark. Walking up to the generator, she crouched down and looked at the base of the generator. "Mole rats have definitely been in here. There's teeth marks on the wires, scratches along the metal. See, they're trying to get into here though I never understood why. What's the fascination with getting inside something like this? Why chew wires? I'm no mole rat, but wiring just doesn't seem appealing to me. As food or bedding." She spoke more to herself then to Isaac. Staying low, she moved around the room as her eyes scanned the floor. "Droppings, everywhere. Though it seems to be coming from this far wall." She scurried over there herself, placing her hands along the wall. Running her fingers along the wall towards the bottom, she frowned at the loose soil. "Do you guys ever build these things on hard surfaces? Or just toss the walls up on the dirt? They're coming in under the wall. See. Scraps of fur where it's been rubbing the bottom of the wall. There's claw marks from them digging under it. They are coming in this way, we'll need to go outside to this wall to see what direction they are heading." She spoke to Isaac now, pushing up to her feet properly.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac's eyes followed Zara as she walked up to the generator and crouched down. It seemed she was atually going to take a crack at it. The corners of his mouth pulled down and he nodded unconciously, quite impressed, then he followed Zara and crouched down beside her, taking a look himself but not saying anything. Her monologue as she went through the available information was classic detective work, and she worked her way over to the wall. "Do you guys ever build these things on hard surfaces? Or just toss the walls up on the dirt? They're coming in under the wall. See. Scraps of fur where it's been rubbing the bottom of the wall. There's claw marks from them digging under it. They are coming in this way, we'll need to go outside to this wall to see what direction they are heading." She spoke to Isaac now, pushing up to her feet properly. It was a rare thing for Isaac Storm to be lost for words, but he it certainly seemed like this was one of those times as he opened his mouth to speak but... "Err..." all he could do was nod a few times in agreement. "Yeah... sure." And with that, they made to leave the engine house, Isaac taking a moment in passing to tell the engineer smugly, "Didn't touch a thing." Outside, as they rounded the shack, Isaac laid eyes on the nearby edge of town and found the likely spot where the mole rats were coming in. It was a small gap in wall of burnt-out cars where some frayed chainlink fencing was supposed to be plugging up the gap, but was actually leaving a nice little rat-sized hole. "There," he offered with pointed nod. They went over. "There's no way this isn't the place. We should find tracks on the other side." As they left town and got around to the point, Isaac started looking around. He noticed a couple of things worthy of inspection, but one look at his accomplice told him that Zara was really into this, focused, maybe even enjoying herself, and so he let her take the lead again. He too kinda enjoyed things like this. Whether taking bounties on bad guys or tracking animals - it was all still hunting, at the end of the day. Admittedly, Isaac preferred shooting people, something perhaps a little disturbing to the average person, but he still liked the little jobs. With all this in mind, he decided against calling out how impressed he was with her tracking abilities so far and chose just to be in the moment with her. "Anything?" he asked as he scanned the area.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara looked over at him with an amused smirk. Was he letting her take the detective lead to see what she could do, or was he letting her take lead to hide that he couldn't. She shook her head slightly to herself. She walked over to where the mole rats were coming out. There was a lot of foot traffic from other creatures, but she could detect the prints they were after. It was as if her eyes could highlight them to her. "Come on, tender foot. Let's get going. They are leading this way." She walked with him, eyes moving around the ground. She was trusting him to have her back while she kept her eyes down. She stopped for a moment. There were a few crossing paths going in either direction. Where was it they were going? Where was home? She kept her eyes moving along the ground, crouching down to figure these prints out. Which ones were fresh, which direction was more travelled. She ran her fingers along some broken twigs and branches. "There are teeth marks on these, they are definitely setting up a decent sized nest. They like what they are finding around here." She informed him, her eyes moving more erratically around as if she was scanning everything all at once. Moving more towards some shredded food wrappers. "Looks like they got a traveller or two. I think they are going that way. The most tracks coming to and from are in that direction." She rose to her feet again, tugging her pants from around her hips. She glanced over to him, wondering if he had other ideas in mind. She smiled innocently enough at him, her hands going into her pockets. She wanted to go towards some rocks off to the west. Would be a decent place to set up a den for these pesky creatures. Dig under them and use the rocks and shelter. It's where she'd set up a home anyway.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm He followed Zara as she easily followed the trail. In all honesty, Isaac had taken one look at the mess of animal tracks and knew he it would, at best, take him ages to decipher them. At worst, he'd be stuck having to follow each and every lead that came from the mess and just hope for the best. Zara, on the other hand, read the ground like a good-condition book, then she was off. Eyes on the surround. Head on a swivel. Isaac watched for danger. However, he had a smirk on his face. Holy shit, she's a prodigy, he thought. We're gonna be done within hours, at this rate. "There are teeth marks on these, they are definitely setting up a decent sized nest. They like what they are finding around here." "Good job we bought extra bullets, huh," he replied. When she mentioned that a traveller or two might have fallen victim to the mole rats, it was just about the exact time that Isaac caught a whiff of a familiar scent. His nose twitched as he sniffed about, looked to the bushes just north of their position... "Just a sec." ...and moved toward them. Pushing through the bushes, he found himself on the summit of a small slope. At the bottom of it, there in the mud, was the owner of that scent. The scent of death. Isaac went down to the corpse who wasn't quite yet rotting but still didn't look great. The radiation in the wasteland changed the way things decomposed, he'd been taught. Preserved them better. Isaac couldn't imagine what a corpse this old would look like in the Before Times. The victim was wearing a rucksack that'd been torn to shreds and a fair few injuries that left Isaac with an easy guess that this was an ambush by the molerats. He squatted down and rummaged through all the pockets, taking everything of value, including caps, another gun and some bullets. Nice. "You won't be needing this anymore. Rest in peace, fellow traveller." Getting back up, he stowed away the valuables and went back to the trail, took a big breath and then checked his second wristwatch which had the compass. "West it is then," he said to her, giving her a half-hearted smile. He hated looting corpses. He'd been doing it since he was real young. It was the wasteland way. It would be stupid not to. Still... it always felt... disconcerting. They turned up at some rock formations and Isaac stopped to survey the area. Then he looked up and around them to appraise the trees, and he found a thick sturdy one that had branches that would take their weight. "Alright, let's get up in the trees and stake out the area." With that they climbed up the tree and tried to get comfortable. "If we go snooping around, we're likely to get ambushed and forced to fight on their terms. Molerats aren't nocturnal so there should be some sign of activity... hopefully sooner rather than later. We zero in on their position, then we can draw them out on our own terms." Assuming she'd want to have a branch where she could sit with her back against the trunk, Isaac got on a seperate branch, poking out 45 degrees to the right of her branch, just a little lower than hers so that his head pretty-much next to her. And there they sat for a while. After quite some time had passed, Isaac spoke up. "So. Where'd you learn to track like a bloodhound?" he asked, relaxed and watching the rocks. "That was pretty amazing. Just full o' surprises, aren't we."</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara followed him towards the tree and looked up to it. Well, it was as good as it was going to get. She worked her way up the tree, and got settled in her spot. She pulled out the knife he had given her and was using the tip to clean out from under her nails. She glanced over to him when he finally spoke, she wasn't expecting it. "Oh? Uh. I've just always been good at tracking. Ever since I was a little girl." She shrugged one shoulder, going back to picking at her nails. Just because she lived in the waste land didn't mean she had to look like she lived in the wasteland. "I think that's why Hunter was always keen on me. I could track anything for miles. A creature or person would need to go through a lot of hard work to avoid being followed by me. You'd think with my ability, he would have trusted me more than as just a slave huh? Given me a role with some power to it. Even if it was just 'tracker.'" She shook her head, wondering if she'd have stayed if she had been seen as something more than just a warm body for them to plug into. Something up in the cave was rumbling. Faint sounds of scratching could be heard approaching the entrance. It sounded like the molerats were heading out for more goodies to get. She froze for a moment, leaning forward to listen better. Slowly she moved to the middle of the branch, where it would still hold her weight. She was eager to see him shine now, see his shooting abilities.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "Yup," Isaac agreed. To think that a raider leader wouldn't have taken advantage of such an amazing skillset. Dumbass savages. It wasn't a wonder why raider gangs often flamed out as quick as they were created. If they weren't 'got' by a bounty hunter, another gang or the various wasteland scaries, then they were wiped out by their own greed. Blinded by lust for power and destruction. "Their loss." He was about to tell her that he was in fact a world renowned hide-n-go-seek champion in his youth, and challenge her to track him down some time, but his full attention was drawn to the rock formations when the noises started. He mirrored Zara and got onto his front so he could shuffle along the branch, then decided he'd switch weapons and make use of the newly acquired pistol. For molerats, his 50 cal Raging Bull just seemed a bit overkill. It just occured to him that this was supposed to be a lesson in shooting for Zara and giggled as he thought of the fundamentals he was taught about marksmanship. "Jeez, this is gonna be the worst ever first shooting lesson in the history of everest." Weaver stance for right handed shooters - Feet shoulder-width apart, right foot back, left hip turned towards the target... Lying on a tree branch threw this first part right out of the window. At least the next part, he could tell her, although it wouldn't make as much sense without the stance. "When shooting right-handed, make sure your right arm is straight. Tilt your head slightly over your shoulder so you can see down the sights." He waited until she followed the instruction, and would repeat himself whenever she needed to hear it again. "Your left hand holds your right, cupping the butt of the pistol. Like this." He demonstrated with his gun. "Left arm relaxed, right arm straight. This should create a push-pull feeling, with your right hand slightly pushing the gun forward, your left hand slightly pulling it back. That'll give you some stability aiming and help absorb the recoil." The molerats were scurrying around in clear sight now. Three of them. And, no doubt, more inside the cave. "Now listen; when you fire, you squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it with your finger. Squeeze the whole gun like your getting the last of the toothpaste. And there's gonna be a shocking amount of recoil. Don't be scared of it. But brace yourself, okay." His voice got quieter as the molerats closed in. "Take your time. You only have six shots for this lesson. If you even manage to hit one, then you're already a better student than I am a teacher. Let's rock." And they started shooting. Lay on their belly, balanced on tree branches, trying to hit moving targets. This was Zara's first lesson. Isaac was laughing his ass off at the absurdity of it all. Bang! Bang-bang! He took one out and injured another. His gun was a crappy condition Beretta, but it fired well enough to hit something. Two more adult molerats came out of the cave to join the fight, only to find that they couldn't reach the two wastelanders. Mostly they just ran around, or scratched up at the tree trunk. Isaac was slow with his shooting to give Zara a chance to empty her cylinder, but once she was done, he started cleaning house. He fired in bursts of up to three shots, angling his body around, dangerously shifting his weight in such careless fashion that he'd turned himself 180 on the tree branch and was hanging off by a single leg and hand for the last kill. Bang! He hung from one hand for a second before dropping down to the ground, keeping an eye on the cave in case anymore tried to rush them. "Hit anything?" he asked as he got out some more ammo, thumbing bullets into the empty magazine. Caught mid reload, there was suddenly a growl and the patter of feet. One last molerat looking for blood and revenge, charging right for them. Isaac dropped everything in his hands immediately and drew his primary weapon. Taurus P90 aka The Raging Bull. 50 cal tip already sitting in the chamber. Stay ready so you don't have to get ready. Isaac smirked as he looked sidelong down his sights at the charging creature.... BANG!</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara wasn't near a good enough shot like he was, though it was to be expected at her first round of actually shooting the pistol. She had no idea how to properly aim or how to actually brace for the recoil it gave her. This was not something she was eager for but it did have to happen. He needed to know where to start with her and where she was already skilled so he could properly teach her. First shot - missed. Went no where near the mole rat she was aiming for. That poor rock now had a dent in it's side. Second shot got close but only because the mole rat had jumped towards the raging bullet. Third shot wounded one in the rump as it attempted to flee from them. Her next three shots were way off mark again, the recoil of the gun actually hurting her arms. It wasn't a very big pistol, the recoil wasn't actually that much. She just wasn't used to it at all. Once every single one of them were did, she holstered the gun, swung her legs down and dropped out of the tree. Oddly enough, the sound of her feet touching the ground was fairly silent, as if someone had put her feet on mute. She smiled up at him nervously. "I think you got that one. I need to work on my shooting skills, though I can fight melee just fine." She blushed softly. Slowly she began to make her way up to the den. She wanted to make sure there was none left and see what goodies they had taken. Maybe one of the mole rats had stolen some good weapons or armour. It had been known to happen once in a while.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm The molerat's head blew up with a spray of red, it's body skidding and tumbling to a stop before Isaac's feet. The wastelander looked at the corpse dispassionately for a moment, before thumbing the safety back up on his Taurus and holstering it. Then he knelt down to grab his things off the floor and resumed reloading the Beretta, sparing a glance up at Zara as she spoke while he did it. "Hey, don't sweat it. That was the dumbest shooting lesson in the world. Besides..." he sharply pushed the magazine back and jerked the slide to load a round, then looked at her properly. "...pretty sure you hit one," he told her, his eyebrows raised as if daring her to be proud of herself. "Not bad, huh?" He accompanied her to the den, Beretta in one hand and knife, reverse-grip, in the other. There might be one or two more defending the nest, but if he could get away with it, he wouldn't waste any more bullets. The Sheriff was going to shit a brick when they came back so quickly to report the job complete. Isaac reckoned he would just give directions to the den and then wait around while someone from town went to go and see the evidence that the job was done. Even so, they'd be back on the road in record time, thanks to the tracking skills of his new buddy, Zara Singh. Pulling her weight already, who'da thunk it. When the coast was clear, he waited on guard while she checked for loot. "Anything good, emerald eyes?"</s> <|message|>Zara Singh "Hit one? I'd be surprised if I did. I didn't kill any of them. All of them were fallen by your skills. I may just stick with sharp pointy things and my own two hands." She smirked as she glanced over to him, shaking her head as she felt warmed by his pet names. They were mildly infuriating, seeing as he only seemed to compliment her looks but they also made her feel seen. He wasn't complimenting her chest size, or her slender waist, or how much he'd love to bend her over. He was actually complimenting over looked parts of her. Turning said emerald eyes back to the task at hand, she nodded softly. "A few caps, a couple decent knives actually. Stuff we could sell for caps to merchants. Though I don't know how laden we want to be with random junk. I could patch up this teddy and sell it for a few caps." She picked up a stuffed bear that had a missing eye and a few patches where the mole rats were digging for it's fluffy insides. She kept moving around the den to see if she could find more. There was a small pile of canned foods that they hadn't figured out how to break into yet, though her attention wasn't there. "Hell, we could even set up shop here for a couple nights and rest our heels if we needed to. Though I am rested enough right now." She added to her own thoughts, thinking about moving away from her captors.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm At Zara's report of the goods in the cave, Isaac commented, "Score." He checked both ways for danger before walking into the cave to stand beside her at look at the teddy bear. "Cute. Yeah, see what you can do with it." He appraised the knives they'd acquired, testing the grips and looking down the edge of the blades for nicks and rust. Zara was right, they were decent indeed. They took everything of value, including some choice canned foods that would make a decent meal on the road, then exited the cave together. "No need to stop here, the day's still pretty young. We can still make some distance to Liberty Point before dark. Let's get back to the Sheriff. Tell him job's done." And they did. A deputy was sent down to the molerat den to confirm the job while Isaac and Zara hung around in the Sheriff's office. Isaac was sat leaning dangerously far back two legs of a chair, his feet up on the windowsill as he looked out at the sky. "You two drifters?" the Sheriff suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had fallen on the room. Isaac looked at him. "Which way is wind takin ya?" "Over the ways to Liberty Point," Isaac answered the second question. "Got some people that way." The town's leader nodded a few times, sticking a pinky finger in his ear to dig a little wax out, then flicking it on the floor. "Good folks up yonder. Good folks." Isaac agreed, then the Sheriff continued. "Colour me surprised you got our little pest problem solved so quickly." Isaac pointed at Zara. "You can thank her for that," the wastelander replied. The Sheriff raised his bushy grey eyebrows in approval and tipped his hat in salute to Zara. "That was your handiwork, was it?" he said to her. "I had a couple men take a look for where those pesky rodents were coming from. Musta been half a dozen times I sent them out. Couldn't find anything past their noses. I thank you for your service, young lady." He then asked, "You do this kinda thing often?" Eventually the deputy came back, then Isaac and Zara got paid. When the Sheriff asked if there was any loot at the den, the deputy looked at the two wastelanders and said that everything had been taken. Isaac smiled and shrugged at the Sheriff who conceded a shrug back. First come first serve, as always in the wasteland of New York.</s>

<|description|>Isaac Storm Age: 22 years old Appearance: Isaac is 6' tall and a wiry but muscular-tone 155lbs. He has bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair, a boyish face and a bright smile. Out on the road, you will usually find him wearing a plain tee shirt, maybe some combat armour strapped over, combat pants and hardy military grade boots. Often carries a backpack too. Above: Isaac aged 15 years old - Stood outside New Brooklyn settlement, posing for the camera Background: Isaac Storm was born Isaac Carson, in Vault 118. He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble, but one particular escapade had gotten him into so much trouble, it changed his life forever. You see, Vault 118 was deathly scared of the outside world, and believed New York to be completely poisoned by nuclear fallout. They had a strict rule that the vault door was never to be opened, and anyone who tried to do so would be sentenced to death by the overseer. When 11 year old Isaac snuck up to the main entrance of the vault and released the seal that'd been shut since the very bombs dropped, the Overseer commanded that Isaac pay with his life. His mother begged for her son's life, and she managed to negotiate one final option. Her and her son had to leave vault 118 for good. It was an option she did not relish, but with her son's life on the line, she took it. Luck was not on their side. Mother and son were not long out of the vault when they were hunted and set upon by a pack of wolves. Isaac's mother sacrificed herself to give her son a chance, screaming for him to run. And run he did. With tears in his eyes, and a nasty bite wound bloodying up his arm, he fled the scene. Moments later he ran into help in the form of a trade caravan, whose bodyguards were led by the boy back to his mother. But they moments too late. The wolves were slain and a hysterical young Isaac was taken to the nearest settlement, New Brooklyn, where the first words of Sheriff Luca burned themselves into the memory of Isaac and marked the man he was to become... "You're mother died so you could live, son. Make sure you live a good life, to pay her back." He would live a good life. He would save lives. He would become a wasteland hero. He would pay his mother back.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara wasn't near a good enough shot like he was, though it was to be expected at her first round of actually shooting the pistol. She had no idea how to properly aim or how to actually brace for the recoil it gave her. This was not something she was eager for but it did have to happen. He needed to know where to start with her and where she was already skilled so he could properly teach her. First shot - missed. Went no where near the mole rat she was aiming for. That poor rock now had a dent in it's side. Second shot got close but only because the mole rat had jumped towards the raging bullet. Third shot wounded one in the rump as it attempted to flee from them. Her next three shots were way off mark again, the recoil of the gun actually hurting her arms. It wasn't a very big pistol, the recoil wasn't actually that much. She just wasn't used to it at all. Once every single one of them were did, she holstered the gun, swung her legs down and dropped out of the tree. Oddly enough, the sound of her feet touching the ground was fairly silent, as if someone had put her feet on mute. She smiled up at him nervously. "I think you got that one. I need to work on my shooting skills, though I can fight melee just fine." She blushed softly. Slowly she began to make her way up to the den. She wanted to make sure there was none left and see what goodies they had taken. Maybe one of the mole rats had stolen some good weapons or armour. It had been known to happen once in a while.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm The molerat's head blew up with a spray of red, it's body skidding and tumbling to a stop before Isaac's feet. The wastelander looked at the corpse dispassionately for a moment, before thumbing the safety back up on his Taurus and holstering it. Then he knelt down to grab his things off the floor and resumed reloading the Beretta, sparing a glance up at Zara as she spoke while he did it. "Hey, don't sweat it. That was the dumbest shooting lesson in the world. Besides..." he sharply pushed the magazine back and jerked the slide to load a round, then looked at her properly. "...pretty sure you hit one," he told her, his eyebrows raised as if daring her to be proud of herself. "Not bad, huh?" He accompanied her to the den, Beretta in one hand and knife, reverse-grip, in the other. There might be one or two more defending the nest, but if he could get away with it, he wouldn't waste any more bullets. The Sheriff was going to shit a brick when they came back so quickly to report the job complete. Isaac reckoned he would just give directions to the den and then wait around while someone from town went to go and see the evidence that the job was done. Even so, they'd be back on the road in record time, thanks to the tracking skills of his new buddy, Zara Singh. Pulling her weight already, who'da thunk it. When the coast was clear, he waited on guard while she checked for loot. "Anything good, emerald eyes?"</s> <|message|>Zara Singh "Hit one? I'd be surprised if I did. I didn't kill any of them. All of them were fallen by your skills. I may just stick with sharp pointy things and my own two hands." She smirked as she glanced over to him, shaking her head as she felt warmed by his pet names. They were mildly infuriating, seeing as he only seemed to compliment her looks but they also made her feel seen. He wasn't complimenting her chest size, or her slender waist, or how much he'd love to bend her over. He was actually complimenting over looked parts of her. Turning said emerald eyes back to the task at hand, she nodded softly. "A few caps, a couple decent knives actually. Stuff we could sell for caps to merchants. Though I don't know how laden we want to be with random junk. I could patch up this teddy and sell it for a few caps." She picked up a stuffed bear that had a missing eye and a few patches where the mole rats were digging for it's fluffy insides. She kept moving around the den to see if she could find more. There was a small pile of canned foods that they hadn't figured out how to break into yet, though her attention wasn't there. "Hell, we could even set up shop here for a couple nights and rest our heels if we needed to. Though I am rested enough right now." She added to her own thoughts, thinking about moving away from her captors.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm At Zara's report of the goods in the cave, Isaac commented, "Score." He checked both ways for danger before walking into the cave to stand beside her at look at the teddy bear. "Cute. Yeah, see what you can do with it." He appraised the knives they'd acquired, testing the grips and looking down the edge of the blades for nicks and rust. Zara was right, they were decent indeed. They took everything of value, including some choice canned foods that would make a decent meal on the road, then exited the cave together. "No need to stop here, the day's still pretty young. We can still make some distance to Liberty Point before dark. Let's get back to the Sheriff. Tell him job's done." And they did. A deputy was sent down to the molerat den to confirm the job while Isaac and Zara hung around in the Sheriff's office. Isaac was sat leaning dangerously far back two legs of a chair, his feet up on the windowsill as he looked out at the sky. "You two drifters?" the Sheriff suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had fallen on the room. Isaac looked at him. "Which way is wind takin ya?" "Over the ways to Liberty Point," Isaac answered the second question. "Got some people that way." The town's leader nodded a few times, sticking a pinky finger in his ear to dig a little wax out, then flicking it on the floor. "Good folks up yonder. Good folks." Isaac agreed, then the Sheriff continued. "Colour me surprised you got our little pest problem solved so quickly." Isaac pointed at Zara. "You can thank her for that," the wastelander replied. The Sheriff raised his bushy grey eyebrows in approval and tipped his hat in salute to Zara. "That was your handiwork, was it?" he said to her. "I had a couple men take a look for where those pesky rodents were coming from. Musta been half a dozen times I sent them out. Couldn't find anything past their noses. I thank you for your service, young lady." He then asked, "You do this kinda thing often?" Eventually the deputy came back, then Isaac and Zara got paid. When the Sheriff asked if there was any loot at the den, the deputy looked at the two wastelanders and said that everything had been taken. Isaac smiled and shrugged at the Sheriff who conceded a shrug back. First come first serve, as always in the wasteland of New York.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara had taken to sorting out a pin that she could use as a needle to stitch the bear together. She remained silent throughout most of the conversation, only giving a slight shrug or nod where appropriate. At the comment of it being her doing, she gave a small shrug. "It is a group effort." She spoke, though didn't indulge how it had been. She didn't want to give away that she was useless with a gun in her hands. Just as the deputy arrived, she managed to separate the pin from the front of it. It went flying off with her force. She blushed bright red as she scurried over to pick it up. Maybe they could trick some poor person that it was a rare cap or something. With some weight to her own change purse, she followed him out of the office. "A job well done. Do you think we will actually make it there by dark?" Zara inquired, her hands going into her pockets as she walked next to him. The adrenaline of the hunt was over and now she was back to being bored.</s>

<|message|>Isaac Storm "A pleasure gentlemen," was Isaac's farewell as he and Zara left the office and rolled out of town. "Nice work, Zara. You cut the time on that job in half with those tracking skills of yours." "A job well done. Do you think we will actually make it there by dark?" Zara inquired. "Nah," was the answer. "We should make it the old Manhattan area, but we'll have to hole up in some ruin for the night. Should make it by the end of tomorrow though." Off down the small roads they went, heading for main road that ran from Grasscroft westward to Liberty Point. "You ever been in the old Manhattan area of New York?" he asked her. "Buildings there are so tall. I've never seen anything like it anywhere I've been in the wasteland. New York must've been something special in the Before Times." ... When the orange-tinged afternoon was showing signs of drawing to a close, Isaac and Zara reached the edge of the skyscrapers that'd had been on their horizon all day. The two checked buildings, one after another, looking for one that was defensible from critters, raiders, the wind and the rain. They eventually found a good place with a decent view of the surrounding area and went up to the second floor to drop their stuff. Isaac walked over to the window and put his hands on the sill as he looked out on the surround, squinting a little as the orange light of the sun shone on his face. There was no sign of danger, but he did sight some tin cans and bottles in the yard below, which pushed him to the decision of redeeming himself as a teacher, and giving Zara a proper lesson in shooting. "Hey, let's go outside and get some real shooting practice in," he said to her before leaving the window view. "If you're not too tired. I could set up some cans, show you the Weaver Stance technique properly. Wha dya say?"</s>

<|description|>Zara Singh Age: 21 years old Appearance: Zara is 5'2 tall with a slender, almost malnourished frame at 98lbs. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green, hinting a brown around the iris, shoulder length light brunette hair, and naturally ruby red lips. Her outfit begins fairly simple, with a tattered white tank top, that seemed to cascade over her body instead of being form fitting. Her pants were torn black jeans she had managed to snag out of a raid's haul. She was intending to gain more but it was easier said then done, when her job didnt require much protection. On her feet were some dirty old timberlands. Background: Having been born to the Wasteland by a fairly young mother herself, Zara knew nothing else but the evils the world provided. The old world was just stories that sounded more strange than reality. Her father was unknown to her as he had been a passing raider at the time of her conception. Unable to feed, clothe, and keep the child safe, her mother had passed her off to a farmer and his wife. That was where she had learnt the basics of life, of what the Wasteland needed to survive. At the age of 8 though, the Diamond Backs raiders had gone through the small farming village to gather supplies, women and servant's. The leader either had a soft spot for young Zara or had some malicious intentions as he staked claim to her. She was to be his slave until the day he found her of no use.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh The sun was setting over the raider base. It was one of the bigger ones known in the area and tended to be quite successful in their raids. Tonight was not unlike the others. Caps and supplies stocked up, innocent lives lost for defending the good guys. Zara had seen it all and had chilled her heart. There was no stopping the Diamond Backs once they had their sights on you. Unfortunately, those whom hated the raiders did not differentiate between willing members and unwilling staff. Zara knew she had but one choice. She needed to leave, though she had no clue where to go or how to get there without dying. There was nothing for her to take with her so it was just a matter of patience. Waiting until the freshly fed and drunkard men toppled over to their night long slumber. The fires began to burn out, one by one. Basking the base in nothing but moonlight. Zara figured this was as good as time as any. Their leader was asleep in bed with his latest spawn incubator, the night shift guards were thin in posts due to the partying. She tiptoed around people and the tamed wolves kept as pets and guard dogs. She pushed hard on the wooden door that gave the impression of security. Lightly biting her lip, she leaned against the wall and walked as carefully as she could. Pausing only a moment when one guard passed overhead. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as she held her breath. Escape was certain death as any servant could spill about the Diamond Backs weaknesses. Feeling the coast being clear, she took off running towards the ruins, wanting to hide as quickly as she could. She didn't bother looking back, which was a downfall she had. A couple of the guards saw her book it, ringing out the alarm. It was only moments before she had half a dozen men after her. 'Fuck me.' She thought to herself as she attempted to duck and dodge the arrows whizzing past her head. Glancing up, she saw the overhang of a fallen floor of a building. The wooden beams and joists visible within. She jumped with all her might and managed to snag one of the rebars within the structure. Grunts and groans gave her away as she pulled herself up to the second floor and hopefully out of the eyeline of those chasing. Ducking low beams and jumping over holes in the floors, she ran her way through what used to be a nice hotel. What she didn't see or expect was the sleeping form on the bedroll. She ended up by tripping right over Isaac, crying out in shock and smacking her head off the wall he was by. Raiders voices below as they called out to each other that one heard her cry.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm The alarm in the distance woke him easily. One of his blue eyes peeked open. One hand fished under his blanket and switched off the hand-radio by his side so he could listen for a moment. It sounded like trouble at the raider town. Maybe they were being attacked. Perhaps it just some wasteland critters trying to breach the defences. Either way, he felt far enough away from the town that he wouldn't need to get up. At least, that's how he felt at first. Until the shouting voices he could hear, seemed to be slightly closer. Surely they weren't heading for the ruins, were they? "Get her!" was a much, much clearer voice this time. They were indeed getting closer. Too close for comfort. "Ah shit," Isaac muttered to himself, gun in hand, still lazily spread-eagled on his back, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. "Why me, universe? What did I do to ya, this time?" He thought a little too long about getting up. He should've just done it. Because before he could, he heard groan and a strain before, down the other end of the broken building, a person appeared. Isaac could see the silhouette form in the moonlight, all the inner walls of the floor collapsed enough not to obstruct his view. And that silhouette form started bolting toward him. Isaac still hadn't moved, but now he raised his gun, looking sidelong down the barrel, pointing it at the person who was rushing toward him. Taking a shot lying on one's back like this was hard, and this gun's recoil would make it all the more difficult, so Isaac waited for the target to come closer. The person was approaching fast, hopping and skipping over holes in the floor, ducking low beams. Isaac had 3 pounds of pressure on a 4 pound trigger. Just a little closer..... "She's getting away!" was the rusty, evil-toned voice of a pursuing raider. That made Isaac pause for thought. This person was running from the raiders. He relinquished his aim as he realised the situation, so glad that he didn't just blast a potentially innocent person. As he did, she almost blew past him, but her foot caught on his leg as he got to his feet, tripping her and sending her head first into a wall. She cried out and Isaac was up, a little too late to silence her when he pulled her into his embrace, his hand covering her mouth. "Sshh," was his instruction. They were face to face - damn-near nose to nose - one arm around her waist, his free hand still over her mouth until he was sure she got the message. But one of the voices of her pursuers made Isaac break eye contact and let her go. "I heard her! Top floor!" He dipped down and started stuffing all of his things into his backpack. There was no time for the bedroll. Slinging the rucksack over his shoulder, he grabbed his gun off the floor and was on the move before he'd even risen back to his full height, grabbing the girl's hand and pulling her along to follow. They snaked through the broken down building quickly and quietly. "Boss wants her alive!" was another voice. Isaac counted three voices, at least, but he couldn't be sure. They got to the top of the main stairwell and paused. Unless she'd resisted, he was still holding her hand. "How many?" he whispered as he looked back at her. Four raiders converged at the bottom of the stairs and charged up toward them. And their shouts of surprise and alarm was a clear indicator that they did not expect to see a man lean out from behind cover with a big canon pointing right at them. "Shit!" "!" "Huh!?" BANG! ....The first shot hit one square in the chest and sent him flying back down the ground floor. The recoil sent pains up Isaac's arm all the way to his shoulder.... BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG! The raiders tried to flee but it was too late, only one getting away, managing to dive behind cover on the lower floor. The surviving raider's arm was mangled from a bullet, but he fired back with his own gun and Dante leaned back into cover upstairs. "Guys! There's someone else here!" the raider shouted. "Go get help!" The raider and Isaac traded a few shots, but none found their mark. "We need to get out of here," Isaac said to the girl, keeping the raider downstairs busy with a shot or two.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara's eyes got wide when she felt a strong hand slip around her head and cover her mouth. She wasn't expecting another being up here. After all the times she's spent wandering these ruins, not once had someone dared to come this close to the base. Her mind quickly jumped to assassin, though she couldn't linger on it too long. Being dragged by her arm across the floor, she tried to keep her eyes open for any of the holes she had dodged on her way to falling for this man. He seemed to know where he was stepping though as they moved nearly silently towards rhe stairwell. At his question, she lifted five fingers "Six, but don't.." She was about to plead for her life before the shoot out started. She quickly began scanning their location for a secondary way out. There was through the floors, as she got up, but she was sure more raiders were coming and they'd see them. Tapping his shoulder, her eyes widened for a moment as she remembered one way. Putting her fingers to her lips to keep him hushed, as if it would make a difference with the gun fight. She moved silently towards what used to be an emergency exit towards the back. Heading down the back stairwell, she held his hand tightly as they passed the first floor doorway and kept going to the underground parking. Without a word, she let go of his hand and sprinted through the echoing space towards the carport door. With her heart racing, she stopped and looked out the door to scan the roads. Her breathing was loud and hard, not use to running so much. She glanced behind her to see if Stranger was still following her. He seemed to be, which was a good thing and a bad thing. He had a gun and could defend her; but also he had a gun and could use it on her. Finding the coast clear for now, she ducked into shadows cast by the moon light towards the outskirts. She hadn't been this far before so it was all new. Even the random stuff left behind was catching her attention. Her eyes spotted a glinting locket on a table as they went to run past. Stopping in her tracks, she went back for the locket as if it was necessary.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm When she tapped Isaac on the shoulder and put a finger to her lips, Isaac gave a brisk nod, his breathing heavy because of the adrenaline. She started to sneak off and Isaac fired another shot off down the stairs before following her, trying to stay as quiet as possible. The injured raider at the bottom of the stairs fired more shots back, not realising that they were gone. The girl led him down a different stairwell, descending beyond the groundfloor and to the basement level parking lot. Perfect. As soon as she let go of his hand, Isaac changed his empty gun clip to a fresh one, all the while running after her. Out of the parking lot and into the dead streets, Isaac followed the route she was taking until he suddenly took the lead. He looked back to see why she had stopped, then halted himself to watch her go start looting a table for something that'd caught her eye. Looting at a time like this! "Really?" he asked breathlessly, once she caught back up. There was an exasperated smile on his face as they got back on the move. "Come on." They ran for another twenty minutes, taking a left turn here, a right corner there. On his left arm, Isaac wore two wrist-watches. One of them was like any other watch, it showed the time. The other was a compass. He used it to make sure that they were steadily heading south-west and deeper into New York. After the running, they walked for 5 minutes to catch their breath. After that, they were jogging. Isaac had to be sure that no one was following them. It was late. Luck was on their side that no animals, bugs or feral ghouls had crossed their path and attacked. They made a good distance between themselves and the raider town. Isaac began looking for a good, sturdy building to make camp - they needed to rest soon as the girl was exhausted, her breathing and wheezing sounding like she might collapse at any moment. "There," Isaac pointed 200 yards down the street to the big townhouse on the corner. It was three floors tall, its walls looked in tact, and the buildings around it were rubble, so the top floor would have a good view of the surrounding area. "We can rest up in that townhouse over there."</s>

<|message|>Zara Singh Zara picked up the locket, rubbing it off on her tank top. Her eyes moved up to meet his for a moment. She sheepishly put it in one of her pockets before returning to him, unpausing their current task of escaping. 'At least he didn't leave me for dead.' Her thoughts spoke to her. After their running, her lungs hurt, her legs hurt and she felt like she would lay down right there and not get up for hours. She crouched as she rested her arms on her knees and began looking around at the buildings too. Her eyes did spy the one he had, but had crossed it off as she didn't feel like climbing again. Hearing that being his choice, she hung her head and groaned. "That one? Hope you plan on sleeping on the main floor cuz I can't make it up more stairs." She boldly assumed they were now traveling together, not just escaping the raiders then parting. She began the dragging walk toward the bulding of his choice, very much mimicking that of a teenager. She got inside the door and looked around. A dirty but still intact couch sat along one wall, the television across the room from it. "You can have the couch, since I made you leave behind the bedroll you had." Once again assuming they'd be on the main floor. --Meanwhile-- Back up had arrived to the hotel where their injured and fallen members were. One had stayed with the injured one to tend to wounds he had while the others began searching the hotel. "Second floor. They were last seen on the second floor." One of the female raiders barked out, taking lead on this scouting mission. She ran her hand along the wall freshly damaged from the bullets. Climbing the stairs up, she had her 10mm drawn and ready to go. Spotting the make shift camp, she headed over to it and put her hands right kn the burnt wood. Hot or not, she didn't care. "It's still fairly warm. I see one bedroll. The dirt hasn't been displaced by another." She pointed out to her fellow raiders. "I'm thinking the girl and one, possibly two others." "There is only one bedroll, so wouldn't that mean only one?" One of the newer members asked. Tasha rolled her eyes and looked at him. "One to sleep and one to guard. Never assume someone sleeping is alone. Not out here. Not in these lands." She growled at him as she tried to look for other hints.</s>

<|description|>Zara Singh Age: 21 years old Appearance: Zara is 5'2 tall with a slender, almost malnourished frame at 98lbs. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green, hinting a brown around the iris, shoulder length light brunette hair, and naturally ruby red lips. Her outfit begins fairly simple, with a tattered white tank top, that seemed to cascade over her body instead of being form fitting. Her pants were torn black jeans she had managed to snag out of a raid's haul. She was intending to gain more but it was easier said then done, when her job didnt require much protection. On her feet were some dirty old timberlands. Background: Having been born to the Wasteland by a fairly young mother herself, Zara knew nothing else but the evils the world provided. The old world was just stories that sounded more strange than reality. Her father was unknown to her as he had been a passing raider at the time of her conception. Unable to feed, clothe, and keep the child safe, her mother had passed her off to a farmer and his wife. That was where she had learnt the basics of life, of what the Wasteland needed to survive. At the age of 8 though, the Diamond Backs raiders had gone through the small farming village to gather supplies, women and servant's. The leader either had a soft spot for young Zara or had some malicious intentions as he staked claim to her. She was to be his slave until the day he found her of no use.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac felt bad for the girl. She was half-dead from exhaustion. They got inside, both stood at the door, Isaac silent as he tried to listen for movement inside the building. The place seemed empty. "You can have the couch, since I made you leave behind the bedroll you had." "What do you mean, doll?" he asked with a smirk. "We're going up. Top floor." He looked pointedly at the stairs and when he saw her reaction, his smirk turned to a full grin. "Don't worry, just two more sets of stairs and you can collapse in a heap until morning comes." He took the lead, doing a routine check on all three floors before finally setting his stuff down in the bedroom with the street view. He mentally acknowledged her offer of the couch. It was a nice gesture, but he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. No. Now, he was paranoid that trouble wasn't far behind. "This place has been lived in recently," he mused out loud, taking note of the oil lamps, the ruffled bed, the signs of discarded trash. But all supplies were missing. "Whoever it was, they're long gone by now." He switched on the three oil lamps in the room, brightening the place so that he could get his first clear look of the girl he was with. "Wow," he appraised. "Bit of a cutie pie, aren't ya." She was indeed cute. Her eyes were interesting, in particular. So sharp in shape, the two-tone hue making for a mystery. She was skinny, more malnourished than the average wastelander. Isaac guessed she'd been a prisoner of the raiders. And a prisoner for a while too. He didn't stare overly long, no more than a few seconds, before turning to leave the room. "There's a few snacks in that rucksack, if you're hungry. Water too." He set about securing the building; making sure the doors and windows on the ground floor were shut properly. He set up a rope from the third floor bathroom, tied securely to some piping and ready to throw out of the window and climb down, should they need to escape. Lastly, set up a tripwire at the front door, tied to a trigger of a small shrapnel grenade. Anyone trying to sneak in would be in for a nasty surprise. He made sure to let his new friend know about the trap downstairs when he returned, taking a seat by the window where he could keep an eye on the street below. Stretching and cracking his neck to one side, he light out a sigh and put his feet up on the broken radiator. "Name's Isaac," he finally introduced himself, his eyes on the street. "Isaac Storm. How'd you end up on the run?"</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Hearing his voice clearly for the first time, she couldn't help but give a slight brush. The deepness, the tone, even the accent seemed to be fitting of the stranger. His words though, top floor caused her whole body to slump where it stood. Mouth ajar as her eyes moved up the stairs to they disappeared on the next floor. He was mad, he had to be. Crazy mad, to think she would have the energy to go up to the top floor. Not to mention removing any real chances of escape if the raiders caught up to them. She figured they'd have lived if they had to vault out a second story window. Surely he was joking right? Nope, they ascended the stairs. Second story, third story. She pointed up "Don't want to see if they have an attic as well?" Her tone almost sarcastically rude. Following him into the chosen room, she blinked as the oil lamps came on and ruined what vision she had for the dark. She remained quiet as he sized her up, doing the same to him. He didn't look nearly as rough as the raiders she was usually around. "If you say so, though I feel I look a little grungy. You're actually quite easy on the eyes yourself." She smirked, moving to go look out the window. His mention of food and water did make her salivate but she wasn't about to go rooting through someone's rutsack. She almost lost a hand once or twice that way from said owner of the sacks. Been accused of stealing as well when there was nothing of value to steal. Nope, if he was intent on sharing, he'd have to get it out and hand it to her. When he finished setting up the traps, she moved to the bed so he could have the window unobstructed. She sat down on it, tucking her fingers under her legs, palms down. "Zara Singh is mine. I haven't Bern on the run long. In fact, it may surprise you, this is the first like.. hour or two I've been on the rub." She admitted to him, knowing full well he pegged her for a novice wastelander from the beginning. "I've lived in the raider base for thirteen years and just.. I can't do it anymore. I refuse to do it. So I left. Tonight they were celebrating a recent ambush, were all too drunk to care of their own noses."</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "I've lived in the raider base for thirteen years and just.. I can't do it anymore. I refuse to do it. So I left..." Isaac kept his gaze on the outside, mostly because he didn't want her to see the pity in his eyes. He couldn't imagine what she'd been through, all these years. Raider's weren't known for their mercy. Inside, Isaac cursed the people of the past, who went to nuclear war and gave birth to this hellhole. "...Tonight they were celebrating a recent ambush, were all too drunk to care of their own noses." "Good thinking," was his first words in reply to her sad story. Then he looked over at her. "But they cared enough to come after you. And they might still be out there. So we have to stay sharp until we're far enough away. Do you have anywhere you can go? What am I saying, of course you don't." The young man out a loud breath as tried to think, placing a thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose. Where was the nearest town from here? "Hmmm... I think Grasscroft isn't far from here. Straight west, if memory serves. We'll head in that direction tomorrow. See if we can't find you a place to live, kay." The girl really could use a break. She looked so drained, so skinny. "Hey, I said there was food n stuff in my bag. You sure you're not hungry?" Isaac got back to his feet and retrieved his rucksack, rifling through it before pulling out his water canteen and throwing it on the bed beside her. Then he brought a couple of ration snacks, tossing her a pack before opening one himself and sitting back down. This time he didn't put his feet up. He was sat facing her, leaning forward a little, intent on seeing her get something in her stomach. It was just some beef jerky and a pack of peanuts - good for a little bit of energy, in a pinch. "Don't be shy, I'm not gonna charge you," he quipped, popping a peanut into his mouth and giving her a reassuring smile.</s> <|message|>Zara Singh She bit her lip as she heard him speak of the exit party she had coming after her. Of course they chased her down. Hunter wanted her to himself. Always had. No one was able to touch her except for him. She was thankful that for some reason or another, his attempts never turned her into an incubator. Then there was the knowledge she had. Most slaves overheard the minor weaknesses. She knew all of them, including Hunter's personal ones. She was a huge security risk if she survived the escape. Snapping back from her thoughts as something landed on the bed beside her. She gave him a weak smile, thankful for something to eat and drink. "I have no caps to give you if you would charge me. I just have learned early on to not go into someone's rucksack, even if invited to. Those that invite me to, tend to accuse me of stealing and demand my head. Those that didn't invite me, threatened my hand or head. So it's just safer to stay out." She sipped from the canteen. She wad a bit surprised to find it not as bitter as the radiated water she normally had access too. "I just need to get away. I don't care where. Anywhere close and they will find me. Hunter will be looking for me personally. I know far too much about him and his crew, including the base. He would rather a bullet between the eyes than to let me live free. Of course, he'd prefer if I just stayed put and never had an independent thought of my own." She shrugged before tearing a beef jerky apart.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "I have no caps to give you if you would charge me. I just have learned early on to not go into someone's rucksack, even if invited to. Those that invite me to, tend to accuse me of stealing and demand my head. Those that didn't invite me, threatened my hand or head. So it's just safer to stay out." She sipped from the canteen. "Sheesh, fair enough," replied Isaac. He supposed he couldn't be surprised. It only made sense that the savages would be turning on eachother when given the chance. "Not much in the way of trust and friendship as a raider, huh." "I just need to get away. I don't care where. Anywhere close and they will find me. Hunter will be looking for me personally. I know far too much about him and his crew, including the base..." The young man perked up at this point, a twinkle in his eyes, the wheels in head turning. He damn-near missed the rest of what she was saying. So, the girl's got some secrets about the Diamond Backs, he thought to himself. This raider gang was a big player on the eastside of New York. Quite the terror. If they could be brought down... Hmmmm. "Well, we'll head out at first light," he told her. No use in talking about it now. They would have time. "For now, try and get some rest." After they finished their snacks, Isaac put out the three oil lamps, then got back comfortable at the window. An hour passed in relative quiet. Aside from two cats skulking past, there was no activity outside. Isaac periodically rubbed his eyes to stay sharp. Taking a watch was boring as hell. Time passed slower than molasses. But a boring watch was better than the alternative. And, little did Isaac know, that alternative was on it's way. Somewhere, far in the distance, Isaac heard the sad howl of a wolf...............</s>

<|message|>Zara Singh Zara didn't like the look that flashed across his features when she spoke of knowing secrets about the Diamond Backs. It made her feel dirty. Like when the raiders would use her to gain the trust of others. She shivered against the chill that went down her spine. She hated feeling used, she hated being kept around simply because of something she had to offer. Just once she wanted to be asked to stay because of who she was, or for companionship. Shaking her head, she finished off the rations he gave her and laid down. Making sure her back wasn't turned to him, she didn't trust him enough to not hurt her or to take advantage of her. Slowly her eyes did drift closed though, falling into a deep sleep, despite how untrusting she was of him or her situation. Her body was looking for sleep and was going to take it whether she wanted to give it or not. Even the nightly howl of the wolf woke her up. -- Tasha and the crew had gone back to talk to Hunter about the runaway. About how she had someone or two skilled waiting for her on the outside. About how it turned into an ambush, as if Zara had planned to meet the strangers. She spoke of what they found and how they just seemed to disappear into thin air. "People don't just vanish! She's out there and I want her brought back. ALIVE!" He snapped at her, slamming his fist down on the table beside him. The vein in his neck pulsating with anger. He had bred her a couple weeks ago, she could be carrying an heir to his little kingdom here. She could tell outsiders how to fight back and everything Hunter had worked so hard to achieve would be gone. He was livid that his pet had decided to run away. He knew he should have tied her up, chained her or something to keep her put. She had been getting antsy, even a little rebellious the past couple days. Taking a dozen of their more sober men, Tasha began the hunt for the suspected trio of trespassers. A few wolves on chains were being used to track them. To pick up the scent of the girl. No one cared to learn her name but for now, she was just going to be called Traitor.</s>

<|description|>Zara Singh Age: 21 years old Appearance: Zara is 5'2 tall with a slender, almost malnourished frame at 98lbs. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green, hinting a brown around the iris, shoulder length light brunette hair, and naturally ruby red lips. Her outfit begins fairly simple, with a tattered white tank top, that seemed to cascade over her body instead of being form fitting. Her pants were torn black jeans she had managed to snag out of a raid's haul. She was intending to gain more but it was easier said then done, when her job didnt require much protection. On her feet were some dirty old timberlands. Background: Having been born to the Wasteland by a fairly young mother herself, Zara knew nothing else but the evils the world provided. The old world was just stories that sounded more strange than reality. Her father was unknown to her as he had been a passing raider at the time of her conception. Unable to feed, clothe, and keep the child safe, her mother had passed her off to a farmer and his wife. That was where she had learnt the basics of life, of what the Wasteland needed to survive. At the age of 8 though, the Diamond Backs raiders had gone through the small farming village to gather supplies, women and servant's. The leader either had a soft spot for young Zara or had some malicious intentions as he staked claim to her. She was to be his slave until the day he found her of no use.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Dozer When Violet growled and howled, tugging on her chain eagerly, Dozer shouted to Tasha. "Hey Tash! I think Violet's got something, over here!" The raider braced his feet, trying to keep hold of the chain holding Violet in place. She really wanted to follow the scent. Dozer managed to keep her in place until the crew got there. When Tasha gave the order, Dozer let himself be dragged by the wolf who followed the trail down the street, turning a corner here or there. "Easy girl." "Oooh, I can't wait to get my hands on the fuck who killed Tater-Tot." Dozer was in agreement. "Oh don't worry little man, we'll get em. And when we do, they'll be begging for death." "Grr, I told you not to call me little man!" They must have been going for ten blocks before the road opened up into a small highway. After that they were back on the small roads, travelling through ruins. Dozer hoped that Violet knew where she was going. Tasha would beat him to death if he'd led them all on a wild goose chase. Where she finally stopped was a tall townhouse at some crossroads. She growled and barked, Dozer letting everyone know that this was the building. "Yeah, we have eyes, you dumbass!" "Shut up, little man," was Dozer's reply. "Grrrrr, I won't tell you again, you piece of shit, don't call me little man." Tasha gave the order to check the building and unfortunately for Dozer, he was closest and went first. He and Violet rushed into the entrance, and as the door opened, the resulting explosion would be heard by everyone except Dozer and Violet. Dozer and Violet wouldn't hear anything... ever again. ******* It only just occurred to Isaac, as he was ducked down under the windowsill, listening to the raiders outside, that Zara hadn't shown any signs of carrying a weapon. He looked back at her, then fished a hand onto his belt and unclipped the big knife. Silently, he tossed the knife to her, still in it's sheath. It wouldn't perform very well against a bunch of guns, but it was better than nothing, and it was all he had. Then the explosion happened. Not as loud and powerful as a regular grenade, but loud enough to make Isaac wince. The door to the bedroom blew open with the force of the blast. Isaac chuckled as he new, whoever triggered that was absolutely in the afterlife, right now. He peeked over the windowsill to see the raiders scrambling for cover, making a commotion. Once the noise died down... "Hey assholes, will you keep the noise down?" Isaac shouted. "Some of us are trying to sleep." "We know you've got the girl in there! Hand her over, now!" "And what if I do?" Isaac shot back, smiling. He looked at Zara and gave her a wink. It perhaps wasn't the time to be joking about trading a former slave to a bunch of bloodthirsty raiders. Especially when Zara was so recently freed and probably untrusting of everyone. This occurred to him as Tasha was making a trade offer, so Isaac made sure Zara knew he was on her side with his next action. He rose into view of the raiders, leaned on the windowsill, scanned the crew, then brandished his gun and took a shot at the easiest target. The resulting cry of pain said that he'd hit the man but not killed him. Isaac ducked back behind cover, laughing, as a barrage of return fire hit and chipped at the window. Beaming a crazy smile at Zara, Isaac was actually enjoying himself. "Look, you guys should go back where you came from. The downstairs of this building is rigged with more traps than you've got people. You have no chance here. The girl ran off a while ago, it's just me here!" "Fucking liar!" "I swear........ She transformed into a butterfly, gave me a blessing and fluttered off into the night....... God's honest truth." Now the young hero was just being ridiculous. But all the while he was talking utter nonsense, between each line, he was whispering to Zara that there was an escape route in the bathroom. "The woman you know as Zara was actually just her caterpillar form."</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara woke up to the sounds of the talking below, though she kept her eyes closed as tightly as she could. If she didn't make it seem like she was awake, or even there, they'd just move on right? There was no way they had tracked her here already. The duo had been walking for well over an hour at this point and she felt like she had only gotten to sleep. Little did she know that her light breathing had become deeper, almost held at some moments. Her eye lids fluttered with each movement her eyes did below them. She was trying to focus in on various zones to see where they could be coming from or if they were ambushing from all angles. The sound of the explosion was hard to ignore though. She shot up and covered her own mouth to prevent herself from screaming out in shock. Yup, they found the house, they found her. They were going to get her. Hearing the words from Isaac's mouth made her just stare at him in utter shock. 'And what if I do?' Her heart was racing as she kept shaking her head. Eyes begging him to not give her to them. She ducked back onto the bed, covering her head as she heard the rain shower of metal bullets being shot at the exact window that Isaac was just at. What was he doing? Trying to piss them off more? They knew where she was and they'd be getting back up if too many of them ka-boom'd all over the place. The smile on his face frightened her as well. Was he really getting off on this? He was one messed up twisted person, whom seemed to be attempting to keep her safe. Hearing the whispers, she nodded her head, moving to slide off the bed but keep her head down. She scurried off towards the room that had to be the bathroom. What escape route had he set up? She didn't think either of them would survive a three story fall to the cement below. Seeing the rope, her eyes widened as she got excited. She grabbed it and threw it over the edge of the window and rappel herself down the side of the building as silently as she could. Unfortunately in her haste, she didn't grab his knife off the mattress, leaving her defenceless if any of the raiders saw her come down. Luck was on her side as the moon was on the other side of the building, providing a massive darkened escape route for her. Once her feet hit the ground, she didn't wait for him before rushing off to find cover behind some fallen cement walls. Where to go now? He had mentioned something about Grasscroft being west but wouldn't that lead them right towards the raiders? Wouldn't they go there to look for her as it was the closest place? She needed to convince him of somewhere else to go. Even if it was off his beaten path, she didn't want to be where Diamond Backs would think to look.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm When Zara started towards the bathroom escape route, Isaac jumped back up and let fly a few rounds from The Raging Bull. That painful rush of 50-calibur recoil running up his arm, all the way to his shoulder... he enjoyed it. It made the gun feel like an extension of his own body and reminded him of his old lessons. I aim with eye. I shoot with my mind. I kill with my heart. The muzzle flash, in the dark bedroom, lit up Isaac's face to show bright blue eyes awash with excitement and a teethy one-sided grin. Here, in the middle of the gun battle, was a young man completely in his element. The wasteland was ruthless, unforgiving and dangerous. Animal or man - to survive you had to be the same. Isaac had learned that the hard way when he lost his mother. Such a tragedy had destroyed the boy he was. But that only allowed him to be built back up by the wandering hero who crossed his path. Cairo 'The Courier' Storm. It had taken some convincing by young Isaac to get Cairo Storm to teach him how to be a soldier of The Good Fight. But The Courier eventually did relent and take on Isaac as an apprentice for a year. And built back up, Isaac was... his heart just as big, but now with ice in his veins. After trading volleys a couple of times, Isaac snuck away towards the back of the building, about time he made his own escape. Unfortunately for him, two of the raiders had made their way around back to surround the townhouse. They saw the rope dangling from the third floor window, right about the time that Isaac was halfway out. "They're trying to escape!" Isaac dove back inside, escaping gunfire. He couldn't see Zara and worried for her safety, hoping that she got away or at least found a good hiding spot, while he figured a way out of the situation. The raider's began calling to eachother, maintaining a lock on the front and rear entrances, as they probed carefully for a way in. Isaac glimpsed one of the raiders creeping to the front entrance, but didn't get time to shoot as Tasha unloaded her Uzi in his direction. It wouldn't take them long to realise that there were no more traps downstairs, and then they would rush in for the final showdown. Think quick, Isaac, he urged himself. After going down the 2nd floor, he realised that there were indeed windows on the southside of the building (the front and rear entrance facing east and west, respectively.) He snuck and checked out of the window. No sign of the enemy. Quietly and carefully, he slid the window up and open, and popped his head out. Coast still clear. With that, he went back up to the 3rd floor, ran to the bathroom window and squeezed off two shots at his foes, who shot back. Then, sprinting into the bedroom at the front of house, he threw his last grenade out of the window and rushed down to the 2nd floor. The grenade bounced with a Clink before... "Grenade!" ...it exploded into shrapnel. The diversion was chaotic enough that he had time climb out of the window, hang from the ledge and then drop to the floor. The impact on the concrete almost broke his ankles and he dropped onto his ass. "Ugh. Shit," he moaned as quietly as possible. He got to his feet, a hand on the wall as he looked both ways. "I hope she remembered what I said about Grasscroft." And with that, he made a run for it. As soon as he got over the road, he turned around and started blasting again, getting the raiders attention before disappearing behind the houses. He could hopefully lead them south and away from Zara, then meet up with her at Grasscroft. The nearby town had it's own militia who defended the settlement from threats. It was about as safe a haven as they would get for now. After 20 seconds of running, he could hear shouts behind him. He smiled as he ran. His plan was working.</s>

<|message|>Zara Singh Zara managed to get behind a wall as he was spotted during his escape. It was dark enough that she wasn't easily spotted. If one had focused in her direction though, they would have seen movement in the night. She hugged the wall as the grenade exploded, lighting up the area with a quick flash. "Please be from Issac, please be from Issac." She whispered to herself, trying to peer back to the building to see if he escaped. Not seeing more than the raiders scramble to reassemble themselves for building penetration, Zara cursed under her breath. She didn't see him pop out another window, nor see him making a run for it. To her, he was still trapped inside the building and she had no weapon to try and rescue him. Squaring up her shoulders, she tucked her hair behind her ears as she prepared herself for a winless melee attack on the raiders. Just as she was about to bolt for the closest raider, more shots rang into the night air. Was that him? What was he doing? Their intentions were get away from the raiders. Not draw them closer. Moving to the corner once more, she pressed against the cement wall and looked around it. The raiders she could see were going in the opposite direction of her. They seemed to be going towards the sounds of the gunfire. "Fucking moron." She muttered herself and shook her head. "Get your ass killed then." She shook her head, pushing away from the wall. Slowly she began her walk through the shadows, heading west towards Grasscroft. At the very least, she could get herself a weapon and maybe trade a day or two of work for something to eat and a bedroll. Sticking to the shadows, she picked her way over the rubble. She managed to find herself on the second story of an apartment building that had leaned over onto a hill. Not very skilled at rock climbing, she did her best to maneuver her way down the side. Sliding the last foot though, she scrapped up her left forearm and right leg. It was already sunrise by the time she managed to see the city over the horizon. Beyond exhausted, hungry, sore and very irritated, Zara approached the gate guards. She looked ready to pass out, having been up for nearly a full 24 hours now and constantly on the move.</s>

<|description|>Zara Singh Age: 21 years old Appearance: Zara is 5'2 tall with a slender, almost malnourished frame at 98lbs. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green, hinting a brown around the iris, shoulder length light brunette hair, and naturally ruby red lips. Her outfit begins fairly simple, with a tattered white tank top, that seemed to cascade over her body instead of being form fitting. Her pants were torn black jeans she had managed to snag out of a raid's haul. She was intending to gain more but it was easier said then done, when her job didnt require much protection. On her feet were some dirty old timberlands. Background: Having been born to the Wasteland by a fairly young mother herself, Zara knew nothing else but the evils the world provided. The old world was just stories that sounded more strange than reality. Her father was unknown to her as he had been a passing raider at the time of her conception. Unable to feed, clothe, and keep the child safe, her mother had passed her off to a farmer and his wife. That was where she had learnt the basics of life, of what the Wasteland needed to survive. At the age of 8 though, the Diamond Backs raiders had gone through the small farming village to gather supplies, women and servant's. The leader either had a soft spot for young Zara or had some malicious intentions as he staked claim to her. She was to be his slave until the day he found her of no use.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm Isaac stopped a couple of steps inside of the tavern, a habitual smirk on his face as scanned the taproom. Evening business had just begun and place was filling up. Tables were smattered with chattering patrons, a piano player was going at it in the corner, setting the ambience. It was pretty nice. Isaac leaned aside as another patron entered the establishment and passed him. At first he didn't see Zara at the table in front of him, with all the distractions around, but then he remembered what she was wearing when they were together. And so, his blue eyes were drawn back to the cute ass at one of the central tables in the room, and his gaze followed her body up to her brown hair. Bingo, he thought to himself, opening his mouth to speak. "Z-" When the man a the table smacked her on the ass, Isaac paused, his eyebrow shooting up. Fortune favours the bold, they say. Isaac shifted his weight onto his back foot and folded his arms. This could go one of three ways: Either she could A) shrug it off, finish her cleaning duty and move along. Most female tavern staff would probably take this option, in his experience. Or she could B) Take the dirty sonova-bitch up on his offer. Make them sweet caps. No shame in that. And then there was C)..... Isaac's eyebrows were once again raised as he watched Zara spin around and grab the man by the throat. The sound of chairs scraping as people reacted in shock, filled the room. Even the piano player stopped his tune. Isaac hadn't been in here 2 minutes and he was already having a blast. "If you ever so much as touch another woman like that again... So help me sanity.. I will make sure you never, ever enjoy the feeling of a woman riding it again." After she shoved him back in his chair, he gasped to catch his breath, then struggled to his feet. "You crazy bitch, a man pays you compliment and you have the nerve to put your filthy paws on him!?" he was not happy, and drew his gun. He didn't point the gun at Zara, but all the same; Isaac decided he'd played spectator for long enough and walked forward to intervene, drawing his gun and holding it beside his head as he moved between them. "You might wanna put that pea-shooter away sir. I promise you, you do not want this." The man looked at the massive pistol of Isaac, who grinned. "Yup. Mine's bigger." The loud click-clack of a shotgun loading got everyone's attention. Isaac looked and it was the bar owner, behind the counter, pointing his shotgun their way. "And mine's the biggest. Now put your guns away before I fucking blow you all to hell." Isaac and the red faced customer complied, the the barman looked at Zara. "You. In the back. Now." "Ummm, I'm with her," Isaac told him, then gave a helpless shrug. The barman narrowed his eyes, thought for a second, then flicked his head pointedly at the backroom door. Isaac grinned and followed Zara into the back. "So, you found your way to Grasscroft," Isaac greeted her as they got into the back. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "New job too? Damn girl, you don't laze around."</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara was ready to defend herself, even from the gun the guy had pulled out. She looked at him as she took a step back just in time for Isaac to move between them. She wasn't expect him to appear, but this was a very welcome moment of his arrival. One hand went to his shoulder as the boys started to flaunt their toys. Her mouth opened to speak when the Pinocchio stepped in and interfered. A ball of saliva in her throat painfully gulped down and hit her stomach like a rock. Her eyes focused on Pinocchio for a moment, nodding her head. Her hand went to Isaac's shoulder as if she was indicating she wasn't going anywhere without him. When it was decided that he could join them, she gave a soft smile, staying really close to him. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him once they were secured in the back room. "Yea I did, and I needed something to do while you decided to stop gallivanting across the wasteland. Needed to eat and pay for a place to sleep." She told him softly, shaking her head. "You took your sweet ass time getting here. Any problems for you with our friends?" Pinocchio shook his head "Silence, this is not time for chitchat. Miss, I don't know how you used to do it back home but we do not threaten our patrons or start a bar fight, especially on day one. It does not make a good impression if you intend to stay employed." He warned her as he unloaded his shotgun and set it aside. Zara moved her hand to her stomach, her smart ass demeanour fading. "No no sir. I didn't mean to start anything. I just don't appreciate having my ass grabbed. In fact, I don't like being touched period. They keep their hands off me, I'll keep my threats to myself." She didn't know if they'd be sticking around and she'd need to keep the position.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm "Yea I did, and I needed something to do while you decided to stop gallivanting across the wasteland..." Isaac waved away the comment, his cocky smile remaining. "...Needed to eat and pay for a place to sleep." She told him softly, shaking her head. "You took your sweet ass time getting here. Any problems for you with our friends?" He was about to let her know that the raiders had been taken care of, but was interrupted when the barman walked in and took control of the conversation. Zara looked apologetic while Isaac merely observed, sharing his gaze between the two, as the man gave her a telling off and she explained her actions. By the end of their exchange, the wasteland hero was getting bored and began to inspect his fingernails. After hearing her reply, the barman had more to say. "Well, if you can't take simple banter then I'm afraid you won't last long here. The Three Legged Dog isn't exactly 'up-market.' And neither are it's patrons." He looked at Isaac, who nodded in agreement, then turned back to Zara. "I'll give you a moment to decide whether you'll be continuing with your duties. Or I can pay you for your hours given and we can leave it at that. I have customers." And with that, he went back out front. Isaac watched him go, then turned his attention back to Zara. "It's not like you need this job, anyway," he offered. "I mean; you'll probably be wanting to move on soon right... get further away from The Diamond Backs? We can leave tomorrow and head deeper into New York. There's a place called Liberty Point. It's about as safe as this place, and further to the west. I know a few people, over that way. Could get you a real job and a place of your own... I think." It was a bit presumptuous of him, to assume that his Big Sis, Katie Wensdale who just vouch for a random wastelander on Isaac's behalf. But even if she turned him down - which was unlikely - the time spent travelling and the temporary place to stay would be enough time to teach this girl how to manage herself out here. He looked her up and down as he thought about it. She was already feisty enough - and fierce when protecting herself - that much had been proven. She wouldn't need much more than a good opportunity to be all set in the unforgiving wasteland of New York. "Took me a few hours, but I lost the raiders up north," he suddenly said, remembering her question. "Then I went for a quick nap and kinda sorta fell asleep for real, ha." He stood up straight and ran a hand through his messy. blonde hair. "I thought I'd be here by noon, but them's the breaks."</s> <|message|>Zara Singh Zara watched as the man walked back out front after giving her an ultimatum. Be physically touched by strange men who seemed to have it in their heads that they owned her body, or be unemployed? It wasn't some mere exchange of words, some idiotic banter that the man had stated. It was a full on physical touching of her body. He had smacked her ass. She was opening her mouth to say something when her partner spoke up to distract her thoughts and put a positive spin on it. Shaking her head in response "no, I do not need this job. I do not need some perverted old men touching my ass and making their intentions clear." She folded her arms across her chest as she stared at the doorway that Pinocchio had walked through. She had enough guys take from her what they felt they deserved and she was putting her foot down now. No more was she going to be at the beck and call of some drunken horny man who couldn't find a valid lover to save their life. Finally her green eyes moved from the doorway towards Issac as a small smile spread across her face. He was still willing to take her to a more secure location. "Liberty Point does sound like a better option. Diamond backs shouldn't be there, and if they are, they may not be members that know my face." She told him softly, putting the rags down beside the sink before washing her hands off. "Simply nodded off while being chased down? Now that sounds like someone who is keen to end up below the dirt. Though I must admit, I got a decent sleep last night as well. Knowing I wasn't going to be grabbed, yelled at or killed in my sleep made it more comforting. I'm glad you were able to sleep. After noon would have been nice, prevented this whole thing and maybe even got to head out today. But alas, as you said, them's the breaks. I slept in the barracks last night, but I won't be given such niceties tonight. Where do you tend to kick up your heels when you're here?" She inquired curiously, drying her hands off. She'd tell Pinocchio that she'd take her earned wages and be off. This wasn't the job for her after all. The work was tedious and soul crushing, but to have to deal with the pervy men on top of it was enough to make her ill. Heading out from the back room, she waved to Pinocchio to indicate she had made up her mind. "Pay me and I'll be off. Thank you for the opportunity and the hours, I just can not see myself being okay with hands touching me. Words and banter are one thing, physical touch is another." She explained to him, extending her hand for her caps.</s> <|message|>Isaac Storm When she reprimanded him for nodding off while being chased down, Isaac made a show of shrugging. "Not dead yet," was his response. He was glad to hear she'd gotten a good rest while here, and it reminded him of where she'd come from. On his face was his usual confident smirk, but in his head he thought, Jeez Lu-weez. No wonder she snapped at that dirty old man. She's soo done with having to deal with anything like that, I'll bet. Where do you tend to kick up your heels when you're here?" She inquired curiously, drying her hands off. "Pretty sure there's another alehouse with rooms to rent, at the other end of town," he told her, a point of his thumb over his shoulder. "Let's blow this joint." After she'd gotten her pay from the barkeep, and gave him her reasoning for the little scuffle before, Isaac gave a half-hearted salute as they walked off. When they passed the table where 'Mr Touchy Feely' was sat, Isaac winked at the guy and chuckled. The bat-wing doors swung back and forth after they'd left. Back on the street again, Isaac looked both ways to reorient himself, then headed in the direction towards the next tavern, falling into step beside Zara. After a little walking he said, "Oh, by the way..." he swung his backpack around to his front and took out the gunbelt with the .38 Snubnose pistol in the holster. "Here," he handed it to her, along with a small carton of ammo, as they walked. "You're gonna need a weapon for when we head out tomorrow. I trust you've shot a gun before?"</s>

<|message|>Zara Singh Zara walked next to him as he handed over the belt and some ammo, staring at it almost confused. Shot a gun? No, of course not. She had been a slave since she could brush her own hair. Why would they have given her, or even trained her how to fire a gun? That would be giving her a way to defend herself, end their grubby hands touching her and give her a sense of empowerment. Could she let him know that though? Could she admit to him that she didn't know how to fire a gun? It couldn't be that hard right? Just point it at the thing you wanted to kill and pull the trigger. It seemed easily enough that she figured she could fake it. After an unnaturally long time, Zara finally answered him. "Uh, a few times." Her voice not nearly as confident as she had tried to portray. Maybe he wouldn't pick up on that, maybe he'd trust her at her words. A knife was easier. Close combat was less likely to miss what she was aiming for. Pausing in her steps to strap the gunbelt on, she cinched it tightly on her hips. Would she be more successful shooting with her left, or her right hand? Where would the holster be easier to grab from? She turned it to her left side and placed her left hand on the butt of the gun. Nope, didn't feel right. Trying to reach it from her right hand across her body just felt awkward and like a guarantee to shoot herself in the foot. Next she moved the holster in front of her, right under her belly button. Less uncomfortable to grab from, but made her nervous to walk. She did want kids one day and this was awfully close to her nether region for her tastes. Finally settling on having it resting on her right hip for her right hand to get the quick draw, she nodded to herself before looking up to see his reaction to her fiddling with it. Did he notice? Maybe he would figure she was just trying to adjust to having something new on her body.</s>

<|description|>Juniper Thunderbee Age: Teen Gender: Female Magic: As an earth-aligned fairy, Juniper is able to manipulate plant life and make plants grow, including those with harmful or helpful properties. Appearance: Juniper is of normal height but is quite lithe, giving her an air of fragility. She has a light skin tone and cascading oak-brown hair which curls lightly and would trail quite a ways down her back if she left it be. She can spend hours playing it into different braids and buns, or experimenting with wearing different flowers in it. Flowers and small vines often trail across her pointed ears, neck, wrists, arms, and hair. She can summon or dispel them at will and have just become a normal part of her everyday fashion. Juniper normally wears plain, solid-coloured dresses and allows the flowers to do the part of accentuating her looks. Typical of fairies, she has soft features and expressive eyes which both feature a gradient of green to purple from right to left. Her wings are mostly bright green, but fade to a sky blue as they come closer to her back. Personality: Juniper has a gentle and sweet disposition, rarely getting into disagreements and quick to offer help. She is especially empathetic to animals, and would probably help an animal in need ahead of another fairy. Animals tend to be drawn to her calm nature (and tendency to bring treats) and many creatures of all shapes and sizes are familiar with her in the Luminous Forest. Juniper has a tendency to narrate what she's doing or verbally describe objects around her, which might seem like an odd quirk before learning that her father is blind. She would never purposefully talk over anybody, though. That would be difficult anyways given her soft speaking voice. She is easily dominated in conversation by more extroverted types, but is happy to sit and listen. Her obsession with her appearance means she prefers not to fly too fast, as not to mess up her hair or dislodge any flowers. She can also be dramatic and immature about things such as not wanting to go out in the rain, or landing in trees instead of on the dirty ground. History: Juniper was born in Lumina to the Thunderbee family. Her mother, Dalila, was an earth fairy just like her. Her father, Surge, was a rare electric variant. In her earliest memories, they spent their days playing among the glowing mushrooms and snuggling together at night. Her childhood memories slowly became of just her and her mother, overlapped with heated arguments between her mother and father when they thought she wasn't listening. It became normal - dad left, and then he came back, sometimes with little souvenirs for her from the lands he visited. She would brag to the other fairy children that her father was a great explorer, a brave hero who ventured far away to bring her and her mom back cool trinkets. Her point of view changed abruptly when her father returned one day permanently blinded on an adventure. She worried desperately about him when he left again, but tried not to let her mother see that she was upset. She didn't want to give her more reasons to yell at Dad. Juniper began spending more time outside on her own after that. She had always been fascinated with the plantlife and creatures that dwelled within it, but now she realized she couldn't take her eyesight for granted. What if one day she couldn't see them anymore? She wanted to experience it all and commit it to memory. She made quick friends with many a magical beetle or rodent, and even some of the larger creatures became used to her presence - helped by the cookies that Dalila was so talented at baking. When her father returned from his travels, Juniper told her everything she'd experienced in as much detail as she could. She wanted him to "see" it, too. Juniper became very familiar with the forest at a young age and would venture progressively deeper into it. She learned which path to take, helped by the creatures she came across. She stayed out longer and longer playing by herself, despite her mom making it clear that she had a strict curfew. One day it began raining when she was deep in the forest, and she decided to wait out the weather instead of fly home and get soaked. The rain didn't let up, and Juniper ended up falling asleep in a tree burrow, snuggled with a large feysquirrel. She awoke much later to find sunlight peeking through the tree hole. She flew home in a panic, knowing her mother would be wondering where she was. There were fairies bustling around everywhere when she arrived back to Lumina, and all of them surrounded Juniper when they spotted her and began crying. They'd thought she was dead - the whole town was out searching - and her mother... Her mother had gone looking for her last night and not returned. When Juniper insisted she would go find her, they broke the truth - that she had already been found, but she'd been found dead. Perhaps a toxic plant had gotten her, or a bite from one of the feysnakes - the cause wasn't obvious. She looked so peaceful when Juniper approached to say goodbye for one last time. Juniper refused to leave the house for weeks and fell into a depression. Her father wasn't home, so neighbours would check on her and make sure she was eating. She blamed herself for her mother's death - part of her still does to this day. When her father finally returned home, Juniper collapsed in his arms and sobbed. Both of their lives abruptly changed, but they had to move forward, together. Surge stopped adventuring to look after her, but in a way, Juniper began looking after him, too. She took over cooking after Surge's first several attempts ended with him feeding her trail mix for dinner. She'd picked up some level of knowledge from watching and listening to Dalila cook. She also became accustomed to narrating her surroundings or people she came across for her dad. Sure, Dad set the rules and paid the bills, but they slowly became a team. For years she would beg him to recount his stories of grandeur before she fell asleep, and then she would dream about exploring herself one day. Perhaps that day isn't too far off... Other:</s> <|message|>Zircon Mistmoon @Crimson Flame Another fairy approached, a green-winged man with a scarred face, and it took Zircon a moment to place where she recognised him from. Surge, a traveller who'd visited the Minty Mountains a while back. He'd bought a few souvenirs from her, and asked her questions about the mountains, seemingly an avid explorer. Except when they'd met, he hadn't had those scars over his eyes. Injuries sustained while adventuring? He seemed used to being blind at least, navigating with ease as he examined the statues with his fingers. At his theory that it could be the food and drink, Zircon gave the pirate fairy a panicked look, before reminding herself that couldn't be the case. "I doubt the food or drink has anything to do with it. Cori, my friend, she was only in here for a few seconds, and..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, could hardly bear to look at the statues, but she had to keep searching for clues. Overhearing the prince bad-mouthing the dark fairies yet again - then going on to call the moth-winged man a cutie - she sighed and flew over. Did he have no idea he was talking to, and offending, a dark fairy? Did the guy's wings, or his glare, not give it away? "Your Highness, I don't see how shadow magic could turn anyone into stone," she pointed out, backing up Vyvien. Dark magic had to do with literal darkness, not curses. "Maybe we should go to Lumina though? The earth fairies may know of a cure for petrification."</s> <|message|>Juniper Thunderbee Feydellia Palace As Prince Sky explained that he put up a HELP signal because many guests had turned to stone, including his own parents, Juniper quickly looked down upon the ballroom and her hands flew to her mouth in horror. Uncannily realistic stone statues littered the ballroom, frozen in time. Surge went down to check them, relaying that it wasn't just a trick of the mind - they really had been turned to stone. Juniper listened as the prince immediately blamed the dark fairies. Gosh, Juniper hadn't realized that the dark and light fairies hated each other so much, to turn welcomed guests into stone... But then Prince Sky immediately dropped the accusations to greet a 'cutie'. A young blonde fairy with black and red wings was just standing there. Juniper blushed - he was kind of cute. No, no, focus... A female fairy with light blue hair and goggles was rambling on about a cure for petrification. Juniper listened hopefully for a bit, but it was a little above her level of comprehension. A darker blue female fairy with transparent wings dismissed Sky's notion that the dark fairies had anything to do with it, and suggested instead that they investigate Lumina. Lumina? Oh... right, stone magic. Juniper didn't have the gift for it herself. She glanced at the fairies gathered and surmised she was probably the only earth fairy there. She flew closer to her dad before speaking. "Oh, u-um, yes, I know lots of earth fairies who specialize in stone magic... but I've never seen anybody be turned to stone before..." She started suddenly as if realizing she'd forgotten something. "Sorry, my name is Juniper. My father and I live in Lumina." She nodded at Surge. "Maybe Mrs. Greypetal could help." Juniper smiled and perked up. "She's like, a million years old." For what it was worth, it was meant as a compliment to her experience, though in hindsight Juniper would be glad that Mrs. Greypetal wasn't around to hear the gross exaggeration. "She used to be my school principal before she retired, and she knows all about stone magic!"</s> <|message|>Prince Sky Sparkledust; Goes by Sky Feydellia Palace > En Route to Luminous Forest The cute fairy extended his wings, and Sky giggled. "Aw, you're wings are so pretty!" Sky couldn't really tell what type of fairy he was, and didn't get a chance to ask him before the others started talking. It was suggested that the Earth fairies of Lumina might know something about this petrification. Sky wondered what motive an Earth fairy would have to attack the castle at the Fairy Festival. But then it was mentioned that the Earth Fairies might have a cure for this, and the girl knew an elder who was familiar with stone magic, Sky's eyes lit up. Maybe he wouldn't have to set foot in Transfeyvania. Sky nodded. "Very well, we'll take a trip to Lumina, and have a word with this Mrs. Greypetal. Once we find a cure, we can free the guests, and then perhaps my mother and father will know how to handle finding the culprit. They have more experience in this kind of thing than I do. In the meantime, as crown prince, I'm in charge." Sky cringed at the thought of having to lead people. Hopefully, this elder could produce a cure quickly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will get the carriage set up." Sky flew off. —- Moments later, Sky came back pulling a gold and pink carriage pulled by pastel colored unicorns with sparkling fairy wings. "Hop on everyone. Unfortunately, the driver's been petrified too! Which means I have to pull the carriage myself. It shouldn't be that difficult. The unicorns are trained. Juniper, you're going to be the navigator. I assume you know more about Lumina than I do." The ride to the Luminous Forest was bumpy to say the least. The unicorns may have been trained, but Sky was not. He wasn't paying too much to driving, and was flirting with Dragon. "So, what kind of fairy are you cutie pie? Most of the others are obvious, but I can't place where you're from?" Then they nearly crashed into other fairies that were flying about before Dragon could give an answer. "Watch where you're going!" "Sorry!" And then the unicorns whinnied, and Sky had to calm them down.</s>

<|message|>Juniper Thunderbee Feydellia Palace -> Lumina Forest Prince Sky immediately took to Juniper's plan, and her eyes brightened at the young monarch taking her suggestion into actual consideration. In fact, he swiftly left to go set up preparations. Juniper nervously fluttered closer to Surge, half expecting to be scolded for throwing them into this mess. She was a little sad to be going back to Lumina, but this was an emergency. Maybe she could come back to the festival next year (or maybe she wouldn't want to after all of this...) While Sky was gone, Juniper flew down to the many statues adorning the dance floor and looked into the glazed eyes of the Queen for a moment before feeling intimidated despite the petrification. She looked down and bowed respectfully. She'd never been able to use stone magic before, but... She gently reached out, and several pink flowers gently wove themselves around the queen's crown. "I – sorry," Juniper squeaked softly, backing away. "I'll do my best to help you some other way, though..." Sky came back shortly in a gold and pink carriage pulled by majestic winged beasts. "Awww!" Juniper flew over slowly as not to startle them. "Can I pet them?" She reached out to pat one on the nose, giggling in delight. Her joy was short-lived as Sky designated her as navigator. That seemed like a very adult responsibility, but he was right, maybe nobody else knew how to get there? She wasn't sure if her father could navigate very well from a moving vehicle. "Um... okay," Juniper quietly agreed, with very little sense of confidence. "Dad... which way did we come from again?" The ride there wasn't exactly smooth, but once Juniper caught sight of the forest's trees, she quickly took stock of other landmarks and was able to direct them through to Mrs. Greypetal's house – a hole close to the top of a massive tree. The carriage landed at the base, and Juniper hopped out, excited both to pet the unicorns again, and over the fact that they had somehow survived the trip.</s>

<|description|>Juniper Thunderbee Age: Teen Gender: Female Magic: As an earth-aligned fairy, Juniper is able to manipulate plant life and make plants grow, including those with harmful or helpful properties. Appearance: Juniper is of normal height but is quite lithe, giving her an air of fragility. She has a light skin tone and cascading oak-brown hair which curls lightly and would trail quite a ways down her back if she left it be. She can spend hours playing it into different braids and buns, or experimenting with wearing different flowers in it. Flowers and small vines often trail across her pointed ears, neck, wrists, arms, and hair. She can summon or dispel them at will and have just become a normal part of her everyday fashion. Juniper normally wears plain, solid-coloured dresses and allows the flowers to do the part of accentuating her looks. Typical of fairies, she has soft features and expressive eyes which both feature a gradient of green to purple from right to left. Her wings are mostly bright green, but fade to a sky blue as they come closer to her back. Personality: Juniper has a gentle and sweet disposition, rarely getting into disagreements and quick to offer help. She is especially empathetic to animals, and would probably help an animal in need ahead of another fairy. Animals tend to be drawn to her calm nature (and tendency to bring treats) and many creatures of all shapes and sizes are familiar with her in the Luminous Forest. Juniper has a tendency to narrate what she's doing or verbally describe objects around her, which might seem like an odd quirk before learning that her father is blind. She would never purposefully talk over anybody, though. That would be difficult anyways given her soft speaking voice. She is easily dominated in conversation by more extroverted types, but is happy to sit and listen. Her obsession with her appearance means she prefers not to fly too fast, as not to mess up her hair or dislodge any flowers. She can also be dramatic and immature about things such as not wanting to go out in the rain, or landing in trees instead of on the dirty ground. History: Juniper was born in Lumina to the Thunderbee family. Her mother, Dalila, was an earth fairy just like her. Her father, Surge, was a rare electric variant. In her earliest memories, they spent their days playing among the glowing mushrooms and snuggling together at night. Her childhood memories slowly became of just her and her mother, overlapped with heated arguments between her mother and father when they thought she wasn't listening. It became normal - dad left, and then he came back, sometimes with little souvenirs for her from the lands he visited. She would brag to the other fairy children that her father was a great explorer, a brave hero who ventured far away to bring her and her mom back cool trinkets. Her point of view changed abruptly when her father returned one day permanently blinded on an adventure. She worried desperately about him when he left again, but tried not to let her mother see that she was upset. She didn't want to give her more reasons to yell at Dad. Juniper began spending more time outside on her own after that. She had always been fascinated with the plantlife and creatures that dwelled within it, but now she realized she couldn't take her eyesight for granted. What if one day she couldn't see them anymore? She wanted to experience it all and commit it to memory. She made quick friends with many a magical beetle or rodent, and even some of the larger creatures became used to her presence - helped by the cookies that Dalila was so talented at baking. When her father returned from his travels, Juniper told her everything she'd experienced in as much detail as she could. She wanted him to "see" it, too. Juniper became very familiar with the forest at a young age and would venture progressively deeper into it. She learned which path to take, helped by the creatures she came across. She stayed out longer and longer playing by herself, despite her mom making it clear that she had a strict curfew. One day it began raining when she was deep in the forest, and she decided to wait out the weather instead of fly home and get soaked. The rain didn't let up, and Juniper ended up falling asleep in a tree burrow, snuggled with a large feysquirrel. She awoke much later to find sunlight peeking through the tree hole. She flew home in a panic, knowing her mother would be wondering where she was. There were fairies bustling around everywhere when she arrived back to Lumina, and all of them surrounded Juniper when they spotted her and began crying. They'd thought she was dead - the whole town was out searching - and her mother... Her mother had gone looking for her last night and not returned. When Juniper insisted she would go find her, they broke the truth - that she had already been found, but she'd been found dead. Perhaps a toxic plant had gotten her, or a bite from one of the feysnakes - the cause wasn't obvious. She looked so peaceful when Juniper approached to say goodbye for one last time. Juniper refused to leave the house for weeks and fell into a depression. Her father wasn't home, so neighbours would check on her and make sure she was eating. She blamed herself for her mother's death - part of her still does to this day. When her father finally returned home, Juniper collapsed in his arms and sobbed. Both of their lives abruptly changed, but they had to move forward, together. Surge stopped adventuring to look after her, but in a way, Juniper began looking after him, too. She took over cooking after Surge's first several attempts ended with him feeding her trail mix for dinner. She'd picked up some level of knowledge from watching and listening to Dalila cook. She also became accustomed to narrating her surroundings or people she came across for her dad. Sure, Dad set the rules and paid the bills, but they slowly became a team. For years she would beg him to recount his stories of grandeur before she fell asleep, and then she would dream about exploring herself one day. Perhaps that day isn't too far off... Other:</s> <|message|>Sonset Pepperoot, nicknamed Sonny. At the Feydellia Palace Sonny was quite distracted and did not notice much as he when from dangling from the chandelier to preaching on a banister to in front of the food table again. There were only a couple of pastries left on him after his many sporadic movements around the ballroom. The fire fairy didn't find any clues not that he even knew what he should be looking for. The weird pink drink looked interesting... The redhead grabbed a cup and chugged it down... It had a very fruity and sugary taste. It was then he finally realize more fairies had arrived and dropped whatever remaining pastries on the ground in front of him as he approached the new group. There seem to be a discussion about something going on that he didn't pick up much of anything except the mention of going to Lumina. Filled with much-unbridled excitement about traveling to somewhere new, he failed to pick up the reason why they were going there. Sonny assumed it was a clue that was found about this whole petrification business, while he was searching for some himself. As the fairy Sky left for a moment, the redhead fairy remember that Summa would still be looking for him. He needed to leave a message so she wouldn't worry too much. Not having anything to write with he used fire magic just outside the castle's door to singe the message: Going on an important quest Summa, catch up with ya later~ Sonny; onto the ground. After writing that thoughtful message without regard to the difficulty it would be to clean up the scorch marks later, he joined the other..... six fairies in a fairy unicorn-driven carriage. --------- Lumina Forest It was a pretty entertaining ride to the Lumina place, with the abrupt jolting and jerking the vehicle did. He spent much of the trip half hanging out of the carriage feeling the wind against his freckled cheeks and taking in the more colorful surroundings. It was great not having someone tell him, 'sit still in your seat' or 'you'll fall out of the carriage.' He did almost fall out a couple of times when there were some sharp turns but he didn't so point him. With a final hard bump to the ground in front of a giant tree, they arrived at their destination. "Good job mateys," Sonny threw up a thumbs up to the Sky and the navigator who got them to Lumina. There were a few new scrapes and tousled hair from the rocky ride, but he seemed unconcerned about that. After expressing his gratitude, the fire fairy exited the carriage with much enthusiasm, there was a lot more vegetation to see than when he visited the Fey Topics. His yellow eyes scoped around the area for a moment before shooting up to attempt the take in the view of the tree. His fiery wings fluttered with excitement. "So we goin' ta scale this behemoth?"</s> <|message|>Prince Sky Sparkledust; Goes by Sky Luminous Forest; Mrs. Greypetal's house Prince Sky's flirting didn't seem to have much of an effect on Dragon, although that may have something to do with the bumpy ride on the way over here… Regardless, they finally arrived in the forest. Mrs. Greypetal's house, a hole at the top of a massive tree. Sky sighed. This Fairy couldn't have put her house near the bottom of the tree? His wings were going to be tired from all this flying. Vyvien had been working on a magical identifier, and Sky happily contributed some pink light magic to the cause. Hopefully his parents would be able to use this once they were cured. Sonny asked if they were going to scale this massive tree, and the prince responded with. "Do we have a choice?" Sky flapped his wings and went up. This tree was huge! How did this old lady leave her house every day? They eventually found the hole that led to her home. Sky knocked. "Excuse me, Mrs. Greypetal? It's Prince Sky of Feydellia. We need some assistance. May we come in?" There was no answer. Sky knocked again. "Mrs. Greypetal? Are you there?" Again, no answer. Sky grew impatient, and barged in. There was no Mrs. Greypetal to be seen. There was a note on the table. Which the prince read out loud for everyone. Sky was suspicious. "How polite of her to leave a note… But it's a little strange that she would leave one as if she were expecting visitors… I have a feeling she's not going to be back soon enough. Whoever is doing this could be turning more fairies to stone! Ugh, we flew all the way up here for nothing!" He started pacing around in circles. "Do you suppose we should go to Lumina and look for her? Or maybe Juniper knows where she keeps her potions?"</s> <|message|>Zircon Mistmoon Flame @Tangy Zircon took to the air after Sky, towards the hole near the top of the huge tree. For her, the ascent wasn't too tough - living in the mountains meant she was used to scaling lofty heights. Landing just outside Mrs Greypetal's door, she bit the inside of her lip as Sky knocked, and waited for an answer. None came. "What a perfect time for her to be out," Zircon muttered. It wasn't Mrs Greypetal's fault, she didn't know about any of this, but the timing still couldn't have been less convenient. After the second knock, Sky barged into the house, revealing it to indeed be empty. Picking up a note from the table, the prince read it out. A note addressed to visitors, supposedly explaining her absence. Trepidation running through her anew, Zircon frowned. "Does she usually get visitors?" she asked Juniper. If Mrs Greypetal was a powerful, reputed fairy, it stood to reason that people would turn to her for advice and mentoring, and considering her age, she likely had multiple descendants. Even so, more sinister possibilities couldn't be ruled out. "Yeah. Probably best to look around, and ask if anyone's seen her."</s>

<|message|>Juniper Thunderbee Lumina Forest - Mrs. Greypetal's House Juniper turned as the ice fairy asked what her relationship with Mrs. Greypetal was. "She used to be the school principal," Juniper chirped back, smiling. "She didn't teach me most of the time, but she was the most experienced earth fairy at school until she retired." She poked her head curiously around the crystal a few times after being asked to imbue it. "Oh, yes, um, I can try, at least." She obliged with some earth magic. Juniper giggled at the hesitation of the others to fly up the tree. "It's not that high, come on!" she urged, following Sky to the top. Unfortunately, there was no answer – but there was a note, which Sky read out loud. Juniper frowned at the news that Mrs. Greypetal was out right now. Sky thought it was odd Mrs. Greypetal would leave a note, and Zircon asked if Mrs. Greypetal usually got visitors. "Oh, I don't think it's that odd... my mother would always leave notes like that if she was going out..." Juniper got quiet for a moment, remembering the beautiful scrawl that she'd never quite been able to replicate. "But yes, Mrs. Greypetal would get a lot of visitors, she lives alone and is older so neighbours and family often check on her." She smiled momentarily but faltered at Sky's irritation at the roadblock. "I-I don't think it would be okay for me to go through Mrs. Greypetal's things, but it'll be okay, Prince Sky," Juniper assured him, "we can go into town and look for her – surely somebody would have seen her, most everyone knows who she is."</s>

<|description|>Sonset Pepperoot, nicknamed Sonny. Age: Young Adult Gender: Male Magic: Fire magic, he can conjure it from his body and make it take the form of objects and animals. He can even make it take the shape of another fairy. It is obviously a mass of fire but he can make them move around like they are normal creatures. He can make normal fireballs and such too, though he rarely does so. He is unable to use his magic if he is wet. Appearance: Sonny is an average height fairy with a slender yet well-toned body. His skin tone is a dark chocolate brown color. Other than some bold black freckles on his cheeks, his skin is without any major scarring and blemishes. Fiery orange hair with yellow tips is neatly cut mid-neck and the bangs are swept to the left. Sonny's hair is tidy and straight without a single strand out of place. It naturally ends up like that despite the minimal care he does for it. A bright yellow eye peers strongly out from below the orange hair which gives him an assertive image. As for his wings, they have the shape of the common yellow swallowtail butterfly except the edges are a little more wavy giving it a fiery look. The part of the wings close to his back is solid black and lightens up to an orange color before turning yellow at the edges. All Sonny really wears these days is an off-color white lace-up top, tan knee-length shorts, an orange scarf, a dark orange sash, and a pair of black knee-high boots. The sleeve hole and bottom of the shorts are frayed from being amateurishly cut giving them a torn look. Everything else about the outfit is in excellent condition as proof it hasn't really been worn much. An eye patch covers Sonny's left eye and it is black with a flame design on it. For the party, though Sonny has been 'encouraged' to wear a pristine button-down vest that is white with gold borders, long black slacks, and spotlessly clean black dress shoes. The fire fairy also was given a crown of orange flowers to make him more presentable. He is still wearing the scarf which adds some color to the attire and his eyepatch. Personality: To put it frankly, Sonny is eccentric to the point that after meeting a pirate he decided to give himself a pirate name and be one. He is quite compulsive and willing to jump on anything that sounds interesting. He is one to do unconventional and inconvenient activities just for the fun of it. Many find his actions idiotic and reckless, seeing him as nothing more than a troublemaker. It doesn't help that people nearby get dragged into his nonsense. These negative opinions of him rarely even get registered in his brain and he just continues doing whatever pops into his brain. This is mostly contributed by having an awful attention span that results in him getting very easily distracted. Sonny also has a terrible habit of half-listening to people which causes much trouble and misunderstandings. While not a bad person, Sonny doesn't even factor in how his careless actions affect others. So many of his wild actions more times than not just causes problems for everyone involved. Because is his admiration of pirates, Sonny has been taking a pirate guise. He dresses similar to them, and talks in a pirate accent. He has even given himself the name Captain Aldridge. There is not must difference between his pirate persona and his usual self. Though his tendency to drag in others is on purpose as he attempts to be a leader. History: Sonset was born in Pompfey like most fire fairies. He is actually a part of the royal family though he is just the 2nd cousin to the future heir with dozens of older fairies in higher lineage. So there is little chance he would ever inherit the throne, which is fine by him. His childhood to teen years was spent in the fire fairies of Pompfey territory. He found life in the barren wastelands they call home plain boring, but living in the royal family castle was even more unbearable. So often, he would sneak out to play near the lava pools of the active volcano they lived near or at the edge of town where he played around with his magic. Many times his hunt for something exciting to do has almost resulted in terrible accidents or injuries. Luckily nothing serious ever occurred from his reckless behavior. Right around when he reached the age to be considered and young adult, he finally got to leave Pompfey. Sonny was excited to see something other than endless sand and a few stray cacti. The Fey Tropics still had sand but it seem different as it sat at the border of the large body of water. There was so much green and water, that Sonny couldn't help but get distracted and separated from the rest of his family. It didn't take long for him to be hopelessly lost without really knowing where he should be going. Then a strong windstorm passed through and he got blown away from the city. As fate would have it he met with a water fairy named Neptune that called himself a pirate. He was a combination of strong, cool, and kind, and it made Sonny look up to him. After half a day of traveling, he was brought back to The Fey Tropics and his family. Sonny had a new love of pirates to much dismay of his family. Other: - His full pirate name is Captain Aldridge Rowley. - The eyepatch he wears is cosmetic and both of his eyes are perfectly fine. - Sonny oddly likes water despite the negative effects it has on him.</s> <|message|>Prince Sky Sparkledust; Goes by Sky Feydellia Palace Sky took several deep breaths trying to calm himself. Ok Sky, get it together. It's prince time! He stood up, smiled, and kissed the hand of the blue fairy that asked what happened. He also kissed the hand of the orange fairy that asked the same question. At least, that's what he thought he was asking… This fairy talked funny. "Greetings, I am Prince Sky. This is horrible, absolutely horrible!" He started flying around in circles. "All of the guests have been turned to stone! Including my own mother and father, the king and queen! I don't know what happened. They were perfectly lively and having fun before, and then when I came down to make my entrance, this!" Suddenly, he stopped flying around, and landed when a realization hit him. "I bet those dark fairies have something to do with this! Our kingdoms have been at odds for as long as I can remember. Never in my life did I think they would be brazen enough to attack us at the Fairy Festival!"</s> <|message|>Dragon Harkness Feydellia The festivities in Feydillia hadn'd been as vexing so far as Dragon and his crew had feared. While the entire event was a lot more... pink, than Dragon would have liked himself, he understood it as "cultural differences" and this had to just be quiet about it. Luckily for him, he had one of his retainers there with him, as well as his fiancè, Anathema, to keep him in check and to hinder that he accidentally start some sort of scandal with the kingdom. The last thing the dark fairies of Transfeyvania needed now, was yet another reason for people to shoo them all under one bus as a dubious people at best. Besides, she had been excited for this event for months on end, and he wouldn't be the one to stand inbetween his fiance and her current obsessions. Besides, as mentioned earlier, and while Dragon would struggle with admitting this to himself and to the others, the festivities were quite lovely save for the tacky decor. There were stalls in the streets, and the air was thick with a sweet scent hinting at all the goodies presented below. There were fairies from all over the world present as well, all enjoying themselves and taking in the scenery. "You know, sir. We would be able to explore more thoroughly had we not been late to the event." his retainer, Alva spoke. "Fashionably late." Dragon corrected her as they flew. "Nobody expecting us, and we have all day, so there is no need for us to rush" he continued. He only got a sigh from Alva in return. While the retainer was very talented talented, Alva was not the kind of fairy to mince her words. However, the trio's friendly banted of excitement was cut short when a peculiar fireworks of sorts displayed in the sky further ahead, near what Dragon assumed was the Feydillian castle. The fireworks in question, which looked like it was created through magic, spelled out the word Help. Quite a strange display for such an event. Regardless, the group landed in a crowded area full of stalls and booths. It didn't seem that too many of the crowd noticed the possible call for help, as only a small handfull of fairies could be seen heading towards the castle. After a short while of asking around, nobody seemed to know what was going on. "Allright, i will go and take a look", Dragon decided after arguing with Alva and Anathema for a few minutes. "If it actually is an emergency it would do us good to be on the scene to offer our help, after all.". He then ordered Alva to take Anathema to enjoy the festival until they get more information, after which they were to return to Transfeyvania to inform his father while he himself stayed behind to lend a hand. Parting ways with the two ladies, Dragon took to the sky and started heading towards the castle. While he had no idea what was happening, he didn't seem very concerned. Knowing this place it was likely just someone having a bad case of Sugar rush. He would then arrive at the castle and spot a small group of fairies looking distressed. Assuming they might know anything about what was going on, he landed by them, still not noticing how eerielly quiet the ballroom was.</s> <|message|>Zircon Mistmoon @Crimson Flame @Yasha Well, this was the last thing Zircon needed. She bristled as an orange-haired fairy landed in an exaggerated action pose, and addressed her as if this was an appropriate time to act like a pirate. Biting back a snippy reply, she took a deep breath. "I don't even know. I went in there, and everyone..." She gestured towards the ballroom. "Everyone was like that." When the prince could bring himself to speak, he explained what he'd seen - the king and queen, turned into stone along with all the other guests. That seemed to get through to the wannabe pirate, who dropped the act and headed inside to investigate. Zircon clenched her fists. What was this - some kind of coup? With several innocent bystanders caught up in it, including Coralie? She closed her eyes, as if that would block the mental image of her stone features. Instead, it made the memory all the more vivid. At Prince Sky's next words, she couldn't help but groan. He had to go and jump to conclusions, blaming the dark fairies. She recalled her visits to Transfeyvania, selling wares. While their culture wasn't as lively as those of most kingdoms, that didn't make dark fairies bad. Many she'd met had been polite and respectful. She knew from personal experience that anyone who didn't fit in with the norm was going to get picked on. "Look, with all due respect, is there any proof?" The words, despite being addressed to a prince, came out a little harsher than she intended. That was when she spotted the young man who had just arrived. She cringed inwardly. The deep red and black of his wings indicated he was probably a dark fairy. There was a good chance he'd just heard all that, and even if he hadn't, things weren't exactly bound to go well between him and Sky.</s> <|message|>Juniper Thunderbee Feydellia Juniper paused as her father called out for her to slow down. She obeyed and flew closer, but kept throwing anxious glances behind her. "There's a message right above the castle. It appeared right when I was looking at it – it says HELP in big capital sparkly letters... and... and nobody else saw it right away, and I got scared. Sorry for flying off like that." She hesitated, then decided she didn't want to leave time for him to argue that it might be dangerous to help, and instead turned back around. "Come on!" she urged, flying at a reasonably slow speed so that Dad wouldn't lose her. Juniper followed the light to the castle. "Down here!" she piped up so Dad knew why she'd suddenly changed directions. The first thing she noticed was several out-of-place statues of fairies in the ballroom, though she didn't immediately realize the significance of them, so didn't narrate them to her father. There was a small group of fairies chatting nearby, so Juniper flew over to them, realizing that Prince Sky was among them after she was already in front of them. She'd never been in the presence of royalty before. "P-Prince Sky!" Juniper squeaked, hastily bowing. "U-um, I'm sorry to interrupt, I saw the HELP above the castle... and... um... thought maybe somebody needed help."</s>

<|message|>Sonset Pepperoot, nicknamed Sonny. At the Feydellia Palace Shortly after arriving, Sonny's hand was kissed by some blond fairy guy. It was kind of weird. But he wasn't one to judge weird people's actions. The guy began to go on some kind of spiel first introducing himself as something Sky, and that people were turned into stone including… Sonny's attention was suddenly attracted to some untouched very delicious-looking pastries… His yellow eyes locked onto them… so sweet smelling and in perfect stacks. In the middle of the explanation that he was totally still listening to, he was gathering the food in his arms and stuffed various sweets in his mouth. The fire fairy tune fully back in right in time to hear something about an attack on the Fairy Festival. That got draw him back into the conversation. "Mmmph thmmpg flmmpf ph mmplk!" Sonny blurted out incoherently with a full mouth. He finished chewing and swallowing a little bit of pink cream at the edge of his lips. Before he could repeat his statement, the girl asked a persuading question that stop him from repeating what he said before. Having multiple times of being accused of things he didn't do, Sonny understood it wasn't good to jump to conclusions. "The lass gots a point. Ye need proof before causin' a mutiny… there might something around to prove the… the….. the one's responsible treachery." With that said he twirled around to examine the ballroom area. Still tons of statues of once fairies, delicious pastries, melting ice chuck... Maybe a new perspective would help him find something. With much vigor, Sonny began zipping around examining the floors, walls, and ceiling. With his sudden stop-and-go movement, he would drop some of the pastries he was still cradling in his arms. Eventually, he settled upon the sparkling chandelier of pink crystals that was mounted on the ceiling. Sonny dropped several more sweets as he pressed his hand on his forehead to give the area another scan. More arrivals, appear, and… did she say something about a prince?</s>

<|description|>Surge Persimmon Thunderbee Age: Adult Gender: Male Magic: Electric (Thunder/Lighting) Somewhere back in Surge's family line an Air and Light fairy pairing produced a new magical variant, Electrical powers. As such, Surge is able to produce sparks, and minor arcs of electricity (including taser-like effect), and even call down lighting. Magic Sense (Electric Field) - While Surge is blind (see Appearance and History), he is able to navigate his own due to his inherent sense of the electrical field. This means he can tell if someone or something is near him, though he couldn't tell you who, or what color it is, unless someone has told him. He can also somewhat differentiate common materials based on their conductivity. Appearance: Surge had tan skin and light grass green hair, cut short and combed back. A series of three scars mar his upper face, going diagonally through the eyes and eyebrows. This makes for an obvious disability, as he is quite clearly blind (he can however navigate on his own, thanks to a magical ability described above). The rest of his facial features are generally soft, save for a slightly hooked nose. As far as fairies go he is on the taller side, and has a well toned physique. His wings are a large butterfly-like near semi-circles of lime green and electric blue, edged with zigzags of lemon yellow. His clothes are more subdued than his wings, and a little worn. His usual outfit is a teal three quarter sleeve tunic, over brown capri length slacks, accompanied but a brown-red belt and matching boots with gold snaps. Or at least these are the colors his daughter has told him they are. A pan pipe usually hangs from a hempen cord around his neck. Personality: Surge is the curious sort, an adventurer at heart. This has led to many fantastic experiences, including things few have ever witnessed, but also to some of the worst things that have ever happened to him, namely a lot of relationship conflict and being blinded. Surge has managed to suppress these desires in recent years, to focus on taking care of his daughter, but they're still there under the surface. So if you start talking about something that interests him, be ready for some questions. He is generally is kind and understanding. Being blinded did not rob him of that, even when it comes to humans. This was after all, not the first human he'd met. However he is not however a touchy-feely person, and tends not to be the one to initiate hugs and such. As such, Surge definitely has no desire to touch anyone's face (contrary to what the movies have taught us, many blind people don't touch faces). This may also be one of the reasons he's not had a bunch of romantic outside his late wife, since he's not good at making the first move, which could easily be read as a lack of interest. Electrical powers can be quite powerful, but Surge is somewhat of pacifist. When under attack, he's more likely to retreat and try to block of his attacker's route than attack directly. He can if he needs to, but he'd prefer to avoid harming any creature if he can. Surge enjoys playing music, though he is by no means a professional musician. But this why he's rarely seen without his pan pipe. History: Surge grew up in Feydale, the place where Electrical magic first appeared in his family line. But unlike his ancestors, he was not content to stay there. Rather he had the heart of an explorer and would go on adventures, not just across the kingdoms, but also across realms, with a small group of like-minded friends. During a pit stop in Lumina, he met a gorgeous fairy, Dalila Mosstoes. The two of them immediately hit it off, and cultivated a relationship over increasingly common trips to Lumina. Eventually they married and moved into a nice little house in Lumina, and started their family. That is they had a sweet little baby girl they named Juniper Thunderbee. But even with this wedded bliss, the exploring bug was not squashed, and it wasn't long before Surge was planning trips with his former adventuring crew again. At first it wasn't a big deal. They were short nearby trips, a weekend camping on the side of the volcano in Pompfey, a day trip to the Fairy Falls, a skiing trip in the Minty Mountains. But short trips would soon turn into extended trips and nearby trips would turn into far away trips. This understandably created marital stress, which led to the couple bickering when he came home, and that in turn led to Surge taking even longer trips. It wasn't long before the group was basically off exploring the way they did before Surge had gotten married. It was one of these trips that led to Surge being blinded. The group had gone off to visit Earth in the human realm. Being on Earth was little risky given how volatile humans can be, but sometimes friendly humans could be found. That was why Surge had let his guard down, he was talking to a young human, asking her questions about Earth. But when her mother saw, she panicked and attacked him. Fairy healers can do a lot of incredible things with magic, but the severity of the injury (and perhaps the material of the tool used as a weapon) was enough that Surge was permanently blinded as a result. Surge returned home, apologetic to Dalila for putting himself at risk of injury or death. Other fairies might have taken this as a sign to just settle down entirely. But Surge had the support of his friends and this time his wife (as long as he took more precautions) as he slowly learned to use his connection to the electrical field to get around, so it wasn't very long before he was back to exploring, though now his family would see more of him. However his life of adventure would finally come to an end one day when upon returning from a trip, he learned that Dalila had been in an accident, leaving him a widower and Juniper's sole caretaker. For the first time, he had to really be her dad. The two of them had a long road ahead of them, adjusting to their new life. Surge currently in the Luminous Forest with his teenage daughter, Juniper. Other: - Surge enjoys playing magic on his panpipes. He's not an expert, but he's not bad. - As per Juniper, Surge is not allowed in the kitchen. His cooking skills are pretty much limited to campfire foods.</s> <|message|>Juniper Thunderbee Feydellia Palace As Prince Sky explained that he put up a HELP signal because many guests had turned to stone, including his own parents, Juniper quickly looked down upon the ballroom and her hands flew to her mouth in horror. Uncannily realistic stone statues littered the ballroom, frozen in time. Surge went down to check them, relaying that it wasn't just a trick of the mind - they really had been turned to stone. Juniper listened as the prince immediately blamed the dark fairies. Gosh, Juniper hadn't realized that the dark and light fairies hated each other so much, to turn welcomed guests into stone... But then Prince Sky immediately dropped the accusations to greet a 'cutie'. A young blonde fairy with black and red wings was just standing there. Juniper blushed - he was kind of cute. No, no, focus... A female fairy with light blue hair and goggles was rambling on about a cure for petrification. Juniper listened hopefully for a bit, but it was a little above her level of comprehension. A darker blue female fairy with transparent wings dismissed Sky's notion that the dark fairies had anything to do with it, and suggested instead that they investigate Lumina. Lumina? Oh... right, stone magic. Juniper didn't have the gift for it herself. She glanced at the fairies gathered and surmised she was probably the only earth fairy there. She flew closer to her dad before speaking. "Oh, u-um, yes, I know lots of earth fairies who specialize in stone magic... but I've never seen anybody be turned to stone before..." She started suddenly as if realizing she'd forgotten something. "Sorry, my name is Juniper. My father and I live in Lumina." She nodded at Surge. "Maybe Mrs. Greypetal could help." Juniper smiled and perked up. "She's like, a million years old." For what it was worth, it was meant as a compliment to her experience, though in hindsight Juniper would be glad that Mrs. Greypetal wasn't around to hear the gross exaggeration. "She used to be my school principal before she retired, and she knows all about stone magic!"</s> <|message|>Prince Sky Sparkledust; Goes by Sky Feydellia Palace > En Route to Luminous Forest The cute fairy extended his wings, and Sky giggled. "Aw, you're wings are so pretty!" Sky couldn't really tell what type of fairy he was, and didn't get a chance to ask him before the others started talking. It was suggested that the Earth fairies of Lumina might know something about this petrification. Sky wondered what motive an Earth fairy would have to attack the castle at the Fairy Festival. But then it was mentioned that the Earth Fairies might have a cure for this, and the girl knew an elder who was familiar with stone magic, Sky's eyes lit up. Maybe he wouldn't have to set foot in Transfeyvania. Sky nodded. "Very well, we'll take a trip to Lumina, and have a word with this Mrs. Greypetal. Once we find a cure, we can free the guests, and then perhaps my mother and father will know how to handle finding the culprit. They have more experience in this kind of thing than I do. In the meantime, as crown prince, I'm in charge." Sky cringed at the thought of having to lead people. Hopefully, this elder could produce a cure quickly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will get the carriage set up." Sky flew off. —- Moments later, Sky came back pulling a gold and pink carriage pulled by pastel colored unicorns with sparkling fairy wings. "Hop on everyone. Unfortunately, the driver's been petrified too! Which means I have to pull the carriage myself. It shouldn't be that difficult. The unicorns are trained. Juniper, you're going to be the navigator. I assume you know more about Lumina than I do." The ride to the Luminous Forest was bumpy to say the least. The unicorns may have been trained, but Sky was not. He wasn't paying too much to driving, and was flirting with Dragon. "So, what kind of fairy are you cutie pie? Most of the others are obvious, but I can't place where you're from?" Then they nearly crashed into other fairies that were flying about before Dragon could give an answer. "Watch where you're going!" "Sorry!" And then the unicorns whinnied, and Sky had to calm them down.</s> <|message|>Juniper Thunderbee Feydellia Palace -> Lumina Forest Prince Sky immediately took to Juniper's plan, and her eyes brightened at the young monarch taking her suggestion into actual consideration. In fact, he swiftly left to go set up preparations. Juniper nervously fluttered closer to Surge, half expecting to be scolded for throwing them into this mess. She was a little sad to be going back to Lumina, but this was an emergency. Maybe she could come back to the festival next year (or maybe she wouldn't want to after all of this...) While Sky was gone, Juniper flew down to the many statues adorning the dance floor and looked into the glazed eyes of the Queen for a moment before feeling intimidated despite the petrification. She looked down and bowed respectfully. She'd never been able to use stone magic before, but... She gently reached out, and several pink flowers gently wove themselves around the queen's crown. "I – sorry," Juniper squeaked softly, backing away. "I'll do my best to help you some other way, though..." Sky came back shortly in a gold and pink carriage pulled by majestic winged beasts. "Awww!" Juniper flew over slowly as not to startle them. "Can I pet them?" She reached out to pat one on the nose, giggling in delight. Her joy was short-lived as Sky designated her as navigator. That seemed like a very adult responsibility, but he was right, maybe nobody else knew how to get there? She wasn't sure if her father could navigate very well from a moving vehicle. "Um... okay," Juniper quietly agreed, with very little sense of confidence. "Dad... which way did we come from again?" The ride there wasn't exactly smooth, but once Juniper caught sight of the forest's trees, she quickly took stock of other landmarks and was able to direct them through to Mrs. Greypetal's house – a hole close to the top of a massive tree. The carriage landed at the base, and Juniper hopped out, excited both to pet the unicorns again, and over the fact that they had somehow survived the trip.</s>

<|message|>Surge Persimmon Thunderbee Someone told Surge they doubted the food and drink were involved. Surge nodded softly, it had only been a passing thought anyways. He turned his head to listen to the other fairies. The prince seemed to be capable of going between distress, blaming, and flirting in no time flat, and Surge wondered if he grasped the full seriousness of the situation or was trying to distract himself from it? There was a rustle of wings. Someone offered to start making a magic identifier. The one that'd just spoken to him expressed further doubts the dark fairies' involvement, suggesting Earth fairies may know what to do. He heard his daughter reply, she sounded closer than before, explaining she'd never seen anything like this but knew an elderly fairy that might be able to help. An embarrassed smirk crossed his lips at how she described the old lady's age, but this didn't seem like the time or place to be scolding her about it. Surge nodded, he'd never seen or felt Greypetal's magic for himself, but Juniper had described her powers before, "It's a lead founded in fact at least." That seemed enough for the prince, who suggested if Greypetal could unstone everyone, his father would likely know what to do next, and he flew off to get a chariot. Juniper fluttered further away. Surge felt around the nearby electrical field to keep track of her. It didn't seem like any additional fairies were being turned to stone, but still. . . he didn't like it. Upon returning the prince appointed Juniper navigator (a concerning thought for Surge), and they all climbed into the carriage. Juniper immediately asked to pet whatever was pulling the carriage then asked Surge what direction they came from. He really regretted not going over maps with her while he could still see. He thought a moment, recalling vague memories of maps and locations, "Uh, well June Bug, Lumina is east of Feydellia, and just a little south. (Well, unless GM says otherwise.)" It was not a smooth ride. The prince's flirting quickly causing pedestrians to cry out and the prince to apologize. Surge gripped the side of the carriage quietly, hoping this was not how they died. Thankfully as they got closer to home, Juniper was able to give him more precise directions to keep him on task. Surge was grateful when the carriage came to a stop, immediately getting out.</s>

<|description|>Fanilly Danbalion * Age: 16 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: Light skintone, with blonde hair and blue-purple eyes. She is a petite girl at only around 154 cm. Beneath the armor, Fanilly's body is rather slender and lightly-built. The armor, official combat wear of the Knight-Captain, is silver, with gold and blue decorations. Unarmored. * Personality: Fanilly believes that she must put everything she can into her duty. This is both due to a belief in the cause of the Iron Rose Knights, and a severe insecurity and self-consciousness about her position. She is well aware that she is young and comparatively inexperienced. She knows that she is only in the position she is because of her birth, as she was born under a full moon. This only makes her feel worse about it. For Fanilly Danbalion, captain of the Iron Rose Knights, she can't help but feel that they have a point. She's never fought in a real battle before. And even though the founder was the same age, she was viewed as something miraculous, a literal saint. Should Fanilly truly be leading them? This weighs heavily on her mind, and thus one of her biggest desires is to prove that she is. In spite of her young age, in spite of how this tradition has worn thin for some, Fanilly wants to prove that she is a worthy captain of the Iron Rose Knights above all else. Aside from this desire, the girl is somewhat shy and socially awkward. Due to her noble upbringing she is not completely incapable in social situations and can attend social functions as is expected of the Iron Rose Knights, it is easy to fluster her or cause her to stumble over her own words. In spite of this awkwardness, she is dedicated to the purpose of the order, to defend the innocent and protect the land of Thaln. However, the doubts surrounding her have lead to a lack of confidence in herself. Fanilly has a younger sister and as a result has a somewhat stronger affinity for children and desire to keep the safe, but as someone dedicated to the Iron Rose Knights' cause she wishes to protect all those in need. While she has a lacking in confidence, she retains some pride in her training, as she has proven to be skilled at swordplay in spite of her youth. * Brief Backstory: Fanilly was born under the full moon, to the noble Danbalion family. While her family had never been known for their participation in battle, the fact that their daughter was born under the full moon immediately placed her under consideration for the role of Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Her training was more casual at first, simply education alongside her upbringing as a young noblelady. When it became clear that she was next in line, her training truly began in earnest. While she did enjoy it, at times she became quite overwhelmed and uncertain of what to do. On top of that, as a noble she was often exposed to other members of the nobility, a which exposed her to those who doubted the selection process that had picked her. Of those who had already judged her unfit to be Captain. On one particularly stressful day, she shut herself in her room and cried due to simply being emotionally overwhelmed. In spite of this, Fanilly still kept training, and studying warfare and focusing on the longsword as her weapon of choice(a customary specialization for the Knight-Captain, though not mandatory). During one of her training sessions, only a year prior to her installment, she suddenly had a blackout and fainted, needing to swiftly be attended to by healers. While none of them could determine what happened, as it did not appear to be exhaustion, she was kept under observation until it was certain no such incidents would occur again. Indeed, her health did not falter, and she was able to participate in a goblin extermination that had been selected as part of her final set of lessons. The extermination a success, this bolstered Fanilly's confidence temporarily, though by the time she officially became captain, the doubts had already re-emerged. Now, she is filled with self-doubt, desiring to prove to everyone else, and to herself, that she can fulfill the role she has been trained for... * Equipment: Fanilly wears the Captain's set of plate armor. Made of dwarven alloy gifted to the knights by a dwarven noble they defended in the past, it is both durable and lighter then it appears.. She wields a fine longsword in her right hand, with a backup dagger stored on her hip if she is disarmed. * Skills: As soon as her family was informed of potential candidacy for Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses, Fanilly began to train in all manner of combat. She studied military strategy, and came to favor the longsword as her weapon of choice. She is quite capable with the blade, but her experience is almost entirely in sparring, with only a goblin extermination under her belt as practical application. The same goes for her military strategy, while she is versed in multiple legendary campaigns she has yet to put those skills to proper use.</s> <|message|>Lucas Storm Not sure? Well, that answer did fall into the disappointment category, but at least there was a chance that his idea had limited the griffin's mobility enough that such a killing blow could be landed. A man can dream, eh. Serenity. One of Gerard's sparring buddies. She was a ferocious fighter. Even after a bunch of bandits had been blown off their feet from a mere flap of the griffin's wings (one even high-tailing it out of there, Lucas saw,) Serenity had gotten right in the beast's face and stayed there. The mental fortitude, the physical skills... the girl was a phenom. It was hard to believe she was the same age. She carried herself with far more dignity and power than any 17 year old girl Lucas had ever known. Lucas found himself wondering what her childhood must've been like, for a moment, but brought himself back to reality and the conversation quickly. "Let it live?" Lucas echoed the older knight, a little perplexed. Fleuri went on. "Griffins are majestic, noble creatures once you get past the whole horse-eating thing. There'd have been no point in trying to capture it, though- they're also immensely proud creatures that as we saw already, don't take well to being caged." "Just imagine we broke it though, eh," Lucas offered with a grin. "My old man's best mate was the finest horse breaker in all the lands. Carrot was his name. Broke the wildest of stallions. Imagine we broke a griffin. Imagine the Knight-Captain's charge at the head of a column. There'd be no stoppin it. And no finer sight. It was a joke, of course. Well... a half-joke. Well... ""Anyway, I guess you're probably right. If the griffin was no danger to good folk, then it was just another prisoner of Jeremiah. I didn't really think about it that way. Lucas put a whole large potato in his mouth, not anticipating that it would still be so hot. His face froze in pain as he bit into it, desperately wanting to spit it out, but realising that such an action would cross the line of table etiquette, even by his own standards. And so, without thinking, he just swallowed. In one slow, laboured and painful motion, he swallowed the entire thing. The heat was intense, his face stuck with one eye squinting as he stared at Fleuri who was sharing his misgivings about their wild decision-making regarding the griffin. "...It's a miracle I got out of it unharmed." Lucas wasn't sharpest tool on the rack, but he noticed that this lesson wasn't just for Fleuri himself, but both of them. It was true; so many things could've gone wrong. He, himself, didn't escape without injury. After the battle, once he got himself to one of the healing mages in the rearguard, he'd discovered that adrenaline had been masking quite a few injuries. A broken collarbone. A broken rib. Fractured wrist. Concussion. And that was without the various grazes and lacerations. Back in the circus, they could've really done with one of the Iron Rose mages in their troupe. They were a boon unlike any other. What he wanted to say was that heroes don't think about the danger to themselves, they just act - try to save the day. But this was the nonsense rambling of a young man. Instead, he tried to listen to the more experienced knight who was doing him the honour of imparting some wisdom and reflection on the battle. "I'll try to do better aswell," he told Fleuri. "I just... it's hard to think... battles are..." it was difficult to find the right words. "Bloody madness," he finally settled on. He stopped himself from going on. It was just excuses for his misconduct. "But I will try. To think about my actions more." As much as he was trying to be more mature, the boy in him still escaped. "Got out of it alive though, eh. Sir Lein didn't get flattened. And we rode a griffin... sort of... for a second." He offered the last words with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin, as if daring Fleuri to smile back. "Not bad, eh?" By Reon. Already, the lesson appeared to be disappearing out of the thick skull of the gypsy. After their exchange about the griffin, Lucas chose to focus on wolfing down the third and final course of his meal. Once he'd stopped talking, it didn't take long for the plates to be clean. "Ah, I. Am. Done," he said to the Flower of the North. "I think I need proper drink tonight. A few, in fact." Such bravado. Inside, he was worried that these images and sounds of the battle might not ever go away, but he could hardly explain that to anyone here. They were all well beyond their first battles. And what if word got back to the Knight-Captain or Paladin Tyaethe. Sir Lucas Storm can't handle the weight of killing? That might be the last straw. "What will you be up to, with the rest of your day, Sir Fleuri?"</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- Ah, back to civilization. On one hand, she loved being out in the forests. On the other hand, the forests sorely lacked modern amenities and she absolutely loved just being around the hustle and bustle of the city most times. Especially after a battle like that! She was no battle hungry warrior, in fact, she'd say she was more of a coward than anything that avoided fighting directly if she could help it, but having a drink with the lads and lasses of her former company was always something to look forward too. That said…others might not have noticed the Knight Captain, splitting off from the others, but it was hard to put things past her eyes, and Fanilly? Looked like someone had just kicked her down the stairs. Hm… If you make her cry I'll make you cry. "Jeez, Shael, you act like I'm a little miscreant who goes around just breaking hearts for no good reason! I'd never have such intentions on a pure lady like Captain Fanilly." A sudden gust of wind caused Cecil to lose balance, tripping and falling onto the ground while Shael rambled about a number of things she wasn't listening hard enough too. Hmm, something to lift the girls spirits a bit… "Well, don't overthink it Cecil. Overthinking things is what gets you into trouble…" She'd let the girl say her obvious prayer. No doubt she was feeling uncertain about a lot of things. She could honestly sympathize with such a feeling well. After all…she still couldn't be certain about anything. Hmm… Cecil inhaled, shaking her head and proceeded to walk up to the captain, and poke her right in the forehead while she knelt in prayer. "Hiya, Captain Fanilly. Where are you going here all by yourself, eh?" She'd ask, giving the girl a bright smile. "Mind if I join ya for a bit or you gonna run me off like Shael does if I flirt too much with someone?"</s>

<|message|>Fanilly Danbalion Her eyes shut, her hands clasped in prayer, Fanilly only just noticed the presence of someone else in the shrine. Of course, there was no reason someone else couldn't enter. The shrine was meant for the use of all the Knights. It just so happened that she was the one kneeling in prayer now. For Sir Rickert. For the sake of continued success against all enemies. For these reasons, she had to make sure her words reached the goddesses. Se'd have to arrange for word to be sent to the Knight's family. She hadn't spoken with him enough to know exactly who he had now left behind, but- "Hyah?!" She was torn from her thoughts when she felt a finger prod her in the forehead, opening her eyes and leaning back. "O-oh, it was you, Dame Cecil!" she stammered, placing one still-armored gauntlet over the spot where she'd been poked. She knew someone else had entered the shrine, but she hadn't expected this at all! "E-er, I was finished, anyway, so..." she trailed off uncertainly. She at least hoped that her prayer hd made it to the ears of the goddesses. If Dame Cecil wanted to pray as well, she didn't want to get in the way. But Dame Cecil mentioned wanting to join her? The blonde girl-knight took a deep breath. "You may join me, if you like." Fanilly had managed to compose herself once she spoke again, at least enough to project some measure of authority. At least, it's what she hoped. To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure why any of the knights would wish to speak with her now, after she had succeeded in losing one of their number already.</s>

<|description|>Fanilly Danbalion * Age: 16 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: Light skintone, with blonde hair and blue-purple eyes. She is a petite girl at only around 154 cm. Beneath the armor, Fanilly's body is rather slender and lightly-built. The armor, official combat wear of the Knight-Captain, is silver, with gold and blue decorations. Unarmored. * Personality: Fanilly believes that she must put everything she can into her duty. This is both due to a belief in the cause of the Iron Rose Knights, and a severe insecurity and self-consciousness about her position. She is well aware that she is young and comparatively inexperienced. She knows that she is only in the position she is because of her birth, as she was born under a full moon. This only makes her feel worse about it. For Fanilly Danbalion, captain of the Iron Rose Knights, she can't help but feel that they have a point. She's never fought in a real battle before. And even though the founder was the same age, she was viewed as something miraculous, a literal saint. Should Fanilly truly be leading them? This weighs heavily on her mind, and thus one of her biggest desires is to prove that she is. In spite of her young age, in spite of how this tradition has worn thin for some, Fanilly wants to prove that she is a worthy captain of the Iron Rose Knights above all else. Aside from this desire, the girl is somewhat shy and socially awkward. Due to her noble upbringing she is not completely incapable in social situations and can attend social functions as is expected of the Iron Rose Knights, it is easy to fluster her or cause her to stumble over her own words. In spite of this awkwardness, she is dedicated to the purpose of the order, to defend the innocent and protect the land of Thaln. However, the doubts surrounding her have lead to a lack of confidence in herself. Fanilly has a younger sister and as a result has a somewhat stronger affinity for children and desire to keep the safe, but as someone dedicated to the Iron Rose Knights' cause she wishes to protect all those in need. While she has a lacking in confidence, she retains some pride in her training, as she has proven to be skilled at swordplay in spite of her youth. * Brief Backstory: Fanilly was born under the full moon, to the noble Danbalion family. While her family had never been known for their participation in battle, the fact that their daughter was born under the full moon immediately placed her under consideration for the role of Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Her training was more casual at first, simply education alongside her upbringing as a young noblelady. When it became clear that she was next in line, her training truly began in earnest. While she did enjoy it, at times she became quite overwhelmed and uncertain of what to do. On top of that, as a noble she was often exposed to other members of the nobility, a which exposed her to those who doubted the selection process that had picked her. Of those who had already judged her unfit to be Captain. On one particularly stressful day, she shut herself in her room and cried due to simply being emotionally overwhelmed. In spite of this, Fanilly still kept training, and studying warfare and focusing on the longsword as her weapon of choice(a customary specialization for the Knight-Captain, though not mandatory). During one of her training sessions, only a year prior to her installment, she suddenly had a blackout and fainted, needing to swiftly be attended to by healers. While none of them could determine what happened, as it did not appear to be exhaustion, she was kept under observation until it was certain no such incidents would occur again. Indeed, her health did not falter, and she was able to participate in a goblin extermination that had been selected as part of her final set of lessons. The extermination a success, this bolstered Fanilly's confidence temporarily, though by the time she officially became captain, the doubts had already re-emerged. Now, she is filled with self-doubt, desiring to prove to everyone else, and to herself, that she can fulfill the role she has been trained for... * Equipment: Fanilly wears the Captain's set of plate armor. Made of dwarven alloy gifted to the knights by a dwarven noble they defended in the past, it is both durable and lighter then it appears.. She wields a fine longsword in her right hand, with a backup dagger stored on her hip if she is disarmed. * Skills: As soon as her family was informed of potential candidacy for Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses, Fanilly began to train in all manner of combat. She studied military strategy, and came to favor the longsword as her weapon of choice. She is quite capable with the blade, but her experience is almost entirely in sparring, with only a goblin extermination under her belt as practical application. The same goes for her military strategy, while she is versed in multiple legendary campaigns she has yet to put those skills to proper use.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors South from gates. Simple enough. Destination set, Gerard's steady march saw him float through the grounds of Candaeln at a pace not exactly leisurely, but far from the prior explosions of speed he'd torn through the yard with. If it overlooked the river, she was probably intent on sending him right by Calnahen's banks, outside of Aimlenn's sturdy walls. Admittedly, Gerard couldn't place the watchtower in question from his memory— in the few times he'd had the privilege to see the city from afar, such as this morning, he was always most drawn by his awe at the immense spires, letting the surrounding farmlands sort of fade into the foreground. But, her directions had left it clear, even if his sense for the city landmarks was lacking— just get out of the gates and follow the river as it flanked the southern face of Aimlenn. Any idiot could manage that. The watchtower she spoke of would show itself soon, if it were tall enough to appreciably be counted as such. Up on the cliffs, surrounded by a crowding of other buildings... By all rights, it oughta be impossible to miss. River cutting through the land would make for muddy soils as well as a certain grade. Maybe not the rolling hills of central Velt, but the slick would more than make up for a gentler incline. For all the long walk it'd be, hard to ask for anything more true to life. By now, his advance had taken him onto the drawbridge across Candaeln's moat. He glanced down, taking in the brackish, murky, and very still water below. He'd seen his fair share of moats in battle too, if one wanted to speak on "true to life". His eyes narrowed, the mind behind them thinking for a long, silent moment. ... Shaking his head as if disappointed in himself, he kept walking. There was a whole city to get through, and half the day'd been spent parading. At least the riverbed wouldn't get him poisoned.</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau "No, not bad at all," Fleuri replied sincerely. After swallowing another bite out of the piece of poultry he continued. "We've obtained quite a story to tell out of it. Few knights can say they were ever astride a griffin." There were things that Fleuri had done in his past that ashamed of, things that he looked upon with scorn for his past self. Their antics with the griffin was not one of them. He recognized it as a mistake and resolved to do better in the future, but it was something to be looked back upon and laughed at, not something to hold his head down in mortification upon recalling. "With all of that said, I believe there is a time and place for theatrics, even in battle," Fleuri spoke. Just because we do not perform for the crowds anymore does not mean that we do not have audiences anymore. On a battlefield, our friends and allies alike compose our audience, and I believe the right action at the right time can serve to inspire, intimidate, or mislead." Like Fleuri, Lucas was accustomed to demonstrating his skills in front of an audience. It was a common ground shared by two otherwise very different warriors, and Fleuri felt that it was a good way to establish an understanding with the younger knight. "Of course, when the combat begins, that is when it is time to get serious." he advised. "But I am a believer that there is an unsurpassed aesthetic beauty in brutally effective, flawlessly performed, and well-timed combat techniques. Never be afraid to get practical or even unorthodox if that's what it takes to be the one who stands victorious." Lucas had already demonstrated some of his circus skills, and Fleuri believed that they could prove quite useful as a knight, if applied in the right ways. After all, the Iron Rose had a history of warriors with unusual skills going back all the way to Ellione and her original knights. After he and Lucas finished his meal, and the young knight inquired what he would do. I suppose I will keep myself sharp, work in my plans to improve myself. If you wish, we could head to the practice yard and train together. I'd be glad to impart some sword techniques, if you'd be willing to show me the knife and dagger techniques you picked up in the circus." This was as good a time as any to assist in the rookie knight's training, and Fleuri was quite interested to see what Lucas could do with short blades.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @Psyker Landshark --- Luckily, none of them seemed to want to turn any of the conversation into a full argument. "I won't stop you from complaining, just don't start wishing ill on him," he replied, his expression remaining serious for a moment longer...before breaking into a sly smile. "It doesn't really fit the aesthetic you've tried to cultivate to look like you care so much about what he does, anyways." As for the matter of Fanilly, Serenity's truest thoughts weren't hard to guess at on that matter, but the fact that she took care to remain diplomatic delivering some of them was worth a bit of relief. "She's not the worst captain I've ever dealt with, at least. She had to have some training before taking the reins—a lot of the free companies, you get made leader just because you're of noble birth and felt like jumping in, regardless of any experience you have. I once had to deal with one who strapped his cuirass on backwards. She's already far better than that, so I've no doubt that she'll manage in time." He might've said something about drilling out a hole and pinning the spear head rather than just nailing it onto the haft after seeing Serenity's choice of attachment, but decided against it; hafts would still break all the time, and it didn't look or sound like the ash pole she'd found had split or cracked near where the head was attached. The bardiche would be fine in the hands of the smith and his apprentices and assistants to polish out the nicks and scratches, and then he could mount it back in his quarters as a souvenir from his first full-scale battle with the Iron Roses; he could go train, but there was something more pressing that he could feel gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Before long, the other two would be just as likely to start hearing it as he could feel it. It had been a while since breakfast. "Well, I think it's high time I go and find something to eat. I'll see you each on the training grounds bright and early, unless you have any more questions for me?" If it was more about the Captain, he honestly hoped they didn't. "Maybe I'll even pester Tyaethe, and see if she knows why they let Lucas in, just to satisfy your curiosity. Or get some more tales of Iron Roses unit tactics rather than champion antics."</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- "Hmm…" Cecil didn't immediately respond, merely instead looking up towards the statues of the Goddesses herself. Honestly, she was second guessing herself already. What had she even come here for? Sure, Fanilly looked like she could use some help, but could she even do that? Best she could do was be a dumbass and offer some levity. Guh, overthinking things again. Right. Do what she does best then. Be an absolute scoundrel. She could already feel Shael getting ready to violently remove her from the shrine. "Oooh, finished?" She'd grin, cozying up to Fanilly, her focus turning back towards the captain. "Good, then I can do this." Cecil's hands moved quickly, pulling something from her cloak. Fanilly would find something soft and sweet being shoved right into her mouth. A simple, sweet pastry about the size of ones palm. "Here. Just a little something I picked up on the way here. Thought you'd like it." Of course, unbeknownst to Fanilly or Shael for that matter, this was something of a prank. The outside was definitely sweet, but the inside? It had a spicy filling in it. She was probably gonna get yelled at later, but oh well.</s>

<|message|>Fanilly Danbalion "Mmm?!" Out of everything that Fanilly had been expecting, suddenly being fed a small sweet pastry was not on the list. It didn't make any sense to her at all, even if she couldn't exactly say it was unwelcome. In the first place she didn't know why one of her knights even wanted to speak to her, but now she was giving her some sort of snack? Regardless, Fanilly found herself holding her hands up to her mouth to and chewing. It wasn't very large, but she still didn't want to accidentally make some sort of mess in the shrine of all places. Sweet things like reminded her a little of home. The sort of thing her family's servants would make in the kitchen. Three of them had accompanied her to Candaeln, but the kitchen staff hadn't been among them. But Candaeln had fantastic chefs that rivaled the royal family's. Maybe if she asked... ... Not that any of that mattered. What mattered most was ensuring that what happened in the fight against Jeremiah never happened again. Before her mind could travel once again to Sir Rickert, however, a sudden torrent of heat erupted through her mouth. A muffled squeak escaped the girl's lips, her eyes immediately watering as her hands clamped over her mouth once again, her cheeks flushed. What was this? Where had this come from? It went from sweet to so hot! And now it was filling her entire mouth, burning away at her tongue, everything, even as she tried to quickly swallow it down as fast as possible. "Wh-why is it so hot?!" She allowed herself a moment to exclaim her all-important question to the gods above. Given they were already in a shrine, it was perhaps a fitting place to do so.</s>

<|description|>Fanilly Danbalion * Age: 16 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: Light skintone, with blonde hair and blue-purple eyes. She is a petite girl at only around 154 cm. Beneath the armor, Fanilly's body is rather slender and lightly-built. The armor, official combat wear of the Knight-Captain, is silver, with gold and blue decorations. Unarmored. * Personality: Fanilly believes that she must put everything she can into her duty. This is both due to a belief in the cause of the Iron Rose Knights, and a severe insecurity and self-consciousness about her position. She is well aware that she is young and comparatively inexperienced. She knows that she is only in the position she is because of her birth, as she was born under a full moon. This only makes her feel worse about it. For Fanilly Danbalion, captain of the Iron Rose Knights, she can't help but feel that they have a point. She's never fought in a real battle before. And even though the founder was the same age, she was viewed as something miraculous, a literal saint. Should Fanilly truly be leading them? This weighs heavily on her mind, and thus one of her biggest desires is to prove that she is. In spite of her young age, in spite of how this tradition has worn thin for some, Fanilly wants to prove that she is a worthy captain of the Iron Rose Knights above all else. Aside from this desire, the girl is somewhat shy and socially awkward. Due to her noble upbringing she is not completely incapable in social situations and can attend social functions as is expected of the Iron Rose Knights, it is easy to fluster her or cause her to stumble over her own words. In spite of this awkwardness, she is dedicated to the purpose of the order, to defend the innocent and protect the land of Thaln. However, the doubts surrounding her have lead to a lack of confidence in herself. Fanilly has a younger sister and as a result has a somewhat stronger affinity for children and desire to keep the safe, but as someone dedicated to the Iron Rose Knights' cause she wishes to protect all those in need. While she has a lacking in confidence, she retains some pride in her training, as she has proven to be skilled at swordplay in spite of her youth. * Brief Backstory: Fanilly was born under the full moon, to the noble Danbalion family. While her family had never been known for their participation in battle, the fact that their daughter was born under the full moon immediately placed her under consideration for the role of Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Her training was more casual at first, simply education alongside her upbringing as a young noblelady. When it became clear that she was next in line, her training truly began in earnest. While she did enjoy it, at times she became quite overwhelmed and uncertain of what to do. On top of that, as a noble she was often exposed to other members of the nobility, a which exposed her to those who doubted the selection process that had picked her. Of those who had already judged her unfit to be Captain. On one particularly stressful day, she shut herself in her room and cried due to simply being emotionally overwhelmed. In spite of this, Fanilly still kept training, and studying warfare and focusing on the longsword as her weapon of choice(a customary specialization for the Knight-Captain, though not mandatory). During one of her training sessions, only a year prior to her installment, she suddenly had a blackout and fainted, needing to swiftly be attended to by healers. While none of them could determine what happened, as it did not appear to be exhaustion, she was kept under observation until it was certain no such incidents would occur again. Indeed, her health did not falter, and she was able to participate in a goblin extermination that had been selected as part of her final set of lessons. The extermination a success, this bolstered Fanilly's confidence temporarily, though by the time she officially became captain, the doubts had already re-emerged. Now, she is filled with self-doubt, desiring to prove to everyone else, and to herself, that she can fulfill the role she has been trained for... * Equipment: Fanilly wears the Captain's set of plate armor. Made of dwarven alloy gifted to the knights by a dwarven noble they defended in the past, it is both durable and lighter then it appears.. She wields a fine longsword in her right hand, with a backup dagger stored on her hip if she is disarmed. * Skills: As soon as her family was informed of potential candidacy for Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses, Fanilly began to train in all manner of combat. She studied military strategy, and came to favor the longsword as her weapon of choice. She is quite capable with the blade, but her experience is almost entirely in sparring, with only a goblin extermination under her belt as practical application. The same goes for her military strategy, while she is versed in multiple legendary campaigns she has yet to put those skills to proper use.</s> <|message|>Lucas Storm Lucas stayed in The Lonely Frame for one more quick drink, sharing banter, conversation and goodwill with his comrades. The bartender continued to tell the story of Jeremiah and the griffin to everyone who bought a drink. However, once the alcohol was lightly buzzing the knight's brain - mixed with the tiredness he'd accumulated - Lucas decided he'd had enough, put both hands on the table and rose to his feet. "Alright, lads," he began. "I think I'm done. Some fresh air on the walk back to the castle should do me some good. I thank you, Sirs, for a fantastic evening." He patted the knights adjacent to him on the shoulder and gave a nod the man across the table before excusing himself. After winding through the tables, chairs and tavern patrons to the door, he left the building. Before the door even shut, he was laughing as he vaguely heard Lein's voice shouting something 'a peach and Mayon's ass.' When the fresh air hit him, it was like he'd consumed another tankard right then and there. However his gait wasn't too out of whack and he walked back the short road to the western gate of Candaeln. He should have just gone to bed. Instead, in the late hours of the evening, he stopped and looked on the moonlit courtyard, then got one of his dumb ideas. Next he was wandering around the castle until he found the wine cellar and pilfered a bottle from the rack, then snuck back outside and managed to find his way up to the top of the castle walls. There he sat and mulled over good memories, fun memories and embarrassing memories of his life before. Even a few recent memories of his time as a knight snuck in there. He sat precariously over the edge of battlements, one leg handing off, leaning back on a hand as he took occasional swigs from the bottle. He remembered his mother's caring eyes and smile as she stroked his head, one time he'd gotten really ill as a child. She sang 'You Are My Sunshine' - as she was want to do - while he stared at her, knowing that in spite of his pain, everything would be just fine. He was safe. He remembered a time when he and Gorgeous George were making progress with a couple of female fans after a show and ready to take them somewhere where they could have some alone time, before his father grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and gave him the hiding of his life. Smacked him around in front of everyone - punishment for defying him, shirking his duties and sneaking out with George for the umpteenth time. He remembered Biff and Kate's daughter, Sally, taking him to bed for the first time. Boy, did the older girl show him what he was missing the first fifteen years of his life! He remembered being dragged into a mess, in a town in Velt, by Chip and Charlie, two young kleptomaniacs, who - that night - got in way over there head trying to burgle one of the richest houses in town. They couldn't run back to the troupe camp, so they were chased by the militia through rivers and reeds, into the nearby forest and had to camp out, up in the trees, all night to avoid arrest. He remembered his first training session in Candaeln, after which, he was asked how in the world he'd been accepted into the Iron Roses. In spite of the fear of being thrown out, he was still proud he'd been addressed as 'Sir Lucas' and actually sparred with a real knight. These memories and more, came and went, the feelings and imagery still strong and palpable in Lucas' heart as they ran through his head. "How did I end up here, eh?" he asked the moon before taking another swig of the bottle. "How does a simple gypsy lad become a knight of the Iron Rose Order? Mayon, you're too kind to me. I didn't deserve this." ...Midnight... He returned to the ground level, back to a courtyard covered in moonlight. Lucas swayed as he looked around, blinking stupidly. It was deathly quiet, the air cold and crispy. At first he thought about what he should do with the empty bottle. Then he got yet another one of his bad ideas. Inhibitions completely gone, he stumbled towards his new goal. Ten minutes later... "Ladies and Gentlemen!" he announced in the courtyard, not too loud and hopefully not waking anyone up. He'd dragged one of the combat dummies over to the archery targets and leaned the dummy against it. And he'd procured a few throwing knives. "Introducing to you... The Storms!" He made his own imitation of a crowd going wild, (which was basically just breathing really loudly, and pumping a fist in the air.) "Here comes Harold Storm!" More crowd reaction and then Lucas changed characters to his father and walked over to a point in front of the archery target, then juggled three throwing knives for a few seconds. It was amazing that in his drunken state, he managed to pull it off. More crowd reaction. "And his beautiful wife and accomplice... Penny Storm!" He gestured to the combat dummy leaning against the target, then did more crowd reaction. "Watch in amazement as they frolic and flirt on the edge of death and danger!" Lucas juggled the knives once over and then launched one, spinning toward the target, burying itself in it, right next to the head of the combat dummy. More crowd reaction. The second of the three knives, he tossed into the air, caught it by the blade and went to throw it in similar fashion, only he caught it wrong and couldn't adjust properly as he wound back to launch it. The knife span rapidly toward the target and slammed... right into the head of the dummy. "!!!" Lucas was horrified. Mouth open. Frozen. Staring at the dummy. All this time, he'd not really had any chance to go through the grieving process properly. The moments after his parents were killed, he was being kidnapped by slavers. Then he was terrified in a cage for three days and nights. Then he was saved. Then he joined the merc unit that saved him and trained to be a soldier. Weeks later he was in the military arm of the church and transferring to the Iron Roses. Then he was training his hardest to make sure he wasn't thrown out. There'd been no time to stop and think. And now, as he stared at the knife sticking out of the combat dummy, it was like the dam that was holding the grief back suddenly burst. His eyes started watering and he fell to his knees. Moments later there were tears streaming down his cheeks. "Ma," he called quietly in a croaky voice. "Pa." And then he broke down into full-fledged crying. "Why...? I miss you so much." There in the middle of the courtyard, head in his hands, sobbing his heart out in the moonlight, Lucas knelt. And there he stayed for some time.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze@VitaVitaAR --- Probably for the best she wasn't asking after his idea, Fionn decided after a moment; for all he could guess at or knew, Tyaethe might object to his setting up a mill and press out in the training yard, whether the assemblage served a second purpose beyond just extracting juice or or not. Certainly, he could imagine a few of the non-undead higher ranking knights in the order objecting; hopefully he might be able to get by with asking forgiveness after the fact rather than permission. Besides, it would be a very simple and effective way to get some of the scrawnier members of the order to start putting on some muscle. The normal knightly exercises were all well and good, but the motivation of getting to enjoy the fruits of their labour was likely to be more compelling to at least a few he was thinking of. "As you wish," he replied, pushing up from the floor with a grunt. A quick glance off towards the entrance proper revealed the presence of the anxiously-waiting courier, pacing by one of the other windows while waiting for, evidently, someone with some minor level of authority to come and take his message, rather than one of the various servants within Candaeln. "Enjoy your nap, madam." With the hope that he wouldn't find one of the many cushions adorning Tyaethe's claimed window seat (or worse yet, one of the plates) thrown at the back of his head, he made his way across the hall to the courier, giving a friendly wave once the messenger specifically noticed his approach. Either he was a bit too used to getting ignored like this, or he'd been averting his eyes from Fionn and Tyaethe, though whether from the outset, the moment that Tyaethe sunk her teeth into Fionn's wrist, or when she'd run the risk of blinding any observers, the Veltian knight really couldn't guess. "Good afternoon, lad. Take it you've got a message for one of us?" Hopefully he wouldn't be too surprised by the Veltian knight's extremely informal address, although it wasn't as though the presence of beknighted commoners in the order was an unknown thing, no matter how much certain benighted nobles would always be surprised at the fact.</s>

<|message|>Fanilly Danbalion The young man, a royal courier dressed in fine gold and purple, practically jumped with delight at someone finally approaching him. "I was expecting the Knight-Captain," he began, "but I'm sure a loyal knight can pass this message on to her!" It seemed he was overjoyed to finally be able to do his job. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and pulled a short scroll from within his bag. "The Presence of Knight-Captain Fanilly Danbalion and her Iron Rose Knights is cordially requested tomorrow at Princess Elisandre Tanetha Falisse's Royal Ball," he began, "The Princess understands that you may not be able to bring every knight, and as such you may choose whomever you desire from your order to accompany you. Please come in your finest attire, though the Princess desires to see Knight-Captain Danbalion in official wear, and eagerly desires to see an assortment of weaponry used by knights." Otter</s>

<|description|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. * Age: 238 * Gender: Female * Race: Human (Vampire) * Appearance: Average knight for scale: For obvious reasons, she doesn't exactly fight like this: It's not even that much taller: Standing over six feet tall, it definitely doesn't match her height out of armour... With sword: * Personality: The opinion of those who only have to interact with the Iron Roses in their capacity as knights is that Tyaethe is a serious, no-nonsense veteran. This is completely true provided that she's acting in her capacity as a knight of the church, off rescuing people or doing simple military work--she's quite serious, if prone to taking the aggressive and faster option. When there's a real fight on hand or something strong to oppose, she gets more hot-headed... and in general is quite prone to an "ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK" mentality, prone to forgetting that most people do not share her ability to disregard physical injury. Off the battlefield, outside of religious matters she's quite lazy. There's no equipment for her to upkeep, no physical exercise to keep in shape, no family matters to attend to, and even the captain only needs so much assistance in a day. It leaves her plenty of time for either emulating a cat and finding somewhere inconvenient but comfortable to nap, or playing tricks and teasing other members of the Iron Roses. Or helping them as the case may be. At times, the vampire can actually seem her age, bored of the repetitiveness of time and duty--but still obliged to be here. Unless she respects you, making fun of her height or age is quite a way to set her off. * Brief Backstory: Coming from a minor noble family, Tyaethe was always expected to carry on her family's duty as knights of the crown. Yet due to favours owed by a highly influential and religious duke to her father, the standard of education that the girl received was much higher than her family would have expected--until the duke's own outspoken nature and the cause of the original favour came back. Having made enemies with a vampire of some age, and defied death once before, they came back for vengeance during a feast. Perhaps the vampire recognised Tyaethe as the child of one of its enemies and wanted to make a more ironic point, or maybe they just didn't want to kill a child in training--but of the attack, she was the only survivor, and quite confused at that. With her teacher dead, but his influence still felt, the girl went to the church and pledged herself to training as a paladin and to become a knight in Reon's service--with no idea of what she had been afflicted with. When this became apparent, it was already too late to back out... despite Reon's virulent hatred for vampires in particular, to reject an orphaned child unwittingly burdened with undeath would have been far too cruel, and a faithful servant is hardly the threat most become. So, even though the church would normally have resisted accepting the undead into their ranks, Tyaethe completed her training as best as possible despite the lack of ageing and became a paladin. Hot-headed and somewhat hard to work with, Tyaethe spent most of her time as a crusading knight-errant and working on her magical abilities--not wanting to go to yet another social function made doubly awkward by her apparent age, or snap at another companion for bringing attention to the fact. Her tendency for long trips away from most paladins helped with forgetting what she was, and Tyaethe developed a reasonably good reputation for her abilities. Which is about when Elionne prevented the assassination of Falthir and impressed the older paladin so much that she was the first to swear her service--before the Iron Roses had even been founded--and was something of a teacher. This, combined with her apparent age, is the source of the "First and Youngest" title... which she still hates hearing. Unfortunately, it's open knowledge, along with her condition, leaving Tyaethe with a very strange reputation. When Elionne disappeared, the vampire didn't know more than anyone else, though she certainly took the news hard. In the end, Tyaethe stuck with the knights, though she's become touchier about her apparent age over time, and has a tendency to act as a stumbling block to changing tradition. Occasionally, nobles looking to advance their control over the knights have been dismayed to learn that the circumstances of Tyaethe's original vow to join the knights more or less require Elionne to be the one to make her leave or be proved dead. Of course, that's outweighed by the people who are glad she hasn't gone anywhere; finding someone willing and able to fight dragons when they intermittently show up, let alone one so gleeful about it, would be... difficult if the paladin were to retire or go travelling. * Equipment: The only piece of "real" equipment that Tyaethe possesses is her sword--a blessed blade enchanted to have no weight to the wielder, so that even someone in her situation can wield it without any difficulty, and as resilient to damage as it could be made. Everything else, aside from her scarfs, is nothing more than a magical construct created as needed. Though it isn't really equipment, she also has two hundred years of accumulated money left over for whatever might need the investment--not a bad amount. * Skills: As one would expect of the most experienced knight in the order, Tyaethe's greatest asset is her swordsmanship, despite the link between vampirism and magical power. She takes pride in achieving victory through nothing more than the mundane application of skill, now honed over entire lifetimes, and insists that using some magical enhancement hardly detracts from the achievement; there are enough people around physically monstrous enough to achieve the same effects regardless. Some people have disagreed with this. Whatever their opinion on magically assisted swordsmanship, her skill is sufficient that she only gets excited when prodigies join the knights and provide some decent competition until they leave, or age catches up. Of course, as a vampire, there is no avoiding the massive raw magical power requirement to survive the process, one Tyaethe seems to have naturally exceeded by a considerable margin despite her development. Although dependent on regularly feeding to be able to fuel this level, the point that the paladin considers to be satiated and not a danger--and therefore maintaining something approaching her natural capacity--is akin to standing next to a bonfire of mana. All of this energy is regularly redirected into one of the least efficient spells possible, generating an illusion and enforcing its reality through stubbornness and sheer magical energy. In practical terms, it amounts to a minor capacity for shapeshifting and conjuration, no matter the mechanism behind it. This, of course, is how the paladin maintains an adult appearance as needed, or actually armours herself as a knight--ageing up or conjuring armour as appropriate. Due to its nature as little more than raw magic, it protects even better against magical attacks than physical, although it also provides the (rather unnecessary) protection of normal armour. With the illusions requiring constant investment, there is a limit to how long they can be maintained, with the armoured one being particularly extreme and reserved only for combat itself. Merely looking how she would if she had grown normally can be kept up with little difficulty, as long as she's awake. Then, of course, there are the abilities that stem directly from being a vampire. Using mana for physical enhancement is the most obvious, and where even the weakest vampires get a dreaded reputation: unless starving, even the least combat-trained vampire can boost themselves to scary levels. The other one is that inflicting damage that can't just be healed away is a matter of some difficulty without holy blessing or a talent for decapitation. It also has a few minor talents that are occasionally handy--obviously, seeing in the dark is a big one, but her other senses are quite sharp, although not to extreme levels. Except for two exceptions: heartbeats and the smell of blood. Quite hard to sneak up on, this one. Having pretty terrible unaided eyesight isn't a skill, but it's noteworthy. * Other: Yes, drinking blood is required--blood becomes mana, mana sustains life. Yes, the sun is dangerous. It isn't quite lethal, though: Reon hates vampires but she's aware it's not a choice.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe It wasn't long before the vampire had finished saying whatever she felt like the order's founding saint might need to know--or even just crossed her mind, particularly the disappointment that they didn't work out a way to keep the griffin, a dangerous animal like that would make a great thing to try and pass the time in taming--and she turned her attention to the letter sent her way. In truth, most of it wasn't that interesting. It was mostly a matter of catching up on events of the past few years, and the sender's life and hers... well, they didn't have much in common now, did they? There was some similarity with her life before the Iron Roses had been founded in the amount of travelling, but their focus was distinctly different. Nor did Tyaethe really know how to feel about this daughter she had never met, no matter how interested she was in the Iron Roses. It was the first contact they had had since the rebellion, though, and that was a point of concern. She'd actually have to spend a good deal of time on her reply; that had changed a lot. Or maybe she wouldn't even need to? She mentioned her daughter was interested in joining and maybe they would be paying a visit soon. Definitely an undercurrent of disapproval, there--maybe she wanted them to paint a picture of the place as unwelco-- For the third time, the sound of running feet interrupted her train of thought. "Segremors! Segremors! Goddesses above, what are you doing?" Tyaethe called as the man came into sight. Although the chance he would understand more than his name was quite low, as the entire sentence was in elven--moreover, the variant spoken by the high elves over the vale, not the variant used by wood elves, which had been far more influenced over the years by the human languages.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors Daze "Huh?!" He called back out with about the only thing he could manage as reply, eyes pinning down the shock of white hair a half-beat after he heard his name, in its standard Thalnic form, called out in an accent he couldn't even begin to place. The First and Youngest, naturally— nobody else had quite so distinctive an appearance in the order. Ditto the vocal tone. If only he could tell whatever the hell it was that tone was saying as it hollered down the courtyard. It was bad enough that his own breathing was getting ragged, but now he could barely make out one word from the next coming out of the diminutive vampire's mouth. Seriously, he hadn't heard any of this in Velt, either... She seems annoyed. That much, at least, was clear. And since his legs were starting to burn out, and the wind growing ragged in his lungs... Alright, what'd I do? Might as well get this one over with. As he veered off to close distance between them, he slowed to a jog, then a canter, then a full stop before her, shoulders rising and falling above burning lungs as he began to control and modulate each breath he took. His gaze met hers, and he made no attempt to hide his befuddlement. "You... need something, ma'am?"</s>

<|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. At least he'd stopped. But... why was he so confused? It was a relatively simple question, there was no need to be confused about it all... for a second, the vampire stood at the courtyard door, looking equally confused about the whole situation, before the answer dawned on her. Right, she'd been thinking too much about how to word her reply (if she even sent one), and she'd responded to the interruption in kind, but almost nobody in the entire country outside of mages spoke the language... "Sorry about that," Tyaethe said, eyes fixed determinedly to Gerard's side, "Lilette sent a letter, and she taught me Elven, so it's good practice, and... anyway!" Drawing herself up to her full height--not that it was all that impressive, but the red eyes and slit-like pupils helped a bit, even with the glasses and overall frilly demeanour--the paladin gave Gerard a level stare. "Why are you running down the courtyard? We only just got back." It probably wouldn't have been that distracting if she had fed at any time since they set off. The elevated heartrate that came with exertion, so close to where she was reading? That was distracting. But 'stop this, I'm hungry' was the wrong thing to say. He had to have some reason for doing this immediately.</s>

<|description|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. * Age: 238 * Gender: Female * Race: Human (Vampire) * Appearance: Average knight for scale: For obvious reasons, she doesn't exactly fight like this: It's not even that much taller: Standing over six feet tall, it definitely doesn't match her height out of armour... With sword: * Personality: The opinion of those who only have to interact with the Iron Roses in their capacity as knights is that Tyaethe is a serious, no-nonsense veteran. This is completely true provided that she's acting in her capacity as a knight of the church, off rescuing people or doing simple military work--she's quite serious, if prone to taking the aggressive and faster option. When there's a real fight on hand or something strong to oppose, she gets more hot-headed... and in general is quite prone to an "ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK" mentality, prone to forgetting that most people do not share her ability to disregard physical injury. Off the battlefield, outside of religious matters she's quite lazy. There's no equipment for her to upkeep, no physical exercise to keep in shape, no family matters to attend to, and even the captain only needs so much assistance in a day. It leaves her plenty of time for either emulating a cat and finding somewhere inconvenient but comfortable to nap, or playing tricks and teasing other members of the Iron Roses. Or helping them as the case may be. At times, the vampire can actually seem her age, bored of the repetitiveness of time and duty--but still obliged to be here. Unless she respects you, making fun of her height or age is quite a way to set her off. * Brief Backstory: Coming from a minor noble family, Tyaethe was always expected to carry on her family's duty as knights of the crown. Yet due to favours owed by a highly influential and religious duke to her father, the standard of education that the girl received was much higher than her family would have expected--until the duke's own outspoken nature and the cause of the original favour came back. Having made enemies with a vampire of some age, and defied death once before, they came back for vengeance during a feast. Perhaps the vampire recognised Tyaethe as the child of one of its enemies and wanted to make a more ironic point, or maybe they just didn't want to kill a child in training--but of the attack, she was the only survivor, and quite confused at that. With her teacher dead, but his influence still felt, the girl went to the church and pledged herself to training as a paladin and to become a knight in Reon's service--with no idea of what she had been afflicted with. When this became apparent, it was already too late to back out... despite Reon's virulent hatred for vampires in particular, to reject an orphaned child unwittingly burdened with undeath would have been far too cruel, and a faithful servant is hardly the threat most become. So, even though the church would normally have resisted accepting the undead into their ranks, Tyaethe completed her training as best as possible despite the lack of ageing and became a paladin. Hot-headed and somewhat hard to work with, Tyaethe spent most of her time as a crusading knight-errant and working on her magical abilities--not wanting to go to yet another social function made doubly awkward by her apparent age, or snap at another companion for bringing attention to the fact. Her tendency for long trips away from most paladins helped with forgetting what she was, and Tyaethe developed a reasonably good reputation for her abilities. Which is about when Elionne prevented the assassination of Falthir and impressed the older paladin so much that she was the first to swear her service--before the Iron Roses had even been founded--and was something of a teacher. This, combined with her apparent age, is the source of the "First and Youngest" title... which she still hates hearing. Unfortunately, it's open knowledge, along with her condition, leaving Tyaethe with a very strange reputation. When Elionne disappeared, the vampire didn't know more than anyone else, though she certainly took the news hard. In the end, Tyaethe stuck with the knights, though she's become touchier about her apparent age over time, and has a tendency to act as a stumbling block to changing tradition. Occasionally, nobles looking to advance their control over the knights have been dismayed to learn that the circumstances of Tyaethe's original vow to join the knights more or less require Elionne to be the one to make her leave or be proved dead. Of course, that's outweighed by the people who are glad she hasn't gone anywhere; finding someone willing and able to fight dragons when they intermittently show up, let alone one so gleeful about it, would be... difficult if the paladin were to retire or go travelling. * Equipment: The only piece of "real" equipment that Tyaethe possesses is her sword--a blessed blade enchanted to have no weight to the wielder, so that even someone in her situation can wield it without any difficulty, and as resilient to damage as it could be made. Everything else, aside from her scarfs, is nothing more than a magical construct created as needed. Though it isn't really equipment, she also has two hundred years of accumulated money left over for whatever might need the investment--not a bad amount. * Skills: As one would expect of the most experienced knight in the order, Tyaethe's greatest asset is her swordsmanship, despite the link between vampirism and magical power. She takes pride in achieving victory through nothing more than the mundane application of skill, now honed over entire lifetimes, and insists that using some magical enhancement hardly detracts from the achievement; there are enough people around physically monstrous enough to achieve the same effects regardless. Some people have disagreed with this. Whatever their opinion on magically assisted swordsmanship, her skill is sufficient that she only gets excited when prodigies join the knights and provide some decent competition until they leave, or age catches up. Of course, as a vampire, there is no avoiding the massive raw magical power requirement to survive the process, one Tyaethe seems to have naturally exceeded by a considerable margin despite her development. Although dependent on regularly feeding to be able to fuel this level, the point that the paladin considers to be satiated and not a danger--and therefore maintaining something approaching her natural capacity--is akin to standing next to a bonfire of mana. All of this energy is regularly redirected into one of the least efficient spells possible, generating an illusion and enforcing its reality through stubbornness and sheer magical energy. In practical terms, it amounts to a minor capacity for shapeshifting and conjuration, no matter the mechanism behind it. This, of course, is how the paladin maintains an adult appearance as needed, or actually armours herself as a knight--ageing up or conjuring armour as appropriate. Due to its nature as little more than raw magic, it protects even better against magical attacks than physical, although it also provides the (rather unnecessary) protection of normal armour. With the illusions requiring constant investment, there is a limit to how long they can be maintained, with the armoured one being particularly extreme and reserved only for combat itself. Merely looking how she would if she had grown normally can be kept up with little difficulty, as long as she's awake. Then, of course, there are the abilities that stem directly from being a vampire. Using mana for physical enhancement is the most obvious, and where even the weakest vampires get a dreaded reputation: unless starving, even the least combat-trained vampire can boost themselves to scary levels. The other one is that inflicting damage that can't just be healed away is a matter of some difficulty without holy blessing or a talent for decapitation. It also has a few minor talents that are occasionally handy--obviously, seeing in the dark is a big one, but her other senses are quite sharp, although not to extreme levels. Except for two exceptions: heartbeats and the smell of blood. Quite hard to sneak up on, this one. Having pretty terrible unaided eyesight isn't a skill, but it's noteworthy. * Other: Yes, drinking blood is required--blood becomes mana, mana sustains life. Yes, the sun is dangerous. It isn't quite lethal, though: Reon hates vampires but she's aware it's not a choice.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. As she approached the small group, the gazes on Cecilia became almost suffocating, even if it was mostly the pair of elves studying her. Whilst the taller one, wearing the uniform, was openly fascinated by the knight that had come over to talk to them, it was the oddly familiar elf in the gown whose analytical gaze seemed to have an almost physical weight to it. Whatever assessment she was making promptly finished, and she went back to focusing on her own conversation with a noble of some sort with a practised ease. "My... name...?" the spider lady wondered, tilting her head. There was a lilting, musical tone to her voice, part of a very strong accent, one almost entirely unfamiliar in Thaln--definitely not from any of the surrounding countries, nor the harshness associated with Barukstaed in the far north. "No! I do not... I dress make--I make dresses. I do not need announcement." The unoccupied elf butted in, with all the obnoxiously regal beauty that the race as a whole seemed to carry. This close, it was still hard to tell their apparent gender, particularly with the sword strapped to their hip drawing attention. Long and slender, the jewel embedded in the pommel seemed oddly plain in cut, covered in small runes that indicated the entire weapon was also some sort of casting focus. "So, you're one of the Iron Roses? What's the order like?" At least, unlike the spider-bodied lady, this one didn't have anything of the same accent--if anything, they had a touch of Ithillin about the way they spoke. --- Tyaethe "Avoid attacking the other guests, you can't wait out a decades-long ban," Tyaethe said absent-mindedly, eyes flicking between two glasses of wine and then downing the red in a single shot whilst keeping hold of the rosé, "We are here as attendees, security should be left to the guards unless it can be helped." She turned around with the glass in hand, giving Lucas a sidelong look, "A few hours at least. You could maybe excuse yourself after one, if the princess doesn't require your attendance any longer. They usually pick up with the dancing, if you can find a partner." She inclined her head at the thanks, but didn't say anything else about the matter.</s> <|message|>Cecilia Daze --- Well, that wasn't quite the reply she was expecting. For the most part, Cecil paid no mind to the elf boring holes in her body. Such gazes were not something she wasn't unused too, back in the old nobility circles she ran in really. A gaze of judgement and deciding someones worth and whether or not they'd be an easy target for...hm, messing with, as one might say. All she spared was a quick glance towards the elf, but she had already gone back to another conversation and focused back on the spider lady. "Cecil." Hmm, curious. She wasn't from around here, then? She had seen a lot of oddities during her time as a mercenary but this was still a bit unfamiliar to her. "The Iron Roses?" She turned her head towards the androgynous elf with a chuckle. "Weeeelll, I could tell you how I valiantly helped put down the bandit king, saved our knight captain with a well placed arrow and took down a rampaging beast of great size," Some embellishments were fine. "They only accept the best of the best in the order, after all, and it's hard to pick where to begin." She'd offer the elf a cheeky grin. "Though, I could tell you what it lacks currently - a beautiful woman like the one in front of me." "...Cecil!" "So Miss Spider," She'd turn her attention back towards the Arachne with a friendly smile."Am I going to have to ask you for a dance later without knowing your name or will I have the privilege?" "Cecil I think that elf is one of the ones we've seen in those old paintings or whatever!" Cecil quietly glanced back over to the elf. "What was her name? Lil something...Lily? Lillian? Lila-" "Lilette?" Well, she hadn't intended on saying that aloud, but here she was.</s>

<|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. "I... you... that's..." the elf replied, struggling for words for some reason... although from the embarrassed look on their face, that was more to do with Cecilia's flirtatious comment than hero worship. "My name is Ithainne," said the spider lady, a slight blush gracing her cheeks as she returned a polite smile, "I do not think we can dance? I do not... know how?" Frowning, she turned to the elf and exchanged a few sentences in an extremely unfamiliar language. "How to dance with humanoids. You are too small. We move differently." The sudden name outburst got the other elf looking over her shoulder curiously, although it was the uniform-wearing one that responded first, pointing a finger at their own face. "Me? Not quite, that's Mum. I'm Lilia." Well, at least that answered the question; that was a girl's name.</s>

<|description|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. * Age: 238 * Gender: Female * Race: Human (Vampire) * Appearance: Average knight for scale: For obvious reasons, she doesn't exactly fight like this: It's not even that much taller: Standing over six feet tall, it definitely doesn't match her height out of armour... With sword: * Personality: The opinion of those who only have to interact with the Iron Roses in their capacity as knights is that Tyaethe is a serious, no-nonsense veteran. This is completely true provided that she's acting in her capacity as a knight of the church, off rescuing people or doing simple military work--she's quite serious, if prone to taking the aggressive and faster option. When there's a real fight on hand or something strong to oppose, she gets more hot-headed... and in general is quite prone to an "ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK" mentality, prone to forgetting that most people do not share her ability to disregard physical injury. Off the battlefield, outside of religious matters she's quite lazy. There's no equipment for her to upkeep, no physical exercise to keep in shape, no family matters to attend to, and even the captain only needs so much assistance in a day. It leaves her plenty of time for either emulating a cat and finding somewhere inconvenient but comfortable to nap, or playing tricks and teasing other members of the Iron Roses. Or helping them as the case may be. At times, the vampire can actually seem her age, bored of the repetitiveness of time and duty--but still obliged to be here. Unless she respects you, making fun of her height or age is quite a way to set her off. * Brief Backstory: Coming from a minor noble family, Tyaethe was always expected to carry on her family's duty as knights of the crown. Yet due to favours owed by a highly influential and religious duke to her father, the standard of education that the girl received was much higher than her family would have expected--until the duke's own outspoken nature and the cause of the original favour came back. Having made enemies with a vampire of some age, and defied death once before, they came back for vengeance during a feast. Perhaps the vampire recognised Tyaethe as the child of one of its enemies and wanted to make a more ironic point, or maybe they just didn't want to kill a child in training--but of the attack, she was the only survivor, and quite confused at that. With her teacher dead, but his influence still felt, the girl went to the church and pledged herself to training as a paladin and to become a knight in Reon's service--with no idea of what she had been afflicted with. When this became apparent, it was already too late to back out... despite Reon's virulent hatred for vampires in particular, to reject an orphaned child unwittingly burdened with undeath would have been far too cruel, and a faithful servant is hardly the threat most become. So, even though the church would normally have resisted accepting the undead into their ranks, Tyaethe completed her training as best as possible despite the lack of ageing and became a paladin. Hot-headed and somewhat hard to work with, Tyaethe spent most of her time as a crusading knight-errant and working on her magical abilities--not wanting to go to yet another social function made doubly awkward by her apparent age, or snap at another companion for bringing attention to the fact. Her tendency for long trips away from most paladins helped with forgetting what she was, and Tyaethe developed a reasonably good reputation for her abilities. Which is about when Elionne prevented the assassination of Falthir and impressed the older paladin so much that she was the first to swear her service--before the Iron Roses had even been founded--and was something of a teacher. This, combined with her apparent age, is the source of the "First and Youngest" title... which she still hates hearing. Unfortunately, it's open knowledge, along with her condition, leaving Tyaethe with a very strange reputation. When Elionne disappeared, the vampire didn't know more than anyone else, though she certainly took the news hard. In the end, Tyaethe stuck with the knights, though she's become touchier about her apparent age over time, and has a tendency to act as a stumbling block to changing tradition. Occasionally, nobles looking to advance their control over the knights have been dismayed to learn that the circumstances of Tyaethe's original vow to join the knights more or less require Elionne to be the one to make her leave or be proved dead. Of course, that's outweighed by the people who are glad she hasn't gone anywhere; finding someone willing and able to fight dragons when they intermittently show up, let alone one so gleeful about it, would be... difficult if the paladin were to retire or go travelling. * Equipment: The only piece of "real" equipment that Tyaethe possesses is her sword--a blessed blade enchanted to have no weight to the wielder, so that even someone in her situation can wield it without any difficulty, and as resilient to damage as it could be made. Everything else, aside from her scarfs, is nothing more than a magical construct created as needed. Though it isn't really equipment, she also has two hundred years of accumulated money left over for whatever might need the investment--not a bad amount. * Skills: As one would expect of the most experienced knight in the order, Tyaethe's greatest asset is her swordsmanship, despite the link between vampirism and magical power. She takes pride in achieving victory through nothing more than the mundane application of skill, now honed over entire lifetimes, and insists that using some magical enhancement hardly detracts from the achievement; there are enough people around physically monstrous enough to achieve the same effects regardless. Some people have disagreed with this. Whatever their opinion on magically assisted swordsmanship, her skill is sufficient that she only gets excited when prodigies join the knights and provide some decent competition until they leave, or age catches up. Of course, as a vampire, there is no avoiding the massive raw magical power requirement to survive the process, one Tyaethe seems to have naturally exceeded by a considerable margin despite her development. Although dependent on regularly feeding to be able to fuel this level, the point that the paladin considers to be satiated and not a danger--and therefore maintaining something approaching her natural capacity--is akin to standing next to a bonfire of mana. All of this energy is regularly redirected into one of the least efficient spells possible, generating an illusion and enforcing its reality through stubbornness and sheer magical energy. In practical terms, it amounts to a minor capacity for shapeshifting and conjuration, no matter the mechanism behind it. This, of course, is how the paladin maintains an adult appearance as needed, or actually armours herself as a knight--ageing up or conjuring armour as appropriate. Due to its nature as little more than raw magic, it protects even better against magical attacks than physical, although it also provides the (rather unnecessary) protection of normal armour. With the illusions requiring constant investment, there is a limit to how long they can be maintained, with the armoured one being particularly extreme and reserved only for combat itself. Merely looking how she would if she had grown normally can be kept up with little difficulty, as long as she's awake. Then, of course, there are the abilities that stem directly from being a vampire. Using mana for physical enhancement is the most obvious, and where even the weakest vampires get a dreaded reputation: unless starving, even the least combat-trained vampire can boost themselves to scary levels. The other one is that inflicting damage that can't just be healed away is a matter of some difficulty without holy blessing or a talent for decapitation. It also has a few minor talents that are occasionally handy--obviously, seeing in the dark is a big one, but her other senses are quite sharp, although not to extreme levels. Except for two exceptions: heartbeats and the smell of blood. Quite hard to sneak up on, this one. Having pretty terrible unaided eyesight isn't a skill, but it's noteworthy. * Other: Yes, drinking blood is required--blood becomes mana, mana sustains life. Yes, the sun is dangerous. It isn't quite lethal, though: Reon hates vampires but she's aware it's not a choice.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. "Yes, it is most impressive that the Iron Roses managed to defeat such a major threat on their first outing, despite their Lady Fanilly Danbalion's lack of experience," the Velbrance heir said, having fully closed the gap to within speaking distance of the captain, the young noble adroitly moving through the crowd with polished ease. His attire sharply cut in a deep, true black only lightly edged with silver, his impression was altogether colourless; an excellent pencil sketch come to life. "It is a shame that we could not meet again under strictly pleasant circumstances," the young man continued, arms crossed behind his back. "I believe that condolences are in order? I heard that the Erdlein family are arranging a funeral. It's such a tragedy to have lost a knight so soon after meeting them." --- Tyaethe Radistirin "I really have no idea what that boy's problem with me is," Tyaethe stated, looking at her now-empty glass and then at the tables. And... hm, that was an old friend she ought to catch up with. Especially if she'd heard things correctly, since it looked like some of their knights were involved too... "Try not to stand in a corner by yourself all evening. Not everyone here is a member of the nobility; I'm sure you can find someone to talk to." Taking a detour to snatch another pair of glasses, one might at first get the impression that she was following Lein, but the vampire entirely ignored his attempts to seduce Fleuri to offer a salute to the elder crown knight with one of her glasses. "You're looking good, Addie. So, our knights causing problems?" Not that she knew if Renar was doing anything (or Fleuri), eyes drifting over him curiously... and Felix. Hmm, looked pretty similar, hair notwithstanding. Family drama? What a mess. Landshark</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion Ah, it was a familiar face. Fanilly had known Lord Velbrance when the both of them were younger, having met a few times at functions arranged between his family and her own. She recalled him being a fairly polite boy, and while she had been rather shy at the time they hadn't gotten along terribly. Even if it had been quite some time since they'd last spoken, it was nice to see someone she knew even rather distantly now. Since they hadn't spoken in so long, while it was slightly discomforting to hear him forget her title she didn't truly blame him for it. "Ah, Lord Velbrance, it's been a long time," she said, bowing her head with a smile on her face as she spoke. "I-" She faltered when he continued to speak, breath hitching as Velbrance mentioned the death of Sir Rickert. His family... Fanilly knew he was a father. The news was surely devastating for his wife and child. She'd barely even known him, but Sir Ricket had swiftly proven himself to be an honorable and just knight even in her short experience with him as his Knight-Captain. "... I wish I could take his death back," she said, finally, her tone considerably more morose, "He shouldn't have died." She recalled Sir Renar's words from the previous night. While she wanted to prevent anyone under her command from dying, at the very least he had died fighting for Thaln's people. In the name of bravery and compassion. It didn't make it any less painful that he had died under her command, but at least he had died for what he believed in. "I... I made the arrangements for his family as soon as I could," she continued, fingers clenching slightly at her sides, gaze downcast, "I must, I must make sure they are given the honors they deserve, as the family of a brave knight. It's all I can do." Daze</s> <|message|>Cecilia Daze --- "Pfft, ahah." Well, she shouldn't laugh but she was just so cute! She could tease the elf, but on the other hand, that might make her die from embarrassment, and that would be something she would reserve for if they were alone. "And here I was thinking you'd be taking the lead from how confident you were." She'd start with, taking Lilia's hand and placing it on her own shoulder. "Don't worry, just try and follow my lead, yea?" She hadn't danced formally at a ball in a long time, but it should be fine. "So, Lilia. You seemed awfully eager to dance with me." Paladin@Psyker Landshark --- Felix's smile grew more and more strained the more Renar spoke. He clutched the glass in his hand hard enough to turn his knuckles white. If he had been alone, not here in public, he probably would have just snapped already and drew his sword. This upstart little halfwit, thinking the Iron Roses were even half as good as the Crown knights! Infurating, and his sheer arrogance! He would have rebuffed him further, had he not been interrupted by someone he really was hoping hadn't overheard all of this. "Ah, Sir Adeforth." Felix greeted him with a salute. "This man was dishonoring our order and I merely thought it was appropriate to reprimand him." He could have left this here. Now that Adeforth was present he shouldn't really run his mouth. But at the same time, now that he was here...perhaps he could take advantage of this. "However, if you are here and you would allow it. Brother. You and me. Duel. Now."</s>

<|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. "There's not much call for dancing on the road," Lilia mumbled, doing a remarkably good job of following despite her seeming lack of knowledge--although, for how fast she could clearly move, each step was notably shaky, the tall girl obviously focusing on correcting the movements as much as possible, "And people out in the countryside don't do this sort of formal stuff." The blush showed no sign of going away, as the elf made a remarkable effort of looking anywhere but at Cecilia's eyes, "W-Well, you seem nice, and you're one of the Iron Roses. I've always wanted to meet one! N-Not at a party, really, some sort of tournament would be better... apart from the crowds..." She trailed off, absent-mindedly adding, "One that's not mum, I mean."</s>

<|description|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. * Age: 238 * Gender: Female * Race: Human (Vampire) * Appearance: Average knight for scale: For obvious reasons, she doesn't exactly fight like this: It's not even that much taller: Standing over six feet tall, it definitely doesn't match her height out of armour... With sword: * Personality: The opinion of those who only have to interact with the Iron Roses in their capacity as knights is that Tyaethe is a serious, no-nonsense veteran. This is completely true provided that she's acting in her capacity as a knight of the church, off rescuing people or doing simple military work--she's quite serious, if prone to taking the aggressive and faster option. When there's a real fight on hand or something strong to oppose, she gets more hot-headed... and in general is quite prone to an "ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK" mentality, prone to forgetting that most people do not share her ability to disregard physical injury. Off the battlefield, outside of religious matters she's quite lazy. There's no equipment for her to upkeep, no physical exercise to keep in shape, no family matters to attend to, and even the captain only needs so much assistance in a day. It leaves her plenty of time for either emulating a cat and finding somewhere inconvenient but comfortable to nap, or playing tricks and teasing other members of the Iron Roses. Or helping them as the case may be. At times, the vampire can actually seem her age, bored of the repetitiveness of time and duty--but still obliged to be here. Unless she respects you, making fun of her height or age is quite a way to set her off. * Brief Backstory: Coming from a minor noble family, Tyaethe was always expected to carry on her family's duty as knights of the crown. Yet due to favours owed by a highly influential and religious duke to her father, the standard of education that the girl received was much higher than her family would have expected--until the duke's own outspoken nature and the cause of the original favour came back. Having made enemies with a vampire of some age, and defied death once before, they came back for vengeance during a feast. Perhaps the vampire recognised Tyaethe as the child of one of its enemies and wanted to make a more ironic point, or maybe they just didn't want to kill a child in training--but of the attack, she was the only survivor, and quite confused at that. With her teacher dead, but his influence still felt, the girl went to the church and pledged herself to training as a paladin and to become a knight in Reon's service--with no idea of what she had been afflicted with. When this became apparent, it was already too late to back out... despite Reon's virulent hatred for vampires in particular, to reject an orphaned child unwittingly burdened with undeath would have been far too cruel, and a faithful servant is hardly the threat most become. So, even though the church would normally have resisted accepting the undead into their ranks, Tyaethe completed her training as best as possible despite the lack of ageing and became a paladin. Hot-headed and somewhat hard to work with, Tyaethe spent most of her time as a crusading knight-errant and working on her magical abilities--not wanting to go to yet another social function made doubly awkward by her apparent age, or snap at another companion for bringing attention to the fact. Her tendency for long trips away from most paladins helped with forgetting what she was, and Tyaethe developed a reasonably good reputation for her abilities. Which is about when Elionne prevented the assassination of Falthir and impressed the older paladin so much that she was the first to swear her service--before the Iron Roses had even been founded--and was something of a teacher. This, combined with her apparent age, is the source of the "First and Youngest" title... which she still hates hearing. Unfortunately, it's open knowledge, along with her condition, leaving Tyaethe with a very strange reputation. When Elionne disappeared, the vampire didn't know more than anyone else, though she certainly took the news hard. In the end, Tyaethe stuck with the knights, though she's become touchier about her apparent age over time, and has a tendency to act as a stumbling block to changing tradition. Occasionally, nobles looking to advance their control over the knights have been dismayed to learn that the circumstances of Tyaethe's original vow to join the knights more or less require Elionne to be the one to make her leave or be proved dead. Of course, that's outweighed by the people who are glad she hasn't gone anywhere; finding someone willing and able to fight dragons when they intermittently show up, let alone one so gleeful about it, would be... difficult if the paladin were to retire or go travelling. * Equipment: The only piece of "real" equipment that Tyaethe possesses is her sword--a blessed blade enchanted to have no weight to the wielder, so that even someone in her situation can wield it without any difficulty, and as resilient to damage as it could be made. Everything else, aside from her scarfs, is nothing more than a magical construct created as needed. Though it isn't really equipment, she also has two hundred years of accumulated money left over for whatever might need the investment--not a bad amount. * Skills: As one would expect of the most experienced knight in the order, Tyaethe's greatest asset is her swordsmanship, despite the link between vampirism and magical power. She takes pride in achieving victory through nothing more than the mundane application of skill, now honed over entire lifetimes, and insists that using some magical enhancement hardly detracts from the achievement; there are enough people around physically monstrous enough to achieve the same effects regardless. Some people have disagreed with this. Whatever their opinion on magically assisted swordsmanship, her skill is sufficient that she only gets excited when prodigies join the knights and provide some decent competition until they leave, or age catches up. Of course, as a vampire, there is no avoiding the massive raw magical power requirement to survive the process, one Tyaethe seems to have naturally exceeded by a considerable margin despite her development. Although dependent on regularly feeding to be able to fuel this level, the point that the paladin considers to be satiated and not a danger--and therefore maintaining something approaching her natural capacity--is akin to standing next to a bonfire of mana. All of this energy is regularly redirected into one of the least efficient spells possible, generating an illusion and enforcing its reality through stubbornness and sheer magical energy. In practical terms, it amounts to a minor capacity for shapeshifting and conjuration, no matter the mechanism behind it. This, of course, is how the paladin maintains an adult appearance as needed, or actually armours herself as a knight--ageing up or conjuring armour as appropriate. Due to its nature as little more than raw magic, it protects even better against magical attacks than physical, although it also provides the (rather unnecessary) protection of normal armour. With the illusions requiring constant investment, there is a limit to how long they can be maintained, with the armoured one being particularly extreme and reserved only for combat itself. Merely looking how she would if she had grown normally can be kept up with little difficulty, as long as she's awake. Then, of course, there are the abilities that stem directly from being a vampire. Using mana for physical enhancement is the most obvious, and where even the weakest vampires get a dreaded reputation: unless starving, even the least combat-trained vampire can boost themselves to scary levels. The other one is that inflicting damage that can't just be healed away is a matter of some difficulty without holy blessing or a talent for decapitation. It also has a few minor talents that are occasionally handy--obviously, seeing in the dark is a big one, but her other senses are quite sharp, although not to extreme levels. Except for two exceptions: heartbeats and the smell of blood. Quite hard to sneak up on, this one. Having pretty terrible unaided eyesight isn't a skill, but it's noteworthy. * Other: Yes, drinking blood is required--blood becomes mana, mana sustains life. Yes, the sun is dangerous. It isn't quite lethal, though: Reon hates vampires but she's aware it's not a choice.</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion "Kyaaa, it's Princess Elisandre!" The voices of two of the three noble girls cried out their delight practically in unison, but Violette simply sighed at the dramatic exaltation of her companions. Still, even she was eyeing the princesses, admiring the manner in which the elder Princess's dress shimmered in a manner unlike fabric should be capable of. "Have you heard? Have you heard? They say an elven seamstress made her dress," exclaimed Tenessa eagerly, "And her jewelry was from the horde of a dragon!" One of those rumors was far more likely than the other. It was true that Thaln's crown had originated from the horde of a dragon, recovered long ago when the winged terror laid slain, it was unlikely that the same held true for the jewelry that adorned the First Princess. Still, its quality could not be ignored. "I heard it was dwarves," commented Angenese, laughing slightly at her friend's fanciful proposal andreplying with a considerably more likely one, "They're not very pretty themselves, but they can make beautiful jewelry." "Maybe it was the dwarves who made it, and it was found in a dragon's horde?! Ah, ah, Sir Knight, have you ever seen a dragon?!" Violette merely sighed once more, though her eyes still remained on the elder Princess. --- "My, you flatter me, Sir Knight, Dame Serenity," the Princess replied, placing one hand to her chest, "But even royalty should respect the work of the brave souls who defend these lands." Something about the way she spoke seemed almost pointed, but it was almost certainly not directed at anyone who was present. "To be honest, I'm simply excited to meet the Iron Rose Knights," continued the Princess, "While you may be new to the Order, your history is storied to say the least! And you slew such a monstrous killer for the sake of our people so recently." She paused a moment. "Ah, forgive me," she commented, apologetically, catching herself before she became too excited, "It's simply that the last time I was in the presence of Knights of your order, I was quite small. Younger then dear Maletha is now." She took another deep breath, in a bid to steady herself once again. It was at this moment that Veilena took the opportunity given to her by Serenity to step forward. "It's lovely to see you again, your highness," the young noblelady said, curtsying and bowing her head, "I was quite pleased when I received your invitation." "Ah, Lady Cazt, I'm glad to hear it," the Princess smiled as she spoke, "I trust you haven't encountered any unpleasant behavior?" "Of course not, your highness," Veilena replied, her voice growing just a little louder as she spoke, "After all, only cowards would simply stand by and whisper in hushed voices at the presence of a guest invited by a member of the royal family. Anyone with any self-respect would at least say such things to my face." If the Princess understood the Cazt heir's intent, it didn't show on her features. But perhaps she simply intended as much. The younger princess was far less talkative then her older sister, though she was peering up at the knights wordlessly as she stood by. The moment anyone looked in her direction, however, she was quick to avert her eyes. It was only when Sir Fionn knelt in front of her that she found herself looking directly at someone. She was hesitant to respond for a few moments, glancing up towards her sister. But Maletha eventually slowly reached out with one hand. "I-it's nice to meet you, Sir Knight," she said, speaking quite a bit more quietly then Elisandre, "My, there, um, certainly are a lot of guests tonight..." @VahkiDane@The Otter Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Psyker Landshark@PigeonOfAstora@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @VahkiDane@ERode --- Fionn took the offered hand gently, bowing his head down respectfully. "There are, aren't there?" he agreed. "Royal balls must be quite the occasion." He shifted his grip slightly, closing the younger princess's fingers around some of the candied fruits he'd been hiding in his grasp, before drawing his hand back with a sly wink. "But I dare say, between us and your crown knights in attendance, you've little to fret over and much to enjoy." Even if he couldn't take Tyaethe's advice to try and enjoy himself quite so easily, he could at least do his best to pass it on. In truth, even in his mercenary days, he'd rarely been comfortable carousing with the rest of his company, though they, at least, were of the same social standing he'd been born into. He much preferred to have something to do rather than just to socialize, and helping alleviate someone else's nerves seemed as good a task to assign himself as any. "Fionn MacKerracher, at your service, your highness—at least for the length of the ball."</s>

<|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. "No, he really shouldn't have died," Velbrance concurred, a note of sympathy injected into the young man's voice, "My good captain, you must take better care of your senior staff. Dame Tyaethe may be impervious to harm, but the other knights are quite mortal. Yet, to lose one to anything below war or treachery is very much a scandal to avoid." With a charming smile pasted on, he offered an arm towards Fanilly, "I Believe the princess would like to be introduced to you. If you might give me the honour of being an escort?" --- Tyaethe "I'm in both your orders," Tyaethe said drily, looking Renar in the eye, "Of course I'm going to watch. At least one of you is going to be a disappointment before the end of the night, even if we overlook using a royal ball to stage a duel in the first place." Of course, her involvement with the Crown Knights was essentially nil, but as a hereditary position, it hadn't gone anywhere. "I'll go fetch Lils, make sure we have a healer on hand," the vampire announced, swigging from one of the glasses and then strolling away across the ball to accost the aforementioned elf and badger her into helping. From the resigned expression Lilette was developing, that wouldn't take long at all.</s>

<|description|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. * Age: 238 * Gender: Female * Race: Human (Vampire) * Appearance: Average knight for scale: For obvious reasons, she doesn't exactly fight like this: It's not even that much taller: Standing over six feet tall, it definitely doesn't match her height out of armour... With sword: * Personality: The opinion of those who only have to interact with the Iron Roses in their capacity as knights is that Tyaethe is a serious, no-nonsense veteran. This is completely true provided that she's acting in her capacity as a knight of the church, off rescuing people or doing simple military work--she's quite serious, if prone to taking the aggressive and faster option. When there's a real fight on hand or something strong to oppose, she gets more hot-headed... and in general is quite prone to an "ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK" mentality, prone to forgetting that most people do not share her ability to disregard physical injury. Off the battlefield, outside of religious matters she's quite lazy. There's no equipment for her to upkeep, no physical exercise to keep in shape, no family matters to attend to, and even the captain only needs so much assistance in a day. It leaves her plenty of time for either emulating a cat and finding somewhere inconvenient but comfortable to nap, or playing tricks and teasing other members of the Iron Roses. Or helping them as the case may be. At times, the vampire can actually seem her age, bored of the repetitiveness of time and duty--but still obliged to be here. Unless she respects you, making fun of her height or age is quite a way to set her off. * Brief Backstory: Coming from a minor noble family, Tyaethe was always expected to carry on her family's duty as knights of the crown. Yet due to favours owed by a highly influential and religious duke to her father, the standard of education that the girl received was much higher than her family would have expected--until the duke's own outspoken nature and the cause of the original favour came back. Having made enemies with a vampire of some age, and defied death once before, they came back for vengeance during a feast. Perhaps the vampire recognised Tyaethe as the child of one of its enemies and wanted to make a more ironic point, or maybe they just didn't want to kill a child in training--but of the attack, she was the only survivor, and quite confused at that. With her teacher dead, but his influence still felt, the girl went to the church and pledged herself to training as a paladin and to become a knight in Reon's service--with no idea of what she had been afflicted with. When this became apparent, it was already too late to back out... despite Reon's virulent hatred for vampires in particular, to reject an orphaned child unwittingly burdened with undeath would have been far too cruel, and a faithful servant is hardly the threat most become. So, even though the church would normally have resisted accepting the undead into their ranks, Tyaethe completed her training as best as possible despite the lack of ageing and became a paladin. Hot-headed and somewhat hard to work with, Tyaethe spent most of her time as a crusading knight-errant and working on her magical abilities--not wanting to go to yet another social function made doubly awkward by her apparent age, or snap at another companion for bringing attention to the fact. Her tendency for long trips away from most paladins helped with forgetting what she was, and Tyaethe developed a reasonably good reputation for her abilities. Which is about when Elionne prevented the assassination of Falthir and impressed the older paladin so much that she was the first to swear her service--before the Iron Roses had even been founded--and was something of a teacher. This, combined with her apparent age, is the source of the "First and Youngest" title... which she still hates hearing. Unfortunately, it's open knowledge, along with her condition, leaving Tyaethe with a very strange reputation. When Elionne disappeared, the vampire didn't know more than anyone else, though she certainly took the news hard. In the end, Tyaethe stuck with the knights, though she's become touchier about her apparent age over time, and has a tendency to act as a stumbling block to changing tradition. Occasionally, nobles looking to advance their control over the knights have been dismayed to learn that the circumstances of Tyaethe's original vow to join the knights more or less require Elionne to be the one to make her leave or be proved dead. Of course, that's outweighed by the people who are glad she hasn't gone anywhere; finding someone willing and able to fight dragons when they intermittently show up, let alone one so gleeful about it, would be... difficult if the paladin were to retire or go travelling. * Equipment: The only piece of "real" equipment that Tyaethe possesses is her sword--a blessed blade enchanted to have no weight to the wielder, so that even someone in her situation can wield it without any difficulty, and as resilient to damage as it could be made. Everything else, aside from her scarfs, is nothing more than a magical construct created as needed. Though it isn't really equipment, she also has two hundred years of accumulated money left over for whatever might need the investment--not a bad amount. * Skills: As one would expect of the most experienced knight in the order, Tyaethe's greatest asset is her swordsmanship, despite the link between vampirism and magical power. She takes pride in achieving victory through nothing more than the mundane application of skill, now honed over entire lifetimes, and insists that using some magical enhancement hardly detracts from the achievement; there are enough people around physically monstrous enough to achieve the same effects regardless. Some people have disagreed with this. Whatever their opinion on magically assisted swordsmanship, her skill is sufficient that she only gets excited when prodigies join the knights and provide some decent competition until they leave, or age catches up. Of course, as a vampire, there is no avoiding the massive raw magical power requirement to survive the process, one Tyaethe seems to have naturally exceeded by a considerable margin despite her development. Although dependent on regularly feeding to be able to fuel this level, the point that the paladin considers to be satiated and not a danger--and therefore maintaining something approaching her natural capacity--is akin to standing next to a bonfire of mana. All of this energy is regularly redirected into one of the least efficient spells possible, generating an illusion and enforcing its reality through stubbornness and sheer magical energy. In practical terms, it amounts to a minor capacity for shapeshifting and conjuration, no matter the mechanism behind it. This, of course, is how the paladin maintains an adult appearance as needed, or actually armours herself as a knight--ageing up or conjuring armour as appropriate. Due to its nature as little more than raw magic, it protects even better against magical attacks than physical, although it also provides the (rather unnecessary) protection of normal armour. With the illusions requiring constant investment, there is a limit to how long they can be maintained, with the armoured one being particularly extreme and reserved only for combat itself. Merely looking how she would if she had grown normally can be kept up with little difficulty, as long as she's awake. Then, of course, there are the abilities that stem directly from being a vampire. Using mana for physical enhancement is the most obvious, and where even the weakest vampires get a dreaded reputation: unless starving, even the least combat-trained vampire can boost themselves to scary levels. The other one is that inflicting damage that can't just be healed away is a matter of some difficulty without holy blessing or a talent for decapitation. It also has a few minor talents that are occasionally handy--obviously, seeing in the dark is a big one, but her other senses are quite sharp, although not to extreme levels. Except for two exceptions: heartbeats and the smell of blood. Quite hard to sneak up on, this one. Having pretty terrible unaided eyesight isn't a skill, but it's noteworthy. * Other: Yes, drinking blood is required--blood becomes mana, mana sustains life. Yes, the sun is dangerous. It isn't quite lethal, though: Reon hates vampires but she's aware it's not a choice.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen The First Princess really did enjoy speaking of this book a tad too much. Still, Renar couldn't fault a sheltered teenager for panicking and holding on to some sense of normalcy. Still, if Sir Adeforth wasn't going to shut the conversation down, he took it as tacit approval to keep on with this line of talk. Sun and Moon, he couldn't imagine Felix trying to hold a conversation with the Princess. The idiot would probably either try to aggrandize himself or just be a sycophant. Renar shifted his gaze towards the windows, keeping an eye out for intruders as he spoke. Nothing yet, but if the Crown Knights had the door well in hand, the other primary entrance point to these chambers would be the tower window, no matter how difficult it was a climb. "Yes, I would say Fireheart had one of the better depictions of Rozenalt and the Redmarch." He stated, his tone still light and conversational. Hmm. Dame Tyaethe still had the younger princess well in hand, it seemed. "Of late, it seems authors have tended to portray the Bloody Lord as more of a joke and one-off than a proper threat. At least Fireheart did some justice to the character."</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri turned his full attention towards the newly arrived warrior. "This must be the very large warrior that the Nem mentioned," he remarked to his fellow knights. Indeed, the man before them was quite large, and even if his axe wasn't bearing a dangerous enchantment, he looked to be quite a formidable foe. Fanilly ordered for a few of their number to deal with this warrior so the others could push forward. The Ingvarr knight Steffan was the first to volunteer, moving to engage the bearded axeman. His opponent wasn't going to go down easily, and with that enchanted weapon in an enclosed space, it was too dangerous to leave this to one knight. Fleuri didn't have the opportunity to vocally convey his intention to stay, because he needed to act immediately. As the warrior charged at Steffan and swung his magical axe, Fleuri moved to flank from the right side. The moment that the explosion finished its course, the knight moved in and thrust his greatsword at the warrior's torso just beneath the arm, aiming to stab his sword between the armor joints while the man's arms were extended forward. Whether or not he was able to penetrate the man's armor, he'd immediately withdraw his sword and step back after making the stab- he needed to stay out of the range of that axe, because attempting to block or parry it would end in disaster. @VitaVitaAR@Conscripts</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen @HereComesTheSnow A warrior of the north, armored with ensorcelled plate. If this was all they had to fight, then she would gladly partake. But for all the might, all the prowess, all the wealth that this barbarian possessed, he was not a necromancer, nor even a hero on the battlefield. He was a nameless axeman who fought on the commands of a desecrator of the dead, a blasphemer of Reon's decrees. Two of the Iron Rose splintered off from the rest, forcing back the barbarian from his point at the entrance to the inner crypt. Sir Steffen and Sir Fleuri, a stable enough composition, so long as Flower reined in his more impulsive decisions. Even if they could only hold back the barbarian, that would be enough. Dame Cecilia called out her own positioning, and Serenity herself stepped in as well. The Ingvarr staying behind meant that, once more, there was only one shield to be 'shared' amongst all the remaining knights. Her shield. So she, of course, stepped to the front, shield raised for the unknown dangers further down. "Captain, stay in the center with the archers. Sir Gerard, cover the rear." For worse, they were running out of proper knights to hold a formation with. For better, they would all have a greater share of the glory in the end.</s>

<|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Over at the Tomb Those descending into the mausoleum swiftly found the space opening up once more, the clean marble surrounding them surprisingly well-lit by runic enchantments that flared to life on their entry. Alcoves lined the walls, flush with tombs of minor family members, many with lifelike effigies laid atop. Others, meanwhile, remained unadorned--its inhabitant perhaps represented by one of the many statues that stood between the alcoves. The entire environment was surprisingly colourful, from the uncannily lifelike figures to the repeated banners of House Cazt and its former cadets. It also transpired that they were not alone, a figure emerging from an empty tomb with nary a sound in but a second, and leaning against a statue with a cocky grin. A statue with quite the resemblance in features--although dressed in the formal regalia of yesteryear, not the stylish clothing of a young gentleman, and with distinctly amber eyes rather than the vibrant red ones that affixed the knights. The pointed ears were a notable difference, too. "I welcome you to my family's tomb, Iron Roses. I was quite concerned that the little assassin would find where I slipped the note and dispose of it for her sister's safety," he said, shaking his head in disappointment. Nothing about his posture seemed immediately threatening, but it was impossible to ignore the sabre casually resting in one arm... or the weighty, equally loaded crossbow in the other hand, "But where are my manners? Damon Cazt, at your service. His eyes scanned the small group, before he let out a disappointed sigh, "The paladin stayed behind? Or did she choose to stay up top and fight Alfrid? No matter; it seems my planned distraction isn't here, so one of you shall have to do. The captain simply must go on, therefore..." A finger tapped against the sabre's gilt hilt for a few seconds, before the blade swept up, idly dancing between Cecilia and Serenity, settling on the latter. "You! The presumptuous one. You stay here and fight me for a little while, everyone else can go on ahead and clear up the necromancer defiling our tomb. Nobody will be surprised for me to get sidetracked by an attractive thing like you, and they simply lack in boyish charm." He paused for a second, looking at Lein. "And I've done well to avoid Hundi marriage proposals, I'm not going to start now. Now, the rest of you, shoo! A little friendly fight between us two is far preferable to staining this tomb with your blood."</s>

<|description|>Katerina Valentina Age: 25 Gender: Female Race: Half-Elf Appearance: Standing at 5'11.5" with an athletic build to her, Katerina looks the part of a well-kept knight when in casual attire. Sporting dark viridian hair that reaches down to her mid back, she usually keeps at least part of it braided or tied, out of the way of her emerald eyes. She seems rather attentive even in her neutral pose, as if making mental notes of specific details or another. Personality: Katerina held a lifelong suspicion that most people had thought of her as either banal or revolting, through most who had met her as an affable and sharp woman, if possessive of a grim sense of humor. While usually agreeable in small talk and casual conversation, Katerina can get very protective about things she has grown fond of, whether that be her steward approach when dealing with those she considers close to her or her rather territorial approach when she sees her interests being interfered upon. At first, Katerina often views other with some caution, though if there's any consolation in the matter, when she does eventually open up they will likewise find that she values tranquility and periods of independence. She can also be fiercely stubborn, difficult to change her mind or talk her out of something once she's made her mind up. If one should wish to test out the limits of her defensive posturing, call her a "witch". Brief Backstory: Katerina was born on the borderlands of Velt to a human wizard and an elven traveling bard. Her early life was mired with ceaseless household troubles, the result of both her parents free-spirited personae and the chaotic lives with which they both lived brought no shortage of conflicts between the two. The last memory that she had of her father was when she was six years old -- her parents were engaged in one of their usual mutually-drunken arguments, one last remark had seen the two through, and father packed up his belongings and sang to his daughter "Farewell My Darling" while her mother threw shoes at him. In the words of one of her tutors, her mother was, "A good woman who could not be a good mother" -- as Katerina grew up, she commented that this translated as, "A deadbeat mom with extra steps". Though she had a great natural inclination to magic from a young age, Katerina lived most of her early life in the accompaniment of her mother's bardic troupe -- in practice, this meant flinging her between the houses of friends and acquaintances. Katerina leveraged whatever tutelage she could find for magic, often of dubious safety and highly varying in quality. She had many mentors throughout her early pedagogy, and although she had constantly petitioned her mother to be sent off to a proper magical school, Katerina's mother insisted that she had neither the resources nor the peerage to enroll her. As such, Katerina had to get crafty with her magical studies, and often learned from secondhand sources, such as other magical students around her age, old manuscripts, and the like. At the onset of the War of the Red Flag, Katerina found herself pressed into service within the ranks of a clerical corps, whom were to travel alongside bands of soldiers to provide care and medical service, after she had been in the study of a pastor for a few weeks. She was less than pleased about the fact at first, but as disaster after disaster ran through the course of the war's chaotic onset, Katerina proved to have an uncanny knack for persevering through sticky situations, as she provided an invaluable bulwark in poorly-organized retreats. When asked about where she received her knowledge of magic, Katerina often jokingly answered, "The College of the Verdant Weald" -- that is to say, witchcraft. Much to her chagrin, she received the moniker, "The Witch Knight" on account that she had never given any consistent answer as to where she received her magical training. After the war, Katerina would find some difficulties finding permanent employment, even as her mother -- believing that her newfound title had meant she had made quite the amount of fame and fortune -- constantly made attempts to hit her up for currency. She found inglorious work as the bodyguard to a renowned alchemist supplier, and although the postwar realities were rather unkind to his supply chains, Katerina had managed to surprise him time and time again when tasked to protect shipments or retrieve alchemy ingredients. Though he could not offer her much in the way of direct advancement, he saw the displeasure in Katerina at her current life situation, and at his recommendation he had vouched to her that she should join a knightly order. At first, she believed that he had simply grown tired of him and was looking to be rid of her, but soon after came around to the idea and had been ensquired unto the Iron Rose Knights. Equipment: Katerina's armor is a simple breastplate adorned atop some mage's robes, now bearing the insignia of the Iron Rose. Accompanying her are a few magical talismans, most evidently include an incense censer and a deck of cards with align themselves with magical insignia. To battle she carries a steel flanged mace, adorned with a spike atop the hammerhead. She also carries a thin, puncturing dagger with a single bladed edge. Skills: Kateria's magical education came from whichever sources she was able to find, and has at least a dabbling proficiency with all but the most obscure or profane of magical schools. With such a patchwork field of magical expertise, Katerina has eventually refined her magical skills into proficiency with life magic. In particular, she is quite knowledgeable with healing magic -- of which she has had ample expertise in dealing with since the years of her line of work. She also has some knowledge regarding the application of and dispelling of hexes and curses as a result, though most of the more direct applications of putting curses onto things or people are beyond her area of expertise: Katerina is more used to ridding people of hexes than giving them out. In addition, she's quite the hand with pyromancy and electromancy -- which she's had plenty of time to refine both during and immediately after the war. Although she's quite athletic and in good shape, Katerina has not had much direct weapons training beyond the basics of combat instruction, and instead prefers to utilize a stripped-down array of simple, effective techniques than apply any advanced combat maneuvers. Outside of battle, Katerina is quite fond of most card games, and dabbles in literature and horticulture. She's also a fantastic cook: Her lamb casserole is to die for.</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau The overturned cart was indeed a trap. As soon as the captain got close, several ambushers leapt down from a tree, and others emerged from their hiding spots all around the knights. They were either overconfident or stupid, Fleuri surmised. They had the advantage of concealment yet chose to emerge and fight up close. Such a shock tactic might work well on unsuspecting travelers or unprepared soldiers, but the Iron Roses would not be so easily shaken. Against a strong, resolute, and prepared opponent, such a tactic would just make them easier to kill. Fleuri readied his weapon, taking a moment to gauge his opponents that were closing in on his position. He wanted to take the brief moment before they closed the distance to gauge their armor, weapons, and anything else of note so that he'd be able to better combat them. Unfortunately, Sir Lucas had other ideas than waiting for the bandits to come to them, and dashed towards them. "Lucas, wait, no!" Fleuri shouted, exasperated at the junior knight's reckless zeal. Such aggression devoid of any iota of forethought was something he was familiar with, and even guilty of back when he was a squire. All the more reason that he needed to do what his mentor once did for him, all those years ago- get in there and help. Fleuri attempted to run after Lucas, but a burly man with a battleaxe stood before him, blocking the way. The junior knight had, in his impulsiveness, brushed a foe aside without incapacitating him, and was already at risk of getting surrounded, so it looked like Fleuri would have to deal with the axeman. Fleuri came to a halt and stepped back just as the bandit swung his axe, narrowly missing the knight. Before he could ready another swing, the knight thrust his greatsword, skewering the bandit right through the heart. I do not have time for this, he thought to himself as he drove the sword deeper into the man's chest. Once the man crumpled to the ground, Fleuri pulled his sword out and resumed his pursuit of the younger knight, who had gotten himself into trouble. Lucas had lost his balance and fallen to the ground, and a bandit was standing over him, readying a blow. "For Reon! For the Roses!" Fleuri shouted as he charged. The bandit had just enough time to look in Fleuri's direction before being cleanly beheaded by the knight's greatsword. The man's head went flying through the air, and the body fell down, lifeless. Lucas appeared to be unharmed, and hopefully wiser for the experience. "I trust you'll be more careful in the future, Sir Lucas," Fleuri remarked as he glanced around looking for any other bandits that might be nearby. "Are you wounded?"</s> <|message|>Shanil Haddly Shanil was fairly sure she had bumped into someone who had once been a mercenary but she wasn't really sure. The elf had taken only a limited amount of time to learn the names and histories of her fellow knights. The few she had learned were those at the command level and that annoyance Cecilia. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword as she prepared for anything. Especially when their leader ran off to inspect what might as well be a dead man. Of course, it would be expected for a bunch of men to jump out of the trees for such obvious bait. It didn't even take their commander saying, "To Arms!" for Shanil to rush forward. Her magically enhanced strength pushing her forward as she freed her greatsword from the confines of it's specially created sheath that she could free by magic. "Release." Her first word in quite some time was spoken followed by an audible click. The woman swung the blade free of it's prison and brought it to rest on her shoulder. As she charged forward towards the first of her targets. A bandit wielding an axe and shield. As she was about in full melee with him, a three more bandits had dropped from the trees around her. It wasn't a problem of course. It saved her the trouble of going to them. She gripped her sword with both hands and swung it at the shielded bandit. He was not fully prepared to be blown off his feet by a elven woman perhaps as he was knocked back some feet and landed on his ass disorientated. She let the weapons momentum follow through as she spun on her heel towards the next enemy and released the weapon with her dominant hand, merely holding on with her right. Her non-dominant hand rotated its hold on the swords grip and pulled it closer to her so she could make another two handed hold to bring the blade down on her next opponent's head. Whether it be hubris or something else, he failed to move and attempted a block with his weapon but it was not enough and was crushed under the blade. The elven knight then turned to the other two that had been in shock of what they had just witnessed. These two absolutely knew that there would be no blocking and that they would rather try to dodge. Shanil took a swing at one who took a big jump back to escape the slash and the other moved in to attack from her side by bringing an axe down on her head. Shanil caught this attack coming from the corner of her eye. She reacted quicker than the man might have thought she could and brought her weapon up to block the blow. The first bandit with the shield started to regain his bearings so Shanil gave a small sigh. "Tendrils of shadow, rise from the earth, bind my enemies." A small chant but it had more than enough of an effect. The two bandits next to her would feel that they couldn't move their feet from where they stood. A small hint of fear was noticeable in their eyes. It was easy enough to end the two with one slash of her sword. There was only one more left. Shanil roughly kicked him flat on his back and hefted her sword up high pointing down at his chest. Before baring it down.</s>

<|message|>Katerina Valentina Katerina spotted something out in the middle of the road -- a man, his blood nearly bursting as he barely limped to his side weakly. She looked over him, the old fellow barely seeming to keep it together, blood bursting from his stomach, and a crimson, enfeebled hand which had long been coloured white was now awash in his own ichor. From how he struggled, it seemed like he possessed just enough strength to maintain what was left of his consciousness -- and even that would wither to nothing soon. Her accomplices on the other hand, a bit more acute to their surroundings than Katerina made haste to the treelines around them. One -- the blonde, Serenity, she knew -- barked orders, calling for cover and formation. And before the good Captain could reach out to call forth her proclamations, soon was the tide of battle crashing down before her. Well, first things first, Katerina would need to perform the chief of her duties -- there far too much foliage here for any serious offense, and without knowing the position of any more hostages nor assailants, Katerina dismissed any notion of serious offense. A stray lightning bolt could very well set a tree on fire even if it strayed ever slightly from its target -- a fire spell, the entire canopy ablaze in seconds. Softly whispering a few words, she knelt down before the injured old man, looking up for a moment, and sensing her assailants in danger, turned her head back down -- first unto him, then unto her belt pouch. She summoned a card from her deck, Katerina snapping it out from the purple mist from which it came. It hovers gently over her extended palm, swirling in its magic mist. The Queen of Graves glided majestically above her hand. Her cold stare piously lords over her band of knights, for the domain of life and death is her sovereign. Katerina nods. A small smile she exchanges with the Queen. "Aye, we're in luck." Katerina, floating the card above, murmured, falling into a deep, whispered enchantment. Energy rushed around her, a dismal wind blowing in her presence as it nearly blasted those around her like a gale tore down a sapling. She posed her fingertips front and skyward, and with a fierce posturing, cast upwards. An aetheric essence flowed upwards, like water gushing from a rupturing old dam, as blasts of flowing magic conjoined with rock-solid vapours swirled around her, they soon flowed off to her allies, coating them in its protective magical veil. Feelings of strength soon surge as the ward envelops around her comrades, wary sinew springing to life and gashes staunched over to life-affirming flesh.</s>

<|description|>Katerina Valentina Age: 25 Gender: Female Race: Half-Elf Appearance: Standing at 5'11.5" with an athletic build to her, Katerina looks the part of a well-kept knight when in casual attire. Sporting dark viridian hair that reaches down to her mid back, she usually keeps at least part of it braided or tied, out of the way of her emerald eyes. She seems rather attentive even in her neutral pose, as if making mental notes of specific details or another. Personality: Katerina held a lifelong suspicion that most people had thought of her as either banal or revolting, through most who had met her as an affable and sharp woman, if possessive of a grim sense of humor. While usually agreeable in small talk and casual conversation, Katerina can get very protective about things she has grown fond of, whether that be her steward approach when dealing with those she considers close to her or her rather territorial approach when she sees her interests being interfered upon. At first, Katerina often views other with some caution, though if there's any consolation in the matter, when she does eventually open up they will likewise find that she values tranquility and periods of independence. She can also be fiercely stubborn, difficult to change her mind or talk her out of something once she's made her mind up. If one should wish to test out the limits of her defensive posturing, call her a "witch". Brief Backstory: Katerina was born on the borderlands of Velt to a human wizard and an elven traveling bard. Her early life was mired with ceaseless household troubles, the result of both her parents free-spirited personae and the chaotic lives with which they both lived brought no shortage of conflicts between the two. The last memory that she had of her father was when she was six years old -- her parents were engaged in one of their usual mutually-drunken arguments, one last remark had seen the two through, and father packed up his belongings and sang to his daughter "Farewell My Darling" while her mother threw shoes at him. In the words of one of her tutors, her mother was, "A good woman who could not be a good mother" -- as Katerina grew up, she commented that this translated as, "A deadbeat mom with extra steps". Though she had a great natural inclination to magic from a young age, Katerina lived most of her early life in the accompaniment of her mother's bardic troupe -- in practice, this meant flinging her between the houses of friends and acquaintances. Katerina leveraged whatever tutelage she could find for magic, often of dubious safety and highly varying in quality. She had many mentors throughout her early pedagogy, and although she had constantly petitioned her mother to be sent off to a proper magical school, Katerina's mother insisted that she had neither the resources nor the peerage to enroll her. As such, Katerina had to get crafty with her magical studies, and often learned from secondhand sources, such as other magical students around her age, old manuscripts, and the like. At the onset of the War of the Red Flag, Katerina found herself pressed into service within the ranks of a clerical corps, whom were to travel alongside bands of soldiers to provide care and medical service, after she had been in the study of a pastor for a few weeks. She was less than pleased about the fact at first, but as disaster after disaster ran through the course of the war's chaotic onset, Katerina proved to have an uncanny knack for persevering through sticky situations, as she provided an invaluable bulwark in poorly-organized retreats. When asked about where she received her knowledge of magic, Katerina often jokingly answered, "The College of the Verdant Weald" -- that is to say, witchcraft. Much to her chagrin, she received the moniker, "The Witch Knight" on account that she had never given any consistent answer as to where she received her magical training. After the war, Katerina would find some difficulties finding permanent employment, even as her mother -- believing that her newfound title had meant she had made quite the amount of fame and fortune -- constantly made attempts to hit her up for currency. She found inglorious work as the bodyguard to a renowned alchemist supplier, and although the postwar realities were rather unkind to his supply chains, Katerina had managed to surprise him time and time again when tasked to protect shipments or retrieve alchemy ingredients. Though he could not offer her much in the way of direct advancement, he saw the displeasure in Katerina at her current life situation, and at his recommendation he had vouched to her that she should join a knightly order. At first, she believed that he had simply grown tired of him and was looking to be rid of her, but soon after came around to the idea and had been ensquired unto the Iron Rose Knights. Equipment: Katerina's armor is a simple breastplate adorned atop some mage's robes, now bearing the insignia of the Iron Rose. Accompanying her are a few magical talismans, most evidently include an incense censer and a deck of cards with align themselves with magical insignia. To battle she carries a steel flanged mace, adorned with a spike atop the hammerhead. She also carries a thin, puncturing dagger with a single bladed edge. Skills: Kateria's magical education came from whichever sources she was able to find, and has at least a dabbling proficiency with all but the most obscure or profane of magical schools. With such a patchwork field of magical expertise, Katerina has eventually refined her magical skills into proficiency with life magic. In particular, she is quite knowledgeable with healing magic -- of which she has had ample expertise in dealing with since the years of her line of work. She also has some knowledge regarding the application of and dispelling of hexes and curses as a result, though most of the more direct applications of putting curses onto things or people are beyond her area of expertise: Katerina is more used to ridding people of hexes than giving them out. In addition, she's quite the hand with pyromancy and electromancy -- which she's had plenty of time to refine both during and immediately after the war. Although she's quite athletic and in good shape, Katerina has not had much direct weapons training beyond the basics of combat instruction, and instead prefers to utilize a stripped-down array of simple, effective techniques than apply any advanced combat maneuvers. Outside of battle, Katerina is quite fond of most card games, and dabbles in literature and horticulture. She's also a fantastic cook: Her lamb casserole is to die for.</s> <|message|>Morianne, The Troubadour Morianne --- @HereComesTheSnow --- The troubadour smirked upon hearing the bandit give up so easily. Usually this spell took a bit of work to function properly as Morianne hadn't quite mastered it. "Palisades," he said, "there's palisades set up around the camp, but it's not a complete wall... a watch-tower too…" Jackpot! Morianne thought. The troubadour could only guess as to how long this sort of information would have taken to get if Gerard had his way. Judging by his looks, Morianne assumed Gerard would simply kill the bandit if he refused to talk. Morianne couldn't help but think such behavior would be… unbefitting of a knight and just downright vile. "Oh my," Morianne exclaimed with a theatrical gasp, continuing her little show while Gerard, having conceded to Morianne's way of doing things, walked off. "I can only imagine what other dashing plans you have it st-" Her act was cut off by a biting jab from the 'Murderhobo'. "If you're gonna smooch him, wipe your mouth after. Don't know where he's been." Morianne looked back at the bandit, only now beginning to notice the grotesque, swollen features of the bandit's face. She gagged, just now realizing what she had initially promised the spellbound bandit. Revolted, she slammed the man's head into the ground with a resounding thud. He was out cold. "Alright. My fun's over," Morianne said. The troubadour pointed at the, now unconscious, bandit. "Somebody help me lug this damn ugly bastard into a ditch or something! I can't carry his fat ass by myself!" However, it seemed that the other knights were going about their duties disposing of the bodies, leaving Morianne's demands unanswered.</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri watched as Morianne cast a spell of charming on the bandit. Any resistance the prisoner had seemed to disappear as he explained the fortification that lay ahead. Fleuri was impressed at this feat of magic, but found himself a little unsettled at the notion of playing with someone's mind. Would he be able to resist the effects of magics, if they were cast upon him? A few years ago he would probably would've been easy to put under such a spell. In the present day, by contrast, he hoped that his rediscovered piety would serve him well enough. Fleuri wouldn't be standing around to think about it- Tyaethe ordered Fleuri, among other knights, to dispose of the corpses. As he began to look around for a body to move, however, Morianne asked the knights for help moving the now-unconscious prisoner. "I'll help you out, Dame Morianne," Fleuri answered as he picked up the bandit and threw him over his shoulder. He'd much rather handle the living than the dead, and Tyaethe had already gathered plenty of corpse-movers from among the Iron Roses. "Speaking of him, that was a rather impressive trick, getting him to talk like that," he complimented her. Morianne was an oddity among the knights. She was a wood elf and troubadour, neither of which were particularly common in the order. She wasn't known for having a particularly pleasant personality, as evidenced by her subduing of the bandit as soon as she had gotten what she needed out of him. Still, Fleuri never made a point of antagonizing her- as an ageless elf and a bard, it was quite likely that if she didn't die in battle, she may very well live to write songs, romances, and poems of the Iron Roses, and to become her enemy would be to risk being portrayed in a less-than flattering light to future generations. As Fleuri carried the unconscious prisoner to their rear rank to be bound, he noticed the corpses being piled up. As the pile was built up, Fleuri thought back on his past. During the War of the Red Flag, he and his mentor visited the aftermath of a few battles. During this time, the duo witnessed firsthand what could happen when the dead of a battle were left unattended. He learned the importance of cleaning up the fallen, even those not judged worthy of a proper burial. There were many reasons to do so- to prevent the spread of disease, to give the most basic dignity to their enemies, to keep potentially dangerous scavengers from amassing in the area- but the most important one was to ensure they didn't get back up as undead. The Iron Roses were more than capable of handling a few shambling corpses if the need arose, but was much better to prevent the raising of the dead than to undo it after the fact. Loser</s>

<|message|>Katerina Valentina The mystifying and horrifying scenes all at once which were the sight of the bandit slaughter before Katerina gave her an odd reminiscence. She was primarily trained in life magic - healing - and that, as she had come to expect was the bulk of her duties. For all love of life and liberty that was so cherished among the Iron Rose Knights, the half-elf flashed back in time in her head at the sight of these things. She remembered the blood-soaked battlefields, the men, pale in face, weak in eyes, faintly trembling outstretched hands up, murmuring a final hopeful prayer to Goddess or one last love declaration to a beloved now widowed. Katerina saw it all before her once again, but this time, in negative. There were traitors, thieves, renegades, and rogues, and at the same time wished to utter strangers to let them know their final thoughts. Katerina found oddity in the sincerity of it all that persisted in her mind, like a deep mist that gathered in the bogs of the valley. And soon before her, the knightess-in-waiting broke her muse: "Dame Katerina, how fares Sir Rickert's charge? Will he live to see another dawn?" Katerina's muse snapped back to the present, her gaze making a disenchanted turn as Serenity posed her query. There unto her was presented the so-honourable cohort of Sir Rickert. He lay there before her, so illucid -- stiff in body, slow of mind. Upon his faint stammering display was matched with the departing lives of the turncoats around them, the knights accelerating their wounds to fatality. She did not understand the Knights she had called brothers and sisters in arms: She had seen them show untold kindness and utter brutality within swift transition, as if stanza of an orchestra raising to climax. Wasn't this so funny? We had killed so many who lay wounded or dying, and now yet another comes with queer of injury, and Katerina was now asked to save him. Katerina hummed, narrowing her eyes and motioning, and with telekinesis softly laid the man down. As he was steadied into an auspicious position, Katerina removed her gloves, The blood was well along staining his plate, though it'd stayed mostly along his upper body. Not much splatter. She looked into his gashes, removing his coif and cloth. She lightly hymned, whispering into a steady chant as she presided over him. A faint light grew around his exposed flesh, where it grew a deep purple that spread like dye in water. Blood grew clots and gashes around his neck, and as his body lay growing bruised and broken, the good fellow sputtered out in weak coughing fits. Katerina sighed in relief at the sign of even this meek display of life. "Lovely, isnae too coarse." she answered. Her breathy response was practically a sigh of thankfulness made unto voice, "The lad will be fine, but I ken he'll need proper bedtime. Bonnie man will be in and oot of bed for a few months, but he'll make it." The banter from ahead caught her ear, even as she attended to the wounded before her. Interrogations had proven successful -- no doubt due to the apt displays of horror about them, and clear signs of their fates all on parade, and the Iron Roses had deciphered the details of the upcoming bandit's fortress. Fusillades and fantastic beasts were the name of their game. Katerina remembered: They were all too-common features of so many impromptu fortresses in the War, and so fitting it was that they would have refurbished so many to use now. "I need a bloody cigarette..." The witch-knight shook her head, adjusting her mage's hood and coif beneath it into a neater position, then reached back down to her little baroque case, opening it with a pop audible even through the commotion. She popped a single cigarette into her mouth, covering the light wind with her curled fingers and palm, then closed her eyes as a faint flame conjured from her fingertips. A faint, smokey tartness flooded the winds around her as the little cigarette flared to life. Katerina gestured back at her sister-in-arms, patiently awaiting their next orders: Her cigarette case was open, posed for Serenity to take one. She should probably save these for herself...but what the hell, she thought.</s>

<|description|>Katerina Valentina Age: 25 Gender: Female Race: Half-Elf Appearance: Standing at 5'11.5" with an athletic build to her, Katerina looks the part of a well-kept knight when in casual attire. Sporting dark viridian hair that reaches down to her mid back, she usually keeps at least part of it braided or tied, out of the way of her emerald eyes. She seems rather attentive even in her neutral pose, as if making mental notes of specific details or another. Personality: Katerina held a lifelong suspicion that most people had thought of her as either banal or revolting, through most who had met her as an affable and sharp woman, if possessive of a grim sense of humor. While usually agreeable in small talk and casual conversation, Katerina can get very protective about things she has grown fond of, whether that be her steward approach when dealing with those she considers close to her or her rather territorial approach when she sees her interests being interfered upon. At first, Katerina often views other with some caution, though if there's any consolation in the matter, when she does eventually open up they will likewise find that she values tranquility and periods of independence. She can also be fiercely stubborn, difficult to change her mind or talk her out of something once she's made her mind up. If one should wish to test out the limits of her defensive posturing, call her a "witch". Brief Backstory: Katerina was born on the borderlands of Velt to a human wizard and an elven traveling bard. Her early life was mired with ceaseless household troubles, the result of both her parents free-spirited personae and the chaotic lives with which they both lived brought no shortage of conflicts between the two. The last memory that she had of her father was when she was six years old -- her parents were engaged in one of their usual mutually-drunken arguments, one last remark had seen the two through, and father packed up his belongings and sang to his daughter "Farewell My Darling" while her mother threw shoes at him. In the words of one of her tutors, her mother was, "A good woman who could not be a good mother" -- as Katerina grew up, she commented that this translated as, "A deadbeat mom with extra steps". Though she had a great natural inclination to magic from a young age, Katerina lived most of her early life in the accompaniment of her mother's bardic troupe -- in practice, this meant flinging her between the houses of friends and acquaintances. Katerina leveraged whatever tutelage she could find for magic, often of dubious safety and highly varying in quality. She had many mentors throughout her early pedagogy, and although she had constantly petitioned her mother to be sent off to a proper magical school, Katerina's mother insisted that she had neither the resources nor the peerage to enroll her. As such, Katerina had to get crafty with her magical studies, and often learned from secondhand sources, such as other magical students around her age, old manuscripts, and the like. At the onset of the War of the Red Flag, Katerina found herself pressed into service within the ranks of a clerical corps, whom were to travel alongside bands of soldiers to provide care and medical service, after she had been in the study of a pastor for a few weeks. She was less than pleased about the fact at first, but as disaster after disaster ran through the course of the war's chaotic onset, Katerina proved to have an uncanny knack for persevering through sticky situations, as she provided an invaluable bulwark in poorly-organized retreats. When asked about where she received her knowledge of magic, Katerina often jokingly answered, "The College of the Verdant Weald" -- that is to say, witchcraft. Much to her chagrin, she received the moniker, "The Witch Knight" on account that she had never given any consistent answer as to where she received her magical training. After the war, Katerina would find some difficulties finding permanent employment, even as her mother -- believing that her newfound title had meant she had made quite the amount of fame and fortune -- constantly made attempts to hit her up for currency. She found inglorious work as the bodyguard to a renowned alchemist supplier, and although the postwar realities were rather unkind to his supply chains, Katerina had managed to surprise him time and time again when tasked to protect shipments or retrieve alchemy ingredients. Though he could not offer her much in the way of direct advancement, he saw the displeasure in Katerina at her current life situation, and at his recommendation he had vouched to her that she should join a knightly order. At first, she believed that he had simply grown tired of him and was looking to be rid of her, but soon after came around to the idea and had been ensquired unto the Iron Rose Knights. Equipment: Katerina's armor is a simple breastplate adorned atop some mage's robes, now bearing the insignia of the Iron Rose. Accompanying her are a few magical talismans, most evidently include an incense censer and a deck of cards with align themselves with magical insignia. To battle she carries a steel flanged mace, adorned with a spike atop the hammerhead. She also carries a thin, puncturing dagger with a single bladed edge. Skills: Kateria's magical education came from whichever sources she was able to find, and has at least a dabbling proficiency with all but the most obscure or profane of magical schools. With such a patchwork field of magical expertise, Katerina has eventually refined her magical skills into proficiency with life magic. In particular, she is quite knowledgeable with healing magic -- of which she has had ample expertise in dealing with since the years of her line of work. She also has some knowledge regarding the application of and dispelling of hexes and curses as a result, though most of the more direct applications of putting curses onto things or people are beyond her area of expertise: Katerina is more used to ridding people of hexes than giving them out. In addition, she's quite the hand with pyromancy and electromancy -- which she's had plenty of time to refine both during and immediately after the war. Although she's quite athletic and in good shape, Katerina has not had much direct weapons training beyond the basics of combat instruction, and instead prefers to utilize a stripped-down array of simple, effective techniques than apply any advanced combat maneuvers. Outside of battle, Katerina is quite fond of most card games, and dabbles in literature and horticulture. She's also a fantastic cook: Her lamb casserole is to die for.</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen And so the flames came, bathing her world a bright crimson, a brighter orange, and finally, plunging it all in relative darkness, leaving nothing behind but a strange, almost comforting warmth and the certainty that she would have to restitch the charred cloth that her ribbons had become. She would have to check herself for burns too, after the adrenaline drained away. Blinking the searing light out of her eyes, Serenity cast her gaze over to the griffin once more as it slammed its back against the ground. Another arrow snapped off from its shoulder, while its guts spilled out from its stomach. Sir Fleuri himself managed to dismount moments before being flattened. In the distance, the Captain's voice sounded out as well, high-pitched over the low roar of dying flames. The Bandit King had died, his Bandit Knights would soon be too, and his Pet will soon let out its death throes. Prisoners were being freed from their cages, the flaming tree had turned to a blackened husk, and above the moon rose, casting its alabaster light. Dame Cecilia was done. Dame Katerina was done. So too was Dame Mori, while Sir Lein was still tumbling off the ground, and Sir Fleuri joined him as well. Upon reflection, despite how easy this raid was, how utterly expected the final result was, it was still a clusterfuck and still a disappointment. She'd have earned greater merits if she had held off the veteran bandits alongside Sir Renar or claimed the Bandit King's head while he crowed about how pathetic Fanilly was. Alas, there was no merit, no honor, involved in putting to rest a dying beast. Serenity drew her hatchet, felt its heft in her palm. Much steadier than a dagger, with a curved haft that made it a pleasure to grip and a wicked edge that sank deep with every swing, every throw. Her arm reared back, her eyes sighted the target through the visor, and she allowed all extraneous thought to exit her mind. The griffin had lost its escape when it chose to fight. The griffin had lost its guts when it chose to strike. And now? The griffin had lost its mobility when it chose to struggle. Each of those choices, Serenity could understand, and yet... "Time and place." The hatchet spun through the air with a path that would not err, to a target too blind to see a projectile that was just about to cave its skull in.</s> <|message|>Morianne, The Troubadour Morianne While her captain sounded the knights' victory against Jeremiah, Morianne did her best to try and stand up. However, her efforts were met with a sharp, shooting pain which ran through her body from head to toe. "Oh, fuck this," the troubadour let out a pained chuckle as she picked herself up off the ground once more. Once she felt as if she had her feet firmly on the ground, she let out a sigh. She couldn't let her fellow knights know just how poor her condition was. After all, any spell-caster worth their salt knew better than to try that stunt she pulled with a single-target spell. Morianne forced another laugh, this time loud enough for any remaining bandits or nearby comrades to hear. "And that's why we're the IRON Roses, you dumbasses! Don't forget it!" The force of her shout was enough to send her tumbling back down. There was still the matter of the griffin, but the troubadour knew better than to push herself any more than she already had, not with magic at least. Unfortunately, magic was all she had. Sitting out the final moments of battle? Morianne thought to herself. Goddesses above Mori! You're pathetic.</s>

<|message|>Katerina Valentina She stood over the finale of this escapade with a hunch -- it was the best her posture would do, for every time she attempted a straighter posture did Katerina feel as though there was somehow a more supermassive weight thrust unto her body. The beast, seared and incinerated its brown feathers to a soot-coal black, lay on its side along the moonlit ruddy Earth. Pigment of dying flames, cast off from the smoldering cinders before them, dashed specks of luminescence, caught in the feathers-gaps. With every heaving, slow breath the griffon made, its embers - latched on like scorching leeches - ignited a dying little flame from which its scorching wound burrowed itself deeper with every fading breath. Katerina wanted to do something. Something. A gorgeous animal before her dying by her own hand, after an epic battle, where the Witch-Knight burned a whole fortress-side to cinders. And now here she was, wanting to help. Her wants were cut with a perfect gesture, more perfect than Serenity's throw. The hatchet whistled along its whirling path, the head spiraling in little orange circles like a spinning fire cantrip. Nothing escaped her. Not even a grimace or cringe. Hatred, grief, and acceptance, all in only a few minutes. She barely held herself up: Katerina felt exhausted, stiff in mind, like a haze set into her mind and barely, iratingly, maddeningly seeped from a crack in the back of her head that just felt like even rupturing her skull wide open would be a welcome relief. Her muscles felt quaked, ripping and searing; Her robes, more than a little singed. Even a modest pack the likes of her worn to battle felt like a whole person clawing atop her, kicking, heaving, shoving, tearing her down until the half-elf would force to crawl from the weight of her own exhaustion. The Witch-Knight -- oh...how she hated that name...and how many times she would have to hear it, and see it, and speak it, and know that that is the title by which she is and will be... That Witch-Knight had seen and felt and done all of these things, these terrible things, and with nary some strength inside her, clawed out a secret reserve, like she always had: Like her wells of energy she plucked within her like cigarettes from her case...and spoke softly to Serenity: "Aye." She made out. Katerina paused. The Witch-Dame didn't bother to look Serenity in the eye. "Good kill." Her voice was beat, soft. Like she was holding back tears; Proud, painful tears, in a cracked slipping voice that constrained within her every last bit of strength in and out of that woman would do anything not to confess just this weakness. Not a comrade. Not to a friend. To none. Not even if she were to know it herself. Katerina made one final, exhausted mental note: She'd need to go see her Regular after this.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion The sky was painted orange. The light played across the clouds, and cast that splash of color along the landscape beneath it. This light stretched the shadows of trees and other objects across the ground, making them seem almost jagged. Quite a large number of these shadows were moving. The horses' hooves clacked as the hit the ground on a steady rhythm. Due to the large number of them, this created almost a chorus of clopping hooves. At the head of the group was a white mare, a young and sturdy horse clearly well-cared for. On her back was a girl, no older then sixteen, wearing armor with a flowing white and gold cape. Her armor was pristine, cared for with exceptional attention, shining in the light of the sunset. Though she had never been in any serious combat before now, the level of care to her armor would not falter even after doing so. It was a symbol of her office. To do any less would be to disrespect that office. Her hair was blonde, eyes purple-blue, and skin pale. Her features bore a grim expression as her gaze was fixed ahead on the darkness of the forest. Bandit King Jeremiah. That was the name that the man they rode out against today had taken for himself. He led a band of thieves and criminals, vicious bandits who had pillaged even small villages by this point. They had preyed upon the innocent. They had killed the defenseless to claim their belongings. And their leader had the gall to claim himself a "King". Reports told of how he had cut down soldiers sent to destroy his band. Of how he had sent dying men to their villages just to mock them shortly before his attacks. But the simple fact was that these weren't just mere bandits. Jeremiah, regardless of what he called himself now, wasn't just the 'Bandit King'. The rebellion of five years ago had fallen. Anzel Cazt lay dead and buried. But still fragments of his forces remained. Some had been wiped out, imprisoned or killed. But this Jeremiah, and no small number of his bandits, were reportedly one of the remaining shards of the shattered rebellion. Their banditry was not simply their means to accrue wealth and supplies, but a deliberate spit in the face towards the people of Thaln. So, it had been decided it was time to put this to the test. To destroy these vicious and cruel men before they could take more innocent lives. Thaln's soldiers were unable to eliminate Jeremiah, but the legendary Iron Rose Knights... Fanilly gripped the leather in her hands tightly. They had to win. She had to prove she could do this, and they had to destroy such cruel, wicked bandits. There was no question of it. The bandit's camp was not far off, not even too distant from the road. The Bandit King's brazen attitude had grown, leading to little fear from his band of criminals at remaining so close. The smallish knight looked back over her shoulder. "It won't be much longer that we will need to proceed on-foot," she said. Indeed, horses could only go so far off the road. Tangled roots and stones were certainly not the ideal terrain to navigate on horseback, there was no reason to risk losing one of the loyal animals to a broken leg. The strategy was a simple one. To position themselves around the camp, advance inward, and destroy it. While the bandits were unusually powerful and no small amount were veterans of the War of the Red Flag, an attack by the famed Iron Rose Knights when they unprepared could surely eliminate them. But Fanilly was unsure of her ability to lead them to that victory. It was undeniably the outcome that should occur, but a thousand outcomes for failure had already played and replayed within her head. No matter how unlikely they may have been, the anxiety was still gnawing at her heart like persistent vermin. But she didn't only feel doubts, even if it was a struggle to reassure herself. Even though she doubted herself, deep down, Fanilly felt that the Bandit King was more of a braggart then a powerful warrior. He had likely exploited whatever advantage he could to take down the soldiers sent to eliminate his band of thieves. Even knowing they had been part of the rebel forces, the fact remained they were still bandits all the same. Her knights were prepared. Fanilly could only hope she was as well. Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@HereComesTheSnow@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@ERode@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@Aeolian</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. In a way, it was quite annoying that this last major holdout hadn't stayed in one place until after the new captain had been instated. After all, hunting down the fragments of the rebellion for the past few years had been one way to make up for the mistake of letting a captain get killed... even though it didn't make much sense to shoulder blame for poison. Tyaethe was a warrior, after all, not a grand healer. It left the feeling of shoving an unfinished job off onto someone that wasn't necessarily prepared for it. Looking on the bright side, at least it would be a good test of Fanilly's abilities, rather than being thrown from years of peace straight to a war. Amongst the various knights in their armour and all the horses, the small girl couldn't help but looking out of place. Although her clothes suited her role as a paladin, there was no avoiding that she was distinctly underdressed for battle in comparison. And, of course, her mount was a rather unimpressive pony, dwarfed by everything nearby. At least she had her sword, lest anyone get the idea that she had wound up in a battlefield entirely by accident. A cursory glance would suggest she was angry at the treeline for making her dismount. Really, she was just trying to see it properly.</s> <|message|>Katerina Valentina She took a long drag from her cigarette, finishing it up as the Captain made her order to continue on foot. Jeremiah -- the name rolled around in Katerina's head. It felt familiar, like she should know it from somewhere, but as her muse dragged on with puffs of her smoke, everything to connect those dots of acquaintance called up short, and Katerina sighed it all out in a big puff of herbaceous tobacco fumes. The butt end of her little muse-maker had finally burnt itself out, the little orange nub burning itself to a charcoal ash-clump along her lips. As the mage flicked the burnt, exhausted tobacco paper out of her mouth, she reached into a pouch just to the back of her belt, and retrieved her cigarette case -- a small, unfurnished metal case, barely larger than a deck of playing cards, only decorated with an engraved vine-like patter that had long faded. She popped it open with a light click. Three cigarettes left to get her through the evening, plus however long it would take to get back. "Tch." Katerina flipped the case closed, sliding it back to its nestled nook in the belt pouch. "Awl'right cap'n, who dae you ken tae go about for the flanking party in the auld akelarre?" No matter how hard she tried to the contrary, Katerina could never shake that Northern accent. Not that she usually tried very hard. "You ken, if we're awl up in honour real proper-like about the occasion, I can think of'a few ways tae make this a wee bit more chivalrous. I think right about half of us could just about stae behind, make this a fair fight. Aye, infact -- I proper ken the lot of the scunners will take yin proper look at Hope and Tyae and run the fuck awae. Or, maybe -- should'ae go a wee bit up the road and blow some smoke signals up intae the air reading, 'Aye lads there's a four-and-ten strong posse up the way ready tae kill the whole lot of yae'?" As she made her jesting remarks, Katerina held a wide-eyed gaze with her eyebrows raised and her cheeks posed -- this was the closest most people had ever seen to her "smiling".</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm This is it, he thought to himself. This is what I've been training for. The current situation sat strangely surreal in Sir Storm's mind. Even the fact he was a 'Sir' was an odd thing in of itself. But here he was, amidst a band of more than two hundred knights, about to fight it out to the death with bandits. Up until this point, it had been a concept - an idea - something far off to prepare for. For the few months he'd been a knight, he'd trained, ate and slept with his new comrades. He'd gone out into the city, looking for wealthy, lackadaisical lords and ladies that might 'make a donation' to his fundraising campaigns that would supplement his armour purchases. He'd purchased his incomplete armour, one piece at a time - a single pauldron here, a set of greaves there - and posed in the mirror when no one was around. Not to say that Lucas hadn't been taking the whole knight-thing seriously. He had. But there was a sense of fun to it. Not anymore. He was positioned near the front of the vanguard after forcing his way forward before they set out. 'The tip of the spear' as Gerard Segremors would say. Gerard was in fact the reason Lucas was determined to be here - both at the front and in the Order all together. He looked over to make sure he could still see his idol. There Gerard was, a row in front over to his left. It was reassuring for the younger knight. As everyone began to dismount, Lucas did the same, swapping his lance out for the sword fastened to his saddle. His blood was already running fast. "Awl'right cap'n, who dae you ken tae go about for the flanking party in the auld akelarre?" Katerina, Lucas remembered. The colourful wizard was difficult to forget. And just as difficult to understand, at times. As the woman went on, offering up her advice, Lucas did his best to follow along. At least he would only have to fully understand Captain Fanilly. Follow orders. Don't die. If he could manage these two things, he'd consider today a good day.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Hope Yulestarian Hope's Theme Hope's English Voice Hope's Japanese Voice 🌹 "This light is a ray of hope." 🌹 --- 🌹 Time: Morning 🌹 Location: Inside a dark forest 🌹 Interaction: Griggs the One-Eyed Knight (NPC), Yasha (Special NPC) 🌹 --- Hope's eyes traced the movement of his angelic spirit Yahoel as the being hovered over the knights like a feathery star and shimmered under the moonlight, its eyes trained across the tree line for any signs of bandits and other mongrels who wish them harm. Before Hope had a chance to call on this angel for a report, someone shoved him in the back, causing him to stagger. It was a thick knight, seemingly missing an eye. Hope recognized him, one of his harrassers of no notable notoriety. "You fool. You don't do anything until the Knight-Captain commands it. With this spectacle of magic you put on..." he said, motioning toward the angel in the sky with a look of disdain, "...you might as well have exposed us to the enemy. You pretty little mages don't belong in the Rose Knights anyways." Hope looked at the man, startled. "I'm sorry. This is my first..." "I don't give a damn if this is your first masquerade, princess, you wait until you're given the command to act." Stunned, and ashamed at the reprimanding, Hope remained silent, looking away with a clenched jaw, uncharacteristically hardening his delicate features. The one-eyed man stepped closer and shoved him again, in the chest this time. "You got that beauty queen?". A heavy silence fell between them, only angering the knight further. Hope flinched as the man moved in to shove him again. But before he had a chance, someone grabbed his wrist. When the shove never came, Hope's eyes raised slowly and landed on a tall slim figure. Another knight, a man with features like snow; white hair framing a pale face under his helmet and piercing silver eyes. "That's enough Griggs." the silver-haired knight said. Hope looked at him, perplexed. He'd never seen him in Candaeln before. "Piss off, Yasha. He don't need your protection." Griggs barked, jerking his wrist loose from Yasha's firm grip. "I'm not..." Yasha responded, voice cold like ice, "...but your causing a bigger spectacle than the angel. Move up the line before you sully yourself." "You..." Griggs growled, and the two men glared at each other for a brief moment. Eventually, Griggs relented, shoving past Hope and Yasha. The latter turned to the Hope and they shared an unusual gaze, though, despite his prior actions, Yasha's look toward him wasn't very friendly. "Your charms won't save you out here. Try not to get killed." And with that, the silver-haired Yasha moved past him as well. Hope stood absolutely motionless, stunned by the interaction that just transpired. Eventually, he was shaken from his perplexed countenance when the Knight-Captain, Fanilly, began preparations. Hope admired her resilience and will to command an entire army. Despite her age, she took up the mantle and it was truly awe-inspiring. Hope nodded when she mentioned the support that his winged-spirit Yahoel would provide to Dame Cecilia's mission. And as they finally entered the dark forest, Hope's angel kept to the canopies, illuminating the darkness in a way that the moonlight just couldn't reach. When they came to the shocking scene with the abandoned broken caravan and the bleeding person on the ground, Hope's spirit immediately flew back to him, knowingly. It expanded it's wings in a way that partially surrounded Hope's lithe frame. It took a battle stance, as did he. Hope looked at the scene, his stomach dropping. He only wished that Fanilly had been more careful before running to the body so haphazardly. But, once others took position around her, he felt a bit more relief. Still, enemies loomed in the darkness, waiting to pounce. Yahoel had seen something, which is why it flew back to protect him so quickly. "My lord, danger lies within the shadows." Yahoel said. Hope nodded. "I understand. Remain on guard. We must provide support to our comrades where we can." He stepped closer to the angel, leaning into its protection and familiar aura. Hope understood that his role was not on the front lines. Charging in with silver and brawn was not why he had been invited to join the Rose Knights. With his defensive magic, he could save a lot of lives tonight. He steeled himself, ready to protect his compatriots from any vagabond that tried to strike them.</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri heard the captain's orders to split and encircle. This told Fleuri two things- first, Fanilly believed they were close to the bandits, second, she had received some instruction in battlefield tactics. Still, they've have to wait and see how well she could command in the heat of battle. During the war, Fleuri had once been told that even a brilliantly laid battle plan could falter once combat actually began. This would be a pretty big deal for her, because as far as he knew it'd be her first time actually leading a battle, and how they performed during this battle would reflect on how the nobility of Thaln would judge her worthiness to be the captain of the Iron Roses, and her ability to hold onto the position. Not being one for defensive fighting, Fleuri took up a position at the front of the knights' left flank. His two-handed sword and Reonite mindset favoring aggressive combat would suit him here much more than the center with the captain. It would be difficult to outmaneuver these bandits in the woods, but he figured Fanilly's goal was to catch them when they were all in their base. Thus once the base was found, it'd be imperative to move quickly to prevent them from being able to flee or regroup outside of the encirclement. As they advanced, the knights spotted something in the middle of the road. Fleuri didn't get a good look because of the trees and brush in the way, but he saw an overturned cart. His first assumption was that this was a bandit trap for travelers and caravans- an overturned cart would force them to come to a halt and maneuver around it, and when they did, the bandits struck. The captain rushed ahead of her center group towards it, seemingly oblivious to the danger. Ordinarily, a group as heavily armed as the Iron Roses wouldn't be in any danger- any intelligent bandit would simply withdraw and opt not to spring the trap. However, they weren't dealing with ordinary brigands- they were up against fanatics and war veterans that might have ample tactical experience. As several of the knights in the center followed Fanilly, Fleuri glanced around the woods surrounding him, looking for any signs of movement that might suggest an ambush or counter-encirclement. There wasn't much he could do for the captain at this point, the knights at the center would need to keep her safe. It'd truly be a tragedy if she were to perish in her very first battle, so soon after having been appointed to the position.</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm Lucas was not so full of anticipation that he couldn't enjoy the interplay between his comrades. The cocky back'n'forths, wagers placed, colourful displays of magic and harsh reprimands. Such a vibrant cast of personalities reminded him of his family. It was nice. Just as Lucas was reflecting on this, Alodia fell off her horse with a cry, turning her spell of dopiness into a sweet flip and landing on her feet. The young man's smirk turned into a full grin. Yeah, it was nice indeed. Then came more orders from the captain and that grin disappeared. "...Once you have returned, we shall advance and split into three groups to encircle the camp. Archers and magi will remain behind and offer support to those in front," she continued, "Do not loose arrow or spell wildly into the encampment. They have prisoners, and we cannot injure any innocents who may be out in the open." While Lucas tried to burn the captain's words into his mind, his feet followed the knight next to him, Fleuri, to the front of the left flank. He had no idea the pros and cons of this position, only that there was plenty of space in front of him... space that would likely be taken up by people trying to kill him. With a clear view ahead as they advanced, Lucas' eyes darted around at every swaying branch, rustling bush and moving shadow. The exposure made him second-guess the protective capability of his armour. Sure it looked cool. But a well-placed arrow would mean his end. And then there was his skills. Gerard had told him not try and copy the older knight's aggressive fighting style. That he should find a style that better played to his strengths. But Lucas hadn't listened. In the few months he'd spent training with a sword in his hand, he'd done nothing but practice what he saw Gerard doing. He was determined to be like the older knight. And he was naïve enough to think he could come even close to catching up on a swordsman who'd been forged in five years of battlefield fire. But here at the front of the line - the darkness ahead promising malice - he was starting to wonder if any of his time on the yard would help. Follow orders. Don't die. Those two seemingly simple objectives were maybe a little more complicated than they sounded. When the overturned cart came into view, Lucas realised that not all reminders of his past life would good ones. Fanilly called for aid and Lucas craned about to get sight of the situation. Lucas' circus troupe had been forced to stop on the roads in Velt for similar looking sight. Old man Biff had told them not to stop - not even slow down - but they couldn't just leave an dying man in the road. And then the slavers sprung. From the tree line, seemingly up out of the ground, they'd surrounded the troupe and killed everyone who resisted being taken away in chains. And now here he was again. On the edge of a bandit camp, seeing the same sight. Everyone knew it too. Everyone except the captain, it seemed. What kind of a captain was this? Sure she was young, but so was Serenity, and Serenity was already on point with the scenario before them. As disturbing as it might've been, it was merely a thought running way in the back of Lucas' mind. The more pressing concern right now, was that a fight was about to break out at any time. Knuckles of his sword-hand white, he fell into a fighting stance, his head on a swivel as he waited for the trap to spring.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @ERode @VitaVitaAR @Psyker Landshark @Psychic Loser --- Undoubtely, there were bandits in the forest about them—but even Fionn hadn't accounted for the tree above them, thinking that even the bandits wouldn't be unwise enough to rely on such a tenuous momentary advantage. Against the untrained, certainly, dropping from above could prove useful, but such a tactic was better reserved for one dropping other objects upon those below, not trusting in their control of their fall, the necessarily-tight formation of their opponents, or any other of a number of variables required to make the strategy work. Muscles taut like coiled springs in anticipation, when the branches creaked above and the first shape hit his peripheral vision falling from the tree he twisted aside on one foot as Gerard broke off, his blade already in motion. One man landed between the two of them as they split, though instead of crouching to absorb the shock, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground in a heap. The blood that dripped immediately down upon the ambusher's twitching corpse made it clear why; bringing his sword up and around sharply into the window guard, Fionn's false edge had smashed into the man's skull as he landed hard enough to cleave through it nearly down to the brow. He stepped forward, straightening his torso as he shifted into the long guard with a thrust into another's throat as they tried to turn back towards the Captain, sending them toppling as well into the bodies that were already beginning to clutter the field. No time to reposition; as he'd withdrawn his blade from the thrust, a third quickly stepped in at him, swinging a crudely-made kriegsmesser straight downward with both hands. He parried the strike so close he could nearly smell the bandit's breath, before wrapping his arm over their forearms, stepping past them and turning as he did so; the lower half of his hilt sliding over their blade added immediate leverage, and before the bandit knew what a poor choice they'd made their weapon was sent flying off towards a pair of their compatriots as they were thrown to the ground. And as Fionn straightened back fully upright, a contemptuous swipe with the tip of his blade silenced the shocked cry that the bandit had just started to make. "We can't expect much elegance in their dance," he added in to the light-hearted conversation the others were having in the midst of the bloodshed. "Hard to tidy up our own when the partners are so—" He cut off suddenly as Gerard stepped in near him, another bandit mustering the confidence to rush him again with their axe. At least it was a proper war axe, though this young man's technique was anything but befitting the weapon; even worse than the previous, he had already led with his fist, not with his weapon. Fionn's arm shot out, forearm against the bandit's wrist, halting their strike. Before they could withdraw he wrapped it over their elbow, pulling his fist into his own chest. The ligaments in the elbow snapped instantly as the bones were forced out of their proper place, the bandit's axe falling uselessly to the ground as they cried out in pain. "Terrible form," Fionn quickly growled, before a swift punch forward slammed his crossguard into their forehead and sent them limp to the forest floor with another loud crack, this time of shattering bone. The rest of the bandits were either engaged with the other knights as they fanned out to surround this advance ambushing party, or holding back warily from the party in the center, their fallen comrades and Morianne's song countering their resolve to throw themselves into the slaughter for the moment—and with every moment they waited, the rest of the force was cutting off their few remaining routes of escape, just as was intended for their main camp. "As soon as he says 'aye,' we charge them on foot," he told Gerard, as soon as he'd finished admonishing Rickert into movement. "Renar and Serenity can guard the others, we'll part the waters for them!"</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- "Hahah, alright want to bet? How about we up the stakes a bit? I'm sure Shael would love to talk to you." Cecilia gave Lein a rough slap on the back in response as Serenity, cool as ever, moved out of their grasp."One arrow each to-"She was about to raise the takes, but it seemed Fanilly was finally issuing them some orders. Scouting was definitely in her repertoire thanks to Shael and the overall orders were nothing fancy and fairly standard fare for orders. Fine by her, she wasn't particularly eager to carry out some difficult special orders and was perfectly fine just doing the bare minimum. Which, is why, she was quite despondent to see the crashed cart and injured man in need of medical aid. Cecillia grabbed her bow, an arrow swiftly knocked as the others vocalized their concerns. Any mercenary worth their salt would easily recognize such a trap. That only left them to figure out where they'd be coming from. Behind? No, she hadn't seen anything and her eyes were far from terrible. Ahead? It was quite an uneven path so perhaps, but then it'd make a poor ambush. It seemed her and Serenity had quickly come to the same conclusion. The trees were the most likely avenue for ambush. And it seemed, they would be proven correct. Not only from above, but from the sides of the road and deep in the forest too, more shadows of men made themselves known. Perhaps another archer might have side stepped or avoided the one falling on them. Cecil, though, had other plans that Shael wasn't going to like. Clang "OW. CECIL!?" The bandits blade met Shaeal's bow, striking against it as the archer smirked at her assailant. "Do I look like a SHIELD?! if there's a SINGLE dent or nick I'm going to THROW you off the nearest cliff!" "Love you too~" The bandit, understandably confused by this sudden confession in the middle of combat, would suddenly find Cecil's boot slamming right into his gut. He stumbled backwards from the force of the kick as she'd spin on her heels. In a swift motion the bowstring was pulled, the whistle of wind as the arrow sailed through the air giving a bandit that had been coming up behind her a new forehead decoration as he'd immediately slump to the ground. "I dunno about you guys, but tea parties aren't anything special!" Cecillia shouted in response to her comrades levity, a third rogue getting far too close for comfort and far too close to use Shaeal as a defensive instrument as the heavy axe struck downwards, a moment of bewilderment as it hit nothing but air as Cecil maneuvered herself behind him, three arrows quickly knocked in succession, the twang of a bowstring as three arrows perforated the bandits chest cleanly puncturing his heart and other vitals. "Maybe if Serenity or Shanil invited me to a private one, though!" A swift heel turn and another arrow would meet the forehead of the bandit she had kicked, sending him to the ground mere seconds after he had managed to recover. "How are you faring, Captain Fanilly?!" She'd shout, perhaps just a bit concerned for the well being of their inexperienced captain.</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm The whole time, Lucas hadn't once looked up. He'd not considered the possibility of an aerial ambush. On the training yard, he'd been shouted at more than once for jumping too much (or jumping at all,) often trying to incorporate his acrobatic prowess into both attack and defence. Being in the air made your movements and finishing positions predictable. There was no place for it in the fundamentals of swordplay. So when the first wave of bandits landed from above, suffice to say the young knight was surprised. Perhaps, momentary surprise was all the ambushers had managed to achieve though, as their advantage was quickly destroyed by the veteran warriors around the captain. Lucas stepped towards the centre - thinking to sprint in and help - but his attention was immediately drawn to his left where, from the cover of the trees, more bandits came rushing out, shouting as they charged. The sudden cacophony of battle surpassed even the loud and rapid pulse of his own heartbeat in his ears, and Lucas was carried away with emotion. "AAAHHH!!!" And with that, he was away, breaking battle lines and charging out of the Iron Rose left flank like a maniac. Tunnel-vision and single-mindedness. He had to kill them before they killed him. No more than ten paces and he made contact in the form of a battleaxe-wielding brute who brought his massive weapon around and high to come crashing down on the knight. Lucas threw his sword up to block, cross-blade high, angling his blade to guide the axe-head away from himself rather than take on the full power power of the blow. As steel scraped down steel with a Ring, Lucas spun off his front foot, and just like that he was past his first opponent. Leaving an enemy behind was certainly not the best idea, but beyond the brute came more bandits and Lucas' attention was drawn further into the fray. One stupid fool lunged into his attack, but he was clearly not within lunging distance. Lucas' first lessons in fighting were on the importance of understanding distance. None of the details came to Lucas in this moment, but instinctively, his lessons manifested themselves as he back-stepped to the right, and countered with his own thrust. When the tip of his sword pierced the throat of the bandit and he flicked his wrist to deliver his first fatality, time seemed to slow down. Even in his battlefield rage, the utter horror of a frontrow view of an ugly death all but froze him in stasis, eyes wide as the realisation dawned on him - this was what fighting truly was. It wasn't a beautiful dance - like when he watched his superiors spar on the yard. It wasn't met with applause - like when winner and loser shook hands in a tourney. It was awful. It was disgusting. The moment seemed to last much longer than it did. In actual fact, the bandit - clutching his throat and gurgling his last breaths - had barely hit the floor before Lucas' shivering body was forced to turn and meet a screaming attack from another foe. Ducking the hand axe aiming for his head, he stepped forward, allowing the enemy to skewer himself on Lucas' sword and they both fell to the ground. Stuck under the dying man, eye to eye, Lucas winced when the bandit choked and coughed blood in his face. Charging footfalls thundered past him and the din of battle remained constant above it all. Lucas hauled the body off him with all his strength, then rolled over onto his knees and got to his feet. The first tug failed to free his sword from the corpse... "Damn it!" ...and he caught the attention of another bandit. Second tug; almost free... "Come on!" ...the bandit swung his sword. Third tug; freedom! Ching! Off balance with poor grip, Lucas was sent tumbling into the dirt, losing his sword in the process. But he'd somehow managed to block the blow and save his own life. But now the bandit was stood over him, a maniacal smile on his face as he raised his sword for the killing blow.......</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen As soon as the wounded bandit finished giving Fanilly his information, Renar dropped the wineskin into his lap and patiently waited for the man to guzzle down the contents. Given the choice, he'd seriously debate whether or not to actually waste wine on a soon-to-be dead man, but he was also within the presence of both his captain and a comrade, so breaking his given word wasn't exactly a wise option at the moment. Regardless, as the bandit dropped the now-emptied wine skin with a belch, Renar nodded to him, hefting his poleaxe up. "Ready to see the Lamplighters, then?" He asked casually, as if discussing the state of the weather. The bandit only snorted in response. "You mocking me, Sir Knight? We both know there ain't no light, the way I'm headed." Renar only inclined his head at that, conceding the point before swinging down, taking the man's head clean off with the ax blade. With that settled, he saluted Fanilly before turning away and rejoining his fellows. Or at least, he would have if Paladin Tyaethe hadn't suddenly roped him into...piling up bodies? Seriously? Renar knew that she had certain tenets to adhere to as an anointed knight of the church, but now? He supposed that it was something to do while they were waiting for the scouts, but it still felt like a waste of time. Regardless, he complied with the order and started lugging bodies along, grumbling to himself in dissatisfaction, to which anyone nearby him also dragging bodies would hear as well.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors @Psychic Loser@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark "Interrogating him— was about as far as Gerard got beneath his furrowed brow before Dame Morianne's chastisement rolled on, heedlessly forcing the rest of the younger swordsman's words back into his throat. Her reputation as "abrasive" (to put it more kindly) had far preceded her, but... "murderhobo" was admittedly a new one. He supposed this being his first expedition among the knights would have earned him at least some ribbing about his previous line of work, but he had to admit he wouldn't have expected her to know or care about it. Not in the least thanks to being so long-lived and well-traveled... Hn. As her verses floated through the air in dulcet, saccharine tones, his grips upon the bandit tightened as he cast his confusion aside with a frown. If she wanted to handle extracting information via the arcane means she possessed as opposed to his more straightforward brutality, then that was fine— the point of the matter was to get this pig to squeal. He watched the eyes beneath him, alive with fear of his reprisal, slowly give way and glaze over as the elf cupped his chin, voice smoky and flirtatious. The pools of brown had dulled out fully by the time she offered the reward, like covering the light with a foggy glass— and beneath his weight and grip, he felt the man's body follow suit, slackening with no resistance left to offer. Wrapped completely 'round her finger. Impressive stuff... and on a small, primal level, scary when he considered that there were others out there who could feasibly do the same to him. He was just a farmboy at the core of everything— no reason to think he'd be any more capable of resisting an attack that his arms couldn't parry, that his legs couldn't dodge. He had no conception to begin with of how he'd defend himself from magic that attacked his very will. As newly minted member of an elite Order with a storied history of standing against Witch-Queens and rogue sorcerers and other threats a common soldier like him would find fantastical... he quietly thanked the Troubadour for showing him his limits here, even if she'd not meant to. He had a feeling he wouldn't manage to dodge magical foes for the entirety of his burgeoning career as an Iron Rose. "Point taken, Ma'am." he breathed with an assenting nod, rising after a moment to extricate himself from the bewitched bandit. "I'll leave him to you." He made it to a half turn away, towards the growing pile of bodies, and paused, thoughtful expression playing over his face as he listened to the wavering words continue on from the charmed reprobate. He spoke of palisades surrounding the encampment, with a watch tower looming high. Good information for sure— with only Morianne to thank. It looked like she really did have the easier way. He did respect her highly, as he would any of the knights ahead of him in this retinue. That much wouldn't change no matter how many times she yelled at him. Her personal affectations could run totally counter to his own so long as they served the same cause. He knew how to be a professional, if nothing else. Buuuut... "If you're gonna smooch him, wipe your mouth after. Don't know where he's been." Crack for a crack was fair play his whole life. He knew how to survive among a maelstrom of jesting barbs, too. He began to walk, scooping up the body next to his feet and dragging it along in the direction of the pile. Paladin Tyaethe had been doling out orders while the interrogations had gone on around her, and by now had roped every free hand into pulling corpses onto a singular spot along the stone of the road— piling up the dead until the heap stood as tall as she did. Probably cremation, if he had to guess. Dead bodies lying around meant two things: Disease and Scavengers. Growing up near a forest taught him the dangers of drawing hungry beasts to a road— and he knew any soldier here would at least be aware of the havoc the undisposed dead could wreak upon either side of a siege. Chucking the body roughly against the pile, Gerard about-faced in time to catch the disquieted mutterings of Sir Renar in his ear. He had to imagine that the man hated the busywork to bring all this on— he certainly had no qualms with getting his hands dirty. "They not do this in your banneret?" he asked, beginning to drag another corpse by its ankle.</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that Lucas had briefly found himself appraising the physical appearance of his comrade, whilst on the battlefield of all places, Cecilia made it ten times worse by calling him out. "!" How on earth she'd noticed his inappropriacy in the darkened forest was beyond him, but if what before was a blush, then what was now was a face as red as a tomato. It was a good job he was caked in drying blood, not that that made the situation any less embarrassing for the young knight. Elite scouts indeed, he thought exasperatedly. He almost missed the information the bandit had spilled. "...there's palisades set up around the camp, but it's not a complete wall... a watch tower, too... hehe... I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you, y'know..." The pre-death flirtations along with Sir Gerard's quip at Dame Morianne just made things worse and Lucas couldn't have been more happy when Paladin Tyaethe ordered him to join in gathering the bodies. "Err, at once, Paladin Tyaethe," was the response, and he quickly wiped his sword clean on the tattered threads of a bandit corpse, then sheathed it before getting to work. Dead weight was ridiculously heavy, and Lucas found himself struggling with his orders. The smell was back in the forefront of his mind too. He tried and failed his first approach before finding some success by sitting the corpses up, before wrapping his arms around the torsos and dragging from there. It was slightly disheartening to see a little girl making light work of it all, even if that little girl was in fact a centuries-old veteran warrior with likely double the strength of even Sir Fionn MacKerracher. As he hauled his second body onto the pile, he glanced at Sir Gerard, who was casually getting on with his job, as if piling up firewood on a quaint evening. He took no note of his talking with Sir Renard, only wondering that this was the life of a hero knight. It was all such a rude awakening. He leaned over to get a good grip over another dead bandit, trying his best to ignore the corpse's stomach was falling out of it's bloody stomach. And the night was young - there was plenty more to do. Plenty more killing. Plenty more corpses to pile up. This was a short battle, he knew that much. Not enough of a fight for such a large regiment of knights. The bandit camp would likely be a much more taxing affair. This was simply a warm up. Lucas steeled himself, gritting his teeth and forcing a burst of willpower from within. He would do what was asked of him. He had to. He had to live on, not just for himself but for his parents, for the rest of the people he once called family. And here was an opportunity to be a hero of the people - a sword of justice for the crown. Here, tonight, was the possibility of rescuing innocents from captivity - to be like Sir Gerard himself. He just had to keep his chin up, his jaw clenched and kill the criminals who opposed honour and righteousness. And of course... Follow orders. And don't die. And so he followed his orders, ever-wary of vomiting and embarrassing himself further. He found his way over to Sir Fleuri and reached for a dead body near him. "Sir Fleuri, you have my apologies," he started, wanting to be quiet enough that no one else would hear, but needing to be clear enough that the older knight would hear the sincerity of his words. "I don't know what came over me, rushing out from the flank like that, but I will do better in the future. Thank you for pulling me out of that mess."</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- She got a glancing blow all things considered. She had been hoping to at least put it out quickly, but things rarely went as expected on the battlefield. A she'd easily land on her feet, Cecil sighed. She was feeling a bit tired, all things considered, and there was very little need for her at the moment. A brief respite as the battle around her started to otherwise die down was just fine. She had did her job as well as one could expect, so slacking off a bit now was fine. "...man, this fight was a mess." Cecil grunted to no one in particular. "A griffin is a mighty fine prize. I am not surprised they didn't wish to miss the opportunity." Cecil didn't respond to Shael, only planting her bow into the ground and leaning on it, a keen eye mostly keeping out for surprises. --- Daze And appreciate their doom was all they could do. The bandits that had engaged Tyaethe were quickly realized that this singular paladin, this little girl, was completely outclassing them in every single way despite their number advantage. The one with the shield watched in terror as the entire thing was simply stopped by a mana fueled fist right to its dent the thick steel of the shield. Felt like his own arm had broken two from the impact. As Tyaethe's sword came down, he'd brace himself once more against the blow realizing only too late, that was an incredibly bad idea. Dwarven steel and supernatural strength cleaved right through the armor, a deep gash carved onto his chest as his forearm was completely severed. Blood oozed from the wounds, splattering the ground as he'd fall backwards. And as Jeremiah fell, the remaining bandits, if there had even been any had already decided to cut their losses and choose desertion and flight over facing any sort of justice at the hands of the Roses.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe With the battle winding down, Tyaethe simply gave the fleeing bandits a half-hearted glare and leant against her sword, firmly planting the blade into the ground once again. There were enough knights around that they'd be caught before they got too far; maybe they'd even do the smart thing and realise they should surrender. Oh, it was almost certain they'd meet the same fate in the end, as disappointing as it was... but they'd still have the chance to make their case, and maybe someone would be truly repentant and get another chance. The least they would receive would be multiple opportunities for repentance and guidance after death. She hadn't denied anyone that, yet, and she wasn't about to start. The vampire's eyes flicked around the battlefield. For an assault on a fortified camp... well, maybe she could take some claim to why there were so few injuries. Things were mostly positive. The captain was definitely still alive and not slowly dying to poison. It didn't seem like they'd be getting a chance to tame a griffin, though... what a waste. Could a griffin even be properly tamed, or would it still always be a threat to everyone around it? Husbandry wasn't remotely within her skills, but she would have loved to try... With only her line of sight betraying the reason, Tyaethe let out a disappointed sigh.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen He only heard Fanilly's cry of triumph as he was running a bandit through. Judging by the reactions of those before him, it seemed it wasn't a lie. So their new captain had steel in her after all. Good. Still, that just left the matter of what to do with this lot... Renar's musings were cut off by the majority of the bandits losing heart and throwing their weapons down, with very few having the presence of mind to either go down fighting or retreat. The ones in front of him were all surrendering, though. Renar regarded these kneeling men with some measure of disgust, mixed with pity. Didn't the fools realize they were just delaying the hour of their death? Men like these would receive nothing more in judgement than hanging. Retreat was a far more sensible option than kneeling. The bastard of Brias looked down at the men before him, aware that he wouldn't be able to handle this how he would like to. It would be a mercy to simply kill these men right here, but most of his fellow knights wouldn't understand. Instead, he planted the haft of his poleaxe into the dirt, raising his voice. "If any of you wish to die now, come forward. I can assure you, it will be quicker and more merciful than hanging." Plus, it would mean less warm bodies to transport, contain, and feed during the trip back to the capital. A win-win, really.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Ser Renar would feel a metal grasp on his shoulder a moment after he spoke his offer, a clank of steel behind him marking Sergio's arrival. He glanced to the bandits still alive, his warpick dangling in his free hand. "Not precisely our judgement, amico. I would never deny these brigands the dread of anticipation. They earned it from their greed-fueled blood letting, no?" He spoke calmly, but loudly enough for the barbarians to hear him. Their cowardice did not earn them a reprieve from the purgatorium they deserved. A man should reflect upon his evil, before greeted by Death.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe The vampire's eyes flicked over to the two knights, a too-bright red in the slowly darkening camp. "If we were to appoint ourselves executioners, the public would be denied the evidence that justice was done, and the Roses would gain a reputation as little more than barbaric attack dogs rather than a noble order." A matter hardly helped by their estrangement from the Church, but that was an argument she had lost decades ago, and pointless to revisit in a scene such as this. "And even the worst of criminals should be permitted the time to reflect and repent their actions, rather than wander forever in the darkness," Tyaethe continued, eyes focused on something far away, "Not everyone can realise in the moment of their deaths." @Psyker Landshark</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri had a split second to realize what the griffin was doing, and that he had made a rather glaring mistake. It wasn't going to try and pull him off using its claws, it was going to slam him into the ground. He knew immediately that he had to get off of this beast before it crushed him. His armor wasn't made to stop something like this. Getting crushed was a risk when riding a horse, too, but this thing was much heavier, and he didn't think that the feathers on its head were going to cushion the impact. However, there was one thing going for him compared to a horse- there were no stirrups to hold his feet in place. Using the arm that was still holding onto the griffin, along with the leg on that side, he flung himself to the side, away from where the creature's body was going to hit the ground. Simultaneously, his other hand let go of his sword so that its not-inconsiderable weight wouldn't slow him down. It was a risk disarming himself like this but it was a much bigger risk not shedding the weight, and he didn't have enough time to think it over.</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm Lucas stood at the gaps of the palisade walls, waving the emancipated innocents urgently past himself. "Come on!" Some of them weren't exactly in the best shape to keep up with a brisk pace, but it was hard not to be impatient, for here he was alone, feeling completely and utterly responsible over one of the Knight-Captain's top priorities. If anything were to go wrong here, it would be on him. "We're almost clear!" The group funnelled into a line to exit the camp. Lucas knelt down to help a child onto his back, so that their mother (at least, Lucas assumed the woman was her mother) could move quicker. Once clear of the camp borders, Lucas headed to the front and led the group away from camp and back toward the Iron Rose Rear Guard. Perhaps giving the child a piggy-back wasn't the best idea, Lucas thought as he was hit with repeated spells of double vision. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. The clearing he'd charged across to start the battle seemed so much shorter before. He'd abandoned the battlefield. Paladin Tyaethe had told them to focus on bringing the beast down. She and a few others had held off scores of bandits just so her team could do so. And he'd left without seeing it dead. He wanted to speed up, but some of the injured would not keep up. And truth be told, he wasn't sure he could speed up anyway. Adrenaline was keeping him on his feet, but this little girl felt like she weighed as much as a cow. Heavy breaths. Slightly staggering steps. But finally; sight of the rear guard. "Help!" was all he could think to say. He wasn't sure how to go about this, but - as always - he didn't think much about it. "Who's in charge!?" A fairly tall knight emerged from the ranks and came forward, adding urgency to his steps when he started to realise the situation. "Sir Einrich, at your service." "The prisoners of the Bandit King... as many as I could find," Lucas told him as he dropped down to let the girl off his back. Sir Einrich called for others to take the freed slaves away and get them some care. Lucas received a few 'thank yous' as the group was escorted past and away from him. "Your name, sir knight?" was the commanding officer. "Lucas... Sir Lucas Storm," was the reply. It still sounded strange, but there was a note of pride in the exhaustion. He'd actually helped save some lives. Amongst the desires and thoughts of getting back to the battlefield, his mind flashed him a vision of Sir Gerard on the night he'd saved Lucas' life and freedom. "I'm part of Paladin Tyaethe's team. The battle is not yet over." "Very well," Sir Einrich nodded in understanding. "Good job lad." And with that, Lucas turned back toward the bandit camp and started running. When he arrived back in the battle, there wasn't actually much of a battle happening anymore. He could see some bandits, hands up and weaponless. Some of his comrades were no longer fighting, allowing their adversaries a chance to surrender. Lucas advanced further into camp to see what became of the griffin.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Having changed out of his armour, and given it to the smith for repairs and polishing, the Knight had dressed himself into his usual outfit of choice for outside wear. On top of his white frilled silk shirt, a three buttoned, long tailed jacket flowed past his waist and toward his legs, bright gold accents and a fiery red dye made him positively shine in the daylight, the sleeves tight around his wrists. He adjusted his black neckerchief as he strode out of Candaeln, his red hair tied back to keep from obscuring his vision, lest a malevolent gust of wind were to sabotage a perfectly lovely conversation. He stood tall, smiling as he was finally able to see the sun's light in all its glory, with his helmet off - the thought of the moon rising later made him ever the more excited. It was these tiny things that made R&R so wonderful. As he stepped across the bridge, still mesmerised by the day, he absentmindedly nearly walked into Lein.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @Psyker Landshark --- Luckily, Renar, Tyaethe, and Sergio hadn't needed any back-up by the time he got over; those few who were rejecting any offer of surrender quickly rounded up and dispatched by the time he got back over the burning log. Afterwards, he'd done his part in rounding up the prisoners, disposing of bodies, and the trip back had been relatively uneventful. Taking turns with Gerard to display Jeremiah's sword as another symbol of their victory as they passed various villages, or after re-entering the capital city, was the most work that really came to them as their column rode along. Otherwise, he stuck near the back of the pack, riding alongside the cart that carried Rickert's corpse rather than making conversation with the others. The satisfaction he'd felt at helping fell the bandit king had rapidly diminished as he thought more about the rest of the battle; less due to the losses they'd sustained, which were themselves rather minimal, but more the nature of the battle itself. Surprises could never be avoided, they were almost to be expected, but the fact that a griffin had been unleashed upon them as it had was beyond anything he'd experienced before. Beyond that, though, was the general disregard the bandits seemed to show for each other, from using their least equipped and experienced to try and man the ambush, to Jeremiah callously dropping a tree atop his own forces in his mad search for some sort of vengeance against the knights. To his estimation, to his understanding of tactics, they didn't fight like they wanted to win. Their leadership, at least, fought like they wanted to die, and that fostered nothing but disquiet in his soul. By the time they made it back to the capitol, however, he seemed to have reconciled the events with his understanding and feelings well enough, starting to make his gregarious rounds through the ranks of the knights when not taking duty holding aloft the bandit king's oversized blade. Once back in the keep proper he'd quickly run to doff his traveling clothes and find something cleaner and more comfortable—and stow the singed and tattered cloak he'd have to figure out some way to salvage—before retrieving the bardiche he'd purloined from the bandit forces and starting to make his way down to the armoury and smithy... ...Utterly unsurprised to spot someone else along the way, who he'd already spotted moving to corner their bard just as he'd been making his way to his quarters. Normally he might let her pass along uninterrupted, but given they seemed to have the same general destination and Fionn was hoping that the conversation might go better than their last: "Finished cowing our compatriots for the day?" Why not call out to her, and see if some of her humour might start to show again now that they were free of battle? "I think I saw Renar gathering his things to come this way as well. Care to wait for him?" He flashed her a small grin. "I don't know about either of you, but I think it would do me good to hear the unofficial recounting of your parts of the battle, and I don't think either of you are the type to shy away from giving that unofficial truth."</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion Success. They had crushed the bandits utterly. Slain the wicked man who called himself their King. The people of Aimlenn, the people of Thaln, were thankful. Their duty to the weak, the defenseless, had been fulfilled. A captain should be proud of their success. Introspection wasn't uncalled for, but surely a battle ending with only a single casualty and the enemy utterly destroyed should be treated as a rousing victory. And yet... The golden-headed knight-captain departed from the others without much aside from a confirmation of their good performance. It was not their fault. Surely, surely, the blame lay on her shoulders. Sir Rickert should not have perished. The battle should not have ended with even a single death among the knights. She could have done something differently. She should have done something differently. Saint Elionne had crushed the Vos Korvungand, destroyed the great heathen army without a single death among her forces. This shouldn't have happened. The image of Sir Rickert hewn apart in a single stroke remained in her mind. Candaeln's courtyard was a popular place, both for simple reading and relaxation and for training. But it was also the home of the pointed, curved structure that was the fortress's shrine. An integrated structure designed for the worship of both Goddesses, it sported stained glass windows of intertwined lillies and roses, a tiered garden of both plants, and a sacred pool and eternal flame for prayer. It was here that Fanilly made her way to, still clad in her armor. The young girl's voice came out in a heavy sigh, her eyes travelling up the garden and towards its peak. There stood a pair of statues. The slender frame of Reon, her blade held crossed over her chest and her spear projecting downwards, and beside her Mayon, taller, her hands at her sides and holding a mirror and a bow. With the clanking of her gleaming armor, Fanilly plucked a lily and cast it into the flames. Then, she took a rose and crumpled its petals into the water. Then she knelt before the shrine, hands clutched together in prayer. "E vanna ney sienne. Oh, goddesses. Please, let the lamps light his way safely. May he find peace and bliss within your domain, so that his death may be eased. May he find the happiness he so earned." First and foremost of all was the prayer for Sir Rickert. It was all she could do, even as she cursed herself for that fact, now that he was no longer with the living. "... May those who fought with honor be blessed. May we find further success in protecting the weak and defeating the wicked. May your blessing shine upon all who seek to do good." To request the goddess's continued support in their endeavors, too, was natural. She had to do everything she could.</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm The sight of each and every rescued prisoner who split off from the Iron Rose column - freedom in hand and opportunity to start anew or return to what they'd been snatched from... the sight of Fionn and Gerard, each and every time, holding up the gargantuan sword of Jeremiah - a symbol of triumph that onlookers would cheer and celebrate... It all made everything worth it. The pain and injuries, the danger, the horrific nature of bloody combat, the up-close and personal displays of death... every moment of that awful night was worth these rewards. Follow orders. Don't die. He'd managed it. Just barely (in fact, Reon may well have been carrying him through it all, such was his luck) but he had indeed made it through his first mission. On the left flank he rode, mismatched with the dozens of bodies in shining full plate and helms to boot, he might have been mistaken for one of the rescued. Those who observed me in action might mistake me too, he thought with a smile. It was a tired smile. He was exhausted. But happiness filled him. After the battle was over, he'd looked around and saw some familiar figures in the band had made it through alive, including all of Paladin Tyaethe's team. The griffin was amongst the corpses, body still tethered by the chain. After a little tense anticipation, he eventually had visual confirmation on the health and wellbeing of one Sir Gerard Segremors. All was said and done. The Iron Rose's list of injuries was short, and there had been only one casualty. A successful first foray for the new Knight-Captain. Good for her. Good for the Iron Roses. Good for all that is good. In the city, passing over the moat and through the gate of Candaeln was a treat that Lucas thought might never get old. The knight's eyes drew upward as they entered the courtyard, his expression full of appreciation for such splendour. Once they were dismissed, Lucas went to his room and collapsed on his bed a moment, staring at the ceiling. The moment of solitude and oppressive silence hastily brought back memories of the screams. Of blood coughed into his face as he watched the light in his enemy's eyes disappear. It suddenly occurred to him that, in spite of his exhaustion, sleep may not come so easy. Each piece of his patchwork armour he removed, looked like armour looted from a corpse. Random pieces of plate and leather, full of knicks, dents, rips and cuts. His heavy leather jerkin was slashed an unnerving amount of times, nevertheless he placed it reverently on the armour dummy, then stepped back and looked at it pridefully. After that, he changed into more casualwear; a white open-throat shirt with some simple black pants and boots. Not really knowing what to do with himself, only knowing that he needed to be somewhere that was busy enough to distract him, he found himself in the mess hall. After grabbing an excessive amount of food, he sat down at one of the long tables, giving a comradely nod to anyone he made eye contact with. Then, his nose reminded his stomach how bloody hungry he was and he tucked in.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors Daze "You're right, he should've." the erstwhile mercenary agreed readily, almost tonelessly, amber gaze following hers into the middle distance. "And the next one like him will again. Whether it's a trio of us, or just me." He had to ingrain the goal. He had to visualize the state in which he matched him blow for blow, strike for strike, strength for strength. If it could be achieved, it was there— Sir Agrahn. Sir Cyrus. Could he measure up to them, legendary titans of the field? He didn't know. He certainly didn't feel like a once-in-a-lifetime warrior... But the type of greed to chase those mythical figures had gotten him this far. And if he reached even a fraction of their ability, the Bandit King he'd fought would be trivial. Of that, Gerard was certain. As for her query, he nodded along his understanding— to be turned into a supernatural, superhuman entity at the age it seemed she had, it did stand to reason that she'd not have much cause to worry about honing the body, when it was already so empowered. Lucky him. It was a rare day anyone got to elucidate the honored Paladin. "It's a drill from my past life." he began, "We used to sprint uphill to improve our dashing ability. It gets the legs used to exploding forward for harder and longer— the way I fight is all pace and pressure, so being able to crush distance quickly, suddenly, and keep swinging hard, time after time, is as important as it gets. It is endurance work, in a way— but it's also just building up the strength that gives you raw speed. Doing that, over and over, so I could keep swarming a defense like his until it breaks. It took us a bit to crack him open." A wry grin played over his face, mirroring that of his comrade. "If only we had a hill. Pushing up from below hits you twice as hard." He knew she had a point, regarding recovery. Nobody could work themselves endlessly, grinding truly down to the bone, and expect to gain much. If you had nothing left to build upon, then your house was sure to crumble— If you endlessly sowed your fields the same way, never feeding the soil, your crop would dwindle with each passing month. He'd felt it firsthand on march, years ago. Roving between battlefields made for rough living, and with strictly constrained meals, at times it was a miracle the Regiment hadn't strung themselves out completely. He'd lost friends that way. Hunger was a powerful motivator, but exhaustion made mistakes appear where they never should've. But... "Thanks for the concern, ma'am. And the advice— I'll be sure to peruse it after this. Right now, I feel able enough to at least manage this much." He had to strike it hard and fast. Attacking one's own weakness was rarely so easy as the day you were both able and not only willing, but driven. Rest could come in a few more laps.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "If you wanted to sprint uphill..." Tyaethe said slowly, giving him a look befitting explaining something very simple to a child, "You could consider going outside of Candaeln. The city isn't flat." It wasn't as if she could say much else about exercise; when your body wouldn't actually change no matter how much work you put in, there was little else to do except focus on technique and how to best use magical energy to get the necessary physical capabilities. But pointing out every relatively steep location in Aimlenn? She could do that in her sleep. Hm, although there was one thing she could suggest if he ever wanted an unusual exercise... "As for strength training, if you want something challenging, there's a pretty heavy statue of Mayon inside the chapel. It's also been magically reinforced," entirely because of doing this before, naturally, "So dropping it doesn't do anything. There's also a nice flat spot on the chapel roof that gets a lot of sun." The implication of how these could be related (if you got some sort of rope) was quite obvious. And that particular exercise had good memories... even if it originally wasn't an exercise at all, just an idea she got Cyrus to go along with.</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Landshark@The Otter "Our roles end when our foes drop their swords," Serenity remarked. "I rather believe, Sir Fionn, that Sir Renar holds a vendetta towards executioners and judges. Why else would he be taking their roles into his own hands?" She pressed her thumb against the edge of her sharpened sword, stopping just at the verge of her flesh being cut. Just need some oil now, to keep the rust away. "After all, the less bandits arrive to trial, the less judges needed to sentence them, and the less executioners needed to execute them. And from there? The plot unfolds, as the kingdom no longer sees it fit to employ so many of them, and Sir Renar dines well that night, in knowledge that yet more men have been forced to seek other trades." A cloth ran up and down the length of the mirror-polished sword, removing excess oil. Serenity flourished her blade for one fanciful moment, before sliding it into the scabbard with a definitive click. "A revenge cold mayhaps, but undoubtedly sweet." Better to imagine what dark machinations Renar had than to dwell upon how far the Iron Rose Knights have fallen, to accept those such as Lucas as full-fledged members of the same rank as the late Sir Rickert. What value was there indeed, when the only one who possessed the mythological capability that made the Iron Rose Knights subject to so many epics was an unaging vampire? Her expression didn't darken though, not this time. "Alas, the boy won't accept becoming an archer. I've doubt he would even handle a spear, except for a joust. Or self-pleasure." ... Serenity coughed. "Regardless, Lucas idolizes Sir Gerard, no? He's more liable to listen to one he respects than a girl his own age, if we speak of someone to instill sense in him." From a rack, Serenity pulled out a length of wood, a good deal taller than herself. Its heft was fine, its length could be better. It was wood though, disposable all the same, so she didn't think too much of it as she prepared to mount her spearhead upon it. "Or perhaps the Flower's taken him under his wing. Reckon he's the lucky sort?" Or would their individual idiocies become magnified, until the fools leapt skywards to skewer themselves upon pike formations?</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm Lucas was like a well-oiled machine - head down and spoon shovelling - as he devoured the last of the pottage. It still amazed him, just how tasty something so simple could be. Like the grand gates and entrance of castle Candaeln; it would never get old. As the food in the bowl disappeared and the spoon became ineffective, Lucas dropped the utensil and picked up the bowl itself, pouring the last of it down his throat. He was in heaven already, and he hadn't even gotten to his favourite; Lamb on the bone with roasted potatoes and gravy. "Reon, lad, save some for the rest of us, will you," was the comment from one knight, a few seats down and across the table. He was with two others and had been distracted enough from his own conversation to interrupt Lucas' bliss. After putting the bowl down, Lucas scratched the back of his head sheepishly, closed eyes and a smile. It was met with some laughter. "You eat like it's your last meal." That resonated with Lucas and he bounced back, "Well, you never know when all this will come to an end. One minute you're flying high. Next; you're carrion. Or worse." Worse, for Lucas, would be being thrown out of the Order, left on the streets to live with his failure. Dying for the cause would most definitely be preferable. It was all borrowed time, anyway. He should've been dead already, or a slave in unknown lands. His entire existence, at present, was a free shot at honour and glory he was never born for. Never worked for. In spite of the relatively small hardships that had come in his few months of being a 'Sir Lucas Storm,' it still all seemed to good to be true. Perhaps it was partly why he threw himself into the very front lines of the vanguard in his first battle - to use his own life to spare a more deserving knight from the fate of a probable death. It was certainly partly why he got as much of this gourmet cuisine down his gullet as humanly possible! "Aye, that holds true for any warrior," another of the three replied. "As good a reason as any." Lucas wasn't far into his third course when Sir Fleuri joined him at the table. "Sir Lucas," Fleuri greeted him... "Flueri," he announced joyfully, before realising himself and awkwardly correcting his words. "Sir Fleuri... I mean." "It's good to see you're unscathed." "Thanks, you too, my friend." It was satisfying to think that he might've bonded with a comrade after standing shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield. It was more likely that Sir Fleuri was simply being polite, but Lucas couldn't help but romanticise the situation. Before this, his only experience of battle was in romanticised books, after all. As far as he was concerned, they were gods-damned warrior brothers who'd daringly took on outnumbering odds, plus a beast of legend. "That battle got rather hectic, didn't it?" "Sure did," was the reply. "I still can't believe we got through all that fire... fire both metaphorical and literal." He laughed, the lamp chop in his hand, dripping gravy onto the table. Gypsy table manners didn't exactly measure up to the standards in castle Candaeln. "But of course, I'd have been dead before the battle had even begun, if it wasn't for you." He was referencing the first skirmish, where his impulsive charge had left him in no man's land and the jaws of death. "I appreciate you looking out for me. Can't wait to return the favour... Well, hopefully I won't have to but... you know." The young lad laughed again, unashamed of making a fool of himself. He took a chomp of his lamb chop and chewed it for a moment before speaking again. "Unfortunately I missed the griffin being taken down. I ended up with my hands full with Jeremiah's prisoners. I had to get them out of there before they burned to ash along with camp. When I got back, the beast was dead. What happened?" And also, "I managed to leash the griffin. And tie the chain down. Did it help at all?" The answer to his last question was dripping with hopefulness. Whether 'yes' or 'no,' Lucas would make no effort to hide his reaction - either great pride or disappointment.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau "I'm not sure," Fleuri answered, trying his best to recall the fight "It was all so chaotic that I didn't get a good chance to see who had what effect on it, aside from the fatal blow that Serenity inflicted upon it." It was only fitting that the person who handled the fight in the most sane and level-headed manner had the honor of the fatal blow. "Truth be told I'd rather she had let it live- it was already subdued and injured," he lamented. "Griffins are majestic, noble creatures once you get past the whole horse-eating thing. There'd have been no point in trying to capture it, though- they're also immensely proud creatures that as we saw already, don't take well to being caged." Fleuri would not have shared this sentiment with the other knights- after that foolhardy stunt he pulled, they'd probably dismiss him as being mad and his actions counterproductive to the fight. But Lucas had been gripped by the same madness, and it was for that reason he was comfortable talking openly about it. "Looking back, I don't know what I was thinking, jumping on its back like that," he said, taking a bite from, fittingly, a cooked bird's wing. "I was nearly crushed, burned, and could very well have simply missed and hit the ground hard enough to break my bones. It's a miracle I got out of it unharmed." He would not disparage Lucas, but he wanted to convey his concerns with his own actions.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen And now he was being scolded. Renar bit back a sigh, simply staring at Fionn impassively until he finished. Frankly, Fionn was one of very few people he would tolerate this sort of lecture from. And only because he knew that his friend was a genuine believer in church and chivalry. If Fionn didn't want to hear this from him, fine. Fionn wouldn't hear this from his mouth again. In earshot, at least. But his own injured pride wasn't quite worth continuing this argument with one of his only friends in the order. "Fine, friend. I hear you." Renar looked to Fionn, his expression resigned. "Consider the matter dropped on my end. I'd prefer not to argue with you over it. And Gerard would likely take your side on this." But he couldn't resist getting one last jab in. "Though I still reserve the right to complain about the little shit's antics." "As for the Captain, that's good. Seems we're in no immediate danger of disgrace or disaster, then. Unless you'd object to that, Dame Serenity?" Renar looked over to her, a half-smirk rising to his lips in challenge. He had a suspicion that she felt more strong about this subject than she'd let on. It was just a matter of seeing if she'd take the bait or not.</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Landshark@The Otter "As an Order," Serenity spoke up, "the Iron Rose Knights have little in the way of a hierarchy. As such, in the absence of a Knight-Captain, the one responsible for accepting others into the Order is likely to be Paladin Tyaethe. If you'd like to learn her reasoning, Sir Renar, I'm sure she'll be obliged to it." Though the fact of the matter was that in the eyes of a centuries-old relic of war and blood, shadow and magic, there was likely no discernible difference between Renar and Lucas. All that mattered, after all, was the Knight-Captain, if one took the stories told of the First and Youngest to heart. The Immortal Dragon Slayer, so inundated by the boons of circumstance that she's unmatched in Thaln despite having yet to even leverage the full weight of her talents. "I find no reason to leave their learning to luck though. What's the point in discussing Lucas's education, if we're not to point out his faults?" Still, the matter was dropped, forcibly, and as if aiming to stoke her own ire, Renar brought up the topic of Fanilly Danbalion instead, his second remark a naked attempt to toss fuel to the flame. If he was to be so obvious with it though? "If she fancies herself a knight, she ought to redouble her efforts as a swordswoman." Which Serenity would gladly join her in. "And if she fancies herself a Captain, she ought to better her ability to command under duress. Though I reckon that would be hard, if Captain Fanilly continues to be ambushed." The flaxen-haired knight paused briefly as she leveled her hammer to drive a nail through the socket of her spear and into the wood beneath, then continued. "But perhaps the Iron Rose Knights are such that all we need to be is individually competent? Certainly, the legends of our predecessors leave behind only anecdotes of singular glory, rather than united efforts." She hefted the spear up once more, though there wasn't room enough to swing it as she wished. "Thoughts, good sirs? Sir Villis, certainly, was just running ahead of the rest, but how did the Paladin and the Knight-Captain function as leaders?"</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm Not sure? Well, that answer did fall into the disappointment category, but at least there was a chance that his idea had limited the griffin's mobility enough that such a killing blow could be landed. A man can dream, eh. Serenity. One of Gerard's sparring buddies. She was a ferocious fighter. Even after a bunch of bandits had been blown off their feet from a mere flap of the griffin's wings (one even high-tailing it out of there, Lucas saw,) Serenity had gotten right in the beast's face and stayed there. The mental fortitude, the physical skills... the girl was a phenom. It was hard to believe she was the same age. She carried herself with far more dignity and power than any 17 year old girl Lucas had ever known. Lucas found himself wondering what her childhood must've been like, for a moment, but brought himself back to reality and the conversation quickly. "Let it live?" Lucas echoed the older knight, a little perplexed. Fleuri went on. "Griffins are majestic, noble creatures once you get past the whole horse-eating thing. There'd have been no point in trying to capture it, though- they're also immensely proud creatures that as we saw already, don't take well to being caged." "Just imagine we broke it though, eh," Lucas offered with a grin. "My old man's best mate was the finest horse breaker in all the lands. Carrot was his name. Broke the wildest of stallions. Imagine we broke a griffin. Imagine the Knight-Captain's charge at the head of a column. There'd be no stoppin it. And no finer sight. It was a joke, of course. Well... a half-joke. Well... ""Anyway, I guess you're probably right. If the griffin was no danger to good folk, then it was just another prisoner of Jeremiah. I didn't really think about it that way. Lucas put a whole large potato in his mouth, not anticipating that it would still be so hot. His face froze in pain as he bit into it, desperately wanting to spit it out, but realising that such an action would cross the line of table etiquette, even by his own standards. And so, without thinking, he just swallowed. In one slow, laboured and painful motion, he swallowed the entire thing. The heat was intense, his face stuck with one eye squinting as he stared at Fleuri who was sharing his misgivings about their wild decision-making regarding the griffin. "...It's a miracle I got out of it unharmed." Lucas wasn't sharpest tool on the rack, but he noticed that this lesson wasn't just for Fleuri himself, but both of them. It was true; so many things could've gone wrong. He, himself, didn't escape without injury. After the battle, once he got himself to one of the healing mages in the rearguard, he'd discovered that adrenaline had been masking quite a few injuries. A broken collarbone. A broken rib. Fractured wrist. Concussion. And that was without the various grazes and lacerations. Back in the circus, they could've really done with one of the Iron Rose mages in their troupe. They were a boon unlike any other. What he wanted to say was that heroes don't think about the danger to themselves, they just act - try to save the day. But this was the nonsense rambling of a young man. Instead, he tried to listen to the more experienced knight who was doing him the honour of imparting some wisdom and reflection on the battle. "I'll try to do better aswell," he told Fleuri. "I just... it's hard to think... battles are..." it was difficult to find the right words. "Bloody madness," he finally settled on. He stopped himself from going on. It was just excuses for his misconduct. "But I will try. To think about my actions more." As much as he was trying to be more mature, the boy in him still escaped. "Got out of it alive though, eh. Sir Lein didn't get flattened. And we rode a griffin... sort of... for a second." He offered the last words with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin, as if daring Fleuri to smile back. "Not bad, eh?" By Reon. Already, the lesson appeared to be disappearing out of the thick skull of the gypsy. After their exchange about the griffin, Lucas chose to focus on wolfing down the third and final course of his meal. Once he'd stopped talking, it didn't take long for the plates to be clean. "Ah, I. Am. Done," he said to the Flower of the North. "I think I need proper drink tonight. A few, in fact." Such bravado. Inside, he was worried that these images and sounds of the battle might not ever go away, but he could hardly explain that to anyone here. They were all well beyond their first battles. And what if word got back to the Knight-Captain or Paladin Tyaethe. Sir Lucas Storm can't handle the weight of killing? That might be the last straw. "What will you be up to, with the rest of your day, Sir Fleuri?"</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "Ah, but I mean that it all tastes the same if I only focus on what my body is telling me. There's something magical in it, vampirism is very intricate in some ways. Where it came from and how it got to this stage... I don't think anybody knows except the gods, and it's not the sort of thing they like to answer questions about." His last question was answered by the vampire picking up the spiced tart, taking a bite before continuing. "No great magic, but there's enough in there to be somewhat usable. I don't know if it would be enough to take up any sort of spellblade path without being implausibly efficient, but you could probably learn a few useful things like fire starting or creating light. It's more common amongst humans than you'd think, especially in parts of the Velt population; it's just below the threshold most people will spontaneously cause anything to happen and people don't have time or means to test." It also wasn't something most mages considered. She only knew because 'trying to understand your status as a vampire' brought you into contact with the most obscure theorists sometimes. And if Fionn wanted to talk, Tyaethe wasn't going to force him to leave. Probably. "No, most people don't want to talk. It's hardly a loss, I'm content with things as they are."</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze --- Must be the possible elvish admixture in parts of Velt, he imagined. The idea that he might have some small amount of magical talent to harness was an interesting one, though, even if it wouldn't amount to too much more than parlor tricks; he'd have to look into it. Maybe it'd be enough to get him lateral movement from the knight career track to the paladin one if he had enough to work with. But before that, there was cheesecake. Reduced down to only one plate and fork, he took a quick bite of the sambocade. Truth be told, elderflower wasn't something he normally went for, but even if he had any notable dislike of the flavour he doubt he'd have minded it much in the cake, even if it didn't have berries and honey atop. He might've grabbed the bread pudding as well, if it weren't for the fact that cold bread pudding was a travesty. "Hardly implies that it still is one, though," he observed between bites. "Don't see any reason I should be one of the ones contributing to it if that's the case. Spontaneous bloodletting involved or no." Best not to dwell on that albeit-minimal loss overlong, though, lest he help ruin her talkative, seemingly-good mood entirely. "Thinking of—now that we've established some of your favourite bloods, now you've got to tell me your favourite dessert. So that I know how best to bribe you in the future, of course."</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "Tarts are good," Tyaethe said, holding up a fork full of the dessert as evidence, "But custard tarts are better. Particularly the spiced variants. There was a chef in the past who was particularly in favour of putting whatever savoury ingredients we had spares of in tarts like that, they seemed to be a particular fan of experimenting with custard." Any similarity with the perceived flavour and texture of elven blood was unlikely to be a coincidence, although whether the preference for this particular dessert came first or the way blood was perceived would be hard to tell--the girl had both been initially raised amongst the higher levels of nobility, and the chance she had much opportunity to sample elves before the Iron Roses were founded was low. She couldn't, herself, remember which she had first tried, only that there was a distinct similarity between the two. "You don't have to force yourself to talk to me, no matter how little anyone else might. I am both a vampire and your considerable elder, it's only to be expected."</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze --- "Knew I should have grabbed one of the custard tarts." It had been a quick, spur-of-the-moment choice between a custard tart or the fruit tart; in the end, he decided to grab one that might be less commonly taken just in case Tyaethe was the type to prefer something different from the majority. In a way, she still was, but it seemed like everywhere he looked people were always wanting custard tarts. At least it meant more of the others for him! Momentary muttering aside; "I'm really not forcing myself to do this," he said after another bite. "Getting asked for my blood so immediately was a bit of a shock, sure, but am I not allowed to take an interest in how my fellow knights are doing?"</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe Tyaethe sighed. There was no point pursuing this conversation if he was going to be stubborn about it for some reason. Might as well make the most of the situation, if Fionn was willing to tough it out for whatever reason. The guy was being entirely too nice for his own good, after all. "If you don't have anything else to talk about than my health, I could show you the most basic magical exercise," the paladin said. Honestly, calling it an 'exercise' might be a stretch--it was the metaphorical equivalent of moving your arm simply to show that you could. But for anyone that hadn't unintentionally done anything magical in their life, it was a necessary requirement to actually trying to learn anything more advanced. And the one part of formal magical tutelage that Tyaethe was experienced with, or knew enough to show other people. Otter</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze --- He wouldn't let himself grin too widely, but Fionn would take the win where he could find it. Truth be told, he also had more that he could turn the conversation to, but he was just as capable of being obstinately friendly as she was at remaining stubbornly alone. The fact that she was now offering to show him something new, without any need for him to ask after it, argue or wheedle for it, or the like, only sweetened the small victory. "Gotta get started learning it like when I first learned to hold a sword, aye? Sure, let's see if I've got any talent to go with the potential!" Having something new to add to his bag of tricks once he developed some useful minor spells would, at the very least, help him break any possible stalemates he might run into with Renar or Gerard. By the Goddesses, he could see the expressions on their faces now. "Hope you can be patient with me, though; I'm more physically minded than anything else." A fact that was blatantly obvious given his build and role within the order.</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm Lucas gave Fleuri a dead stare for a moment. The Iron Roses hadn't been back long and already Fleuri wanted to train. It was admirable, for sure... admirable from afar. The younger knight was exhausted both physically and mentally from the slog of his first mission, no matter how relatively smoothly it had gone. The training yard wasn't exactly the most inviting place right now. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to refuse such an offer to train with one of the order's most skilled knights. Not only would it be a missed opportunity to learn something, but it might reflect poorly on his work ethic. "Sure, it'd be an honour to train with you, Sir Fleuri. Just giz a moment for the old belly to settle, eh." After a short spell to finish his drink, they got up and headed outside to the training yard. On the way, Lucas considered the Flower's words on performing for a crowd. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the (no pun intended) flowery words. What the young man took from it - right or wrong - was that their crazy actions may have inspired, intimidated or mislead their comrades. But which was it? And why? For Lucas' part, he wasn't performing, merely trying to help. It was after the fact, that he considered his ridiculous course of action might make a good story. Now he was left wondering what was going through the mind of Fleuri during the battle. Seeking to fill the silence between them, as they made their way outside, Lucas piped up. "I'm not sure what dagger techniques I could show you, to be perfectly fair," he said. "Unless you want to learn how to juggle and throw knives. If that's what you're after, then boy, do I have a few tricks to show you." On the training yard, he went over to the racks. "Sparring with swords or...?" he asked, hoping Fleuri had something in mind. He would be glad of instruction from an experienced fighter, a thought which prompted his follow up question. "Can you teach me to fight like Sir Gerard?" He pulled out a regular wooden longsword and started pushing forward aggressively against an invisible foe, giving the air a few swings. "He's amazing. All rough and tumble-like, huh-hah..." slipping his head under and around centre-line, he lunged into a stab. "Hah!" Then he relaxed and looked at Fleuri with a hopeful grin. "Like that... I think. I wanna fight like him." Since Gerard had encouraged Lucas to find another fighting style, the young man had been relegated to simply watching his idol spar with others, then try to copy the moves later on. Perhaps Fleuri would have some insight on the matter. Lucas' footwork was decent for a rookie, but everything else left a lot to be desired. Nonetheless, he was stood ready to follow Fleuri's lead and get to work.</s>

<|description|>Lucas Storm * Age: 17 years old * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Standing 5' 11" and a sleek 155 lbs, Lucas carries himself with the graceful posture of both an athlete and an artist. His smile is polite and unassuming, his eyes are bright and steel-coloured, and his hair is as white as snow. * Personality: Although a little withdrawn in light of the relatively recent death of his parents, Lucas is slowly but surely returning to his old self: A warm and friendly young man who will always seek to raise his friends spirits, whether it's with an unfunny joke or an arm around the shoulder and an open ear. He also has an odd quirk of being fearless. Not courageous, no - courage requires the presence of fear - but complete fearlessness. Danger simply does not move him. He has somewhat of a darker side that went undiscovered until he started weapons training... he does like to 'talk a little trash,' seeking to press the emotional buttons of his opponent and get them off their game. It is a little jarring to witness, for anyone that knows him, to see him in this arrogant and malicious state. Aside from that, he likes card games, climbing trees and reading books about heroic deeds, adventure and rescuing princesses. * Brief Backstory: Lucas Storm was born to Penny and Harold aka 'The Storms' - a double act in a travelling circus troupe that lived on the roads of Thain. They were not quite the main event, but between Penny's acrobatics and Harold's knife-throwing expertise, the two had their act down to a tee and made a good living at the top of the card. Lucas however, had shot into stardom as a gifted trapeze artist and worked with his parents friends often as the main event. Every night he risked his life to entertain the audience, and strangely the dizzying heights or the danger had never even slightly bothered the boy, not even the first time. Life was good. Simple, yes, but contented and full of love. Living on the road meant one was always an outsider and so the troupe had a trust and loyalty between them that went beyond community. More like family. They looked out for each other, lied for each other (certainly when thieves and pickpockets in the troupe began to make their extra money off the current town,) and they would no-doubt die for each other... something many of them eventually did. This circus life would indeed come to an end when they were assaulted in Velt by slaver unit. The troupe resisted as best they could, but were no match for amply-armed slavers. Many of them died, including Lucas' parents, Penny and Harold. Lucas was taken prisoner and caged, ready for sale. No more than three days after Lucas was thrown into a cage, the slaver encampment was set upon by a mercenary band who captured the place after a bloody battle. Lucas was awestruck as a hero straight out of one of his books, fought evil men valiantly and freed him from the cage. That man, he would find out, was Gerard Segremors. From that day forward, Lucas Storm wanted to be a hero, like in his books. A hero like Gerard Segremors. His first act a free person again, was to go to the quartermaster of the mercenary band and request to be recruited. Perhaps the quartermaster took note of the young lad's strong body and graceful gait. Perhaps it was the look of determination and fearlessness in his eyes. For whatever reason, Lucas' request was accepted and he began training under the quartermaster. This life as a mercenary did not last long however, as no more than some weeks - maybe months - later, the mercenary band was dissolved and folded into the military arm of the Church. Lucas didn't care, he simply waited to see what Gerard would do, and when his idol joined the Blades of Iron Roses, Lucas followed him into the order. Now, Lucas finds himself training under a real regiment, in an order of knights where he might truly become a hero from his books - a hero like Gerard Segremors. And he works hard to make it happen. * Equipment: A set of battered plate mail. A longsword. All standard basic Order issue. He likes to carry several daggers on his person, preferably balanced for throwing or using in a tight situation. * Skills: Free-climbing. Juggling. Dizzying acrobatics. Knife throwing. Hold Em Poker. Pickpocketing. Cheering friends up. Sneaking.</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion While the matter of Sir Rickert's death was by no means forgotten, at least for the moment Fanilly had been reminded that he died in the line of duty. Still, her heart remained burdened, even if it was slightly less burdened thanks to Sir Renar's words. Still, she was most certainly going to pray for him once more before she slept that night, and again the next day. His just soul would surely reach the Sun and Moon, but aiding him on the way was the only way in which she could now assist him. "... A-ah, Dame Cecilia..." Just what was she doing? The Archer Knight had managed to drink almost an entire cask of wine in the same amount of time she had taken only two sips of her glass. Was this some kind of secret skill of hers? Fanilly could only hope she was almost done, or else they'd need to start accounting for the disappearance of multiple casks. "... I'll consider your proposal, Sir Renar," she said, after a few moments of witnessing Dame Cecilia's stunning skills in getting plastered, "A Knight-Captain should use the skills of her knights to the best of their ability, after all." Fanilly took another small sip of wine. She didn't want to get drunk, so she had to try and pace herself. She had never pushed her alcohol tolerance before, and feared the worst. "But I will consider any candidates equally." While her tone was still subdued, at least she had begun talking about other matters now. Landshark@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen "Of course. As I said, I only ask to be considered." Renar inclined his head towards the Knight-Captain, finishing his second cup of wine and not pouring himself another. He knew when to stop, on both accounts. No point in pushing too hard. So long as he was remembered and had his foot in the door, it'd create one opportunity or another for himself somewhere down the line. He followed Fanilly's gaze towards Dame Cecilia. Sun and Moon, was she really almost through the entire cask? May as well have just been drinking straight from the barrel at this point instead of pouring. Renar looked wearily towards Cecilia, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Perhaps I should escort her back to somewhere she can't get deeper into her cups." Renar sighed as he stood, not looking forward to dragging the drunken louche out of the wine cellar. Frankly, he ought to just dump her into the courtyard and wash his hands of the matter. "Some unsolicited advice, Captain: should you not wish to end up like that," He gestured towards Cecilia. "Take a free night and try to determine your limits. Have one of your maids, preferably one not inclined to gossip, watch over you and determine exactly how much wine it takes for you to become drunk. It helps immensely at social functions where you'd prefer not to embarass yourself."</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau "Truth be told, I was following Lucas' lead," Fleuri said, firmly patting Lucas on the back. "As exhilarating as it was, I think I'm content on doing it only one time, however. Better to retire from riding wild griffins while I'm ahead and undefeated, right?" Following behind Lucas after having saved him twice before was perhaps not the smartest move, but it certainly ended up being spectacular. "I like to think that when someone does something very showy and very ill-advised and yet get away with it unscathed," he continued, taking a drink from his mug, "It's the goddess' way of telling you that they're amused enough to give you a second chance, and it'd be disrespectful to the higher powers to squander it, right?" Sure, it was a stupid decision on his part, one that he'd try not to repeat, but he saw it as something to be laughed and joked about in hindsight, not held onto as a mark of shame. "As for your question, Lucas," Fleuri shifted his topic of conversation, "No, I have no family in the city. Most of them live up in northern Thaln. I've met people from all over the country, but not too many of them here this time of year." Fleuri took another drink, feeling a bit homesick as he reminisced. He hadn't visited his family in a while, after all. Still, it could be worse...at least he still had his family, unlike some of the others at this table. If he were a more uptight knight, Fleuri would be tempted to strike the Hundi for his uncouth words...but even during the most irresponsible part of his life there were some valuable life lessons to be learned, such as knowing when to loosen up. @Saiyan@PigeonOfAstora</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion "Er, yes..." Certainly, she didn't want to end up as Dame Cecilia had. The Knight Archer looked like quite a mess. It made Fanilly drink her glass of whine all the more slowly and carefully. "I think that's very good advice..." Especially in the face of such a display. Thankfully for Fanilly, a single glass of wine was no enough to entirely rob of of her faculties, as she had feared. Instead, while she felt something, certainly, this warm, somewhat light and tingly sensation she couldn't quite describe in more detailed words, that was the end of it. A second glass was pushing it on the Knight-Captain's mind, and she declined it. After all, she still had her duties to fulfill, and later her prayer for Sir Rickert. It wouldn't do to end up like Dame Cecilia. After leaving the wine cellar(though she did her best to assist with carrying Dame Cecilia out first), Fanilly's first duty to fulfill was dispatching a messenger to Sir Rickert's family. While nothing could compensate for his death, she had to offer them something. Then, to change out of her armor and bathe, at last. While Candaeln boasted two communal bathes, one for men and one for women, composed of blessed water that could repair minor injury and always remained warm, the Knight-Captain's quarters had a private bath. It was there she went to clean herself, and change into something more suitable for her duties at Candaeln. The blue and white of the Knight-Captain's garb was unmistakable, and just as recognizable as the dwarven-forged armor these days. Landshark@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe ... well, she had no idea what he could be planning with apples, nor did she particularly care to find out. Leaning back into her cushion pile, the vampire closed her eyes and gestured vaguely towards the front door. "I don't see a problem then. Why not see what that messenger wants? Poor man has been standing there since we got back, too scared to just come over here and talk to me. I'll take the plates back to the kitchen later." If someone wasn't going to approach her despite being simply the other side of the room, the vampire wasn't planning to try and get a message out of him. Whether awestruck or terrified, the odds that he would explain whatever it was incorrectly were far too high. Besides, she'd rather get some rest after the journey, and between Gerard's earlier exercise and this conversation, that had been quite delayed. At least some good had come of this one, on both sides--Fionn learned about his own magical potential, and she got to eat. Twice, even. Otter</s>

<|message|>Lucas Storm "My blood-kin all bit it while I was still on The Keening, so I'm stuck here with nothing to do but sit in this taudis and spit it with a bunch of these whoresons, heh." It wasn't a very nice feeling to hear that Lein had lost his family too, but his nonchalant tone when speaking on it - together with the feeling of not being alone in having such tragedy in his past - helped Lucas to mask his pity and keep up a fairly up-beat expression on his face. Not to mention, the foul mouthed archer-knight's array of language. Lucas knocked his tankard against Lein's in salute, not at all noticing that what spilled on the table was definitely not ale. "The Iron Roses are your family now, old buddy, and don't you forget it," he said to Lein. Sergio's response was short and sweet. Fleuri's a little longer. But both essentially gave off the same sentiment. Family was far away. It must've been lonely for them all too, at times. Lucas sure had felt the feeling creep in some nights, when he was alone in his quarters. He had a sudden urge to try and cheer them all up, but suppressed it, for it wasn't very manly to get all mushy. This was a time for drinking and merriment, after all. Still though, he would be mindful of their moods in future, and perhaps (like a bull in a china shop) try and lift their spirits in a time of need. "Stay out of my pockets, eh," he warned mirthfully to Lein, who Lucas had just realised, had scooched up to him moments earlier. He made a show of sliding his chair a few inches away as a joke. But it also wasn't exactly a joke. Growing up in the circus, Lucas had known a few pickpockets. At the remark about learning from Fleuri, Lucas piped up also. "Fleuri's a great teacher. He knows everything about everything when it comes to swordplay. And he's good at wording it so it goes in the thick skulls of folks like myself." He grinned at Fleuri. "Still, I hope I can continue to amuse the goddesses, cuz I've got a better chance of that than learning how to fight fast enough to keep myself alive on the battlefield. I almost got skinned a few times, if it weren't for good luck. Fleuri saved my life in that first ambush too." Lucas downed the rest of his ale, standing up and offering to buy a second drink for all before going and grabbing himself another. At the bar, the bartender asked, "What's this about 'griffin riders?'" "Oh it's just Sir Lein being silly, really..." and Lucas proceeded to tell him about the battle to take down Jeremiah's bandit camp, giving the details also about Lucas and Fleuri's wild decision to mount the griffin and nearly get themselves killed. He decided to leave out the part where they garnered minimal advantage from the situation, and simply ended with the fact that Dame Serenity delivered the final killing blow. "Reon," the bartender was aghast. "Well, Sir Lucas, that's quite... mounting wild griffins...?" he was flabbergasted. "You Iron Roses sure are something." "Sounds a lot better than it actually was, probably," Lucas replied, laughing nervously and running a hand through his hair. "Main thing is; the rebels are finally done and dealt with." As he left the bar, he heard the bartender start relaying the story on to another newly arrived patron and Lucas gritted his teeth as he chuckled. "I. Will. Sleep. Tonight." He whistled a sigh as dropped back into his chair. "Took it outta me, that mission did. I feel like I'm already tired tomorrow!"</s>

<|description|>Gerard Segremors Age: 21 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: A man hammered into the shape of violence. Gerard stands at roughly average height for a warrior, somewhere in the nebulous range between 5'10 and 5'11, and upon his well-trained frame he wears the battlefields his amber-colored eyes have seen. His skin is rather fair, but pockmarked with a network of light, faded scars, each its own lesson learned on the job. As one might expect, repeated brushes with death have similarly weathered his gaze, going alight at the prospect of battle and burning like small suns in its midst— only to fade into reservation outside of it. He's not necessarily guarded or unapproachable in his posture— but rather, seems almost content with quietly fading into the throng, as though the pressures of having a face to his name are unexpected, and unfamiliar. His hair is a coarse, happily untamed mat that falls near his eyes, and black like coal. Probably cleans up rather handsomely, in theory, but is better used as a gauge for how tense a room is— if things are brewing, he'll feel it, he'll be ready. His casual wear is all simple, dark colors, but never far from either some weapon or armoring. Personality: Gerard is seemingly caught in the interstice between his erstwhile profession and the chivlarous future of which he'd dared not dream. At his core, he's still the reserved, idealistic farm boy that grew up on the many tales of Thaln's heroes of ages past, still believing in the ideals of knighthood— Justice, Order, Compassion, Charity, Piety. That the stark realities and cruel injustices of the world exist to be overcome by the chase of heroism. That he's doing the right thing. but mercenary life has checked those ideals with bloodshed, fury, and the many cruelties mankind has endured by its own hand. The result is a man that seems to be at odds with himself, ever so subtly. He is wholly unfamiliar with courtly manner, brusque and bordering on impertinent with his words, but simultaneously self-effacing, earnestly humble among his peers within the Order, at times even bordering on reverence for knighthood as a concept. While he can join tavern brawls heartily and nestles in right at home in rowdy, bawdy atmospheres like those he shared with his mercenary band, on his own he seems more than a little quiet compared to the stereotypes suggested by his background, indulging in his own contemplation during solitary moments such as training in the yards in the early morning. He would give his life for his fellows— and the cause they undertake. His conviction, however, is unquestionable. Gerard is devoted to the new life he leads, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. He's seen them all, time and time again, as his chosen trade ground each test of his faith into his body and mind. Enough for him to, without a second thought, take up the sword once more to put them to an end, to drag evil into Reon's burning light. One way, or the other. Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold. And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. Year after year, battle after battle, the weathering took so many things from the boy, now just behind the tip of the spear in each engagement— his illusions of war's glory. His naiveite regarding his purpose, and his future. Hell, they even got his face. They'd been called "Franz's Faceless" by anyone who knew of them for a reason, despite officially being the much vaguer "Black Regiment". Regardless, the band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after, the take large enough and pardons convincing enough for the leadership to call it a wrap— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment. Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise). Should his favored weapon be unusable for whatever reason, he has a penchant for making due with whatever he can find. A beggar is never a chooser on the field. Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable. Vicious, pragmatic, and fully committed, thoughts fall away as the body is taken by a wartime trance. It's no pretty thing, but it's gotten him this far. In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild moderate problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "It's an amount that comes in quite helpful for this particular task," she countered with a shrug. It was a lot easier to get a feel for mana first time if there was a lot of it involved in the process, and by the same token why it was extraordinarily rare for anyone of enormous power to not be somewhat aware of it even as a child, the pool of mana waiting just below the surface and all too easy to direct to something. "My instructors as a child thought it ridiculous I wished to be a knight and not a mage." They would have particularly had a point if she had continued ageing normally. Tiny, intermittently frail, half-blind and facing some rather obvious challenges where combat was involved? Becoming a vampire had certainly had one or two perks in regards to sticking to her childhood goals, even if the costs outweighed it. Watching from the outside, she was never sure how difficult this task was meant to be. Just calling on mana? To her, it was as easy as breathing, no matter her lack of magical skill to go with it. For someone without the same high aptitude... was this supposed to be a first-time thing, or a week-long meditation? Fortunately, she was saved the need to come up with any empty platitudes by Fionn's success... although, as pleasing as that was, the paladin still wasn't sure if that was expected or not. "It's more a halo around your palm," she supplied helpfully, "Yours is green."</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Gently, Sergio's hand brushed over the rondel dagger he had stashed, as he nodded cordially to the men giving him glances as they passed. He was beginning he'd at least changed into something less eyecatching, although he hadn't quite guessed how deep into the city Lein was taking him. "You come here often, hmm?"</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze --- Ridiculous that she wanted to be a knight rather than a mage? Their finding it ridiculous was, in and of itself, ridiculous. She had just been a child at that point; or, at least, wasn't yet aware of her unaging status. Beyond that, mage-knights were a thing. Those instructors had clearly overlooked important possibilities. By the goddesses, if someone like him could even manage to harness enough mana to make some small effect happen, there wasn't much stopping the truly gifted from making their mark in the ranks of a knightly order. Thinking of harnessing the mana, he couldn't deny that by this point the feeling was making him start to itch. Or feel something close to an itch, anyways. "Green?" Fionn's eyes shot open, darting over to his hand. Sure enough, there was a hazy nimbus of viridian light emanating from his skin, casting its silvery-green glow across their immediate vicinity. "Muise!" He'd actually done it. It was almost unbelievable; shocked as he was, the focus disappeared almost instantly afterwards, leaving his hand back in its normal, non-luminescent state. "...I'm going to have to figure out a good way to use this."</s>

<|message|>Gerard Segremors "Speed, Gerard... C'mon, speed!" For all his worries of unfamiliarity with the city laid before him, Sagramore found that eager strides made short work of the directions given, even in spite of a walk's slower pace. The sun had only just passed its zenith when he'd set forth from the outer gates of Candaeln— and still had plenty of time to weigh upon him like an anvil as he ran. Tucked away from the usual bustle of city life as this hill was, a little grunted self-coaching wouldn't garner many odd looks. "Agghh...motherfucker." a ragged gasp tore itself from his burning lungs as he crested the hill and fought to keep his urge to keel over locked away. The concern of recognition from the parade had flickered through his mind after crossing the moat, but it was quickly allayed as he'd stepped into the throng. It was the pomp and circumstance and fantasy that had drawn the eyes— so much of them had affixed onto his unusually polished armor, or more likely the immense trophy he'd been waving around. When it came to his face, he clearly still had no trouble melting into the crowd, even now unmasked. I guess that's the upside to having so far to go, his stream of consciousness mused, taking thought's place while his heart hammered. Won't be recognized until I'm ready for it. ... The moment he'd been allotting for rest came and went— and, ever dutiful, he descended the slope to start anew, each step down closer to a jerking catch of the weight than the last. The day drew on as he continued like this, sun sliding closer and closer to the earth as the knight threw his nose into the grindstone. Each sprint would shorten, each rest would lengthen, but it would not be until the low light matched the amber of his eyes that his will finally relented and listened to the protests of his body. ... The walk back to Candaeln, given the pounding his calves had been put through, was by necessity a leisurely one. For the first few blocks his legs had felt to be made more of gelatine than bone and sinew, each step being a labor in its own right. Consistent a worker as discipline had forged him into, even he now found himself admitting that his fervor had pushed things... a little hard. But, that consistency proved a virtue in equal measure— by the time Reon's blazing glory acceded to Mayon's gentler, calmer light in Aimlenn's cloudless air, he could walk normally in spite of the soreness. Recovery came quickly when the conditioning was maintained— a wisdom any proper soldier would have drilled into them first and foremost. And just as well, too. Rounding a lamplit corner, the flash of a flaxen braid catching the glow was hard enough to miss on its own. His posture, instinctively by now, straightened. The frank, flat appraisal and prim bearing that accompanied were unmistakable, especially when they came from right at eye level. "And as ever, you're fresh as a daisy, Serenity." There was no heat on the reply, and a cordial nod followed it quickly. It hadn't taken much time at all within the Order to realize that the young noblewoman was quick to get a read on him— and while he didn't consider himself terribly difficult in such a regard, he had to admit he readily appreciated the honesty she brought with it. A mentor to an unfamiliar world such as knighthood was a blessing, one he dared not overlook. "Guilty as charged." a humble smile played across his face as he gauged her attire. Casual and light, moreso than he'd usually taken her for— but still carrying her blade on her hip. Smart. You never knew. "Been out on the hills near the wall, running myself ragged. What about you, just on a stroll?"</s>

<|description|>Gerard Segremors Age: 21 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: A man hammered into the shape of violence. Gerard stands at roughly average height for a warrior, somewhere in the nebulous range between 5'10 and 5'11, and upon his well-trained frame he wears the battlefields his amber-colored eyes have seen. His skin is rather fair, but pockmarked with a network of light, faded scars, each its own lesson learned on the job. As one might expect, repeated brushes with death have similarly weathered his gaze, going alight at the prospect of battle and burning like small suns in its midst— only to fade into reservation outside of it. He's not necessarily guarded or unapproachable in his posture— but rather, seems almost content with quietly fading into the throng, as though the pressures of having a face to his name are unexpected, and unfamiliar. His hair is a coarse, happily untamed mat that falls near his eyes, and black like coal. Probably cleans up rather handsomely, in theory, but is better used as a gauge for how tense a room is— if things are brewing, he'll feel it, he'll be ready. His casual wear is all simple, dark colors, but never far from either some weapon or armoring. Personality: Gerard is seemingly caught in the interstice between his erstwhile profession and the chivlarous future of which he'd dared not dream. At his core, he's still the reserved, idealistic farm boy that grew up on the many tales of Thaln's heroes of ages past, still believing in the ideals of knighthood— Justice, Order, Compassion, Charity, Piety. That the stark realities and cruel injustices of the world exist to be overcome by the chase of heroism. That he's doing the right thing. but mercenary life has checked those ideals with bloodshed, fury, and the many cruelties mankind has endured by its own hand. The result is a man that seems to be at odds with himself, ever so subtly. He is wholly unfamiliar with courtly manner, brusque and bordering on impertinent with his words, but simultaneously self-effacing, earnestly humble among his peers within the Order, at times even bordering on reverence for knighthood as a concept. While he can join tavern brawls heartily and nestles in right at home in rowdy, bawdy atmospheres like those he shared with his mercenary band, on his own he seems more than a little quiet compared to the stereotypes suggested by his background, indulging in his own contemplation during solitary moments such as training in the yards in the early morning. He would give his life for his fellows— and the cause they undertake. His conviction, however, is unquestionable. Gerard is devoted to the new life he leads, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. He's seen them all, time and time again, as his chosen trade ground each test of his faith into his body and mind. Enough for him to, without a second thought, take up the sword once more to put them to an end, to drag evil into Reon's burning light. One way, or the other. Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold. And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. Year after year, battle after battle, the weathering took so many things from the boy, now just behind the tip of the spear in each engagement— his illusions of war's glory. His naiveite regarding his purpose, and his future. Hell, they even got his face. They'd been called "Franz's Faceless" by anyone who knew of them for a reason, despite officially being the much vaguer "Black Regiment". Regardless, the band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after, the take large enough and pardons convincing enough for the leadership to call it a wrap— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment. Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise). Should his favored weapon be unusable for whatever reason, he has a penchant for making due with whatever he can find. A beggar is never a chooser on the field. Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable. Vicious, pragmatic, and fully committed, thoughts fall away as the body is taken by a wartime trance. It's no pretty thing, but it's gotten him this far. In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild moderate problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @VahkiDane@ERode --- Fionn took the offered hand gently, bowing his head down respectfully. "There are, aren't there?" he agreed. "Royal balls must be quite the occasion." He shifted his grip slightly, closing the younger princess's fingers around some of the candied fruits he'd been hiding in his grasp, before drawing his hand back with a sly wink. "But I dare say, between us and your crown knights in attendance, you've little to fret over and much to enjoy." Even if he couldn't take Tyaethe's advice to try and enjoy himself quite so easily, he could at least do his best to pass it on. In truth, even in his mercenary days, he'd rarely been comfortable carousing with the rest of his company, though they, at least, were of the same social standing he'd been born into. He much preferred to have something to do rather than just to socialize, and helping alleviate someone else's nerves seemed as good a task to assign himself as any. "Fionn MacKerracher, at your service, your highness—at least for the length of the ball."</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. "No, he really shouldn't have died," Velbrance concurred, a note of sympathy injected into the young man's voice, "My good captain, you must take better care of your senior staff. Dame Tyaethe may be impervious to harm, but the other knights are quite mortal. Yet, to lose one to anything below war or treachery is very much a scandal to avoid." With a charming smile pasted on, he offered an arm towards Fanilly, "I Believe the princess would like to be introduced to you. If you might give me the honour of being an escort?" --- Tyaethe "I'm in both your orders," Tyaethe said drily, looking Renar in the eye, "Of course I'm going to watch. At least one of you is going to be a disappointment before the end of the night, even if we overlook using a royal ball to stage a duel in the first place." Of course, her involvement with the Crown Knights was essentially nil, but as a hereditary position, it hadn't gone anywhere. "I'll go fetch Lils, make sure we have a healer on hand," the vampire announced, swigging from one of the glasses and then strolling away across the ball to accost the aforementioned elf and badger her into helping. From the resigned expression Lilette was developing, that wouldn't take long at all.</s>

<|message|>Gerard Segremors Two shrieked, one sighed, and the last subtly suppressed a wince as the excitement reached his ears, and shredded his moment of commoner's wonder at the upper crust. As grating as the noise could have been, he did in part have reason to thank the pair— would have been rude to gawk. His mother had taught him that much, at least. Given that her summons was all but forthright beneath the subtle veneer of welcoming, Gerard found himself unable to begrudge Sergio's swift departure as much as he otherwise might've— if anything, not answering the call may have been the greater faux pas. Fionn was already floating up to greet them, though, and Gerard caught his acknowledging nod. Any more than three would be crowding. As the Veltic man knelt low and extended his palm to greet the younger of the Royal pair, the rapid burst of questions pulled Gerard's gaze free from the arrivals, and back to the three that were already crowding him. His reply came quick, too quick, caught in the deluge of occurrences and information that washed over his careful attempt at a formal mask. "Whoever did it probably earned enough to buy my hometown on the commission." What peeked through beneath the cracks in that facade was a blunt, unassuming candor— his fellow knights would have found it familiar, provided they'd taken the time to speak at length. His fellow mercenaries, though they'd doubtless have been every bit as out of place here as he, wouldn't have spared a second thought. "And, no, not yet. It's only been four months for me, knighthood. Even the griffin was on the other side of the field from where I'd ended up—" For all he wanted to maintain appearances, to look like someone ready for the occasion, he wasn't ever going to tell them a lie. He blinked, gaze dancing between the pair of eager questioners. He would have been wise to stop there, offer them an apology for his inexperience, and maybe send them on their way to Paladin Tyaethe, who had an undoubtably endless well of fantasy to have lived through, a legend in pale flesh. But, just as he did when cloaked in steel, the linen clad knight kept going, come what may. "All I've seen are the cruelties people inflict on eachother. Those are far worse. Slavery, conquest... A dragon would be a... nice change, thinking about it." Amber furnaces burned, but he kept his timbre in check, and held his face somewhere neutral, if not a little serious. The sword, leaned against the table since he'd first plucked a glass of wine, found a hand rest, consciously and gently, upon the pommel after it returned the empty crystal.</s>

<|description|>Gerard Segremors Age: 21 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: A man hammered into the shape of violence. Gerard stands at roughly average height for a warrior, somewhere in the nebulous range between 5'10 and 5'11, and upon his well-trained frame he wears the battlefields his amber-colored eyes have seen. His skin is rather fair, but pockmarked with a network of light, faded scars, each its own lesson learned on the job. As one might expect, repeated brushes with death have similarly weathered his gaze, going alight at the prospect of battle and burning like small suns in its midst— only to fade into reservation outside of it. He's not necessarily guarded or unapproachable in his posture— but rather, seems almost content with quietly fading into the throng, as though the pressures of having a face to his name are unexpected, and unfamiliar. His hair is a coarse, happily untamed mat that falls near his eyes, and black like coal. Probably cleans up rather handsomely, in theory, but is better used as a gauge for how tense a room is— if things are brewing, he'll feel it, he'll be ready. His casual wear is all simple, dark colors, but never far from either some weapon or armoring. Personality: Gerard is seemingly caught in the interstice between his erstwhile profession and the chivlarous future of which he'd dared not dream. At his core, he's still the reserved, idealistic farm boy that grew up on the many tales of Thaln's heroes of ages past, still believing in the ideals of knighthood— Justice, Order, Compassion, Charity, Piety. That the stark realities and cruel injustices of the world exist to be overcome by the chase of heroism. That he's doing the right thing. but mercenary life has checked those ideals with bloodshed, fury, and the many cruelties mankind has endured by its own hand. The result is a man that seems to be at odds with himself, ever so subtly. He is wholly unfamiliar with courtly manner, brusque and bordering on impertinent with his words, but simultaneously self-effacing, earnestly humble among his peers within the Order, at times even bordering on reverence for knighthood as a concept. While he can join tavern brawls heartily and nestles in right at home in rowdy, bawdy atmospheres like those he shared with his mercenary band, on his own he seems more than a little quiet compared to the stereotypes suggested by his background, indulging in his own contemplation during solitary moments such as training in the yards in the early morning. He would give his life for his fellows— and the cause they undertake. His conviction, however, is unquestionable. Gerard is devoted to the new life he leads, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. He's seen them all, time and time again, as his chosen trade ground each test of his faith into his body and mind. Enough for him to, without a second thought, take up the sword once more to put them to an end, to drag evil into Reon's burning light. One way, or the other. Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold. And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. Year after year, battle after battle, the weathering took so many things from the boy, now just behind the tip of the spear in each engagement— his illusions of war's glory. His naiveite regarding his purpose, and his future. Hell, they even got his face. They'd been called "Franz's Faceless" by anyone who knew of them for a reason, despite officially being the much vaguer "Black Regiment". Regardless, the band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after, the take large enough and pardons convincing enough for the leadership to call it a wrap— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment. Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise). Should his favored weapon be unusable for whatever reason, he has a penchant for making due with whatever he can find. A beggar is never a chooser on the field. Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable. Vicious, pragmatic, and fully committed, thoughts fall away as the body is taken by a wartime trance. It's no pretty thing, but it's gotten him this far. In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild moderate problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen It was a stroke of luck that Renar had even noticed the crossbow being drawn by the small, hooded figure. He'd been idly glancing around the party to avoid paying too much overt attention towards the royals, even as he listened in. By the time Fanilly shouted in alarm, his sword was halfway out of its scabbard as he started rushing forward. Unfortunately, he was nowhere quick enough to intercept the crossbow bolt. Fortunately, the Gentle Blade had that covered. He'd halted for just a moment to confirm the princess's safety before taking off in a sprint after the assassin. Serenity and Tyaethe's words echoed in his ears, and he noted with some amusement that Serenity wasn't even bothering to give him orders. Fortunately, the First and Youngest's sentiments echoed his own in this situation. The priority was to go for the capture. Stopping an assassination was all well and good, but these sorts of things had to be cut off at the source. Someone wanted a royal of Thaln dead, and depending on who made the commission, it could result in war. With this in mind, Renar thanked the sun and moon that the assassin was rather short. Agile, yes. But he was gaining on them, thanks to the difference in the length of their strides. In the corner of his eye, he noticed the massive wall of black armor that was presumably a knight, and he settled on his plan. As Renar sprinted past an alarmed serving boy, he snatched the empty, circular serving tray the man was carrying with his left hand, his right still clutching his sword. "I'll be borrowing this." He said hastily as he tore after the assassin. As Haelstadt moved to cut the killer off, Renar took the tray and hurled it like a discus, aiming for the fleeing figure's back. Even as he threw, he poured on the speed in one final burst, aiming to catch the assassin and tackle them to the ground while they were occupied with dodging or being hit. Oh, to imagine Felix's face if he pulled this off...</s> <|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Vier had a flurry of emotions running through him after the assassination attempt. The main one was disbelief that someone would try something so blatant in a ballroom filled with warriors. That disbelief was curbed with the realization of how small the assassin was, and who they targeted. Vier was mostly frozen until Fanilly's call to arms, snapping him into attention. He saw Renar run off to grab the assassin, and weighed the option of following him. On one hand, there's not many places safer that by the Gentle Blade's side, and there might be more assassins who'd like to try again. If he simply stayed here and sipped champagne, no one would really blame him. But on the other hand, there's no way his pride would let him faff about, twiddling his thumbs while others did the rough work. So, he got up, unsheathed both his swords, internally smacking himself for not bringing armor to the ball. He had thought he might not need it for once. He wouldn't make that mistake twice. So he followed Renar, staying a small distance behind him in case the assassin or his fellow Iron Rose did something drastic.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio found himself envious that Gerard had brought his battle weapon with him. Instincts smashed gears together in his machine of a brain, moving into overdrive, he silently disobeyed Serenity's suggestion in favour of Tyaethe's. The Knight's concealed dagger dropped from his sleeve into his hand as he sprinted, not too far behind Ser Renar, after the assassin. His eyes flashed as the threat came close. @Psyker Landshark @ERode @Raineh Daze</s>

<|message|>Gerard Segremors The front lines of any mercenary corps were a hellish, chaotic mess. They engulfed you in a storm's eye, surrounding your every sense with a tumultuous flood of stimuli. To survive long in such a hellish quagmire day in and day out required skill and instinct in equal measure— No amount of pure swordsmanship, an art that was made through sight and touch, would save a soldier from an attack that came from a blind angle. "Down, down, down! Under the table, all three of you!" Gerard roared, pulling steel free from the blackened leather sheath that had never left an arm's reach away. With his left hand he reached forward as though to beckon the trio behind him or shepherd them towards safety, but his head had long snapped onto the diminutive frame of the would-be assassin, and belied his true mentality. The thrum of a loosed bolt from a crossbow, however masked by the party's chatter, was unmistakable. To spend five years in that aforementioned hell unscathed required an ability to separate signal from noise that bordered on uncanny, and the quickness of action to match. He would waste no more of it on talk. No more on anything short of action. There was danger to snuff. In that instant the stiff, uncomfortable candor had left him, and the soldier of a hundred battlefields returned, eyes ablaze with golden purpose. With it came that familiar rush of flame through the body, the same that slowed the world and hastened his eyes. He surged forward past them, chewing up the distance between their place at the banquet and the center stage of the unfolding drama. Ahead of him, his fellow knights, those who had rushed to greet the Princesses had already assumed offensive posture— Sir Renar in pursuit, lobbing a serving tray. Sir Sergio in his wake, steel of a rondel gleaming in the chandelier's light. A moment later, Sir Vier, blades in tow. They'd get there first— assuming the assassin stayed put. They wouldn't. Three grown men at a dead sprint, though, would counter their quarry's assumed agility with greater athleticism and stride length, covering more ground in less time. That tower of onyx that had been shadowing a young noble (no older than the three he'd been accosted by) was already moving as well, away from his charge and Serenity by extension. His direction would take him past the fleeing midget— not a bad idea. The Crown was covering exits. Fionn, Dame Serenity, Paladin Tyaethe, and the elf who'd caught the bolt were covering the targets of the attempt. With as far as his group had been in the moments prior, he would be late to support either of the other auxiliary roles— But had good lateral positioning from the angle the diminutive figure had shown themselves. With a sharp exhalation, he slammed his boot into the carpet and cut a broad angle. He could move to shut down their left flank. Boxing them in would kill their escape. The sprint would carry him into position quickly. Trying to pass him would be an invitation to be wrenched into the ground. Gerard would, of course, quite readily oblige.</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca "Quite rude, ah! To omit our involvement, Ser Renar!" It was at that point that the pointy end of a warpick sent itself crashing into the tin hat of an assailing bandit, bones and metal yawning under the impact, gore spewing from the jagged hole as the wielder yanked the weapon from its temporary resting place. With a quick twist, the opposite end of the weapon cleaved through the neck of another marauder, finally sending itself back by its master's side just after. The user, was, unmistakably, the Knight of the Harvest Moon. As was somewhat trademark for the gentleman, he'd appeared to...well...appear, unannounced but very much noticed. He easily sidestepped another dirk thrust from an angry brigand, backhanding the talentless thief with the front of his shield, leaving it ambiguous as to whether the Knight had instantly killed him or simply left him as good as dead. "Thugs. Were I to kill for money, it would only make sense that I'd invest in brains, as well as steel." Sergio sighed, tutting several times as he rolled his shoulders, the front of his now extra red tabard whipping behind him in the process. "But again I talk. Hurry up with the beast, comrades!"</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Griffin The renewed offensive, and change of focus, broke whatever spell the charm had woven over the griffin's mind, and its response to Serenity's repeated advance matched the creature's prideful display far more. As fast as its talons whipped out to drive the spear aside, it had still been delayed too long to do more than turn the thrust into a graze along its flank--bleeding freely but hardly a reduction in the creature's strength. It turned out that griffins could look surprised. For a moment, Fleuri and Lucas landing on its back seemed to leave it completely nonplussed. Sense immediately reasserted itself, and the griffin's attention was diverted to trying to dislodge the pests that had decided to land on its back, wings beating, beak snapping, and as unwilling to stand still as an unbroken horse. It made for a challenging target, and Lein's bolt only found solid meat, not the tendons. Enough to hobble it? Maybe if it were trying to flee, but not enough to entirely stop the creature. All thoughts of dislodging Lucas and Fleuri seemingly forgotten, the eagle head swivelled around, the creature smarter than most animals and fixing a steady golden gaze on Lein. One step. Two steps. And then, even with the injury, it leapt. Not enough to achieve true flight, not with two passengers weighing it down, and the great wings hardly beat at all. As quickly as it had gone up, it was already going in for a dive, talons reached to grab the mutt that had dared sneak around and hurt it. Only a moment to prepare, before the entire mass of the griffin came down to try and crush him, following up with a bite that could cleave through plate. Unwittingly, this also moved it out from beneath the blanket of fire. Fortunately for its passengers.</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen They had dove it from above, and didn't even have the good sense to stab it? Lucas, she could understand, if only in the way that any immature buffoon could be expected to bungle about. But Fleuri? Had the Flower of the North seriously been infected by the younger knight's madness? Had the heat gotten to them both, driven more hot blood than good sense into their brains, compelling them to do something like this? An element of chaos had been introduced into the combat, one such that even Lein's own shot went wide. Another superficial wound marred the bucking beast, and now? Serenity didn't have eyes behind her helm, but she had heard Dame Katerina's words clearly enough, could parse together meaning from archaic incantations and foreign accents. Reon's tits, these stupid fucks! And then, the griffin made a choice. It stilled its movements and set its gaze past Serenity. Intelligent, it was. An apex predator in the natural world. Most knights of the Iron Rose could be vanquished by one of its kind if alone. But the heat too had gotten into its head, and it had gone out of its way to ignore her. A flash of anger struck, a bolt of lightning she grasped. Dame Mori's song thrummed in tune to her beating heart; years of discipline imprisoned her volatile mind, forced it through a single gap, ending up against a single decision. A decision that Serenity changed. The griffin leapt, fearless. The lion stepped, dauntless. And as it soared overhead, a perfect, powerful arc, so too did another arc crest underneath. A bright flash, fearsome as lightning, sliced deeply for the soft underbelly that it had so willingly exposed, intent on disemboweling the griffin like a common fowl. Whether it did or not, Serenity followed through with her step, and with a nonchalantness almost insolent, raised her shield over her head, welcoming the molten flame that spilled from the heavens. Her spear, discarded, would not survive the bombardment. Her sword, held in her hand, would require but another sharpening.</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe The vampire's eyes flicked over to the two knights, a too-bright red in the slowly darkening camp. "If we were to appoint ourselves executioners, the public would be denied the evidence that justice was done, and the Roses would gain a reputation as little more than barbaric attack dogs rather than a noble order." A matter hardly helped by their estrangement from the Church, but that was an argument she had lost decades ago, and pointless to revisit in a scene such as this. "And even the worst of criminals should be permitted the time to reflect and repent their actions, rather than wander forever in the darkness," Tyaethe continued, eyes focused on something far away, "Not everyone can realise in the moment of their deaths." @Psyker Landshark</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri had a split second to realize what the griffin was doing, and that he had made a rather glaring mistake. It wasn't going to try and pull him off using its claws, it was going to slam him into the ground. He knew immediately that he had to get off of this beast before it crushed him. His armor wasn't made to stop something like this. Getting crushed was a risk when riding a horse, too, but this thing was much heavier, and he didn't think that the feathers on its head were going to cushion the impact. However, there was one thing going for him compared to a horse- there were no stirrups to hold his feet in place. Using the arm that was still holding onto the griffin, along with the leg on that side, he flung himself to the side, away from where the creature's body was going to hit the ground. Simultaneously, his other hand let go of his sword so that its not-inconsiderable weight wouldn't slow him down. It was a risk disarming himself like this but it was a much bigger risk not shedding the weight, and he didn't have enough time to think it over.</s> <|message|>Lucas Storm Lucas stood at the gaps of the palisade walls, waving the emancipated innocents urgently past himself. "Come on!" Some of them weren't exactly in the best shape to keep up with a brisk pace, but it was hard not to be impatient, for here he was alone, feeling completely and utterly responsible over one of the Knight-Captain's top priorities. If anything were to go wrong here, it would be on him. "We're almost clear!" The group funnelled into a line to exit the camp. Lucas knelt down to help a child onto his back, so that their mother (at least, Lucas assumed the woman was her mother) could move quicker. Once clear of the camp borders, Lucas headed to the front and led the group away from camp and back toward the Iron Rose Rear Guard. Perhaps giving the child a piggy-back wasn't the best idea, Lucas thought as he was hit with repeated spells of double vision. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. The clearing he'd charged across to start the battle seemed so much shorter before. He'd abandoned the battlefield. Paladin Tyaethe had told them to focus on bringing the beast down. She and a few others had held off scores of bandits just so her team could do so. And he'd left without seeing it dead. He wanted to speed up, but some of the injured would not keep up. And truth be told, he wasn't sure he could speed up anyway. Adrenaline was keeping him on his feet, but this little girl felt like she weighed as much as a cow. Heavy breaths. Slightly staggering steps. But finally; sight of the rear guard. "Help!" was all he could think to say. He wasn't sure how to go about this, but - as always - he didn't think much about it. "Who's in charge!?" A fairly tall knight emerged from the ranks and came forward, adding urgency to his steps when he started to realise the situation. "Sir Einrich, at your service." "The prisoners of the Bandit King... as many as I could find," Lucas told him as he dropped down to let the girl off his back. Sir Einrich called for others to take the freed slaves away and get them some care. Lucas received a few 'thank yous' as the group was escorted past and away from him. "Your name, sir knight?" was the commanding officer. "Lucas... Sir Lucas Storm," was the reply. It still sounded strange, but there was a note of pride in the exhaustion. He'd actually helped save some lives. Amongst the desires and thoughts of getting back to the battlefield, his mind flashed him a vision of Sir Gerard on the night he'd saved Lucas' life and freedom. "I'm part of Paladin Tyaethe's team. The battle is not yet over." "Very well," Sir Einrich nodded in understanding. "Good job lad." And with that, Lucas turned back toward the bandit camp and started running. When he arrived back in the battle, there wasn't actually much of a battle happening anymore. He could see some bandits, hands up and weaponless. Some of his comrades were no longer fighting, allowing their adversaries a chance to surrender. Lucas advanced further into camp to see what became of the griffin.</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen And so the flames came, bathing her world a bright crimson, a brighter orange, and finally, plunging it all in relative darkness, leaving nothing behind but a strange, almost comforting warmth and the certainty that she would have to restitch the charred cloth that her ribbons had become. She would have to check herself for burns too, after the adrenaline drained away. Blinking the searing light out of her eyes, Serenity cast her gaze over to the griffin once more as it slammed its back against the ground. Another arrow snapped off from its shoulder, while its guts spilled out from its stomach. Sir Fleuri himself managed to dismount moments before being flattened. In the distance, the Captain's voice sounded out as well, high-pitched over the low roar of dying flames. The Bandit King had died, his Bandit Knights would soon be too, and his Pet will soon let out its death throes. Prisoners were being freed from their cages, the flaming tree had turned to a blackened husk, and above the moon rose, casting its alabaster light. Dame Cecilia was done. Dame Katerina was done. So too was Dame Mori, while Sir Lein was still tumbling off the ground, and Sir Fleuri joined him as well. Upon reflection, despite how easy this raid was, how utterly expected the final result was, it was still a clusterfuck and still a disappointment. She'd have earned greater merits if she had held off the veteran bandits alongside Sir Renar or claimed the Bandit King's head while he crowed about how pathetic Fanilly was. Alas, there was no merit, no honor, involved in putting to rest a dying beast. Serenity drew her hatchet, felt its heft in her palm. Much steadier than a dagger, with a curved haft that made it a pleasure to grip and a wicked edge that sank deep with every swing, every throw. Her arm reared back, her eyes sighted the target through the visor, and she allowed all extraneous thought to exit her mind. The griffin had lost its escape when it chose to fight. The griffin had lost its guts when it chose to strike. And now? The griffin had lost its mobility when it chose to struggle. Each of those choices, Serenity could understand, and yet... "Time and place." The hatchet spun through the air with a path that would not err, to a target too blind to see a projectile that was just about to cave its skull in.</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe ... well, that half explained why the former mercenary was bearing food, if not what reasoning he had for bringing it over here. Bribery by cake? But bribery to what ends? It was a rather prescient gift, Candaeln's desserts were always delicious, even if you could get them yourself, to be saved the trouble (or the risk all the good ones were gone)... if she had an idea why. "As much as I appreciate the offer of dessert, MacKerracher, I'm afraid I must ask you for something different. Oh, you don't have to go anywhere; it's your blood I need," Tyaethe answered, swinging her legs off the window seat and sitting up. "It's entirely voluntary, but I won't take that much. Just avoid strenuous activity until tomorrow. "Oh, and you only need to offer your arm," she added. For some reason, people always seemed to expect she might go for the neck. As if the paladin wanted to get that intimate with every junior knight in the order... or could actually reach on most of them. Did they expect her to cling to them like some sort of monkey? Otter</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze --- He started to withdraw the desserts with a small bit of surprise, before reflexively answering "Fionn's fine, honest—" And then the rest of what she was saying sank in. He blinked once, twice, and raised an eyebrow in morbid curiosity. "There's veins right at the surface in the wrist, and it's easier to bite them open without killing the person anyways. Why would you go for anywhere different?" A simple, clinical fact; anywhere else trying to reach the blood would probably need more damage to be done to the surrounding flesh, and would be harder to stop the bleeding after. He blinked again. That was probably the wrong outlook to take on this. "Wait, is this the normal protocol for having a conversation with you, or do you just ask every knight this eventually?" Probably only the clean ones, actually; he couldn't imagine biting into one of the grimier, unwashed fools among the knights would be a particularly pleasant experience. Beyond the extent to which being a vampire probably wasn't the most pleasant experience to begin with.</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Farewells spoken, Serenity finished off the rest of her work in the forge, tapering the point of her spearhead before going over each individual piece of armor one by one, fixing up dents and scratches, polishing it all until it shown, and re-linking what portions of her chainmail needed repair. It was quick work, once she didn't have any conversation to attend to, though she certainly caught the gaze of more than one apprentice as she did so. It wasn't as if it was all that rare a sight, but she supposed she must still have been an oddity by those whose eyes wandered habitually, to be doing her work without even having gotten herself changed out of her armor fully yet. The afternoon passed, inviting in the dappled magenta of evening, and Serenity strode through the streets of Aimlenn with all the purposeless poise that a noblewoman could possess. Some of the irritation from the previous day persisted still, enough that solace was better found in relative anonymity than in the same space that both gloryhounds and the pious shared. There would be toasts, no doubt, to the late Sir Rickert, and there would be stories too, to tell, of the mounting of the griffin. She could imagine it already, the boy Lucas jumping up on the tables, riding on Sir Fleuri's back as the Flower wiggled his plumed helmet about. Two buffoons joined as one, clowning about in a gesture of their newfound brotherhood. Honestly, that'd be funny to see. She'd hate it, but it'd be something to talk about down the line. Still, the call of the night drew her out further. Lamps cast warm glows, and music flowed from open doors, taverns alive with laborers eager to spend their coinage. Pristine as it was in the morning, Aimlenn was still a city, after all, one where life was peaceful and prosperous enough to enjoy freely. And Serenity herself was dressed for enjoyment. Her flaxen hair was braided for the occasion, a silver ornament tied to the very end, and she sported an indigo tunic to complement her dark green stockings, while her arming sword hung from her leather belt in an embellished scabbard. It was a good night indeed, with Mayon's grace unobstructed by clouds. A night to enjoy oneself, before she began her nightly, knightly training. Another spot of bemusement. She allowed the smile. Now, what establishment would inspire her patronage today... "Ah, Gerard." Average though he may have been, there certainly was no day labourer who looked nearly as disheveled as he, nor one that possessed such a conventionally handsome face, and she approached, sniffing the air once. "You stink," Serenity spoke flatly. "Been out training til now?"</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca "You mean... this isn't the brothel?"</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- "Pfff, ahaha!" She couldn't help but to laugh at the expected reaction from Fanilly. She had been a bit concerned when the young knight captain gave no real reaction to being force fed the pastry, but that was what the little extra in the treat was for. "I'd apologize but that'd be a lie, captain." She'd flash the captain an innocent grin as she'd pull a second from her coat. "They're a neat little treat that has a sweet outside but a spicy cream in the center. Great for pranking people, eheheh." The archer playfully stuck her tongue out at Fanilly, taking a few steps back just in case retaliation was about to be had. "I got more if you want 'em! I brought em to share." Cecil held out a few more towards Fanilly. If nothing else, it seemed like she at least succeeded in taking the girls mind off things for the moment.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "Well, I can't offer any assistance there," Tyaethe said, leaning back into the mound of cushions and making a vague gesture, "Everything I do is too mana intensive, and the least draining thing I can do has no combat application at all." There was another example of that ominous red shadow flowing over the vampire, but it dissipated almost immediately to leave... well, it was still the same girl, just with about a decade in age and a rather disappointing few inches more in height. If anything, despite the much sharper cast to her features, she looked even less knightly than normal; the change in figure obviously contradictory to her overly-acrobatic approach to combat. "There have been various magic-using knights down the years, I'm sure some of them wrote more general tips down, if you can find someone willing to instruct you in the basics of magic. I'm sure Parv left something... although he was equally heavy on mana usage. Maybe the principles would come in handy?" Otter</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze --- Parv. The way she oh-so-casually abbreviated one of the founding knight's names, one of her old friends, gave him hope that he might manage to convince the others to drop the surplus of formality at some point—beyond just the extent to which they all let him get away with it. That small hope was enough to luckly distract him from commenting on how Tyaethe's adult-size body was still kid sized. Multiple inches shorter than Fanilly, if he had to guess, and Fanilly herself was already fairly short. Calling attention to that couldn't be a good idea. "Principles, basics, whichever you want to call it, I'll need to get them down if I'm going to make anything usable out of this." That was quite the if; given his current role, he didn't exactly have the time to dedicate to long study of the magical arts in the way that most who were dedicated to such practice would—nor did he have the surplus of energy to devote to brute-forcing his way into extraordinary effects that Tyaethe did. "But, first..." He slid from his kneel back into a sitting position, leaning against the wall underneath Tyaethe's window seat, and reached back to grab his half-eaten cake. "Sambocade."</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen @Rune_Alchemist After finishing his maintenance on his weapons and separating from Fionn and Serenity, Renar did exactly as he stated he'd do, and returned to his quarters to begin drafting several letters. They'd been exactly as he said they were supposed to be as well, comprising of various reports of the battle on his end, sent out to contacts of his with varying influence. And his family. Some were of more use than others, but anything that got his name on the lips of the upper echelon of power in Thaln would be beneficial towards his goal. Writing the letters hadn't taken too much time, given that most were the exact same in content, and Renar left his quarters once more in order to send them off. Once he'd finished mailing them away, he began the slow walk back to the dormitory, wondering what to do with the remainder of his free time for the day. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd be training. However, for some reason, none of his usual training partners and/or friends were located within the training grounds. Unfortunate. Perhaps they all had something else to do for the moment. Regardless, that did leave him with a wealth of free time. It was during his musings of what to do that Renar stumbled across a rare sight. The knight-captain and Cecilia in the chapel, with the latter having fed the former...something. Judging by Fanilly's reaction, it wasn't exactly pleasant. Still, it clearly wasn't a poisoning attempt. Or at the very least, it was the worst poisoning attempt Renar had ever heard of. Regardless, the chapel was a public place, and this didn't quite seem to be a private conversation. If nothing else, he could use this chance to get more of a gauge on his new commander. "Captain Fanilly. Dame Cecilia." Renar approached, giving Cecilia a respectful nod and Fanilly a brief salute. "I hope you're not trying to poison our new knight-captain so soon after our first successful mission." He smirked briefly at Cecilia, conveying his jest.</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen "Sprints?" A smile graced her lips as Serenity's eyes lead to Gerard's dirt-stained boots. Worn and scuffed up, even more so than before, and in truth, the rest of his attire managed to be in even worse shape, the tears in the seams along the joints making him appear quite...unseemly. "Your steed will thank you for the early retirement. And I'm out for a meal myself. Eating in Candealn would be unpleasant, given circumstances." She mulled something over, then snapped her fingers. "Care to join me?"</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe The second glass of wine disappeared almost as quickly as the first, being replaced by an identical looking glass as the vampire gave a vague comment about that particular ball having been particularly bad. Instead, her attention seemed to have drifted over the various guests--lingering a little longer on her former companion than any other with a frown--before having alighted on Fionn and his glowing fingers. She knew these were boring, but doing magic tricks in a corner was a sure way to get awkward questions. While you were very unlikely to be accused of improper training and being a potential threat to the public, what was more likely was getting some sheltered noble who only knew about magic in the abstract asking too many questions... which Fionn had absolutely no knowledge to answer. And speaking with him... her eyesight wasn't perfect, even with correction, but even with an effort made, the voice was definitely... Strolling over with a fourth glass in hand, for when the third was inevitably emptied, the vampire proved just how stealthily one could move when dressed for a ball if desired... provided the trail of hair fluttering behind her wasn't a giveaway. Mostly, of course, it relied on everyone else being taller than you are. "You really should have had a proper tailor look at that dress before the ball," the vampire said without preamble, looking Lein up and down now that she was closer, "Being ashamed of your choices to the point you show up to an event in ill-fitting clothes is a mistake."</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca He did sort of deserve that, really. Sergio smiled politely, reluctantly nodding in confirmation. He'd tell his tale, he didn't quite have the heart to disappoint the girls. "Well…eh, my side of the skirmish was bloody in itself." He closed his eyes, for dramatic effect. "Many men had gathered in an attempt to protect the giant that Ser Gerard and the Captain were preoccupied with - I…was unlikely to let that happen. Amateurs though they were - it was perilous!" His eyes were open again, gesticulating his arms as he told his story. "But me and the others held the line. As is our duty, eh?" That signature shine in his pupils.</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen On a battlefield, it was courage and a steadfast advance that defined a knight, unbowed as they were by adversity and multiplicity. In a ballroom though, surrounded by those of high society, their armaments removed and their status as protectors of the realm granted to Royal Guards instead? A knight remained as such, but required too the finesse and grace of a noble, whilst remaining unashamed of the badges of honor earned, the body they had forged in flame, against anvil. What else could Dame Serenity of House Arcedeen be expected to arrive in then, if not in her finest dress? Indigo fabrics hugged her frames, layered upon each other like ocean waves, flowing upwards to wrap around her neck. For the occasion, she had allowed her hair to flow loosely, draping over her shoulders whilst adorning herself with a few tasteful accessories that complemented her eyes. A few accessories to complement the scars that marked her body, to juxtapose with the broadness of her shoulders, the flatness of her bosom. It was a time to enjoy herself, after all. To see who remained in the third princess's favor, and who invited themselves in whilst disregarding such favors. Lein certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, the Hundi archer wearing his dress splendidly. She had not marked him the type to have such predilections, but if that was what he enjoyed, then so be it. Gerard too, seemed to already be doing her proud. Serenity was right, as always. A bathing, a set of fine-enough clothing, and a couple pointers on posture and etiquette, and just like that, the handsome mercenary had earned himself more attention from the ladies that Dame Cecilia, and he had done so without even trying! Though, of course, those three ladies were still but children, and perhaps the flame-haired Sir Sergio had something to say about that as well. Regardless, it was better than whatever Sir Fleuri and Sir Renar found themselves in, the latter having the absolute pleasure of catching the attention of the Crown Knight. The half-brother one. Serenity's smile remained, fixed like glass, and then, briskly, she turned away from whatever that scene was going to cause. As fascinating as the drama between the legitimate and illegitimate may be, there was no merit to be derived from watching two grown men trade snide remarks or step on each others' toes. If they were going to fight, she hoped they did so outside and put on a proper show for the guests. One that hopefully didn't involve pocket sand. Instead, she settled her gaze on the one space of silence in the ballroom. A space occupied by a black knight and his petite charge. A duo iconic enough now, to make them unmistakable no matter the distance. Veilena Cazt, the traitor's spawn. Eyes that glittered with the gold of prodigious intelligence. Hair that belonged on the head of a woman thrice her age. A child that either possessed an inner steel even at the age of eight, or could act the part at the behest of an experienced advisor. It was a shame, then, that such merciless decisions only made her more of a figure of suspicion amongst the upper caste. After all, most nobles weren't fools enough to believe that a child could understand the gravity of treason, sheltered as she was from the worst of the rebellion. There were wives amongst the traitor-nobles who acted less severely than she did. To do so then, at the age she had been...t'was uncanny. Intentions, however noble, were subject still to interpretation. And association, too? A poisonous thing indeed. That did not, however, stop Serenity's advance. Whether as a Knight or as a Scion. "Good evening, Lady Veilena Cazt," the flaxen-haired knight spoke, favoring the younger lady with a slight smile. "Have you tired of this occasion already? Or is Her Royal Highness, Princess Elisandre Tanetha Falisse, the only one to have drawn your presence tonight?"</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @Raineh Daze --- Fionn shook his head as Lein began to turn. "Jah, Frau Lein," he said after a moment with an entirely straight face. "But not right here, that might look scandalous. There's a little alcove off from the entrance where I can attend to your needs without too many stares." His jokes at Lein's expense might seem a bit mean-spirited, but given how uncomfortable Fanilly had looked from Fionn's glances over, the Hundi deserved it in his mind. Besides, at least Tyaethe might enjoy the jokes. It wouldn't be surprising if she liked being at the ball about as much as he did, so getting to bring some sort of enjoyment to it would be a worthy cause. "If you'll follow me, my lady." Sticking to the edges of the great hall, Fionn moved at a quick pace to lead Lein to the entrance, back through the passage, and over to a small secluded corner of the hall leading back to the kitchen. Hoping that no servants would walk by and glance too closely—or that none of the other guests in attendance had similar ideas about finding a secluded space—he quickly set about the task of loosening Lein's laces. "So, is this what you get up to when you aren't training with the rest of us?" he asked as he worked, undoing the decorative knot so that he could actually pull the stays loose. "Hadn't figured you for the sort, really, but if you intend to stick with this, what you ought to do is get Fleuri to dance with you. Appeal to his courtly senses, see if the Flower of the North still has it in him to act like a normal noble gentleman at these events." Hopefully Lein wouldn't take such testing too far, otherwise Fionn might end up with some explaining to do all his own. Rather than yank the stays apart once he got the lacing free, he decided to be careful, loosening them individually—both to avoid damaging what was likely an expensive garment and to keep everything nice and even. "Alright. Able to breathe a little better, now, or do you need them looser?"</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Things were going swimmingly, when a Crown Knight joined the conversation and began to boast of his own achievements. While there was naturally a bit of rivalry between the Iron Roses and Crown Knights, the fact that the newcomer took more interested in Renar's achievements suggested a relationship. Fleuri might have recalled that one of the sons of House Brias was a Crown Knight, but he didn't quite manage to recall it before Renar elaborated. "Felix!" My half-brother, in case any of you are wondering. And evidently, the spinner of quite a yarn." If Fleuri was still a betting man, he'd wager that this was exactly why Renar pulled him into this conversation- to boast in front of his more privileged half-brother. And evidently he was either resentful or familiar enough with him to directly challenge the veracity of Felix's own boast. Slaying an orc warchief and accusing a Crown Knight of lying about his achievements in the middle of a royal ball? Sir Renar definitely has stones, he thought as Renar brought up his own deed. A deed that, if Fleuri recalled correctly, was what got him into the Iron Roses- and granted him the nobility that his father had denied him. As the conversation became more heated, Renar gestured for Fleuri to depart from this conversation. Fleuri nodded in acknowledgement, silently raising his glass in support of his fellow knight before walking away. This was Renar's duel, and his alone. Hopefully he wouldn't escalate it to violence before the dancing began. Landshark@Rune_Alchemist</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio sipped his drink almost in parallel to Violette, humbly smiling as the other two complimented their bravery. It was superficial, but it was still a gentle reminder that he was doing what he'd intended to do since joining. "The Witch-Queen? Perhaps you should regale me, eh? Not a tale I'm familiar with." @HereComesTheSnow</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen "The night has yet to descend," Serenity replied, gazing out reddening skies. "And none have imbibed so deeply of the libations available that they've the gall yet to approach while your charge is present." Regardless of what any lesser nobles thought, after all, the very fact that a member of the royal family extended an invitation towards Veilena meant that they approved of her continued presence in society, whether on the swiftness of her actions in her childhood or on the accomplishments made in her adolescence. And if one had the foolhardiness to do so regardless, they would find themselves with no place soon enough. After all, the Crown Knights would not suffer an insult to their charge's extended hospitality, and the Iron Rose would not allow a time for such celebrations to be besmirched with denigrations. "Admirable though the sunset may be, Reon's fall and Mayon's rise is a ritual uninterrupted by the comings and goings of mankind. This occasion, however, is a rare relief from training grounds and libraries." Serenity smiled, sweeping one foot behind the other as she extended a callused, ornamented hand out towards the young prodigy. "Before disparate duties and desires see us scatter once more, would you favor me with a dance, Lady Cazt, if only until the Princess arrives? No matter what beliefs our fellow guests hold, the music this evening does not fail to inspire a desire for merriment in my heart." Her eyes glanced over towards the black knight, performative mischief flickering at their unreadable mien. "Or should I have presented a partner for your knight as well, so they may subtly shadow us on the ballroom floor?"</s>

<|description|>Serenity Arcedeen 17 y/o | Female | Human Personality Serenity is fiercely independent, a young woman who wishes to handle everything relating to herself by herself. Whether it knightly tasks or menial tasks, whether it be sharpening her weapons or washing her clothes, Serenity keeps her work to herself, even when it comes to tending to her own injuries. Perhaps she seeks every sliver of freedom she can snatch at after being the scion of House Arcedeen for so long, but regardless, self-reliance is important to her. That is not to say, however, that she is unsocialable. Though possessing still the trappings of chivalry and gallantry instilled into her by her patriarch, Serenity remains most relaxed when shooting the shit with other warriors, possessing an acerbic wit that emerges naturally against those less-inclined to aspire to any degree of nobility. She eats heartily, dances well in both masculine and feminine roles, and will be more than happy to engage in any challenge of strength or skill...unless it comes to drinking or swimming. Serenity doesn't drink, and she professes a fear of water. Perhaps the two are related, perhaps they aren't. So long as neither of those pop up, however, she's a pleasant enough dame to get along with, the sort who can switch from flowery praises to brutal honesty in a heartbeat. And, of course, she reserves most of that brutal honesty for the budding Knight Captain, Fannily Danbalion. After all, she was the one that took the position Serenity was made for, and only owing to a difference founded in the alignment of the heavens. Backstory Two hundred years ago, Sir Elvaris Arcedeen, and the twenty Mayonite stalwarts under his command, gave their lives in the protection of the Mayonite High Priestess, shielding her from the assault of assassins and soldiers alike, even as they were butchered by unnatural spellwork and cowardly poisons. But such sacrifice, such heroic grit, is not celebrated, or even remembered. No, for all that glory was grafted unto an orphaned whelp who picked up Sir Arcedeen's sword and got lucky against a host of foes who were already exhausted from contending against true knights. Amongst the nobility, Arcedeen's renown fell, their patriarch outshone by a precocious child, only a pittance granted to them by the church for their service. And all the while, that brat, that Elionne Carthet, became Captain of a new order, replacing the vacuum left by Arcedeen's demise, her overexaggerated deeds leading to her being canonized as a saint in the faith! Preposterous! Outrageous! Such fame belonged not to a miserable brat, but to the House whose sword she used to win her fame! For without it, that child certainly didn't have anywhere near the skill able to kill a man with her bare hands! The Iron Rose Knights owed their existence to House Arcedeen, solely! And so, the grudge rooted itself and bloomed its sickly flowers. Decades passed over this filth-ridden obsession, renowned knights and warriors drawn into this house as wives watched the calendar with near-religious zeal, bedding their lovers only when there was a fair chance that the full moon will shine nine months later. But, as if the budding life itself could sense that decades-old desire, could sense it and scorn it, the spawn of House Arcedeen always missed the mark. By a day, or an hour, birthed in sunlight, rejected by moonlight. And the hatred grew. Their training sharpened. Their political movements expanded. Seeking wealth and fame, influence amongst those with influence. Snatching up all the power they could, so that when it came time for it, when the next Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses was to be decided, it would be one of theirs who finally returns that mantle to the family's steps. Seventeen years ago, a child was born to Lady Charity Arcedeen, crawling out of her womb slick with water and blood. Her father looked to the skies, and found it to be twilight, that ghostly time where the moon had just risen, brilliantly full. That time where the sun had just set, the skies still basked in orange hues. This was the child. This was Serenity. Born just on the cusp of what could be considered a night with a full moon, she bore the expectations and burden of two centuries worth of spite and envy, and was isolated, molded, trained, all so she could become strong. Not a barbaric strength that granted victory, but a valorous strength that granted a chivalrous victory. Her family's obsessions substituted her own, and her sword swung ever sharper as she grew and grew! More skillful, more powerful, more knowledgeable. An all-surpassing maiden knight, honed to reach the apex of humanity and match all that ought to be fulfilled! And when the War of the Red Flag concluded with the demise of the Knight-Captain, that role was open. That role was seeking. Serenity's training intensified. She partook in bandit exterminations with her brothers, hunted wildebeasts with her yeomen, fought duels both for practice and for honor, regularly making offerings to Mayon alongside her father and mother. Everything was clarifying. Everything was in place. The stain that had marred House Arcedeen for so long will finally be cleansed! There was not a single other candidate who surpassed her in any way! Fanilly Danbalion, some twerp from a House with no martial repute to speak of, was granted the role. Fanilly Danbalion, born later in the night than Serenity had, was granted plate armor made of Dwarvish metals. Fanilly Danbalion, so weak-willed as to have fainted during training that Serenity herself underwent six years ago, became the Knight-Captain. House Arcedeen decided, then, that the Iron Rose Knights truly have fallen out of grace. That following traditions and faith was a meaningless thing to do for a motley assembly of knights made out of commoners and low-born nobles, propped up only by a handful of non-human knights who wielded no power over society itself. It was foolish, after all, to believe that the Goddess cared for children bathed in moonlight. The times have changed. So too, must the Order, whether from within or from without. But Serenity remained. She was made, from conception, to become a Knight of the Iron Rose. What else could she do, but this? Equipment Pristine and ornate. Expensive but valueless. That can sum up all of the armor and arms that Serenity possesses. Plate armor decorative and sturdy. All matters of weapons with adornments and flourishes. Her cloak is of a rich indigo, and fanciful ribbons are pinned to her plates, bright colors to make her easily recognizable even at a distance. No great deed would be misattributed to another, after all, and Serenity works hard to maintain the aesthetics of her equipment after every major battle. It may appear tedious, but after years of doing this, she simply finds it calming. And yet, she has no particular attachment to her equipment either. It's just a habit, in the end. Skills If it's something expected of a knight, Serenity can do it well. Her martial arts are orthodox and clean, taught by masters of the art and tempered by experience in duels and in skirmishes. Though lacking, perhaps, in the flexibility that indicates a true mastery of weapons, she is nonetheless a capable hand in the usage of all manner of blades, though the majority of the time, she can be expected to wield a longsword. As did her forebearer. As did the first Knight-Captain. And yet, her martial passions lie elsewhere, and when her training is done for the day, Serenity relaxes with routines of unarmed combat. Striking. Grappling. Footwork. Throws, followed by a coup de grace with a hidden blade. She does this in private, of course. It's unbecoming of a knight, otherwise, to learn the ways of a pugilist. Otherwise, however, she has been given a noble's education her entire life, and has been made smart due to it.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors @VitaVitaAR Careful though he'd been to not favor these kids with anything less than a smile, Gerard found his face begin to harden at the repeated focus upon the erstwhile Bandit King— and with each increasingly outlandish quality appended to the story, he felt himself growing sterner in response. He didn't blame them, he wasn't that short-sighted— the young and impressionable always had an ear for the kinds of rumors that grew larger than life, and battles themselves were chaotic enough that the details often slipped past those who were there, let alone those who were only working from hearsay. If such weren't the case, he would never have left the fields, after all. No, his ire wasn't for them. While Sergio had taken the reins Gerard had pointedly shoved back into his chest, the younger knight pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment and breathed deep, fighting to keep his disdain from showing as anything worse than a little steel in the posture and eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. To think his fears had all stemmed from the eyes around him upon his conduct, searching for something unfitting— yet he quickly had begun to realize the setting of a Royal Ball found most scrutiny from the self. He did appreciate the compliments regarding their gallantry and bravery. But what was the cost of it? Did the lionization come as a rising tide upon every boat at shore? If that were the case... A beat after Sergio, his wine also touched his lips, a pensive sip that seemed to drink in the silence as much as the blood of the vineyards— "Miss Violette's the closest." And when he spoke, he thanked it for easing the harder edge of tension off his voice. A slight rasp aside, the words that flowed forth were now firm rather than terse, speaking with a simple conviction as though the fires within had been doused. This was a pointed statement, yes, but would be no more. "The 'Bandit King' was a rebel whose cause had been squashed years ago. An old traitor that, for all his size and strength, didn't have the sense to do anything more than thrash angrily— and try to enact a vengeance his cruelty had long robbed him what little right he might've had to. He was no fallen divine, unfortunately—" His eyes narrowed, gazing into the middle distance as his head tilted towards the roof. In his mind's eye, the silhouette of the mighty brigand still loomed over him sometimes with his impossible blade raised high, a dark mountain wreathed by the violent orange of the blaze. A savage figure, defiant snarl on his face even though Gerard's blade had already shown his life the door. The Captain and Fionn were the only reasons that, right there and then, hadn't been it. A blink, and he was gone again. Gerard turned his gaze back down onto the three. "—Just a man, lost in his own tantrum against the Crown. More rage in him than reason, pushing him to trample the innocent. A man who needed to die." ... ... Another sip. "He was pretty tall though, yeah. Big guy."</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Any innuendo present in Cecilia's statement went flying over the spider lady's head, with a cheerful acquiescence to the idea of more company as the ball went on--and, with her other companion now being dragged off, she carefully turned around to join in (as much as possible) with Lilette's conversation. On the other hand, Lilia's startled reaction to being dragged around was hard to follow. Although the elf half-drew her sword, the speed with which she stopped and sheathed it made it seem like nothing more than a trick of the light, the tall girl recovering her footing and stepping onto the dance floor with polished grace... and then standing there looking ever-so-slightly puzzled. Clearly, although she was every bit co-ordinated enough, she had no idea how to actually go about dancing. Or, from the luminescent blush, any idea of how to admit this. Hopefully her partner was better at leading despite the height gap. --- Tyaethe "It's easy to follow but you would be very surprised how many have trouble grasping the laces," the vampire answered, drinking the glass in her hand. Hmm, she'd probably have to go back for another one in a second... well, these two were nearly done, so that wouldn't be too hard. Although, they did display an incentive to never bother with such articles of clothing, and Tyaethe did her best to avoid anything that would get too restrictive if a fight broke out. Even a long dress ilke the one she was currently wearing could be easily adjusted without decency issues. Not needing one more than half the time was another bonus. There was probably something insulting in the Hundi's words, but really, did she want to waste the effort? Honestly, the paladin hadn't any clue where the animosity came from; 'stop trying to cart things out the front door where I can see' was not a difficult restriction to get around, she wasn't that much into discipline. "Oh, if anyone important works out who you are, I'm sure there'll be gossip."</s>

<|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Enough did, but to be a noble was to bear scorn without complaint. Only tyrants drew their blade at every petty insult, after all, and if one remained in good standing with Royalty and Divinity, one ought to hold their head up high. Detractors lurked in every corner, and even as Serenity guided Veilena to the edge of the dance floor, she could hear their scattered whispers. The traitor's spawn, convening with the scion of the Arcedeen. No doubt to plant seeds of betrayal into the mind of one of the most militarily-powerful families in Thaln. No doubt to prepare for the second war to be ignited by the raising of the Red Flag. Nobility, indeed, was a quality. One honed through experience and discipline. Only fools who wished to fuck their sisters believed that it was blood that made a noble soul. As one song ebbed away, as couples exited and entered the dance floor, Serenity drew in a breath and with it, drew in herself. A back, perfectly straightened. Hands, resting firmly in her partner's. Stomach tucked in, blood pumping to measured beats. And, finally, she inclined her head, flaxen strands spilling like rays of sunlight, beams of moonlight. There was nothing but confidence and enjoyment, an appreciation for her dance partner that was so perfect, so practiced, that it may truly have been genuine. "Well, shall we give them something to watch, my lady?" With the thrumming of strings, the whispers of wind, the echoes of percussion, Serenity took one step forward and advanced, entering a quick sequence of waltz spins as the two of them cut diagonally across the diameter of the space. Fast enough to cut between other dancers. Fast enough to befuddle the gaze of spiteful onlookers. Fast enough to meet the scherzo of the viol! A dynamic entrance indeed, before knight and mage, scion and heiress, Serenity and Veilena, stopped in timing with the musician who they matched, their movements naturally leading to a pose natural and noble. The opening act concluded and with its end began the beauty of 3/4 time.</s>

<|description|>Fleuri Jodeau Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor. Personality: The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses. Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep. As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain. Brief Backstory: The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church. Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself. During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money. While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn. During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully. Equipment: Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery. Skills: Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- --- Fionn stood impassively behind the bandit as he spoke as to the state of their camp and what might be found within it, though he did give a small nod at Renar's swift execution. "Good strike," he murmured approvingly. Not that the man had been likely to last long anyways—Fionn was almost certain he could smell the wine mingling with the blood pouring out the man's abdomen—but not everyone to sustain a gut wound was lucky enough to have it be immediately fatal...most were left begging for their comrades to end them instead, after a few days. He shook his head at the thought, glad for the mail under his cloak. However, at least that was a known possibility. Animals being captured and used by the slavers wasn't one he'd thought to keep in mind, beyond the usual horses and dogs. Larger than a bear, fed on rabbits, and quite literally kept under wraps. He pursed his lips as he bent down, picking up the head that Renar had so cleanly severed. He weighed it thoughtfully in his hand for a moment, before twisting to see where the others were piling the bodies. It was a bit far for a toss, but midway along... "Sir Gerard!" he called out momentarily, before spinning on one foot and putting the head in his direction, where it would land and roll to the younger man's feet. He'd drag the rest of the body over in a moment, but first, he needed to see what information he might be able to gain for his own personal peace of mind. Fanilly seemed unharmed, luckily, so one of his possible worries was stricken out. "Captain, as you're no doubt already aware, I'm still somewhat unfamiliar with Thaln. Is there some sort of odd and rare animal that makes its home around here, or that you've known to be brought through on trade? One that would actually interest these villains?" The possibility of rushing into a trap was one that always remained at the front of his mind, and he was even more focused on it than usual after the skirmish they'd just experienced; he somewhat doubted that these bandits were inclined to expand into exotic poaching when their speaking prey had proved so profitable for them. That meant that the animal was, most likely, a weapon, by his estimation—and if it was larger than a bear and made some unrecognizable shrieks and other noises, he could only imagine how thick its hide might be, or if it was possessed of some sort of natural armouring. Everybody knew dragons were real, of course, but there were other beasts he'd always thought were mere myth... Could he be wrong? "Even if this advance party was ill-prepared, given what the bandits have already been dealing with, I can only imagine they've been putting in preparations to deal with continually escalating force, whether that be larger numbers of soldiers or sending in people like us. I've not made much study into what is and isn't used, but I don't like the thought that they've procured some obscure beast of war to harry us, especially as we've had to abandon our mounts and lances in this forest."</s> <|message|>Morianne, The Troubadour Morianne --- @HereComesTheSnow --- The troubadour smirked upon hearing the bandit give up so easily. Usually this spell took a bit of work to function properly as Morianne hadn't quite mastered it. "Palisades," he said, "there's palisades set up around the camp, but it's not a complete wall... a watch-tower too…" Jackpot! Morianne thought. The troubadour could only guess as to how long this sort of information would have taken to get if Gerard had his way. Judging by his looks, Morianne assumed Gerard would simply kill the bandit if he refused to talk. Morianne couldn't help but think such behavior would be… unbefitting of a knight and just downright vile. "Oh my," Morianne exclaimed with a theatrical gasp, continuing her little show while Gerard, having conceded to Morianne's way of doing things, walked off. "I can only imagine what other dashing plans you have it st-" Her act was cut off by a biting jab from the 'Murderhobo'. "If you're gonna smooch him, wipe your mouth after. Don't know where he's been." Morianne looked back at the bandit, only now beginning to notice the grotesque, swollen features of the bandit's face. She gagged, just now realizing what she had initially promised the spellbound bandit. Revolted, she slammed the man's head into the ground with a resounding thud. He was out cold. "Alright. My fun's over," Morianne said. The troubadour pointed at the, now unconscious, bandit. "Somebody help me lug this damn ugly bastard into a ditch or something! I can't carry his fat ass by myself!" However, it seemed that the other knights were going about their duties disposing of the bodies, leaving Morianne's demands unanswered.</s>

<|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri watched as Morianne cast a spell of charming on the bandit. Any resistance the prisoner had seemed to disappear as he explained the fortification that lay ahead. Fleuri was impressed at this feat of magic, but found himself a little unsettled at the notion of playing with someone's mind. Would he be able to resist the effects of magics, if they were cast upon him? A few years ago he would probably would've been easy to put under such a spell. In the present day, by contrast, he hoped that his rediscovered piety would serve him well enough. Fleuri wouldn't be standing around to think about it- Tyaethe ordered Fleuri, among other knights, to dispose of the corpses. As he began to look around for a body to move, however, Morianne asked the knights for help moving the now-unconscious prisoner. "I'll help you out, Dame Morianne," Fleuri answered as he picked up the bandit and threw him over his shoulder. He'd much rather handle the living than the dead, and Tyaethe had already gathered plenty of corpse-movers from among the Iron Roses. "Speaking of him, that was a rather impressive trick, getting him to talk like that," he complimented her. Morianne was an oddity among the knights. She was a wood elf and troubadour, neither of which were particularly common in the order. She wasn't known for having a particularly pleasant personality, as evidenced by her subduing of the bandit as soon as she had gotten what she needed out of him. Still, Fleuri never made a point of antagonizing her- as an ageless elf and a bard, it was quite likely that if she didn't die in battle, she may very well live to write songs, romances, and poems of the Iron Roses, and to become her enemy would be to risk being portrayed in a less-than flattering light to future generations. As Fleuri carried the unconscious prisoner to their rear rank to be bound, he noticed the corpses being piled up. As the pile was built up, Fleuri thought back on his past. During the War of the Red Flag, he and his mentor visited the aftermath of a few battles. During this time, the duo witnessed firsthand what could happen when the dead of a battle were left unattended. He learned the importance of cleaning up the fallen, even those not judged worthy of a proper burial. There were many reasons to do so- to prevent the spread of disease, to give the most basic dignity to their enemies, to keep potentially dangerous scavengers from amassing in the area- but the most important one was to ensure they didn't get back up as undead. The Iron Roses were more than capable of handling a few shambling corpses if the need arose, but was much better to prevent the raising of the dead than to undo it after the fact. Loser</s>

<|description|>Fleuri Jodeau Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor. Personality: The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses. Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep. As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain. Brief Backstory: The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church. Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself. During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money. While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn. During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully. Equipment: Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery. Skills: Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Things, certainly, must have been happening all around Serenity. Her field of vision wasn't so hampered by her visor's slits, her sense of hearing wasn't so deafened by her helmet's steel, that she was completely numb to anything around her, after all. But they were perfunctory concerns, the flames and the chaos, the bloodshed and the Bandit King. She had decided already that his head was worthless, and the Iron Rose Knights numbered over one hundred, many of whom were veterans, some of whom were legends. Their young Knight Captain would be well-protected. If she died even in this circumstance, then she was never meant for anything more. And as for Serenity herself? The griffin's talons swept out, a cautionary swipe that did not suit the prideful proclamation that it had made, and yet even that did not meet its intended target; the young knight, her grip near the butt of the shaft, had simply flicked her wrist. The motion was magnified along the length of her spear, manifesting in the tip itself dancing beneath the griffin's swiping talons before righting itself once more to pierce for its chest. Its advance may have become reserved within the seconds it took to realize just how many knights were headed towards it, but Serenity's own advance remained unchanged: stalwart, resolute, straightforwards.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe The one creeping up behind her probably thought they were so stealthy, trying to go in for some sort of move amidst the din of battle. Maybe, with how much the helmet restricted her peripheral vision, they actually were being subtle. It wasn't like she would know; she'd never had any practical experience of fighting in armour back in her childhood, nor did Tyaethe particularly care for the secretive approach herself. All she knew was that the pounding of her would-be assailant's heart was the most obvious sound of all to her. But with her sword still temporarily entrapped in the foe ahead of her, and the onrushing axe, there was very little that she could easily do to fight back and stop it. No matter how easy it might be to break out of some attempt at a grapple afterwards, it would only lead to being dogpiled... so it was best to avoid it and the axe in a single go. Between one heartbeat and the next, the paladin's armour melted away into nothing, a slender girl instead neatly skipping out from between the two veteran soldiers, letting the last-ditch attempt to decapitate her crush into the sneaky one and pilfering a knife from the axe-wielder. She had to give the one with the spear some credit; he hadn't been shocked by the sudden change in size, thinking to stab out at her all the same. But he had been the one Tyaethe was looking for, and the strike found only a few loose strands of hair as its target was suddenly beside the spear, shooting him a toothy grin and resting one hand casually on the shaft. "Too slow~" The vampire gave a tug, yanking the bandit forwards as he chose to hold onto his weapon, and giving all the opening she needed to dance forward and stab the knife into his side. Not fatally, she reckoned, neither the spearman's armour nor the knife doing exactly what they were meant to, but the injury made a welcome distraction to back off and wrench her sword free, the small girl once again being dwarfed by the blessed blade. And there were still more coming? Tyaethe let out a dissonantly innocent-sounding laugh. Ah, this was fun after all; maybe more than playing with the griffin would have been.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen The First and Youngest wasn't the only flame the bandits were flocking to. While Fleuri had taken the initial pressure off Renar with his assist, now the Bastard of Brias found himself contending against yet more brigands as he guarded the backs of those knights that were handling the griffin. The growing stack of corpses around Renar wasn't quite nearly as large as Tyaethe's, but that was a measure he'd always known he wasn't going to reach today. Plus, it wasn't as if he had much time to even realize it or even compare. The latest pair of bandits to rush him had actually managed to knock his poleaxe from his hands, sending it spinning through the air and landing with the axe head stuck in the ground a good distance away. His foes thought him helpless and left themselves open as they moved in for the supposed kill, leaving Renar able to draw his arming sword in one hand, his dagger in his off-hand, and thrust each into a bandit as they drew back to swing their weapons. In truth, the forced weapon swap may have helped him more than it hurt. While Renar would always prefer the poleaxe above all else, wielding a weapon in each hand left him better able to deflect and parry blows from multiple opponents at once on his own. His sword found most of its use on defense, turning blows aside while his dagger plunged in for the kill. As another small party of brigands fell before him, Renar chanced a look back to see what progress was being made by his fellow knights on the griffin. "Do hurry up back there!" He bellowed, turning back to face yet another bandit looking to ambush the knights with backs turned to him. "The longer you take, the more of this rabble comes to stop you! I'll not be able to hold them forever on my lonesome."</s>

<|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri nodded at Lucas as he heard the young man's plan as he looked up at the watchtower. It was a crazy plan, to jump from the watchtower onto a griffin. It was also quite in line with the impulsive, foolhardy boy's previous actions. All the more reason, Fleuri thought, to do whatever was necessary to keep the boy alive. Fleuri followed Lucas to the tower, coming up with a simple plan on the move. As he made his way there, he unlatched his white cape and wrapped it around his arm. The slightly dirtied white cloth was stained red as it came into contact with the blood that had splattered on him. It didn't bother him too much- if he wasn't willing to get bloodstains on a white cape, he wouldn't have worn it into battle, and with what he was planning, he'd probably have to replace it regardless. He then put away his greatsword- he wouldn't need it at the moment, and couldn't easily climb the ladder with it in his hands. Upon reaching the watch tower, Fleuri climbed part of the way up the ladder, but instead of making his way all to the top like Lucas did, he stepped off the ladder onto a horizontal wooden beam, holding onto the wood above to maintain his balance. The top of the tower was a bit too high for him to jump, he needed to get over the griffin from a lower point. The beam creaked audibly under the weight of the armored knight, and Fleuri had to exercise caution as he made his way through the tower's underside to above where the griffin was. By all accounts this a risky plan, but he couldn't let Lucas down. Speaking of which, Lucas had used the chain to lower himself from the top of the tower, and now the two knights were almost at the same level. It'd at least make communication easier. The knight took a second to assess the situation. The griffin was facing off against Serenity, striking against her spear with its claws. It appeared to be holding back- it seemed to target the spear itself rather than the wielder, and it made no attempt to lunge with its razor-sharp beak. Not wanting to risk being noticed by the powerful predator and its armor-crushing jaws, Fleuri opted to wait for a moment when the griffin could not afford to split its attention, a moment where looking up or turning around would jeopardize its well-being. "Be ready to jump," Fleuri said as he prepared himself. He used his free hand to unwrap his cape as he watched for an opening. The moment that Serenity lunged her spear at the griffin's chest, Fleuri jumped down, aimed at the beast's back. His goal would be to pull his cape over the griffin's head, covering its eyes.</s>

<|description|>Fleuri Jodeau Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor. Personality: The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses. Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep. As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain. Brief Backstory: The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church. Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself. During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money. While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn. During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully. Equipment: Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery. Skills: Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Griffin The results of Serenity's attempted disembowelling were hard to see. Obviously, the creature hadn't escaped entirely unscathed--the ground was wet with its blood, after all--but at the same time, its ferocity didn't appear to be dimmed at all, as if it was determined to avenge itself upon someone before it bled out. Unfortunately for Fleuri, having temporarily blinded the griffin meant that it couldn't continue to pursue anyone scrambling away, and it couldn't easily reach around to its own back. Particularly with his attempts to blind the griffin forcing its head out of the way of the oncoming arrow, instead thudding into one of its shoulders and making him even further out of reach. Holding on and anticipating to fight was the wrong choice when its only remaining effective weapon was its own bulk. After all, how else would it try to dislodge the pest except by rolling onto him? Of course, with the weight with which it flung itself down, it was more likely to break something and trap the knight, but at least then it wouldn't have a rider when it got up. If it got up. After all, the wound was deep, no matter how tough it might be.</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- She got a glancing blow all things considered. She had been hoping to at least put it out quickly, but things rarely went as expected on the battlefield. A she'd easily land on her feet, Cecil sighed. She was feeling a bit tired, all things considered, and there was very little need for her at the moment. A brief respite as the battle around her started to otherwise die down was just fine. She had did her job as well as one could expect, so slacking off a bit now was fine. "...man, this fight was a mess." Cecil grunted to no one in particular. "A griffin is a mighty fine prize. I am not surprised they didn't wish to miss the opportunity." Cecil didn't respond to Shael, only planting her bow into the ground and leaning on it, a keen eye mostly keeping out for surprises. --- Daze And appreciate their doom was all they could do. The bandits that had engaged Tyaethe were quickly realized that this singular paladin, this little girl, was completely outclassing them in every single way despite their number advantage. The one with the shield watched in terror as the entire thing was simply stopped by a mana fueled fist right to its dent the thick steel of the shield. Felt like his own arm had broken two from the impact. As Tyaethe's sword came down, he'd brace himself once more against the blow realizing only too late, that was an incredibly bad idea. Dwarven steel and supernatural strength cleaved right through the armor, a deep gash carved onto his chest as his forearm was completely severed. Blood oozed from the wounds, splattering the ground as he'd fall backwards. And as Jeremiah fell, the remaining bandits, if there had even been any had already decided to cut their losses and choose desertion and flight over facing any sort of justice at the hands of the Roses.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe With the battle winding down, Tyaethe simply gave the fleeing bandits a half-hearted glare and leant against her sword, firmly planting the blade into the ground once again. There were enough knights around that they'd be caught before they got too far; maybe they'd even do the smart thing and realise they should surrender. Oh, it was almost certain they'd meet the same fate in the end, as disappointing as it was... but they'd still have the chance to make their case, and maybe someone would be truly repentant and get another chance. The least they would receive would be multiple opportunities for repentance and guidance after death. She hadn't denied anyone that, yet, and she wasn't about to start. The vampire's eyes flicked around the battlefield. For an assault on a fortified camp... well, maybe she could take some claim to why there were so few injuries. Things were mostly positive. The captain was definitely still alive and not slowly dying to poison. It didn't seem like they'd be getting a chance to tame a griffin, though... what a waste. Could a griffin even be properly tamed, or would it still always be a threat to everyone around it? Husbandry wasn't remotely within her skills, but she would have loved to try... With only her line of sight betraying the reason, Tyaethe let out a disappointed sigh.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen He only heard Fanilly's cry of triumph as he was running a bandit through. Judging by the reactions of those before him, it seemed it wasn't a lie. So their new captain had steel in her after all. Good. Still, that just left the matter of what to do with this lot... Renar's musings were cut off by the majority of the bandits losing heart and throwing their weapons down, with very few having the presence of mind to either go down fighting or retreat. The ones in front of him were all surrendering, though. Renar regarded these kneeling men with some measure of disgust, mixed with pity. Didn't the fools realize they were just delaying the hour of their death? Men like these would receive nothing more in judgement than hanging. Retreat was a far more sensible option than kneeling. The bastard of Brias looked down at the men before him, aware that he wouldn't be able to handle this how he would like to. It would be a mercy to simply kill these men right here, but most of his fellow knights wouldn't understand. Instead, he planted the haft of his poleaxe into the dirt, raising his voice. "If any of you wish to die now, come forward. I can assure you, it will be quicker and more merciful than hanging." Plus, it would mean less warm bodies to transport, contain, and feed during the trip back to the capital. A win-win, really.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Ser Renar would feel a metal grasp on his shoulder a moment after he spoke his offer, a clank of steel behind him marking Sergio's arrival. He glanced to the bandits still alive, his warpick dangling in his free hand. "Not precisely our judgement, amico. I would never deny these brigands the dread of anticipation. They earned it from their greed-fueled blood letting, no?" He spoke calmly, but loudly enough for the barbarians to hear him. Their cowardice did not earn them a reprieve from the purgatorium they deserved. A man should reflect upon his evil, before greeted by Death.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe The vampire's eyes flicked over to the two knights, a too-bright red in the slowly darkening camp. "If we were to appoint ourselves executioners, the public would be denied the evidence that justice was done, and the Roses would gain a reputation as little more than barbaric attack dogs rather than a noble order." A matter hardly helped by their estrangement from the Church, but that was an argument she had lost decades ago, and pointless to revisit in a scene such as this. "And even the worst of criminals should be permitted the time to reflect and repent their actions, rather than wander forever in the darkness," Tyaethe continued, eyes focused on something far away, "Not everyone can realise in the moment of their deaths." @Psyker Landshark</s>

<|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri had a split second to realize what the griffin was doing, and that he had made a rather glaring mistake. It wasn't going to try and pull him off using its claws, it was going to slam him into the ground. He knew immediately that he had to get off of this beast before it crushed him. His armor wasn't made to stop something like this. Getting crushed was a risk when riding a horse, too, but this thing was much heavier, and he didn't think that the feathers on its head were going to cushion the impact. However, there was one thing going for him compared to a horse- there were no stirrups to hold his feet in place. Using the arm that was still holding onto the griffin, along with the leg on that side, he flung himself to the side, away from where the creature's body was going to hit the ground. Simultaneously, his other hand let go of his sword so that its not-inconsiderable weight wouldn't slow him down. It was a risk disarming himself like this but it was a much bigger risk not shedding the weight, and he didn't have enough time to think it over.</s>

<|description|>Fleuri Jodeau Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor. Personality: The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses. Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep. As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain. Brief Backstory: The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church. Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself. During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money. While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn. During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully. Equipment: Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery. Skills: Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "If you're pushing yourself physically, you already know the signs to watch out for," Tyaethe said with a shrug, making a good attempt at polishing off the remainder of the tart, "Here, you don't know your limits or even have any familiarity with approaching them. It's not something where you can get away with pushing yourself just a little further." The talk of blood and death obviously didn't bother the vampire at all, as she chewed over another bite thoughtfully, "Not that there's the same impetus to push yourself as with exercise. How much mana you have is a trait of the soul, no matter how much you push it would always stay the same. It's why most mages use catalysts of some type to help focus it more efficiently or why rituals are even designed. You don't get more efficient by working yourself into a coma. "Well, I can't say I know where beginners should start. I learned the standard fire-lighting trick back in the day, but since the dark doesn't bother me it was never something I needed..." she mused, stabbing the fork into the remnant of the chart and focusing on a raised fingertip. There was an imperceptible feeling of something around Tyaethe as she frowned at the offending digit, a glimpse of an oily red sheen... and then, without any fanfare, a small fire dancing above her finger, connected to nothing. "It's something like this. There's words and everything, too; it makes sense the bookworms are the ones most concerned with lighting candles." The fire winked out a second later, job done--and the obvious reason to not just start by teaching magical illumination. Starting a fire was a simple task you didn't need to keep going for long. Otter</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors "Hardly," his glib reply came readily in the wake of her just. "He and I have a good arrangement— he handles the long distances, I handle running into enemy lines. Works great for us both." Beneath this veneer of flippantness, however, he didn't miss her giving him a similar once-over as he'd done moments ago, starting down at the soil-caked boots and quickly darting across the attire on his frame. Drab and shabby clothing. Understated, putting it mildly, and well-worn. Good for training, if nothing else, and casual enough for a farmboy— but knowing Dame Serenity... "If you'll have me, I'm all for it. I need to learn the city more thoroughly anyway." Was she, always polishing and preening and ensuring she put her best foot forward, no matter the circumstance, really fine with it? With the way she was noting down all the run-down fabric, Gerard had his doubts. Not when this was a point on propriety she could hammer home, a teachable moment for the etiquette both knew he lacked. If it came to expectations, he definitely expected her to expect better. ...Still, though. It was a nice night after a good victory. Cross the bridge when you come to it.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio carefully looked over Lein, before taking the coins. He raised one to his mouth, quickly biting it to make sure he hadn't been given some sort of faux-metal scam coin. Evidently not. "Ah, and yet the day is still young. Clearly I bore you, Ser Estouls. The shame, by Mayon." The knight stretched out, pouting a little before making eye contact with him again. "I could never think another reason you'd want me gone, ah?" The Knight of the Harvest Moon's eyes glimmered in amusement. He'd have eased up on Lein if the Hundi was a clueless new recruit - but being as sly and conniving as he was...a little friendly hazing couldn't hurt. A coin flipped into the air, caught as quick as it was thrown.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen @Rune_Alchemist For a moment, Renar had to remind himself to be patient, lest he start thinking like Serenity. He had to be patient with the captain acting like a teenage girl, because she was a teenage girl. One that didn't exactly ask for this role, unless he was catastrophically mistaken about how the selection process worked. And so Renar simply didn't comment on Fanilly stammering, instead giving her a patient, blank stare. Smiling would just be brown-nosing. "How have you been settling into Candealn, Captain?" Time to continue taking the girl's measure. Judging by the fact they'd mopped up a group of war veterans while losing only a single man, Renar had little to complain about thus far. But that was only one battle. Flukes could happen. He glanced over to Cecilia, eyeing the little snacks she'd brought. "Mind if I take one? Now I'm just curious as to what had the Captain in such a fuss."</s>

<|message|>Fleuri Jodeau "Very well," Fleuri replied, as he fetched a training sword of approximately the length of Gerard's weapon. "I actually used a weapon of similar size as during my time as a squire, and occasionally in tournaments." Fleuri started out by demonstrating some stances with the weapon. "You already probably know this, but good stances and a good grip are key. You never want to find yourself losing your grip on your sword," he explained, thinking back to the battle when Lucas had dropped his weapon. "A sword like this can be used with either one or two hands without too much difficulty. Since Sir Gerard does not use a shield, we'll focus on using two hands." Fleuri waited for Lucas to mirror his stance, then struck at his foe's sword with some of the basic attacks, both swinging and stabbing, that he knew of. He did not strike at the boy holding the sword, though- he didn't want to bruise Lucas up. Afterwards, he would beckon Lucas to do the same, to make a few blows at Fleuri's sword, which the older knight would try to block, deflect, or parry. Once this was over he'd go over the various attacks and counterattacks that he had demonstrated. It wasn't knowledge that he thought he'd be using any time soon. He had no page or squire, and tended to favor larger blades for combat because they were more suited to dismembering undead and other tough foes. Still, the smaller swords were definitely formidable in the right hands, and many great knights had used him. Fleuri could hardly live up to those great bastions of heroism, but he'd do his best to impart some of what he did know to Lucas. Fleuri would then go over over techniques such as half-swording, showing how one could increase leverage on the blade in this manner or even use the crossguard as a weapon. He'd also try to convey the capabilities and limitations of double-edged swords like the longsword, at one point fetching some actual swords to better demonstrate his point. The sparring match had turned into more of an instruction, but Fleuri didn't mind. It was clear that Lucas had a lot to learn and would at this point be better served by instruction rather than beating on him with a wooden weapon. Of course, practice made perfect and the boy would definitely need to spar to get the hang of it, but one step at a time. "I think that's enough for now," he concluded. "I'd suggest practicing what I showed you, and in the future we'll spar to try and get it committed to reflex." Eventually, Lucas would probably have to seek out those more experienced with longswords than Fleuri, but he felt his proficiency should be adequate to get the boy started.</s>

<|description|>Fleuri Jodeau Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor. Personality: The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses. Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep. As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain. Brief Backstory: The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church. Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself. During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money. While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn. During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully. Equipment: Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery. Skills: Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen Sun and Moon, his half-brother was an idiot. Renar had known this before, but a godsdamned child could point out the logical inconsistency behind Felix's half-baked excuse. Still, he wasn't going to take the bait. Not quite like this, anyway. He needed Felix to be the one to instigate actual hostilties first. "Felix..." Renar put on an expression of slight dismay. It didn't quite match the predatory glint in his eyes, but anyone unfamiliar with him ought to be fooled enough, at least. "You do realize that you've just leaked information on royal affairs, yes? Vague as it is, you boasting of it now does ruin the entire point of asking Father to keep quiet of the matter." As he'd said: idiot. Bringing a royal into your lie? What, did Felix think he was just going to shrink away and drop the matter just because of that? "Really, this is poor form to speak of otherwise classified matters in front of this esteemed audience. And with one of your royal charges in attendance, no less. Why, I daresay the best way you could save face is to just tell us all you were fibbing to boost your own prestige. At this point, I'd believe it just to take pity on your...unfortunate lapse, here." Renar chortled, taking another small sip of wine from his glass. The oaf needed to get angrier. Renar couldn't be the aggressor for this to work. Well, he was sure he could spin it somehow if he did end up forcing the issue. But Felix offering direct challenge first would just be simpler and cleaner overall.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @Raineh Daze --- The eyebrow remained raised as Lein spoke in the more common tongue of Velt. One he was familiar with, certainly, being a native of the country and having travelled through it as a mercenary before winding up further south, and it was certainly a bit of a surprise to hear Lein rattling off in it so suddenly...but if the Hundi thought he was speaking Fionn's mother tongue, he was undoubtedly going to be disappointed. Not that he had much time to mull over why Lein knew any of the common Veltian tongue to begin with before the act began anew. With some odd sort of studiously-polite response to Tyaethe added in, although Fionn couldn't imagine any particular reason for such intentionally-inoffensive choice of communication. In his experience, people usually only acted that way when they disliked the person they were speaking to but didn't want to actually argue or fight for some reason. "Careful, lad. Get too snippy and you might be jumped to the top of the menu." He pulled back one sleeve an inch, showing the faint marks left from the night before. "Too late for me, I'm afraid. My mother did always say I'd have to learn these things the hard way." If Lein had been spending most of his time figuring out ways to avoid the training yard, he might also have failed to notice that there were various knights who sometimes had to skip out or take things easier than usual. Everybody might get asked eventually, certainly, but he was hoping that Lein didn't know that yet. "But—perhaps we should return, before they all start gossiping about us anyways?"</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion "You haven't heard of the Witch-Queen!?" exclaimed Tenessa excitedly, earning a silent eyeroll from Violette as she did, "I thought everyone knew!" Angenese gave a somewhat apologetic laugh to the knights. "Ah, Tenessa is something of a history buff, especially the more esoteric parts, do forgive her," she commented, clearing her throat, "A last holdout of the rebellion from five years ago, then? How frightening, to think a man like that was still wandering the land... and yet, the brave Iron Rose Knights crushed him!" It was only natural that young nobles raised on tales of the Iron Rose Knights and the heroes who predated the order entirely would be enamored with such a story, especially when the goriest details were omitted. Violette's disinterest stood out, however, as she simply sipped her drink quietly with another sigh. While she didn't comment, it was clear she didn't find the tale of the slaying of the bandits quite as enthralling as her friends did. Tenessa, however, was rather eager to tell her part of things. "The Witch-Queen was, and possibly still is, the greatest of all Witches!" she declared brightly, "She was the first of them all, a divine spirit who came to our world and instructed her followers in all sorts of strange things even the most learned magi were unaware of! Her followers grew, and she began to forge insidious machinations to accrue more power and threatened the lands!" Her eyes were practically sparkling as she spoke, leaning towards the knights eagerly. "It was about a thousand years ago when Ithillin's current Silver Knight at the time, Mauren Dantielle, lead a force of knights and magi to do battle with the Original Coven, and ultimately it was by his blade that the Witch-Queen fell! Nine of the original witches still live, and-" The young girl leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion. "-It's said that the Witch-Queen herself fell but did not perish, and now appears as a mysterious waif in lonely places!" @VahkiDane</s>

<|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Even as he walked away, Fleuri could hear Renar and his half-brother going at it. It was clear from the exchange that he could perceive they had a considerable sibling rivalry going on. It wasn't too surprising considering what he knew of Renar's upbringing. A bastard son of a noble, refused a noble title by his father, but still raised to serve. All of the obligations of nobility with none of the privileges. The exact opposite of the problem that many nobles have. Fleuri wondered how Lord Brias felt about Renar being inducted into the Iron Roses. Was he proud to see his sons entering into the crown's most prestigious knightly orders? Was he proud to see Renar gain the status of nobility through valor and strength of arms? Or was Lord Brias the type of aristocrat to scoff at the notion of a commoner being raised to a knight? After all, he did refuse to grant his own son noble status. I hope they don't forget that they both serve the hosts of the party. The last thing we need is for relations between the Iron Roses and Crown Knights to become strained because of those two, he thought as he grabbed a plate and looked over the foods at the nearest table, trying to move his focus on what to eat for this evening. If things started to sound heated, he may feel obliged intervene.</s>

<|description|>Fleuri Jodeau Age: 25 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor. Personality: The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses. Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep. As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain. Brief Backstory: The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church. Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself. During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money. While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn. During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully. Equipment: Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery. Skills: Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen Ah. Fresh drama. Renar almost snorted in contempt as the nem's effects told one story to be reinforced by the use of actual writing. Clearly, a hapless adventurer manipulated into an idiotic, near-suicidal assassination attempt through a hostage situation. This couldn't have been the entire plot. What were this nem's employers banking on? That desperation would result in a suicide attempt? The trick with assassinations was that it was remarkably easy to kill someone if one didn't care to continue breathing afterward. A good assassin lived to tell the tale and not give away any clues afterward. Frankly, Renar didn't care one whit for the assassin's little family drama. The girl's story seemed to move Gerard, goddesses bless him, and likely Fanilly and Fionn as well. But frankly, Renar only cared for finding who was pulling the strings. This wouldn't end until they were caught. The Bastard of Brias's grip on the assassin stayed firm even as he glanced down at his captive. "Names and places." He said after Gerard made his inquiry. "If you want your sister safe, we both have a vested interest in ensuring this mastermind is found and secured."</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @VahkiDane@ERode@Psyker Landshark@PigeonOfAstora@Crimson Paladin@Raineh Daze@HereComesTheSnow@Rune_Alchemist@Creative Chaos --- Lein's smack on his chest met with a raised eyebrow, but Fionn declined to comment either on it or on the idea of the diminutive Hundi riding atop Steffen's great shoulders. The Crown Knights had quickly surrounded the princesses and started escorting them back deeper within the castle; while he'd been inclined to follow along very shortly, the assassin's capture and Steffen's own comment about having looked through the halls before arriving in the great hall gave him reason to believe things would remain...calm enough for the next few moments, at least. No matter how strange it all was, as even the short evacuation seemed to grind to a halt given the peculiarity of the overall situation. The snippets of the conversation from around the assassin reaching back to his ears only reinforced how odd it all was. "Lein, you're quick and slippery. Keep close to Steffen and keep your ears open if you go looking around—if you can't see any sort of special or hidden entrance, you might still hear something from the other side. I'll keep a finger on things here...there's something very strange about this, like, and I've got a feeling that there really is going to be more to deal with before the night is through." Something about a sister, the Nem couldn't speak, something about a mastermind. Coercion, then? A sick practice, threatening the family of one to force them to do such dirty work, though he couldn't deny his own disapproval of the Nem's actions. Rarely could the sorts who used such tactics be expected to uphold their end of the bargain. It was just as likely that the would-be assassin and her sister got killed afterwards for all their trouble, to tie up loose ends and let the plotter make good on their escape; why, then, bother to harm an innocent when there was likely no real gain for it? But at least, in her failure, the Nem had opened up the chance to have her sister saved. Some small good came out of the attempt, misguided as it may have been. With Lein and Steffen dismissed (if they so chose to take the chance to go and search), Fionn made his way up to the rest of the group, drawing a handkerchief from one pocket and holding it out wordlessly to Serenity as he came up just within her peripheral vision. Her clenched fist and the hint of red starting to well up in her palm was as easily noticeable to him as the rest of her body language in reply to what was going on. One of the rare benefits to practicing swordplay as one's life's work—it made reading people into a force of habit. "Captain." As Renar and Gerard made their inquiries, he focused his attention back on their leader. "If we're to remain here much longer, whether or not this can be pursued tonight, we'll need equipment. Shall I go ask Sir Adeforth if we can access the Crown Knights' armoury?"</s>

<|message|>Fleuri Jodeau The assassin wasn't loose for long. Renar tackled her to the ground as she tried to flee. Not that her escape attempt would have done much good, with the Crown Knights blocking the doorway. She might have been able to get through a window, but given her small size, she'd probably just hurt herself if she tried. Once she was knocked to the ground, Fleuri lost sight of her. With the danger seemingly passed and the Crown Knights having the situation under control, he decided it'd be a good time to get a good look at this assassin, see how this would-be murderer would react. He could tell so far that it was a female Nem, but not much else beyond that. When Fleuri reached the Nem, she was in the process of writing something down with charcoal, surrounded by the other knights, her confiscated effects nearby. From what he could discern from the assassin's trinkets, she was a member of the Velt Adventurer's Guild, likely a Coin based on the rogue's tools that she had been carrying. Curious, he thought. The Veltan Adventurer's Guild was a respectable, prestigious organization that would never stoop to attempted assassination of a Crown Princess. Perhaps she was doing work on the side. But why take a job so clearly out of her league, and one where her chance to escape and collect her payment was almost nonexistent? As Fleuri watched what the Nem wrote down, however, the answer became evident. Iron Roses...she's addressing us. Tyli Vosahn...probably her name. What happens to me doesn't matter...sounds like she never expected to make it out of this Please save my sister...ah, that'd explain it. Based on the Nem's written words, it sounded like she had been coerced into this. Someone wanted the Crown Princess killed without anything leading directly back to them, so they abduct the sister of a Veltan adventurer, and threaten to kill her if said adventurer doesn't pull off this job- a job that'd almost certainly result in being either captured or branded the most wanted criminal across several kingdoms. Fleuri could somewhat understand the girl's motivation, but it wasn't something he'd ever do. His own sister Lisette would be aghast at the very notion of one of her siblings committing such a dark deed, even to save her life. On the other hand, it also meant that they were relying on someone clearly out of their depth, and someone who'd sell them out immediately after being captured. Surely their wicked plan wouldn't hinge all of its success on one unwilling participant? It might not, Fleuri thought- there could be more surprises in store in case this one failed. Even so, it was clear what their next task would be. Wherever the masterminds behind this attempt might be hiding, they'd likely be holding the Nem's sister as leverage. Once the would-be-assassin pointed them in the right direction, it'd be the Iron Roses' duty to bring these conspirators to justice and rescue the Nem's sister. "Captain, might I assume that this is the beginning of a new mission for the Iron Roses? It was fortuitous that the princess had asked the knights to bring their weapons.</s>

<|description|>Cecilia * Age: 23 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: A cocky grin. A head full of bright, long blond hair tied with a bow and into a braid. Cecilia stands at roughly five foot nine, being a bit on the taller end of the spectrum even if she complains that she feels a lot shorter than she used to for whatever reason. She isn't particularly often dressed in a way one might envision a knight all things considered. More of something like a roguish character out of some fairy tale. A cloak to hide her appearance and keep warm, armor to cover her vitals and help with her archery but otherwise dressed in fairly simple garb. * Personality: A lackadaisical loveable rogue is what she calls herself. Seshaeal calls her a lazy rude miscreant. Both are probably applicable depending on your interpretations and dispositions. Cecilia is the type to let others do her work for her if she can help it, having no discipline whatsoever when it comes to such knightly things...but gone are the days of youth when she caused trouble for entertainment, thieved for her own fun or benefit or fought as a mercenary simply because that was the only thing she ever saw herself as amounting too. Now, she finds herself uncertain of quite what she wants to do, or if she can even pull off being something more than a petty criminal or mercenary, but she'll definitely try if given the chance. * Brief Backstory: Cecilia's history begins not with her, but with a noble house by the name of Autmere. A well off family and noble house known for producing some of the best archers in the kingdom within their family. A well established family in Thaln, and ones who have always aided the kingdom in their times of need and readily defended the kingdom against the rebels in the War of the Red Flag. A little known secret however, is that the reason the family produced such great archers who could supposedly command the wind themselves was because of the heirloom bow that the family had, which supposedly housed a spirit of the wind that would lend its aide to the family. This, is not the noble house a young boy named Cecil would be born into. Cecil was born into a rival house by the name of Estierelli. A now disgraced noble house that supported the rebels in the Red Flag conflict, but before then they were quite an influential merchant family. No is quite certain when they became rivals of Autmere outside of the two families themselves, but the Estierelli's claim that they were thieves and liars, and Cecil grew up hearing such tales of the Autmere's. Perhaps, this was motivation enough for the family to later support the rebels. Regardless of hows and whys, Cecil was quite the roguish characters growing up getting into all manner of scrapes and run ins with the law. Thievery, being a big one. A spoiled little brat, as one could imagine, and eventually he would come to earn his fathers ire with his antics when it was discovered he was having an affair with the Autmere's daughter. So he was given an ultimatum. He would be disinherited unless he put some actual effort into supporting the family and break things off with the Autmere girl. Eventually, Cecil would come up with the brilliant idea of stealing what he thought the Autmere's had stolen from his family. Their magical Heirloom bow. Under the cover of night with help from their daughter, he'd infiltrate their manor and successfully managed to steal away the bow. What he did not expect, however, is that the bow did house a spirit...and one that in fact, seemed to agree with him using it...but not before he was discovered stealing it. With the help of the spirit though, he managed to escape but not before being wounded himself and having to flee into the nearby countryside, taking shelter in a seemingly abandoned stable. Where, he would later awaken to the fact that he was now a woman and the spirit seemed to be the cause of such a change. Seshaeal, she said her name was, and that this was just simply the consequence of using her abilities and definitely not because she thought it'd be funny. Ignoring the spirits incessant chattering and comments about how cute 'she' was, Cecil headed back to Thaln to discover that the news had spread quickly. Either he had been murdered by the Autmere's and falsely accused of theft, or that he had stolen the heirloom bow and made an attempted on the Autmere's daughters life. It was here, he made a decision. He would quietly disappear. He couldn't go back home like this - like anyone would believe him and even if he did, he'd just be tried for theft. It was no surprise that two years later, when Cecilia was now 18 during the Red Flag War his family ended up siding with the rebels in some misguided attempt for revenge. It was during the war, too, that Cecilia would now make something of a name for herself and eventually earn some recognition as a skilled archer on her own, eventually being recruited into the iron roses. The life of a knight suits Cecilia just fine. Just don't ask too much about where she came from. She keeps the bow and Seshaeal both underwraps for fear of her past coming back to haunt her. * Equipment: Tempest Spirit bow A magic bow inhabited by a spirit of wind by the name of Seshaeal. The bow itself is made of smooth wood and decorated with some sort of green, glass like crystals. Its surprisingly flexible and sturdy. Supposedly one who holds it allows for them to use Wind based magic...only if Seshaeal likes them, of course. Cecilia can use Seshaeal's blessings in a number of ways, typically in powering up her arrows to fly faster and more accurate. A number of more uses though enable her to use arrows to deliver highly pressurized blasts of air to targets, use arrows to guide extremely powerful gusts of wind, etc, guide multiple arrows at once with air currents. Things of similar nature. * Skills: Aside from her ability to channel and use wind-based magics thanks to Seshaeal's blessings and assistance, Cecilia is a skilled archer in her own right. Her fighting style is often quick, dirty, and makes use of somewhat unconventional tactics and her wind-blessed agility so she doesn't have to directly fight most opponents.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @HereComesTheSnow --- Fionn's face broke into a grin as Jeremiah moved to counter his attack. His kick met a solid thigh, his bardiche was turned aside once again by the gigantic blade the man wielded, and the spray of dirt caught the bandit full in the face. Overcommitted, with no way to develop enough momentum to protect himself and with too many opponents on too many sides, he couldn't avoid Gerard's point getting buried in his ribs. When he raised his blade and roared, Fionn quickly interposed his own to protect both himself and his fellow former mercenary— —Only for Fanilly to capitalize on the next opening, and fully finish off the bandit king. His sword dropped without direction, and his body soon after. Fionn took the moment to catch his breath as the captain called out to all of the bandits still fighting, calling on them to surrender. Still leaving, as problems, the veterans who would refuse to surrender, and the griffin, which was... "Bloody..." Through the fire, he could just manage to see what was going on with the griffin, the result of a sequence of events he might never be able to understand or find any semblance of sense in, as it was full of just too many possibilities for collateral damage. He shook his head, turning back to Fanilly as she stared down at Rickert's corpse. "Not yet, captain," he said, clapping a hand down on her armoured shoulder to pull her attention aside. Some of the few knights that had wound up on their side of the tree were finishing their individual battles, and he waved a couple over to keep watch over their fallen comrade's corpse. "There's too much left to do. Coordinate dealing with those who surrender, I'm going to go reinforce..." He glanced back across the flaming tree, away from the griffin. "The ground team, I guess." With that, he quickly took off towards where he'd last seen Renar in the thick of the fighting.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors @The Otter His blade sank deep into flesh, and he knew it was nearly over. The Bandit King would be dead within moments, steel slipping between his ribs and into soft tissue beneath— and their objective here complete. So saying, as he felt the sword be wrenched over by the twist of his foe's torso, massive blade swinging high into the air, Gerard neither ran, nor tried to twist himself out of the way. Such evasions were an afterthought. He had the man mortally wounded, but not quite dead. The fury in his eyes told him as much. Stop the enemy's attack by killing him. Finish the job. As the mountainous man's body reared up high to bring the massive blade down, Gerard's free hand returned to the pommel of his longsword and pressed it in as he surged upward in his wake. His footing wasn't great, but if he could sink it even another inch deeper, the wound would doubtlessly bleed a death rattle out of his foe. The timing was going to be tight here, no question... The furious gaze from above locked upon its golden kin below, every bit as determined to see the man they beheld die, regardless of cost. He was replaceable. Victory was not. For an instant, it seemed this was where his duty would reap what it had sowed six years ago— And then, flashing through the corner of his eye, a second sword buried itself into the man's frame. The Captain, darting between Fionn and Knight's Doom, and sending her sword deep into his right armpit, hitting the muscle, the vein, possibly the spine. With a thud and a plume of dust, the massive greatsword crashed to the earth as it fled the dying grip upon its handle. The Lamplighters dimmed their candles. As the weight fell into him in time with his Captain yanking her sword free, Gerard felt the pulsing in his head recede even as he fully forced his way up to his proper height with a grunt. He took a moment to glace at Jeremiah's eyes again— "Damn you... Iron... Roses...!" —And saw the light truly fade. He didn't offer a rebuttal to the curse, only a ragged exhalation as he shunted the massive body off. The burly corpse toppled to the floor at long last with a dull thud, the fresh blossoms of crimson spreading across his frame looking almost blackened in the firelight. He hadn't the wherewithal to offer a parting insult, no matter how much the man had earned it. It'd likely have fallen on deaf ears to begin with, he reasoned. Not like he doesn't know it's him who's damned. He blinked and breathed deep, savoring the sudden ache in his bones as so much of that ferocious current that propelled him so forcefully left his blood. His thoughts were returning now that the storm of anger had begun to part, and they propelled him elsewhere from Sir Fionn, who he caught a glimpse of racing back across the smoldering log. Back into the fray, hm? He'd be there before long, but first things first. "Captain," he breathed, in a voice hoarser than he'd expected. "Good kill. I owe you one." He followed her gaze down to Sir Rickert's stricken form, still lying where both ends of the torso had fallen. Grisly end. From what Gerard had known of him, far too good and just a man to have earned a death so brutal. That said... "This is what war is, ma'am. No matter how hard any of us try, this is part of it." They had chosen this life of their own volition, save her and the tradition that stuck her here as their leader. To pledge oneself as a warrior meant resolute acceptance of one's own death. He'd been pleasantly surprised by her ability to keep herself alive thus far... but he knew she'd also need to know how to bear the responsibility of the position without crumbling beneath it. He did not chide, nor berate, nor coddle in saying this. It wasn't his place to do any of that, as her subordinate. But as someone who'd seen hundreds of comrades die speaking to someone who'd seen her first... "Sir Rickert knew it too. We all know we might not see the next day. If we didn't accept that for ourselves, we wouldn't be here."</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Griffin The results of Serenity's attempted disembowelling were hard to see. Obviously, the creature hadn't escaped entirely unscathed--the ground was wet with its blood, after all--but at the same time, its ferocity didn't appear to be dimmed at all, as if it was determined to avenge itself upon someone before it bled out. Unfortunately for Fleuri, having temporarily blinded the griffin meant that it couldn't continue to pursue anyone scrambling away, and it couldn't easily reach around to its own back. Particularly with his attempts to blind the griffin forcing its head out of the way of the oncoming arrow, instead thudding into one of its shoulders and making him even further out of reach. Holding on and anticipating to fight was the wrong choice when its only remaining effective weapon was its own bulk. After all, how else would it try to dislodge the pest except by rolling onto him? Of course, with the weight with which it flung itself down, it was more likely to break something and trap the knight, but at least then it wouldn't have a rider when it got up. If it got up. After all, the wound was deep, no matter how tough it might be.</s>

<|message|>Cecilia She got a glancing blow all things considered. She had been hoping to at least put it out quickly, but things rarely went as expected on the battlefield. A she'd easily land on her feet, Cecil sighed. She was feeling a bit tired, all things considered, and there was very little need for her at the moment. A brief respite as the battle around her started to otherwise die down was just fine. She had did her job as well as one could expect, so slacking off a bit now was fine. "...man, this fight was a mess." Cecil grunted to no one in particular. "A griffin is a mighty fine prize. I am not surprised they didn't wish to miss the opportunity." Cecil didn't respond to Shael, only planting her bow into the ground and leaning on it, a keen eye mostly keeping out for surprises. --- Daze And appreciate their doom was all they could do. The bandits that had engaged Tyaethe were quickly realized that this singular paladin, this little girl, was completely outclassing them in every single way despite their number advantage. The one with the shield watched in terror as the entire thing was simply stopped by a mana fueled fist right to its dent the thick steel of the shield. Felt like his own arm had broken two from the impact. As Tyaethe's sword came down, he'd brace himself once more against the blow realizing only too late, that was an incredibly bad idea. Dwarven steel and supernatural strength cleaved right through the armor, a deep gash carved onto his chest as his forearm was completely severed. Blood oozed from the wounds, splattering the ground as he'd fall backwards. And as Jeremiah fell, the remaining bandits, if there had even been any had already decided to cut their losses and choose desertion and flight over facing any sort of justice at the hands of the Roses.</s>

<|description|>Cecilia * Age: 23 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: A cocky grin. A head full of bright, long blond hair tied with a bow and into a braid. Cecilia stands at roughly five foot nine, being a bit on the taller end of the spectrum even if she complains that she feels a lot shorter than she used to for whatever reason. She isn't particularly often dressed in a way one might envision a knight all things considered. More of something like a roguish character out of some fairy tale. A cloak to hide her appearance and keep warm, armor to cover her vitals and help with her archery but otherwise dressed in fairly simple garb. * Personality: A lackadaisical loveable rogue is what she calls herself. Seshaeal calls her a lazy rude miscreant. Both are probably applicable depending on your interpretations and dispositions. Cecilia is the type to let others do her work for her if she can help it, having no discipline whatsoever when it comes to such knightly things...but gone are the days of youth when she caused trouble for entertainment, thieved for her own fun or benefit or fought as a mercenary simply because that was the only thing she ever saw herself as amounting too. Now, she finds herself uncertain of quite what she wants to do, or if she can even pull off being something more than a petty criminal or mercenary, but she'll definitely try if given the chance. * Brief Backstory: Cecilia's history begins not with her, but with a noble house by the name of Autmere. A well off family and noble house known for producing some of the best archers in the kingdom within their family. A well established family in Thaln, and ones who have always aided the kingdom in their times of need and readily defended the kingdom against the rebels in the War of the Red Flag. A little known secret however, is that the reason the family produced such great archers who could supposedly command the wind themselves was because of the heirloom bow that the family had, which supposedly housed a spirit of the wind that would lend its aide to the family. This, is not the noble house a young boy named Cecil would be born into. Cecil was born into a rival house by the name of Estierelli. A now disgraced noble house that supported the rebels in the Red Flag conflict, but before then they were quite an influential merchant family. No is quite certain when they became rivals of Autmere outside of the two families themselves, but the Estierelli's claim that they were thieves and liars, and Cecil grew up hearing such tales of the Autmere's. Perhaps, this was motivation enough for the family to later support the rebels. Regardless of hows and whys, Cecil was quite the roguish characters growing up getting into all manner of scrapes and run ins with the law. Thievery, being a big one. A spoiled little brat, as one could imagine, and eventually he would come to earn his fathers ire with his antics when it was discovered he was having an affair with the Autmere's daughter. So he was given an ultimatum. He would be disinherited unless he put some actual effort into supporting the family and break things off with the Autmere girl. Eventually, Cecil would come up with the brilliant idea of stealing what he thought the Autmere's had stolen from his family. Their magical Heirloom bow. Under the cover of night with help from their daughter, he'd infiltrate their manor and successfully managed to steal away the bow. What he did not expect, however, is that the bow did house a spirit...and one that in fact, seemed to agree with him using it...but not before he was discovered stealing it. With the help of the spirit though, he managed to escape but not before being wounded himself and having to flee into the nearby countryside, taking shelter in a seemingly abandoned stable. Where, he would later awaken to the fact that he was now a woman and the spirit seemed to be the cause of such a change. Seshaeal, she said her name was, and that this was just simply the consequence of using her abilities and definitely not because she thought it'd be funny. Ignoring the spirits incessant chattering and comments about how cute 'she' was, Cecil headed back to Thaln to discover that the news had spread quickly. Either he had been murdered by the Autmere's and falsely accused of theft, or that he had stolen the heirloom bow and made an attempted on the Autmere's daughters life. It was here, he made a decision. He would quietly disappear. He couldn't go back home like this - like anyone would believe him and even if he did, he'd just be tried for theft. It was no surprise that two years later, when Cecilia was now 18 during the Red Flag War his family ended up siding with the rebels in some misguided attempt for revenge. It was during the war, too, that Cecilia would now make something of a name for herself and eventually earn some recognition as a skilled archer on her own, eventually being recruited into the iron roses. The life of a knight suits Cecilia just fine. Just don't ask too much about where she came from. She keeps the bow and Seshaeal both underwraps for fear of her past coming back to haunt her. * Equipment: Tempest Spirit bow A magic bow inhabited by a spirit of wind by the name of Seshaeal. The bow itself is made of smooth wood and decorated with some sort of green, glass like crystals. Its surprisingly flexible and sturdy. Supposedly one who holds it allows for them to use Wind based magic...only if Seshaeal likes them, of course. Cecilia can use Seshaeal's blessings in a number of ways, typically in powering up her arrows to fly faster and more accurate. A number of more uses though enable her to use arrows to deliver highly pressurized blasts of air to targets, use arrows to guide extremely powerful gusts of wind, etc, guide multiple arrows at once with air currents. Things of similar nature. * Skills: Aside from her ability to channel and use wind-based magics thanks to Seshaeal's blessings and assistance, Cecilia is a skilled archer in her own right. Her fighting style is often quick, dirty, and makes use of somewhat unconventional tactics and her wind-blessed agility so she doesn't have to directly fight most opponents.</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Landshark@The Otter "As an Order," Serenity spoke up, "the Iron Rose Knights have little in the way of a hierarchy. As such, in the absence of a Knight-Captain, the one responsible for accepting others into the Order is likely to be Paladin Tyaethe. If you'd like to learn her reasoning, Sir Renar, I'm sure she'll be obliged to it." Though the fact of the matter was that in the eyes of a centuries-old relic of war and blood, shadow and magic, there was likely no discernible difference between Renar and Lucas. All that mattered, after all, was the Knight-Captain, if one took the stories told of the First and Youngest to heart. The Immortal Dragon Slayer, so inundated by the boons of circumstance that she's unmatched in Thaln despite having yet to even leverage the full weight of her talents. "I find no reason to leave their learning to luck though. What's the point in discussing Lucas's education, if we're not to point out his faults?" Still, the matter was dropped, forcibly, and as if aiming to stoke her own ire, Renar brought up the topic of Fanilly Danbalion instead, his second remark a naked attempt to toss fuel to the flame. If he was to be so obvious with it though? "If she fancies herself a knight, she ought to redouble her efforts as a swordswoman." Which Serenity would gladly join her in. "And if she fancies herself a Captain, she ought to better her ability to command under duress. Though I reckon that would be hard, if Captain Fanilly continues to be ambushed." The flaxen-haired knight paused briefly as she leveled her hammer to drive a nail through the socket of her spear and into the wood beneath, then continued. "But perhaps the Iron Rose Knights are such that all we need to be is individually competent? Certainly, the legends of our predecessors leave behind only anecdotes of singular glory, rather than united efforts." She hefted the spear up once more, though there wasn't room enough to swing it as she wished. "Thoughts, good sirs? Sir Villis, certainly, was just running ahead of the rest, but how did the Paladin and the Knight-Captain function as leaders?"</s> <|message|>Lucas Storm Not sure? Well, that answer did fall into the disappointment category, but at least there was a chance that his idea had limited the griffin's mobility enough that such a killing blow could be landed. A man can dream, eh. Serenity. One of Gerard's sparring buddies. She was a ferocious fighter. Even after a bunch of bandits had been blown off their feet from a mere flap of the griffin's wings (one even high-tailing it out of there, Lucas saw,) Serenity had gotten right in the beast's face and stayed there. The mental fortitude, the physical skills... the girl was a phenom. It was hard to believe she was the same age. She carried herself with far more dignity and power than any 17 year old girl Lucas had ever known. Lucas found himself wondering what her childhood must've been like, for a moment, but brought himself back to reality and the conversation quickly. "Let it live?" Lucas echoed the older knight, a little perplexed. Fleuri went on. "Griffins are majestic, noble creatures once you get past the whole horse-eating thing. There'd have been no point in trying to capture it, though- they're also immensely proud creatures that as we saw already, don't take well to being caged." "Just imagine we broke it though, eh," Lucas offered with a grin. "My old man's best mate was the finest horse breaker in all the lands. Carrot was his name. Broke the wildest of stallions. Imagine we broke a griffin. Imagine the Knight-Captain's charge at the head of a column. There'd be no stoppin it. And no finer sight. It was a joke, of course. Well... a half-joke. Well... ""Anyway, I guess you're probably right. If the griffin was no danger to good folk, then it was just another prisoner of Jeremiah. I didn't really think about it that way. Lucas put a whole large potato in his mouth, not anticipating that it would still be so hot. His face froze in pain as he bit into it, desperately wanting to spit it out, but realising that such an action would cross the line of table etiquette, even by his own standards. And so, without thinking, he just swallowed. In one slow, laboured and painful motion, he swallowed the entire thing. The heat was intense, his face stuck with one eye squinting as he stared at Fleuri who was sharing his misgivings about their wild decision-making regarding the griffin. "...It's a miracle I got out of it unharmed." Lucas wasn't sharpest tool on the rack, but he noticed that this lesson wasn't just for Fleuri himself, but both of them. It was true; so many things could've gone wrong. He, himself, didn't escape without injury. After the battle, once he got himself to one of the healing mages in the rearguard, he'd discovered that adrenaline had been masking quite a few injuries. A broken collarbone. A broken rib. Fractured wrist. Concussion. And that was without the various grazes and lacerations. Back in the circus, they could've really done with one of the Iron Rose mages in their troupe. They were a boon unlike any other. What he wanted to say was that heroes don't think about the danger to themselves, they just act - try to save the day. But this was the nonsense rambling of a young man. Instead, he tried to listen to the more experienced knight who was doing him the honour of imparting some wisdom and reflection on the battle. "I'll try to do better aswell," he told Fleuri. "I just... it's hard to think... battles are..." it was difficult to find the right words. "Bloody madness," he finally settled on. He stopped himself from going on. It was just excuses for his misconduct. "But I will try. To think about my actions more." As much as he was trying to be more mature, the boy in him still escaped. "Got out of it alive though, eh. Sir Lein didn't get flattened. And we rode a griffin... sort of... for a second." He offered the last words with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin, as if daring Fleuri to smile back. "Not bad, eh?" By Reon. Already, the lesson appeared to be disappearing out of the thick skull of the gypsy. After their exchange about the griffin, Lucas chose to focus on wolfing down the third and final course of his meal. Once he'd stopped talking, it didn't take long for the plates to be clean. "Ah, I. Am. Done," he said to the Flower of the North. "I think I need proper drink tonight. A few, in fact." Such bravado. Inside, he was worried that these images and sounds of the battle might not ever go away, but he could hardly explain that to anyone here. They were all well beyond their first battles. And what if word got back to the Knight-Captain or Paladin Tyaethe. Sir Lucas Storm can't handle the weight of killing? That might be the last straw. "What will you be up to, with the rest of your day, Sir Fleuri?"</s>

<|message|>Cecilia Ah, back to civilization. On one hand, she loved being out in the forests. On the other hand, the forests sorely lacked modern amenities and she absolutely loved just being around the hustle and bustle of the city most times. Especially after a battle like that! She was no battle hungry warrior, in fact, she'd say she was more of a coward than anything that avoided fighting directly if she could help it, but having a drink with the lads and lasses of her former company was always something to look forward too. That said…others might not have noticed the Knight Captain, splitting off from the others, but it was hard to put things past her eyes, and Fanilly? Looked like someone had just kicked her down the stairs. Hm… If you make her cry I'll make you cry. "Jeez, Shael, you act like I'm a little miscreant who goes around just breaking hearts for no good reason! I'd never have such intentions on a pure lady like Captain Fanilly." A sudden gust of wind caused Cecil to lose balance, tripping and falling onto the ground while Shael rambled about a number of things she wasn't listening hard enough too. Hmm, something to lift the girls spirits a bit… "Well, don't overthink it Cecil. Overthinking things is what gets you into trouble…" She'd let the girl say her obvious prayer. No doubt she was feeling uncertain about a lot of things. She could honestly sympathize with such a feeling well. After all…she still couldn't be certain about anything. Hmm… Cecil inhaled, shaking her head and proceeded to walk up to the captain, and poke her right in the forehead while she knelt in prayer. "Hiya, Captain Fanilly. Where are you going here all by yourself, eh?" She'd ask, giving the girl a bright smile. "Mind if I join ya for a bit or you gonna run me off like Shael does if I flirt too much with someone?"</s>

<|description|>Cecilia * Age: 23 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: A cocky grin. A head full of bright, long blond hair tied with a bow and into a braid. Cecilia stands at roughly five foot nine, being a bit on the taller end of the spectrum even if she complains that she feels a lot shorter than she used to for whatever reason. She isn't particularly often dressed in a way one might envision a knight all things considered. More of something like a roguish character out of some fairy tale. A cloak to hide her appearance and keep warm, armor to cover her vitals and help with her archery but otherwise dressed in fairly simple garb. * Personality: A lackadaisical loveable rogue is what she calls herself. Seshaeal calls her a lazy rude miscreant. Both are probably applicable depending on your interpretations and dispositions. Cecilia is the type to let others do her work for her if she can help it, having no discipline whatsoever when it comes to such knightly things...but gone are the days of youth when she caused trouble for entertainment, thieved for her own fun or benefit or fought as a mercenary simply because that was the only thing she ever saw herself as amounting too. Now, she finds herself uncertain of quite what she wants to do, or if she can even pull off being something more than a petty criminal or mercenary, but she'll definitely try if given the chance. * Brief Backstory: Cecilia's history begins not with her, but with a noble house by the name of Autmere. A well off family and noble house known for producing some of the best archers in the kingdom within their family. A well established family in Thaln, and ones who have always aided the kingdom in their times of need and readily defended the kingdom against the rebels in the War of the Red Flag. A little known secret however, is that the reason the family produced such great archers who could supposedly command the wind themselves was because of the heirloom bow that the family had, which supposedly housed a spirit of the wind that would lend its aide to the family. This, is not the noble house a young boy named Cecil would be born into. Cecil was born into a rival house by the name of Estierelli. A now disgraced noble house that supported the rebels in the Red Flag conflict, but before then they were quite an influential merchant family. No is quite certain when they became rivals of Autmere outside of the two families themselves, but the Estierelli's claim that they were thieves and liars, and Cecil grew up hearing such tales of the Autmere's. Perhaps, this was motivation enough for the family to later support the rebels. Regardless of hows and whys, Cecil was quite the roguish characters growing up getting into all manner of scrapes and run ins with the law. Thievery, being a big one. A spoiled little brat, as one could imagine, and eventually he would come to earn his fathers ire with his antics when it was discovered he was having an affair with the Autmere's daughter. So he was given an ultimatum. He would be disinherited unless he put some actual effort into supporting the family and break things off with the Autmere girl. Eventually, Cecil would come up with the brilliant idea of stealing what he thought the Autmere's had stolen from his family. Their magical Heirloom bow. Under the cover of night with help from their daughter, he'd infiltrate their manor and successfully managed to steal away the bow. What he did not expect, however, is that the bow did house a spirit...and one that in fact, seemed to agree with him using it...but not before he was discovered stealing it. With the help of the spirit though, he managed to escape but not before being wounded himself and having to flee into the nearby countryside, taking shelter in a seemingly abandoned stable. Where, he would later awaken to the fact that he was now a woman and the spirit seemed to be the cause of such a change. Seshaeal, she said her name was, and that this was just simply the consequence of using her abilities and definitely not because she thought it'd be funny. Ignoring the spirits incessant chattering and comments about how cute 'she' was, Cecil headed back to Thaln to discover that the news had spread quickly. Either he had been murdered by the Autmere's and falsely accused of theft, or that he had stolen the heirloom bow and made an attempted on the Autmere's daughters life. It was here, he made a decision. He would quietly disappear. He couldn't go back home like this - like anyone would believe him and even if he did, he'd just be tried for theft. It was no surprise that two years later, when Cecilia was now 18 during the Red Flag War his family ended up siding with the rebels in some misguided attempt for revenge. It was during the war, too, that Cecilia would now make something of a name for herself and eventually earn some recognition as a skilled archer on her own, eventually being recruited into the iron roses. The life of a knight suits Cecilia just fine. Just don't ask too much about where she came from. She keeps the bow and Seshaeal both underwraps for fear of her past coming back to haunt her. * Equipment: Tempest Spirit bow A magic bow inhabited by a spirit of wind by the name of Seshaeal. The bow itself is made of smooth wood and decorated with some sort of green, glass like crystals. Its surprisingly flexible and sturdy. Supposedly one who holds it allows for them to use Wind based magic...only if Seshaeal likes them, of course. Cecilia can use Seshaeal's blessings in a number of ways, typically in powering up her arrows to fly faster and more accurate. A number of more uses though enable her to use arrows to deliver highly pressurized blasts of air to targets, use arrows to guide extremely powerful gusts of wind, etc, guide multiple arrows at once with air currents. Things of similar nature. * Skills: Aside from her ability to channel and use wind-based magics thanks to Seshaeal's blessings and assistance, Cecilia is a skilled archer in her own right. Her fighting style is often quick, dirty, and makes use of somewhat unconventional tactics and her wind-blessed agility so she doesn't have to directly fight most opponents.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors The front lines of any mercenary corps were a hellish, chaotic mess. They engulfed you in a storm's eye, surrounding your every sense with a tumultuous flood of stimuli. To survive long in such a hellish quagmire day in and day out required skill and instinct in equal measure— No amount of pure swordsmanship, an art that was made through sight and touch, would save a soldier from an attack that came from a blind angle. "Down, down, down! Under the table, all three of you!" Gerard roared, pulling steel free from the blackened leather sheath that had never left an arm's reach away. With his left hand he reached forward as though to beckon the trio behind him or shepherd them towards safety, but his head had long snapped onto the diminutive frame of the would-be assassin, and belied his true mentality. The thrum of a loosed bolt from a crossbow, however masked by the party's chatter, was unmistakable. To spend five years in that aforementioned hell unscathed required an ability to separate signal from noise that bordered on uncanny, and the quickness of action to match. He would waste no more of it on talk. No more on anything short of action. There was danger to snuff. In that instant the stiff, uncomfortable candor had left him, and the soldier of a hundred battlefields returned, eyes ablaze with golden purpose. With it came that familiar rush of flame through the body, the same that slowed the world and hastened his eyes. He surged forward past them, chewing up the distance between their place at the banquet and the center stage of the unfolding drama. Ahead of him, his fellow knights, those who had rushed to greet the Princesses had already assumed offensive posture— Sir Renar in pursuit, lobbing a serving tray. Sir Sergio in his wake, steel of a rondel gleaming in the chandelier's light. A moment later, Sir Vier, blades in tow. They'd get there first— assuming the assassin stayed put. They wouldn't. Three grown men at a dead sprint, though, would counter their quarry's assumed agility with greater athleticism and stride length, covering more ground in less time. That tower of onyx that had been shadowing a young noble (no older than the three he'd been accosted by) was already moving as well, away from his charge and Serenity by extension. His direction would take him past the fleeing midget— not a bad idea. The Crown was covering exits. Fionn, Dame Serenity, Paladin Tyaethe, and the elf who'd caught the bolt were covering the targets of the attempt. With as far as his group had been in the moments prior, he would be late to support either of the other auxiliary roles— But had good lateral positioning from the angle the diminutive figure had shown themselves. With a sharp exhalation, he slammed his boot into the carpet and cut a broad angle. He could move to shut down their left flank. Boxing them in would kill their escape. The sprint would carry him into position quickly. Trying to pass him would be an invitation to be wrenched into the ground. Gerard would, of course, quite readily oblige.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- @VahkiDane@ERode@Psyker Landshark@PigeonOfAstora@Crimson Paladin@Raineh Daze@HereComesTheSnow@Rune_Alchemist@Creative Chaos --- Fionn's confusion over the cake was interrupted almost instantly by Lein coming to his side once again. "Oh, bother," he muttered, thinking about having to re-tie the Hundi's laces again, before his fellow knight's conspiratorial whisper reached his ear. His brow furrowed immediately, one hand reaching down for the sword at his belt, the other pulling Maletha in closer. "Why would I—" His gaze, scanning over the ball, snapped back to one small figure they'd slid over moments before with nearly no recognition. Past the other princess and those surrounding her just ahead, the glint of light coming off the tip of the assassin's weapon caught his full attention faster than he could even complete his reply to his comrade. Even Jeremiah hadn't been able to render him speechless so quickly. No mercenary who had survived even a single battle came out of it without a healthy respect—if not fear—for the capabilities of a crossbow. Longbows were bad enough, and anybody well-trained with one could fill the air with arrows at an astonishing rate; at close range, with a heavy enough bow, an arrow could even penetrate a helmet or dent a well-made breastplate. At their most useful, however, they were used to soften up formations, take out unarmoured infantry and the like, and they could be countered by another force of archers. What crossbows lacked in sheer rate of fire, in usefulness in pitched, open battle, they made up for in ease of use and surprise. Any farmer, even without any useful experience, could be trained to use a crossbow with decent accuracy in a matter of hours. One who was at-all dedicated to their craft could prove as accurate as many master archers within weeks. Moreover, one could be held at the ready nearly indefinitely. This made them fantastic implements for picking out higher-value targets, for manning defenses during a siege, and especially in an ambush. Fionn had personally seen some of those he used to fight alongside have the necessity for proper scouting, situational awareness, and just general readiness drilled into their heads far more literally than was ever needed for himself—all due to advance skirmishers armed with crossbows. "Stop her! Stop her now!" The hand that had been creeping towards the hilt of his sword struck out suddenly, shoving Lein roughly off to the side. In the same movement he dove off to the other side, wrapping Maletha up with his other arm and turning so that he was covering her should the bolt miss Elisandre and come in their direction. The unmistakable snap of the weapon followed as soon as the pair hit the floor, and he was already on his feet rushing towards the heir apparent, Maletha still wrapped in one arm, as the captain and Sir Adeforth started bellowing orders over the din of the frightened nobles. Veilena's oversized knight, Renar, Vier, and Sergio all peeled off in an instant in pursuit of the diminutive assassin; the roar and following heavy footfalls behind him made it clear that Gerard was doing similar. Serenity's words went unheeded as he was already rapidly approaching; Tyaethe's met with a single nod, although he didn't move to comply with her command, either. "Captain!" Fionn barked, to get Fanilly's attention his way as he set Maletha down near Tyaethe, drawing his blade and nodding in the direction of the dais and beyond, where the rest of the keep and the royal residences could be reached from. "If one assassin could make it past all of our watch here in the great hall, there could be more throughout. With your leave, the four of us—" Meaning Fleuri, Lein, and Serenity, the only others who hadn't yet taken off to bar an exit or intercept the assassin. "—will join the Crown Knights to make sure the path is clear for the three of you to evacuate the princesses back to the royal apartments." A better place for them by far than in the middle of the hall, surrounded by five current knights and one former.</s>

<|message|>Cecilia "I see, I see." Cecillia replied with a small smile. "...are you feeling jealous, Cecil?" "Yes, incredibly jealous Shael why do you ask?" "You know, you could have kept in contact after-" "Ahaha, well, its always fun to meet someone from new lands." She'd ignore Shael, focusing on the two people in front of her. "Met all kinds of people in my time as a mercenary you know. Never had the pleasure of traveling outside of the country myself, but I've heard lots of wonderful stories." She'd offer a drink to Annika and lord Bashar. "I can tell you all sorts of stories from my time as a mercenary and of the recent-" Unfortunately, it seems fate had other plans. The sound of an alarm. An assassin? Cecil swiveled her head immediately towards the source of the commotion. A hooded figure. Small. Inept. Why on earth would an assassin try getting this close unless they were confident? It'd be far better to make a shot from afar...but then again, she supposed not everyone had a spirit of wind on their side. "...it seems I must cut our conversation short." Cecil smiled, unable to hide a tinge of reluctance to it. "Duty calls and all that. Perhaps we can speak more later." With that, Cecilia would take off. "Shael, I need speed!" "Yes yes, order me around after ignoring me why don't you I don't mind that at all, hmph." Despite her sass, Cecilia would have her lightened steps. Being likely the fastest and agile of the iron roses present, her goal was simple - get ahead of the assassin. Cut her off by any means necessary. She'd "I'll try and cut her off!" She'd shout to her comrades.</s>

<|description|>Cecilia * Age: 23 * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: A cocky grin. A head full of bright, long blond hair tied with a bow and into a braid. Cecilia stands at roughly five foot nine, being a bit on the taller end of the spectrum even if she complains that she feels a lot shorter than she used to for whatever reason. She isn't particularly often dressed in a way one might envision a knight all things considered. More of something like a roguish character out of some fairy tale. A cloak to hide her appearance and keep warm, armor to cover her vitals and help with her archery but otherwise dressed in fairly simple garb. * Personality: A lackadaisical loveable rogue is what she calls herself. Seshaeal calls her a lazy rude miscreant. Both are probably applicable depending on your interpretations and dispositions. Cecilia is the type to let others do her work for her if she can help it, having no discipline whatsoever when it comes to such knightly things...but gone are the days of youth when she caused trouble for entertainment, thieved for her own fun or benefit or fought as a mercenary simply because that was the only thing she ever saw herself as amounting too. Now, she finds herself uncertain of quite what she wants to do, or if she can even pull off being something more than a petty criminal or mercenary, but she'll definitely try if given the chance. * Brief Backstory: Cecilia's history begins not with her, but with a noble house by the name of Autmere. A well off family and noble house known for producing some of the best archers in the kingdom within their family. A well established family in Thaln, and ones who have always aided the kingdom in their times of need and readily defended the kingdom against the rebels in the War of the Red Flag. A little known secret however, is that the reason the family produced such great archers who could supposedly command the wind themselves was because of the heirloom bow that the family had, which supposedly housed a spirit of the wind that would lend its aide to the family. This, is not the noble house a young boy named Cecil would be born into. Cecil was born into a rival house by the name of Estierelli. A now disgraced noble house that supported the rebels in the Red Flag conflict, but before then they were quite an influential merchant family. No is quite certain when they became rivals of Autmere outside of the two families themselves, but the Estierelli's claim that they were thieves and liars, and Cecil grew up hearing such tales of the Autmere's. Perhaps, this was motivation enough for the family to later support the rebels. Regardless of hows and whys, Cecil was quite the roguish characters growing up getting into all manner of scrapes and run ins with the law. Thievery, being a big one. A spoiled little brat, as one could imagine, and eventually he would come to earn his fathers ire with his antics when it was discovered he was having an affair with the Autmere's daughter. So he was given an ultimatum. He would be disinherited unless he put some actual effort into supporting the family and break things off with the Autmere girl. Eventually, Cecil would come up with the brilliant idea of stealing what he thought the Autmere's had stolen from his family. Their magical Heirloom bow. Under the cover of night with help from their daughter, he'd infiltrate their manor and successfully managed to steal away the bow. What he did not expect, however, is that the bow did house a spirit...and one that in fact, seemed to agree with him using it...but not before he was discovered stealing it. With the help of the spirit though, he managed to escape but not before being wounded himself and having to flee into the nearby countryside, taking shelter in a seemingly abandoned stable. Where, he would later awaken to the fact that he was now a woman and the spirit seemed to be the cause of such a change. Seshaeal, she said her name was, and that this was just simply the consequence of using her abilities and definitely not because she thought it'd be funny. Ignoring the spirits incessant chattering and comments about how cute 'she' was, Cecil headed back to Thaln to discover that the news had spread quickly. Either he had been murdered by the Autmere's and falsely accused of theft, or that he had stolen the heirloom bow and made an attempted on the Autmere's daughters life. It was here, he made a decision. He would quietly disappear. He couldn't go back home like this - like anyone would believe him and even if he did, he'd just be tried for theft. It was no surprise that two years later, when Cecilia was now 18 during the Red Flag War his family ended up siding with the rebels in some misguided attempt for revenge. It was during the war, too, that Cecilia would now make something of a name for herself and eventually earn some recognition as a skilled archer on her own, eventually being recruited into the iron roses. The life of a knight suits Cecilia just fine. Just don't ask too much about where she came from. She keeps the bow and Seshaeal both underwraps for fear of her past coming back to haunt her. * Equipment: Tempest Spirit bow A magic bow inhabited by a spirit of wind by the name of Seshaeal. The bow itself is made of smooth wood and decorated with some sort of green, glass like crystals. Its surprisingly flexible and sturdy. Supposedly one who holds it allows for them to use Wind based magic...only if Seshaeal likes them, of course. Cecilia can use Seshaeal's blessings in a number of ways, typically in powering up her arrows to fly faster and more accurate. A number of more uses though enable her to use arrows to deliver highly pressurized blasts of air to targets, use arrows to guide extremely powerful gusts of wind, etc, guide multiple arrows at once with air currents. Things of similar nature. * Skills: Aside from her ability to channel and use wind-based magics thanks to Seshaeal's blessings and assistance, Cecilia is a skilled archer in her own right. Her fighting style is often quick, dirty, and makes use of somewhat unconventional tactics and her wind-blessed agility so she doesn't have to directly fight most opponents.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe Thrinax, huh...? She had to wonder if that one was still alive, but she'd never really had a reason to try and find him... really, most people only ever sought out dragons when they were causing problems. "I once went where Erhan Lyn used to be, but I didn't see any sign of him." Which was only to be expected. The fortress had been destroyed for years, she'd been looking for a particular vampire at the time, and dragons preferred mountainous regions. Talderia had been low-lying even before the entire city became a pit in the middle of southern Ithillin; not exactly the place a dragon was likely to be hanging around. Unless he was bound to some sort of promise to come to the fortresses' aid, but she hadn't heard any stories that would suggest that was the case. Or maybe they'd never been under sufficient direct attack before Erhan Lyn was lost? It was hard to say. A blush stood out incredibly clearly on her pale skin. "W-Well, I don't have any friend as impressive as Thrinax. But Elionne got me a bunny once, and we named it Elei." Which was, in turn, part of the name of a minor rabbit-eared folk deity. Probably some lesser divine spirit that hung around the elves a lot, with the full name being Eleinwyl.</s> <|message|>Steffen Gravinir ⚘ Steffen Gravinir ⚘ --- More undeads fell, not few were as forgiving as the Knight Captain's clean and elegant swordplay. The Ingvarr felt little satisfaction as he smashed the joints of one of the last undeads who were willing to put up a fight for their wretched masters who forcefully disturbed their spirits, before brutally stomped on their skull, the bones cracked like corns to fire, the amethyst fire raging extinguished for good. They felt no pain, but the livings would feel no pleasure hearing this was the final end to their ancestors. But only this would guarantee their eternal rests. However, the path forward was still not yet clear. Something within his sixth sense immediately stabbed at his heart the moment that gleaming light sliced through the darkness, perhaps just as fast as the Knight Captain's, but unlike her, he was too far away to act. Thankfully, it was the Knight Captain, and she managed to slip from danger by a hair's breadth. Twice. Suspicions fired off the more this new enemy made himself known to him and his fellow knights. The titanic structure of a man, the large clunky axe, glowing mythical luminescence, the long beard, and most importantly the fancy armor. The hellish beast decoration were not just for intimidation. They looked unfamiliar to Thalnese inhabitants, but these patterns were more common sights for the northerners, especially for those familiar with Barukstaed. A land older than time, harder than a serpent scale, untamed and hellish cold... Fanilly wanted the new enemy to be at least kept occupied, as it was pretty instinctive that neutralizing this armoured hulk of an enemy was not going to be easy. As the man took a step forward, the Ingvarr too stepped a foot in front of the Knight Captain, his action conveyed just as much as his unspoken words of volunteers. He would take this fight. For the mission, but also for his curiosity. He wanted to confirm what he likely already knew. Steffen stopped right outside of the axe strike range of his enemy, the only part of his body close enough would be his right foot, which he put down without a sound. Glaring straight at the steelclad conspirator for a brief second, the foot that seemed indecisive one moment earlier immediately dug into the stone. Within an eye-blink, Steffen was deep in his strike range, his war hammer already on a downward swing right towards him. However, his opponent read his palm, as both weapons slammed into one another with mighty reverberance, creating a lock. A titanic force against an unbowing mountain. Steffen pushed his strength forward down, seemingly gaining the upper hand, but quickly realized his mistake. His opponent was trying to slide the hammer into an uncomfortable position before retaliating with his own immense strength. Thus, the Ingvarr very swiftly broke the lock on his own terms and quickly moved away from any counter attacks. "This feels familiar..." Steffen mumbled. This strength...he'd be here for a while. "I'd need a helping hand, to be certain." He turned to his knights. He could probably go neck in neck with him in a duel, but this is not supposed to be a duel. There is no honor to be had here, nor is there any that Steffen wanted. He wanted this person neutralized, the hostage rescued and the tomb cleansed. Nothing more. "Oh, and Captain, take these." He took out the vials from Sir Fleuri's and tossed it to Fanilly. "Knock them dead...again." @HereComesTheSnow@ERode@Crimson Paladin</s>

<|message|>Cecilia Now why had she gone to a crypt again? This place was ill-suited for an archer like her, wasn't it? Cramped hallways, poor vision…but even so, her mind was elsewhere. She had been put in well, not a bad mood but certainly one of mild brooding. Part of her felt relieved at seeing her again, but on the other hand another part of her wished she hadn't. She wanted to put that whole thing behind her, after all, and getting involved with them again wouldn't be any good. "What's the matter Cecil? Do I need to give you a kiss or something to cheer you up?" "For once, I'm the one that feels annoyed by such a comment." "Tsk, did meeting her really put you in that bad of a mood? You should have stayed behind if it was going to bother you that much." "And do what, Shael? Introduce myself as a wanted fugitive and traitor like the rest of my family?" "What would they do, hm? I'd rip that entire palace to shreds with a storm if they tried to harm a pretty little hair on your head." "...you can be surprisingly overprotective sometimes, can't you?" "Tsk. You say that like Im the reason you haven't died an ignoble death yet." She didn't respond, Serenity's shout pulling the archer from her thoughts. Despite the instructions and the clear, commanding voice of Serenity's though, Cecil was a bit too late to react. She hadn't drawn her bow yet, nor even knocked an arrow or even started flinging any spells by the time the others had engaged. She had been far too focused on her own thoughts, distracted and in the following seconds it took her to prepare herself the other undead had swiftly been dealt with. It was a good thing she had collected herself enough by the time this large, hulking mass of a man appeared wielding what seemed to be an enchanted axe of some sort. "I'll help escort the captain further down!" Cecil shouted. Her arrows wouldn't be particularly effective here, either. Too cramped. Too many people. Still, she could at least help provide some form of distraction for this behemoth of a man and make it a bit easier to push past him. —----------- Steffen engaged the man first, weapons mightily clanging against each other as they made a contest of strength out of it. As Steffen pulled himself back out of retaliatory strike range, the armored man didn't so much as flinch or allow himself to slow down. With nothing more than a battle cry, he charged towards Steffan, the runic axe glowing with arcane power as it swung towards Steffan. As it made contact with either his opponent, the ground again, or another blade, a powerful explosion would send anything flying if not outright severely injuring an opponent.</s>

<|description|>Alodia Farohildis * Age: 50, which comes as a surprise to most due to her magically slowed aging and her general demeanour. * Gender: Female * Race: Human * Appearance: Stands at about 146cm/4'9" * Personality: A good natured witch who tries her best to help others. Alodia is generally cheerful, although she finds it difficult to talk with others due to the vast majority of the social activity in her life being with a single old lady in the middle of the forest. Not to say that's she particularly shy, she just has trouble filtering her thoughts whenever she talks and often says more than she really should or something she really shouldn't have. There's rarely any actual malice behind what she says, it's just she doesn't really think properly before she says it. Despite witches still being the subject of taboos and prejudice, Alodia is proud to declare herself one and is quick to try and share Granny's words of wisdom... Even if she sometimes mangles what Granny actually said. Even though she's generally a good person, Alodia has a tendency to get a little overenthusiastic when it comes to destructive spells, and may need to be lectured on the concept of "collateral damage" at some point in the future. * Brief Backstory: Alodia was an unwanted child. The full identities of her parents have been lost to time, but what is known about them is that they were minor nobles from the north of Thaln. The birth of a child should have been a time for celebration, but any joy to be had in her birth was immediately deflated as soon as her parents looked at their baby girl. Even a brief glance was enough for anyone to realize that she did not look at all like her father; those who had been serving her family for the past year would instead notice that her appearance was far more like that of a foreign diplomat who had been staying with them, one whose departure for his homeland was soon followed by her mother discovering she was pregnant. In order to prevent a scandal from breaking out, everyone present at the birth was ordered on pain of death to claim that she had been a stillbirth and that she would instead be raised in secrecy, never to leave the mansion's walls until something to do with her was figured out. For eight years, this state of affairs was kept in place, until the day of her eighth birthday arrived; her father, who had been incredibly distant from her since the moment of her birth, came to her chambers and asked her if she'd like to see the outside world. For a sheltered girl who had been denied her parents' affections, this was all she had ever dreamed of and without even thinking about it answered in the affirmative. Her father had decided that the best way to deal with her was to simply dispose of her, leaving her lost in the middle of a forest full of wolves and worse so he could at least claim that he wasn't the one that killed a child. Once he had led her there, he asked her to wait for him like a good daughter, before proceeding to head home with no intention of ever returning to her. It didn't take long for her to realize what was going on, but by that point she was still hopelessly lost and unable to find her father, and the only thing she could do was just sit and wait for the beasts of the forest to devour her. At least, that's what both she and her father had assumed would happen. Whilst he had heard rumours of a witch living in the forest in addition to the ravenous beasts, like everyone who knew of her he had heard she was a horribly grotesque and wickedly evil hag who loved nothing better than eating the flesh of children. Thankfully for the young girl, such tales were little more than the results of superstition and prejudice, for the woman who approached her was a kindly, grandmotherly woman who was disgusted to learn that someone had left a child in her forest to die. Without even a second thought, the witch took the young girl back to her home, and although it took a while for her to realize that the old woman wasn't going to eat her she eventually came to see her as her true family. "Granny", as she came to call her, renamed the girl "Alodia", for she felt her birthname had been tainted by the actions of her father, and due to the young girl's curiosity she soon began teaching her the secrets of witchcraft. Time passed and Alodia grew into a young woman, whilst Granny's age began to catch up to her. Whilst she could have used her magic to extend her already considerable lifespan even more, she had started to regret living so long, wishing to peacefully return to the earth rather than be corrupted by agelessness like some of her fellow witches had become. Despite her initial reluctance, Alodia eventually realized that it was Granny's right to choose her own fate, and that whilst her physical body would be gone her spirit would always be with her. It still took her a while to get over it, though. With Granny having left the mortal coil, Alodia decided that she wanted to at least make sure her name was remembered for the good witch she actually was, and thus began visiting the villages and towns around the forest. From this, she found out that her former family had long since fallen into ruin and obscurity... Not that she really cared what had happened to them, mind you. Soon she became known as the Witch of the Deep Forest, growing in popularity amongst the commoners for providing cheap medicines and taking on various oddjobs and monster slaying requests. However, many years living alone with Granny had led her to not realize when to stop talking about something. One thing Granny had passed down to her in addition to the teachings of witchcraft was her religious beliefs, an animistic system that claimed that the world was governed by elementals and spirits, and that even the so-called "gods" were nothing more than simply exceptionally powerful spirits; that mighty though they may be, they were no more divine than any other being in the world. What got her into trouble was that this included the goddesses Reon and Mayon, and her talking too much about this ended with her being arrested for heresy. Thankfully, the judge was somewhat lenient, and knew about Alodia's acts of charity amongst the community. However, this did not change the fact that she was not only a witch but her words (however clearly misguided they may have been) were still heresy. After much contemplation, it was decided that she would atone for her sin by providing magical aid to the Iron Rose Knights, since not only would it allow her to continue positively contributing to society but would also help teach her the truth about the goddesses. Thus, she is currently attached to the knights for the time being, even if some of the more religiously devout or superstitious knights aren't too keen on having a heretical witch hanging around the order. * Equipment: Alodia possesses two magical artifacts inherited from Granny. The first of these, the Staff of Sureban, is a staff of blessed wood topped by the skull of a powerful demon; not only does Alodia use this as a catalyst for casting spells but it also amplifies her magical power. The second is an ancient tome of magic, The Malveillant Grimoire, which contains many powerful spells within its pages. However, not only are many of these spells too powerful for Alodia to properly control, but some of them are of the darkest magicks and cause horrifying and unspeakable things to happen to not only the target but also the caster themselves if they are not properly prepared. Due to Alodia's nature, she is very reluctant to even look at the pages detailing these spells. * Skills: Alodia has studied witchcraft for several decades now, and whilst there's always something new to learn she's rather adept at it by this point. She is extremely skilled in the arts of medicine and potion making, and is able to easily identify plants and fungi that can be used in making various different concoctions. As for combat skills, Alodia shows great skill at magic utilizing the four elements of earth, fire, wind and water, and is able to weave any of them into powerful spells. However, she shows a notable (and somewhat alarming) preference for fire magic, or more specifically explosion magic; the way she sees it, if she has to use offensive magic, she'd rather make sure the target isn't getting back up again than hold back and risk letting them get away.</s> <|message|>Shanil Haddly Shanil was fairly sure she had bumped into someone who had once been a mercenary but she wasn't really sure. The elf had taken only a limited amount of time to learn the names and histories of her fellow knights. The few she had learned were those at the command level and that annoyance Cecilia. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword as she prepared for anything. Especially when their leader ran off to inspect what might as well be a dead man. Of course, it would be expected for a bunch of men to jump out of the trees for such obvious bait. It didn't even take their commander saying, "To Arms!" for Shanil to rush forward. Her magically enhanced strength pushing her forward as she freed her greatsword from the confines of it's specially created sheath that she could free by magic. "Release." Her first word in quite some time was spoken followed by an audible click. The woman swung the blade free of it's prison and brought it to rest on her shoulder. As she charged forward towards the first of her targets. A bandit wielding an axe and shield. As she was about in full melee with him, a three more bandits had dropped from the trees around her. It wasn't a problem of course. It saved her the trouble of going to them. She gripped her sword with both hands and swung it at the shielded bandit. He was not fully prepared to be blown off his feet by a elven woman perhaps as he was knocked back some feet and landed on his ass disorientated. She let the weapons momentum follow through as she spun on her heel towards the next enemy and released the weapon with her dominant hand, merely holding on with her right. Her non-dominant hand rotated its hold on the swords grip and pulled it closer to her so she could make another two handed hold to bring the blade down on her next opponent's head. Whether it be hubris or something else, he failed to move and attempted a block with his weapon but it was not enough and was crushed under the blade. The elven knight then turned to the other two that had been in shock of what they had just witnessed. These two absolutely knew that there would be no blocking and that they would rather try to dodge. Shanil took a swing at one who took a big jump back to escape the slash and the other moved in to attack from her side by bringing an axe down on her head. Shanil caught this attack coming from the corner of her eye. She reacted quicker than the man might have thought she could and brought her weapon up to block the blow. The first bandit with the shield started to regain his bearings so Shanil gave a small sigh. "Tendrils of shadow, rise from the earth, bind my enemies." A small chant but it had more than enough of an effect. The two bandits next to her would feel that they couldn't move their feet from where they stood. A small hint of fear was noticeable in their eyes. It was easy enough to end the two with one slash of her sword. There was only one more left. Shanil roughly kicked him flat on his back and hefted her sword up high pointing down at his chest. Before baring it down.</s> <|message|>Katerina Valentina Katerina spotted something out in the middle of the road -- a man, his blood nearly bursting as he barely limped to his side weakly. She looked over him, the old fellow barely seeming to keep it together, blood bursting from his stomach, and a crimson, enfeebled hand which had long been coloured white was now awash in his own ichor. From how he struggled, it seemed like he possessed just enough strength to maintain what was left of his consciousness -- and even that would wither to nothing soon. Her accomplices on the other hand, a bit more acute to their surroundings than Katerina made haste to the treelines around them. One -- the blonde, Serenity, she knew -- barked orders, calling for cover and formation. And before the good Captain could reach out to call forth her proclamations, soon was the tide of battle crashing down before her. Well, first things first, Katerina would need to perform the chief of her duties -- there far too much foliage here for any serious offense, and without knowing the position of any more hostages nor assailants, Katerina dismissed any notion of serious offense. A stray lightning bolt could very well set a tree on fire even if it strayed ever slightly from its target -- a fire spell, the entire canopy ablaze in seconds. Softly whispering a few words, she knelt down before the injured old man, looking up for a moment, and sensing her assailants in danger, turned her head back down -- first unto him, then unto her belt pouch. She summoned a card from her deck, Katerina snapping it out from the purple mist from which it came. It hovers gently over her extended palm, swirling in its magic mist. The Queen of Graves glided majestically above her hand. Her cold stare piously lords over her band of knights, for the domain of life and death is her sovereign. Katerina nods. A small smile she exchanges with the Queen. "Aye, we're in luck." Katerina, floating the card above, murmured, falling into a deep, whispered enchantment. Energy rushed around her, a dismal wind blowing in her presence as it nearly blasted those around her like a gale tore down a sapling. She posed her fingertips front and skyward, and with a fierce posturing, cast upwards. An aetheric essence flowed upwards, like water gushing from a rupturing old dam, as blasts of flowing magic conjoined with rock-solid vapours swirled around her, they soon flowed off to her allies, coating them in its protective magical veil. Feelings of strength soon surge as the ward envelops around her comrades, wary sinew springing to life and gashes staunched over to life-affirming flesh.</s>

<|message|>Alodia Farohildis Alodia Admittedly, Alodia was a little slow to react to the ambush. Not merely because she was standing at the back, although that probably contributed a little. Really, she was just not used to the idea of someone "playing dead"; after all, doing such a thing in the forest would just lead to you getting snatched up and eaten whilst you waited for whoever you were trying to fool to pass by. Still, when the call to attack was issued she swiftly raised her demon skull-topped staff, and was about to begin an invocation to the fire spirit when the tiny, somewhat grouchy senior member of the knights requested that she avoid fire spells. Really? She could totally control her magic enough to not accidentally burn down the surrounding area, but if she insisted... "Hmph... Let's go with this instead then..." "Lord of the Thunder, Father of Storms, bring forth thy power! THUNDERSTRIKE!" As she yelled out her incantation, the sockets of the demon's skull began to glow blue, before suddenly discharging bolts of lightning at a group of unfortunate bandits; their twitching, smoking bodies lay helplessly as she rushed past them.</s>

<|description|>Sergio della Gherardesca Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Armoured I Unarmoured Sergio stands at around 5'11", certainly taller than a lot of his compatriots, but his figure is more so enhanced by his armour, which tends to make him look more imposing. He has an interesting demeanour outside of combat that can't be masked by plate armour, an elegant and emotive style of body language that is still tinged with a trained and experienced sense of alertness. He also makes a point of keeping strong eye contact in conversation, even if armoured. His eyes are a fiery orange, and his hair a blazing red, and he tends to keep his hair long and in a bushy ponytail when not concealed in an arming cap. While not egoistic, Sergio takes pride in his looks, and this shows in his clear skin and well kept hair, where other Knights would have servants pretty them up, Sergio has always taken care of his appearance when out of combat. He has a few scars, but his most notable is a large dark red diamond shaped mark across his abdominal region, rarely seen due to his tendency to use battle wraps. Personality: About as flowery in demeanour as he is practical in mind. Sergio is a warrior above all else, admiring strength and ingenuity, as well as honour. He also values presentation and appearance, believing a Knight's duty is to look the part, as well as act it. Pious but by no means preachy, he follows the codes set by his religion and order but does not let them enslave him. Contrary to the more strictly defensive doctrine used by some Mayonite zealots, Sergio believes that the best way to protect the good from the evil is proactivity - put simply, the best defense is a good offense. This attitude and his appearance earned Gherardesca his title of "Knight of the Harvest Moon", which he embraced in kind. However, his thirst to prove himself as a teenager left a chip on his shoulder that, whilst not visible from an onlooker, affects him in his downtime. He notably dislikes communal meals and prefers to eat alone. Brief Backstory: Sergio della Gherardesca was born in Southwest Thaln, the first and only son of a family belonging to a minor noble house of the same name. He speaks little of his childhood, only with a fondness and sadness in his eyes when of his father. What is known is that he made an excellent impression on other noble families as a teenager, charming them with his humour and presence, but his mettle was truly tested during the War of the Red Flag, where he was called into action as a squire for a noble of a house of a much higher standing. During his first battle - inside a fort in which they were being besieged he was shocked to realize that the Knight he served was utterly ill equipped and trained, refusing to make plans of attack and resorting to playing passive - a decision that cost their forces heavy losses when the enemy began to cut their supply chains off. Half starving, Sergio disregarded his orders and assembled a sortie of men to raid the enemy camp, the troops in question gladly accepting an actual point of authority. The raid was a huge success, routing the camp and buying enough time to receive proper reinforcements. However, although the troops applauded Sergio's lead, he was given no commendations for the battle, and to his utter disgust, his actions were credited to the Knight he served. Upset, but now emboldened by the knowledge of his purpose as a warrior, the young man fought tooth and nail during the war, often ignoring the wishes of his useless master and earning the love and admiration of the men he served, his natural charisma raising the morale of the troops massively. The war forged a strong and fierce leader out of the growing man, and even though he was never awarded a Knighthood for his actions during any of his battles, at the end of the war, he was finally given some minor lands around his ancestral home, and became a landed Knight in turn. After the war he continued his efforts to protect the people that other hand-me-down nobles had failed to, and often led militia to destroy slaver rings or defend against Orc raiders, slowly but surely gaining a true reputation, and sometimes even working with Reonite Paladins to achieve the same goals. A few years later, his great service to the Kingdom earned him the eye of the Iron Rose Knights, and he was extended a formal invitation, to which he gladly accepted, seeing it as the fruits of his hard work. Equipment: Sergio wears plate armour into battle, which consists of dark silver metal and some leather elements to help with flexibility, as well as a red fabric tabard across his shoulder. He generally carries a dark silver heater shield, two painted crimson horizontal stripes across the front, with him along with his favoured weapon, his warpick/axe. One side is bladed while the other end is pointed, and he wields it in one hand along with his shield. As a backup he carries a rondel dagger for close quarters. Skills: Excellent in both one-on-one and general skirmishes, and excels further with crushing weapons in particular. Generally he can use anything bladed, but two handed weapons pose a challenge for him, and he is wholly inexperienced with ranged weapons. He can also play piano proficiently.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. The knights' return trip was uneventful, despite the prisoners they were transporting and their prisoners' former captives. The former had no morale left to speak of, with their leader decisively crushed and the veterans either dead or reminded just how large the gap between even experienced soldiers and a legendary knightly order could truly be. The freed prisoners, on the other hand, only strained their resources but temporarily, splitting off along the trip to return to their homes where possible--or to at least salvage what they could, where the bandits had destroyed more than they took. The knights' own injuries had been light for the most part, and whilst some care was needed to transport the injured, it neither demanded haste nor slowed them any further. Aimlenn had been built long, long ago, construction having begun shortly after Thaln itself was founded. In spite of the country's embattled history, the capital had never wavered, never fallen. Its tall, strong walls held fast. Aimlenn, among the people, was known as the fortress-city, as the white-grey stone walls, lined with sturdy towers, were a sight known far and wide across the land. The immense steel and wood gate stood before them. In this time of peace, it remained open, and Fanilly led her knights through it. The streets bustled with activity, merchants transporting goods, citizens going about their business, and as they headed in further, nobility and the rich with their entourages of guards, maids, and manservants walking the street. What was universal to all these people is the glance they cast up as the Iron Roses entered. Many, especially the average citizens, looked on in awe as the knights of legend proceeded in, taking with them what could only be those bandits who had hurt and killed so many. The guards, many of them soldiers of Thaln, cast dark glares towards the prisoners. The stone fortress that was home to Aimlenn's garrison and prison soon received the bandits. Their fate was essentially sealed, an execution would greet them. Barring some sort of sudden reprieve (which seemed highly unlikely, to say the least), they were set to die for their murders and thefts. Onwards, the knights went, winding through further streets and towards Candaeln, situated near the royal castle. Once a purely defensive building, over time it had been modified, and its most obvious defensive feature remained the moat. The walls themselves, although thick, had far too many windows, many with stained glass displaying roses, to truly be a defensive structure, and gleaming blue tile covered rooftops that may once have been navigable battlements. Some took the horses around to courtyard's external entrance, the part of the building that most retained its old function as a site of war, whilst others entered the building on foot, through the main doors and under the iron rose itself. Inside, they were greeted with floors of spotless wood, clean and varnished; the walls carefully plastered and painted over. Throughout, relics of the past were artfully arranged--the weapons and armour of prestigious knights, portraits of captains past and other notables. Rare was the hallway or room that would lack any adornment, even if a strange number of landscape paintings could be found mixed amongst them all. Closest to the entrance, in a place of honour, was the Saint's Blade, the Starlight Sword, Bane of the Vos Korvungand. The sword that had taken the head of Meryn the Kinslaughterer. The weapon that had pierced the heart of Volkstraad the red dragon. The silvery, almost ethereal-seeming blade of the Starlight Saint of Roses, lay carefully locked inside of glass case. The blade was strong, but elegant, a sharp tip and a razor edge with a star-shaped crossguard. Soon after they entered, the captain and various knights split to go their different ways, an order of rest granted. Of course, no sooner had the captain gone to attend to her own matters, a courier arrived at the entrance, bearing a message... --- Tyaethe The vampire was particularly glad to be done with travelling and out of the sunlight, having been carefully angling a parasol for a good deal of the return trip as the weather grew fair and bright. With little in the way of unpacking to do, Tyaethe took but a few minutes to change into casual clothing before returning to the same spot anyone knew to look for her. Within the halls and rooms of Candaeln, there were numerous bay windows offering a sight over the courtyard--some gave a particularly unimpressive view of the smithy's work (fortunately, it was mostly the kitchens that had to deal with such clamour), whilst others looked over the gardens nearest the chapel. Some, however, gave a view over the main courtyard itself, the clear space most often used for sparring or training of one kind or another. One of these windows lay in the former gatehouse turned entrance hall, within easy sight of the founder's sword and armour. In fact, the position of case and window made it easy for anyone occupying the window seat to see that the sword was there. What really made it stand out, when the knights were otherwise engaged, was how none of the other seats in the building appeared to have acquired quite so many mismatched cushions over time. The rest of the time, the most notable thing about it was likely to be the vampire that could be found there, either watching out the window at the knights training, or keeping a constant guard over the relics that lay within. It also made it the ideal place to leave missives intended for the paladin. In this case, a carefully sealed letter, with her name marked both in the common letters used by the various kingdoms and the old elven script Talderia had derived it from. She raised an eyebrow at it, but set it aside to read later, pulling herself onto the seat as always and tilting her head slightly to keep an eye on the sword. "Well, that should be the last of the rebels cleared, or at least all the soldiers," the girl reported, sighing, "We even got off lightly on the casualty front, for all that the bandits managed to capture a griffin. Still, I don't like the order's chances, Elly; we've lost too many veterans. If the new lot don't shape up soon, they're going to be in real trouble if something like Maglad shows up, or we get badly outnumbered..."</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen Loser Serenity shook her head, but it wasn't as if Dame Katerina was looking to begin with. The song faded from her heart, replaced once more by the crackling of flames, the death-twitches of the beast, and the false remorse of bandits and bastards. She wrenched her hatchet from the griffin's skull, inspecting its edge for nicks with a disinterested gaze. Not her kill. ... Resplendent! Serenity paraded alongside the rest of the Iron Roses, her armor gleaming once more in the brilliance of sunlight. She wore her helm still, but with her visor up, the knight's brilliant eyes matched the sky itself, an azure offset by flaxen bangs and fringes that framed her noble face. A knight was a lion, and a lion had to look good. Ever-gallant, she smiled at the commoners that had flocked to enjoy their victory march, her gaze just focused enough that it could be construed that she was looking at an individual while she swept through the collective. The people of Aimlenn had reason to celebrate, after all. A flawless victory over the Bandit King, even with an inexperienced commander and the retirement of most of the old guard prior to this, was cause to celebrate. It was good that the corpses of the fallen were wrapped up and placed discretely in a separate wagon. Better that healing magic allowed for injuries incurred to be hidden beneath sparkling plate and polished boots. Sir Rickert was dead. Dame Shanil was missing. A flawless victory, nonetheless. Off on the other side, Serenity caught a glimpse of the griffin's plumage, pinned to Sir Fleuri's helmet. Loyalty to Reon, and loyalty to the Iron Rose? No, beyond noble pretensions, it appeared the Flower remained. A smirk surfaced. It was a bright day, but still, it was cold. ... "Dame Morianne." The approach had been sudden, a storm broiling into being from once-clear skies. Serenity had waited just long enough for the knights to scatter before she strode towards the elven troubadour, cornering her before slamming a hand against the wall, inches away from Morianne's elongated ears. A thunderclap, with a gaze like frozen lightning, though her facade remained composed still. "You are a talented artist and a caster of repute," the younger knight spoke, her voice low. "But I've no interest in being the object of your spellsongs. Save them for someone who...possesses more idealism than battle sense." A pause, a slight loosening of expression. It would be easy enough to envision the most appropriate candidates, under such descriptions. "Please." If there was nothing of import that Morianne had to say, Serenity would retract her extended arm, take a step back, and smile. "Ah, and good kill." With that, she spared not one more glance as she strode for the smithy.</s>

<|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Having changed out of his armour, and given it to the smith for repairs and polishing, the Knight had dressed himself into his usual outfit of choice for outside wear. On top of his white frilled silk shirt, a three buttoned, long tailed jacket flowed past his waist and toward his legs, bright gold accents and a fiery red dye made him positively shine in the daylight, the sleeves tight around his wrists. He adjusted his black neckerchief as he strode out of Candaeln, his red hair tied back to keep from obscuring his vision, lest a malevolent gust of wind were to sabotage a perfectly lovely conversation. He stood tall, smiling as he was finally able to see the sun's light in all its glory, with his helmet off - the thought of the moon rising later made him ever the more excited. It was these tiny things that made R&R so wonderful. As he stepped across the bridge, still mesmerised by the day, he absentmindedly nearly walked into Lein.</s>

<|description|>Sergio della Gherardesca Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Armoured I Unarmoured Sergio stands at around 5'11", certainly taller than a lot of his compatriots, but his figure is more so enhanced by his armour, which tends to make him look more imposing. He has an interesting demeanour outside of combat that can't be masked by plate armour, an elegant and emotive style of body language that is still tinged with a trained and experienced sense of alertness. He also makes a point of keeping strong eye contact in conversation, even if armoured. His eyes are a fiery orange, and his hair a blazing red, and he tends to keep his hair long and in a bushy ponytail when not concealed in an arming cap. While not egoistic, Sergio takes pride in his looks, and this shows in his clear skin and well kept hair, where other Knights would have servants pretty them up, Sergio has always taken care of his appearance when out of combat. He has a few scars, but his most notable is a large dark red diamond shaped mark across his abdominal region, rarely seen due to his tendency to use battle wraps. Personality: About as flowery in demeanour as he is practical in mind. Sergio is a warrior above all else, admiring strength and ingenuity, as well as honour. He also values presentation and appearance, believing a Knight's duty is to look the part, as well as act it. Pious but by no means preachy, he follows the codes set by his religion and order but does not let them enslave him. Contrary to the more strictly defensive doctrine used by some Mayonite zealots, Sergio believes that the best way to protect the good from the evil is proactivity - put simply, the best defense is a good offense. This attitude and his appearance earned Gherardesca his title of "Knight of the Harvest Moon", which he embraced in kind. However, his thirst to prove himself as a teenager left a chip on his shoulder that, whilst not visible from an onlooker, affects him in his downtime. He notably dislikes communal meals and prefers to eat alone. Brief Backstory: Sergio della Gherardesca was born in Southwest Thaln, the first and only son of a family belonging to a minor noble house of the same name. He speaks little of his childhood, only with a fondness and sadness in his eyes when of his father. What is known is that he made an excellent impression on other noble families as a teenager, charming them with his humour and presence, but his mettle was truly tested during the War of the Red Flag, where he was called into action as a squire for a noble of a house of a much higher standing. During his first battle - inside a fort in which they were being besieged he was shocked to realize that the Knight he served was utterly ill equipped and trained, refusing to make plans of attack and resorting to playing passive - a decision that cost their forces heavy losses when the enemy began to cut their supply chains off. Half starving, Sergio disregarded his orders and assembled a sortie of men to raid the enemy camp, the troops in question gladly accepting an actual point of authority. The raid was a huge success, routing the camp and buying enough time to receive proper reinforcements. However, although the troops applauded Sergio's lead, he was given no commendations for the battle, and to his utter disgust, his actions were credited to the Knight he served. Upset, but now emboldened by the knowledge of his purpose as a warrior, the young man fought tooth and nail during the war, often ignoring the wishes of his useless master and earning the love and admiration of the men he served, his natural charisma raising the morale of the troops massively. The war forged a strong and fierce leader out of the growing man, and even though he was never awarded a Knighthood for his actions during any of his battles, at the end of the war, he was finally given some minor lands around his ancestral home, and became a landed Knight in turn. After the war he continued his efforts to protect the people that other hand-me-down nobles had failed to, and often led militia to destroy slaver rings or defend against Orc raiders, slowly but surely gaining a true reputation, and sometimes even working with Reonite Paladins to achieve the same goals. A few years later, his great service to the Kingdom earned him the eye of the Iron Rose Knights, and he was extended a formal invitation, to which he gladly accepted, seeing it as the fruits of his hard work. Equipment: Sergio wears plate armour into battle, which consists of dark silver metal and some leather elements to help with flexibility, as well as a red fabric tabard across his shoulder. He generally carries a dark silver heater shield, two painted crimson horizontal stripes across the front, with him along with his favoured weapon, his warpick/axe. One side is bladed while the other end is pointed, and he wields it in one hand along with his shield. As a backup he carries a rondel dagger for close quarters. Skills: Excellent in both one-on-one and general skirmishes, and excels further with crushing weapons in particular. Generally he can use anything bladed, but two handed weapons pose a challenge for him, and he is wholly inexperienced with ranged weapons. He can also play piano proficiently.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Gerard. Well, he'd certainly put some effort in, to Sergio's surprise - although he suspected much of that was due to urging from his companions. He couldn't fault him too much, Lein on the other hand seemed to have put precisely too much effort in. It was an unfortunate reality that Gerard simply did not suit a doublet. He wasn't a noble - not that it mattered - and wasn't a talker either. He was clad in a disguise, essentially, dressed like someone that he wasn't. Were Sergio to have been the one to be confided in, he'd have chosen perhaps a jacket not too dissimilar to the one Lein had besmirched days prior - pure black. The amber was tacky. The Knight of the Harvest Moon, all the while, was draped in a black doublet of his own, relatively tight to his frame and flanked by a short cloak, the inside of which had been stitched with a fiery red fabric. A few frills came out from the wrists, and his trousers had been tapered, oddly similar to Gerard's choice in that aspect. Most importantly, though, the Knight had taken ample care in accentuating his complexion for the night - as he always did when he had an excuse - his skin glowed ever so slightly and his eyes had been painstakingly given leeway to stand out. His ruby irises looked in their element here. Sergio's hair, despite usually being tied up, had been allowed to flow down to his shoulders finally, brushed and pampered to the point of softness. He sipped ever gently from a glass of the same red wine Gerard had - meeting the man's glance with a grin of his own. He had been waiting for an opportunity to speak to him at leisure. "Buonasera, Ser Gerard. This ball, is it to be your first, eh?"</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion When someone is nervous, they may want to take comfort in food. Especially when there is such a wealth of excellent cooking on display. It was said that the two greatest of chefs in all of Thaln resided in Aimlenn: One in Candaeln, and one in the Royal Castle itself. The array of edibles on display ranged from piping hot pot pies, to golden-brown fresh roast duck, to honey-glazed pork, to a lovely-looking rack of lamb. The scent that emanated from the food table was one that indicated quality, the savory flavors of seared and roasted meats, vegetables cooked to perfection serving as sides... And of course, there was the impressive-looking multi-tiered cake, decorated with some manner of dark purple and gold frosting, resting on the most distant table closest to the opposite end of the hall to the entrance. The fact that Fanilly was as nervous as she was and that there was so much lovely food on display made her reaction only natural. The young Knight-Captain found herself taking a plate from the table and approaching the food even as the herald continued to announce the knights as they entered. The blonde girl was only a few steps away from the roast duck when someone approached her. It wasn't unexpected. Fanilly knew that she was likely to be approached across the whole knight, and had done her best to steel herself for that outcome. Undoubtedly some of the nobles who were among the guests knew her from before her ascension as the Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights, and others would desire to meet her. On top of all that, she had to anticipate being spoken to by the Princess herself given the nature of the invitation. What she hadn't expected in the least was the presence of a hundi noblelady. She supposed it wasn't impossible, given that the dog-like race lived only just across the border in the South of Ithillin, and that one of the knights she had selected to attend the ball was himself one as well. But she didn't remember ever speaking to a hundi noblelady, at least not recently. Was this someone she had met when she was very young? Smiling sheepishly, Fanilly fidgeted a little before responding. "F-forgive me, but if we met before it must have been very long ago," she began, head bobbing apologetically, "Your name is...?" --- Fanilly was not the only one who had been approached for conversation. In perhaps what was possibly Sir Gerard Segremors's worst nightmare given the situation, it was not long at all before some of the nobility noticed him and Sir Sergio and approached them. In what may have been a source of relief for him they were not seeming to look for a way to use a conversation with him politically. Three young noble girls had approached the men, two of which had eyes sparkling with excitement while the third looked more or less bored with the entire situation. "Aaaah, good Sir Knights!" called the first girl, who had trailing blonde hair in refined curls and a red and white dress. She looked towards her two companions at her sides with a somewhat smug smile on her face, "See? Didn't I tell you they would be here?!" "Ah, how exciting!" cried a second, this one seeming to be the eldest of the three. She was clad in a blue and white dress, her blonde hair paler and worn loose. "Yoohoo, Sir Knights!" She waved towards Sir Gerald and Sir Sergio. The third girl, who appeared to be the youngest of the three and had black, neatly-cut hair and a black dress, looked rather less enthusiastic. "It's not as if it was a secret or anything..." she half-murmured in a rather flat tone with a sigh. Still, she followed the other two girls as they eagerly crowded around the man. "Tell us of your adventurers, Sirs!" said the first girl, "We wish oh so much to hear of them!" "Yes, tell us, tell us!" declared the second. The third simply sighed. --- Of course, the knights were not the only guests of particular interest tonight. To the left of the hall their stood a girl in a blue dress, no older then thirteen. Her gray hair was up in wavy pigtails, already distinct before being coupled with her almost golden eyes. Her slight features contrasted with a rather sharp gaze, and her slender figure contrasted with the one who stood beside her. A towering knight, pitch black plate armor completely obscuring their features, obsidian surface gleaming in the light of the party. While the one they presumably guarded was quite petite, the opposite could be said of the knight. They stood at least a head taller then even the next tallest partygoer. Perhaps more. There was no mistaking the girl for anyone else. Veilena Cazt. The daughter of the traitorous Anzel Cazt. At only eight years old, she had demanded that her father be buried in disgrace, in an unmarked grave. And yet, that did not clear her of suspicion in the eyes of some of the other nobility. Her magical talent was that of a prodigy, having entered the College when she was only ten years old. For the moment, she was drinking some manner of crimson, non-alcoholic drink, seated close to the window, as her guardian stood wordlessly beside her. Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@ERode@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane</s>

<|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Gerard's response had been cut short by a trio of teenagers, 2/3 over enthusiastic. A shame. Sergio made a mental note to take Gerard aside properly later in the night, perhaps after more of the wine had been consumed. For now, though, the Knight greeted the girls with an extra charming smile - playing the part up. His arms spread as he bowed dramatically for them. "Signore, would it not be rude to not ask of your names before we regale you of our stories?" He glanced to Gerard. "Like that of the mighty bandit lord, eh?"</s>

<|description|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Vier stands at 6' 2", having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about. Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn't believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn't be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier's steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won't give up on an issue until it's solved. He's got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won't cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward. Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick. This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn't know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage's College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier's father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he'd come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier's story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey. After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight. Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt. Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn't the stuff of stories, it's palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn't measure up to any nobleman.</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion The ball was bustling. People were everywhere. The girls talking with Sir Gerard. Lady Veilena, briefly eyeing Velbrance as she prepared to speak. The First Princess, excitedly approaching two of the three living founding Knights. The grim visage of Haelstadt observing the ball from the sidelines. Fanilly opened her mouth. She was going to greet Veilena, and Dame Serenity. But then there was a voice in her ear. It was a little girl's. "Ahead of the First Princess. Look now." "Ah...?" Her eyes travelled swiftly across ball, and widened when they fell upon something that shouldn't have been there. A hooded figure, exceptionally small, a short crossbow in one hand, leather and cloth in dark colors covering her body. Almost-gleaming yellow eyes beneath the good. Somehow no-one around her seemed to notice as one delicate hand trained the crossbow on First Princess Elisandre- Fanilly was already turning, running. She didn't understand what was happening, how the small assassin had managed to get so far without even a single person seeing her. But she had to be stopped, she had to! "Stop her! Stop her now...!" The trigger was pulled. The bolt flew. But it never reached its target. It had stopped, one delicate, elegant hand gripping it and having ended its trajectory instantly. Lilette's stern gaze fell upon the would-be Assassin, as she lowered her hand. Crimson dripped from her palm, but still she held fast on the bolt. "Iron Roses, to arms!" cried Fanilly, "Stop her! Do not let the assassin escape!" An attempted assassination of one of the royal family, here, now? So brazenly in the middle of the ball? But how was it that no-one had seen the assailant until now? These questions raced through the Knight-Captain's mind. But that was why the assassin had to be captured, not killed. "BAR THE EXITS!" bellowed Sir Adeforth's voice over the crowds, "What in the blazes were you doing!? Bar them now! Now!" The crown knights were moving as swiftly as possible to bar any potential routes of escape. But the small assassin was moving, too, swiftly, even after having frozen in shock at being discovered she was darting away as quickly as possible. "Haelstadt!" came Veilena's voice as well, "Get ahead of her!" The towering black knight as moving now, as well. They had to stop the assassin. They had to capture her. The had to know what was going on...! Chaos@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen @The Otter@VahkiDane@PigeonOfAstora Whatever response she had for Velbrance evaporated at the assassin's presence. Hooded, certainly, but where had she come from? How incompetent did the guard detail have to be to not notice such an obviously suspicious figure? And how utterly idiotic did the assassin have to be, to decide that this was the best opportunity they had to assassinate a princess? When the Paladin and the Gentle Blade, as well as a whole squadron of knights were present? Even if Dame Lilette had not caught the bolt, any number of them would have gladly taken the shot for Princess Elisandre. Serenity could feel it. The flame in her stomach turn into steel, echoed details harmonizing within her mind. The chaos of the ballroom, guests making way while the knights flooded in, broiled like a sea in storm. She couldn't make a throw from here, and pursuit would only add to the chaos now. Her eyes flickered towards Veilena. The prodigy of the Mage's College wasn't casting. Haelstadt charged forth, but agility fit not the frame of a giant, no matter how skillful. The Crown Knights were in a better position here, especially when the assassin themselves already had a headstart on the Iron Rose, through the merits of a ranged weapon. She knew what she would do, but she wasn't Fanilly. "Captain." Her hand clasped upon the small girl's shoulder. Enough force to ground their inexperienced Captain. "A drop of royal blood is worth more than an assassin's lies. The Crown Knights and their mages can track the assassin, but we need to clear out the area and get Princess Elisandre and Princess Maletha away from here." What stupidity would inspire an assassin to take a shot that would undoubtedly have failed? Perhaps not stupidity then. A diversion. Eyes focused on tracking one elusive form, while another blended into the chaos of pursuit and danger, to draw their own blade and reap the only lives here that had value. A simple, but effective scheme. And one, admittedly, that still looked likely to fall flat on its face, considering the proximity of both the Paladin and the Gentle Blade. Except, of course... Serenity released her grip on Fanilly, azure eyes already finding another's. "Sir Fionn, Lein; escort Her Highness over! Sir Sergio, cover one side of Princess Elisandre; I'll cover the other." Mayon above, what she'd give for a shield right now.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe The vampire's response to the entire attempted assassination was... to nearly raise her hand fully before putting it down again as the Lilette moved faster, and then draining the glass. Somehow, in the confusion, she even managed to pull off swiping one from someone else as the crowd parted, looking around for the assassin. Hm, couldn't see them. But was that because the assassin was short, or because she was? It could really go either way. "No, Arcedeen," her voice was loud and clear, despite the din, "The princesses will be safe with Lilette and me; you all capture the assassin. We need to know what's going on now, not give them a week to try again and cover their tracks." After all, she could stop an assassination attempt without running around. Chasing down the assassin? No chance. And she really didn't have time to stop and explain that to the other knights in this situation. Just point at a very confused and aghast-looking crown knight and... yes, she had a sword now. Lilette was guarding Elisandre, so she she'd just have to go fetch Maletha and escort her over.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen It was a stroke of luck that Renar had even noticed the crossbow being drawn by the small, hooded figure. He'd been idly glancing around the party to avoid paying too much overt attention towards the royals, even as he listened in. By the time Fanilly shouted in alarm, his sword was halfway out of its scabbard as he started rushing forward. Unfortunately, he was nowhere quick enough to intercept the crossbow bolt. Fortunately, the Gentle Blade had that covered. He'd halted for just a moment to confirm the princess's safety before taking off in a sprint after the assassin. Serenity and Tyaethe's words echoed in his ears, and he noted with some amusement that Serenity wasn't even bothering to give him orders. Fortunately, the First and Youngest's sentiments echoed his own in this situation. The priority was to go for the capture. Stopping an assassination was all well and good, but these sorts of things had to be cut off at the source. Someone wanted a royal of Thaln dead, and depending on who made the commission, it could result in war. With this in mind, Renar thanked the sun and moon that the assassin was rather short. Agile, yes. But he was gaining on them, thanks to the difference in the length of their strides. In the corner of his eye, he noticed the massive wall of black armor that was presumably a knight, and he settled on his plan. As Renar sprinted past an alarmed serving boy, he snatched the empty, circular serving tray the man was carrying with his left hand, his right still clutching his sword. "I'll be borrowing this." He said hastily as he tore after the assassin. As Haelstadt moved to cut the killer off, Renar took the tray and hurled it like a discus, aiming for the fleeing figure's back. Even as he threw, he poured on the speed in one final burst, aiming to catch the assassin and tackle them to the ground while they were occupied with dodging or being hit. Oh, to imagine Felix's face if he pulled this off...</s>

<|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Vier had a flurry of emotions running through him after the assassination attempt. The main one was disbelief that someone would try something so blatant in a ballroom filled with warriors. That disbelief was curbed with the realization of how small the assassin was, and who they targeted. Vier was mostly frozen until Fanilly's call to arms, snapping him into attention. He saw Renar run off to grab the assassin, and weighed the option of following him. On one hand, there's not many places safer that by the Gentle Blade's side, and there might be more assassins who'd like to try again. If he simply stayed here and sipped champagne, no one would really blame him. But on the other hand, there's no way his pride would let him faff about, twiddling his thumbs while others did the rough work. So, he got up, unsheathed both his swords, internally smacking himself for not bringing armor to the ball. He had thought he might not need it for once. He wouldn't make that mistake twice. So he followed Renar, staying a small distance behind him in case the assassin or his fellow Iron Rose did something drastic.</s>

<|description|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Vier stands at 6' 2", having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about. Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn't believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn't be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier's steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won't give up on an issue until it's solved. He's got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won't cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward. Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick. This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn't know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage's College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier's father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he'd come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier's story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey. After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight. Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt. Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn't the stuff of stories, it's palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn't measure up to any nobleman.</s> <|message|>Steffen Gravinir ⚘ Steffen Gravinir ⚘ --- Despite his anxiety circulating through his body at the unknown event currently happening inside the ballroom, Steffen carried out his duty principally, walking up and down the hallway to the royal quarters looking for any movement or individuals that might be hiding from plain sight to finish off what couldn't. He only knew that it was an assassination, but on who and who the assassin was was not known to him, until the third and final time he returned to the ballroom to check on the situation, that's when he saw a wolf-eared individual, whistling from beneath the sea of noble heads, making his way over to him. He recognized the Hundi lad. Sir Lein. He hadn't interacted with him much but his name popped up several times in his records for not exactly great reasons. However, from what he heard, he's otherwise a mischievous and interesting one. "On the princess? That's daring." He gave a concerned look over in the direction of the attention, not seeing clearly what was going on, but given the lack of major movement, it looked like the assassin may have gotten subdued as Lein said. If that's the case, he saw no need to work on something someone had already worked on. Besides, he found no pleasure in torturing or interrogating the perpetrators. "I think there's enough hands, and will be enough soon." He wasn't sure what exactly they are doing, it didn't seem like hitting up the assassin, but the most important part was that she was in custody, so they should be able to extract information from her sooner or later. The other most important part at the moment was to get his Highness to safety, and it was exactly what the knights assigned him to do. "I've been checking the hallways, it seems safe, but nothing wrong with going over it again with a clear eyes. And umm..." Steffen's finger tapped on his shoulder a little reservedly. "If that is favourable for you, Sir Lein, you're welcome to." Steffen was not aware of Hundi's riding on shoulders for fighting or for better visions, maybe it's just a thing for Lein, but he was fine with it either ways. They were light, and he was strong enough to not be impeded much by their weight. Maybe...he never had to fight with someone on his shoulders yet.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors @VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@ERode Another day might have seen him do more than simply leave his reply to Tyaethe's reasoning for tickling a flat, dry, momentary look. While he could see the framework of logic beneath it, there was a certain specificity to the act that was... well, two hundred years probably developed a peculiarity or two. He blinked, and turned his gaze back to the matter at hand, satisfied that whatever she'd done had gotten results. As for his act, he pulled the soft fabric free from the nem's throat, no larger than that of a child... And wordlessly took in the long, ragged white scar that greeted him, the insignia of his creeping suspicions. No wonder they couldn't even get a grunt of pain out her; with that butcher job done on the windpipe it was frankly a miracle she could breathe. Certainly, no willful silence. And if one were to assume that this was the work of her employer... "Old wound." he noted aloud, ignoring the brief tingle upon his jaw from a similarly faded scratch. He wasn't any form of healer, but reading the color and edge of a scar by sight was a skill almost impossible to avoid in soldiery. If the wound really was linked to the hit, then obviously, "They sure took their time sending you here, didn't they." It wasn't quite a question. Asking those was the job of the clear-headed and sharp-witted. Instead, he rose to his full height and took a step back, following her gaze with his own as it came to rest upon the silvered rose resting on the Captain's lapel. His eyes then narrowed, shifting between the two. What, did she not know what she was in for, attacking this crowd on this occasion? Didn't track. Didn't make sense. He was going at this from the wrong frame of mind somewhere— that'd bog down the process for those better suited to the task. A half-baked interjection was an unwelcome distraction in the best of cases. He yanked his blade free from the carpet, long rendered unnecessary, and held it at his side. He'd left the sheathe behind, by the table. Hm. If he needed it, he'd grab it. But to know what he'd need... For the second time that day, he mirrored Sir Sergio, and now met the Captain's eyes in full. "Looks like you might get somewhere, Ma'am, if we pursue this." He spoke, indicating the pin with the tip of his sword for a moment before lowering it once more. "Very least you'd be better than me— I'll head where you need me." A fairly level self-assessment, one said less with effacement and more as a matter of fact. Nobody here would have bought any pretense that he didn't squarely fall on the "Sword" end of Dame Serenity's supposition, and while he largely agreed with her ideals on the Order's duty, he couldn't deny his desire for something like actionable information to emerge. Without getting in the way of those already better suited to its coaxing... Was there much else to be done aside from tighten the net, until that time?</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe "I'm pretty sure the Velt Adventurers' Guild hasn't started taking assassination contracts," Tyaethe said, looking over the recovered items with some curiosity. One was a badge for the aforementioned guild--definitely not something that would usually be taking such contracts, and definitely not to take out royalty. Plus, if they had, she would have expected more than one nem assassin... no matter how sneaky she might end up being. The other thing of interest was a note. "Oh, if she's carrying this, I'm pretty sure she's literate." "'Fail and she dies'..." the paladin read out, tilting her head out of interest. Well, that was another wrinkle to it, it didn't look like their hired assassin was all that hired after all. Maybe if they could get her to write something, the handwriting could be compared? It would be a smart move to try and make it seem like you weren't responsible. But with all the interest the even-tinier girl was displaying in Fanilly's pin, ah... how did it go? She'd used to say it a lot, and it was easier to remember things like that with Lilette around. "Why, yes; we're the Iron Roses. Defenders of the Kingdom, Slayers of Monsters, Saviours of the Weak, and Rescuers of Fair Maidens." Ah, even the way the elf buried her face in her hands hadn't changed. "Well, maybe that last part's just me. It used to be Elionne, Parvan, and me."</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion Among the Nem's possessions were a variety of somewhat expected items. A few easily-hidden knives, a dagger that was more like a sword for such a diminutive individual, a set of short-range crossbow bolts for the now-destroyed weapon, and a package of tools likely used for the purpose of disarming traps and opening locks. But the strangest items among them were the Veltan Adventurer's Guild Badge and the sheet of paper. Fanilly was aware of adventurer's guilds, of course. While Thaln's was rather small, she understood how they could be used to handle issues not necessarily within the realm of the soldiery's duty, or that of knightly orders. Some adventurers would even collaborate with their nation's military. And indeed, sometimes these adventurers would cross the border of a country in order to fulfill a job they had taken. But just as Dame Tyaethe said, assassinations were hardly among their typical duties. Perhaps it was a forgery, or even taken from a real adventurer? But then coupled with the sheet of paper... It would have seemed a little to convenient, even to Fanilly, save for the way that the nem girl's eyes widened in shock when she saw it. After only a brief moment she was squirming, trying to use her head to gesture to the paper. For how still and cooperative she had been only moments before, she was suddenly far more active. And yet, still not attempting to slip free. "... Sir Gerard, fetch charcoal and a piece of paper," Fanilly said, after considering her options for a few moments. It was still possible this was a ruse, but maybe the nem's handwriting would help them discern the truth. When allowed to take the paper and charcoal, the nem swiftly set about writing. She was swift, making it rather likely that she had communicated in this fashion plenty of times before, and on examination her handwriting didn't resemble the note's bold, harsh strokes. The script written by the nem girl was thin and hasty, but clear, in spite of how much her hands seemed to be shaking, her entire body trembling. Iron Roses Tyli Vosahn What happens to me doesn't matter Please save my sister Chaos@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow</s>

<|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Vier had simply been standing around and watching, as he wasn't much good at interrogation. But he stayed on guard while the others did their squabbling and guesswork. He has his own thoughts about the situation, but his focus was the Nem assassin. Who gave her the crossbow? Who cut her vocal cords? And who was smart enough to plan and set up this scenario? That last question stumped him to no end. Someone has to either sneak her in, or leave a way for her to get in. It's something that he'd have to look into once the buzz of an assassination attempt died down and everyone was calmer. What the prisoner intruder wrote down got his attention. "A sister? Mind giving us a bit more detail on that. You did just try to kill a princess, after all." His tone was quiet and relaxed, but his expression was a lot more serious.</s>

<|description|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Vier stands at 6' 2", having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about. Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn't believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn't be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier's steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won't give up on an issue until it's solved. He's got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won't cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward. Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick. This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn't know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage's College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier's father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he'd come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier's story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey. After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight. Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt. Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn't the stuff of stories, it's palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn't measure up to any nobleman.</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- Now why had she gone to a crypt again? This place was ill-suited for an archer like her, wasn't it? Cramped hallways, poor vision…but even so, her mind was elsewhere. She had been put in well, not a bad mood but certainly one of mild brooding. Part of her felt relieved at seeing her again, but on the other hand another part of her wished she hadn't. She wanted to put that whole thing behind her, after all, and getting involved with them again wouldn't be any good. "What's the matter Cecil? Do I need to give you a kiss or something to cheer you up?" "For once, I'm the one that feels annoyed by such a comment." "Tsk, did meeting her really put you in that bad of a mood? You should have stayed behind if it was going to bother you that much." "And do what, Shael? Introduce myself as a wanted fugitive and traitor like the rest of my family?" "What would they do, hm? I'd rip that entire palace to shreds with a storm if they tried to harm a pretty little hair on your head." "...you can be surprisingly overprotective sometimes, can't you?" "Tsk. You say that like Im the reason you haven't died an ignoble death yet." She didn't respond, Serenity's shout pulling the archer from her thoughts. Despite the instructions and the clear, commanding voice of Serenity's though, Cecil was a bit too late to react. She hadn't drawn her bow yet, nor even knocked an arrow or even started flinging any spells by the time the others had engaged. She had been far too focused on her own thoughts, distracted and in the following seconds it took her to prepare herself the other undead had swiftly been dealt with. It was a good thing she had collected herself enough by the time this large, hulking mass of a man appeared wielding what seemed to be an enchanted axe of some sort. "I'll help escort the captain further down!" Cecil shouted. Her arrows wouldn't be particularly effective here, either. Too cramped. Too many people. Still, she could at least help provide some form of distraction for this behemoth of a man and make it a bit easier to push past him. —----------- Steffen engaged the man first, weapons mightily clanging against each other as they made a contest of strength out of it. As Steffen pulled himself back out of retaliatory strike range, the armored man didn't so much as flinch or allow himself to slow down. With nothing more than a battle cry, he charged towards Steffan, the runic axe glowing with arcane power as it swung towards Steffan. As it made contact with either his opponent, the ground again, or another blade, a powerful explosion would send anything flying if not outright severely injuring an opponent.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen The First Princess really did enjoy speaking of this book a tad too much. Still, Renar couldn't fault a sheltered teenager for panicking and holding on to some sense of normalcy. Still, if Sir Adeforth wasn't going to shut the conversation down, he took it as tacit approval to keep on with this line of talk. Sun and Moon, he couldn't imagine Felix trying to hold a conversation with the Princess. The idiot would probably either try to aggrandize himself or just be a sycophant. Renar shifted his gaze towards the windows, keeping an eye out for intruders as he spoke. Nothing yet, but if the Crown Knights had the door well in hand, the other primary entrance point to these chambers would be the tower window, no matter how difficult it was a climb. "Yes, I would say Fireheart had one of the better depictions of Rozenalt and the Redmarch." He stated, his tone still light and conversational. Hmm. Dame Tyaethe still had the younger princess well in hand, it seemed. "Of late, it seems authors have tended to portray the Bloody Lord as more of a joke and one-off than a proper threat. At least Fireheart did some justice to the character."</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri turned his full attention towards the newly arrived warrior. "This must be the very large warrior that the Nem mentioned," he remarked to his fellow knights. Indeed, the man before them was quite large, and even if his axe wasn't bearing a dangerous enchantment, he looked to be quite a formidable foe. Fanilly ordered for a few of their number to deal with this warrior so the others could push forward. The Ingvarr knight Steffan was the first to volunteer, moving to engage the bearded axeman. His opponent wasn't going to go down easily, and with that enchanted weapon in an enclosed space, it was too dangerous to leave this to one knight. Fleuri didn't have the opportunity to vocally convey his intention to stay, because he needed to act immediately. As the warrior charged at Steffan and swung his magical axe, Fleuri moved to flank from the right side. The moment that the explosion finished its course, the knight moved in and thrust his greatsword at the warrior's torso just beneath the arm, aiming to stab his sword between the armor joints while the man's arms were extended forward. Whether or not he was able to penetrate the man's armor, he'd immediately withdraw his sword and step back after making the stab- he needed to stay out of the range of that axe, because attempting to block or parry it would end in disaster. @VitaVitaAR@Conscripts</s> <|message|>Serenity Arcedeen @HereComesTheSnow A warrior of the north, armored with ensorcelled plate. If this was all they had to fight, then she would gladly partake. But for all the might, all the prowess, all the wealth that this barbarian possessed, he was not a necromancer, nor even a hero on the battlefield. He was a nameless axeman who fought on the commands of a desecrator of the dead, a blasphemer of Reon's decrees. Two of the Iron Rose splintered off from the rest, forcing back the barbarian from his point at the entrance to the inner crypt. Sir Steffen and Sir Fleuri, a stable enough composition, so long as Flower reined in his more impulsive decisions. Even if they could only hold back the barbarian, that would be enough. Dame Cecilia called out her own positioning, and Serenity herself stepped in as well. The Ingvarr staying behind meant that, once more, there was only one shield to be 'shared' amongst all the remaining knights. Her shield. So she, of course, stepped to the front, shield raised for the unknown dangers further down. "Captain, stay in the center with the archers. Sir Gerard, cover the rear." For worse, they were running out of proper knights to hold a formation with. For better, they would all have a greater share of the glory in the end.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Over at the Tomb Those descending into the mausoleum swiftly found the space opening up once more, the clean marble surrounding them surprisingly well-lit by runic enchantments that flared to life on their entry. Alcoves lined the walls, flush with tombs of minor family members, many with lifelike effigies laid atop. Others, meanwhile, remained unadorned--its inhabitant perhaps represented by one of the many statues that stood between the alcoves. The entire environment was surprisingly colourful, from the uncannily lifelike figures to the repeated banners of House Cazt and its former cadets. It also transpired that they were not alone, a figure emerging from an empty tomb with nary a sound in but a second, and leaning against a statue with a cocky grin. A statue with quite the resemblance in features--although dressed in the formal regalia of yesteryear, not the stylish clothing of a young gentleman, and with distinctly amber eyes rather than the vibrant red ones that affixed the knights. The pointed ears were a notable difference, too. "I welcome you to my family's tomb, Iron Roses. I was quite concerned that the little assassin would find where I slipped the note and dispose of it for her sister's safety," he said, shaking his head in disappointment. Nothing about his posture seemed immediately threatening, but it was impossible to ignore the sabre casually resting in one arm... or the weighty, equally loaded crossbow in the other hand, "But where are my manners? Damon Cazt, at your service. His eyes scanned the small group, before he let out a disappointed sigh, "The paladin stayed behind? Or did she choose to stay up top and fight Alfrid? No matter; it seems my planned distraction isn't here, so one of you shall have to do. The captain simply must go on, therefore..." A finger tapped against the sabre's gilt hilt for a few seconds, before the blade swept up, idly dancing between Cecilia and Serenity, settling on the latter. "You! The presumptuous one. You stay here and fight me for a little while, everyone else can go on ahead and clear up the necromancer defiling our tomb. Nobody will be surprised for me to get sidetracked by an attractive thing like you, and they simply lack in boyish charm." He paused for a second, looking at Lein. "And I've done well to avoid Hundi marriage proposals, I'm not going to start now. Now, the rest of you, shoo! A little friendly fight between us two is far preferable to staining this tomb with your blood."</s>

<|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Vier had a few options as he just finished cleaning the undead gunk and viscera off his twin swords. It was an odd habit, but his father taught him that a dirty blade was as bad as a dull one. He stopped for a moment to wait for more threats or new orders as the other Roses killed got rid of the other undead. Then the bright silver light appeared, Vier wiping his eyes afterwards to adjust. He watched as the axe streaked by, taking a step then jumping back as it exploded. "What now?" The exasperation in his voice was obvious as he watched the rune-clad knight come forth. Vier tossed his now-dirty rag away, slowly twirling his blades to get his blood and mana flowing, them now glowing a soft red and blue. "Well. Any ideas?" Vier moved into a defensive stance, knowing there was no conceivable way he could outmuscle the giant. So, he waited for it to make a move, moving in for a counterattack when the man began to swing the axe. He would aim to slice into the giant man's wrist to keep it from causing further damage.</s>

<|description|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Vier stands at 6' 2", having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about. Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn't believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn't be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier's steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won't give up on an issue until it's solved. He's got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won't cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward. Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick. This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn't know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage's College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier's father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he'd come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier's story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey. After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight. Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt. Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn't the stuff of stories, it's palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn't measure up to any nobleman.</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri stepped back as the axe narrowly struck his helmet. That was too close for comfort, he thought. True, he wouldn't be much of an Iron Rose if he wasn't willing to step out of his comfort zone, but it'd be a good idea to not let that happen again. He was lucky that the axe was not charged when it hit. The explosion from that weapon was strong enough to make a crater in the stone- he did not want to see what it'd do to someone's head. Judging from what he had seen, the runic engravings on the axe glowed when it was charged, and released its charge upon striking something. If they could strike the axehead before its wielder brought it down, perhaps the unexpected detonation might unbalance him...although doing so might damage his weapon in the process. If they could make it go off close enough to its wielder, they might even be able to injure him with it. It wouldn't be easy though- Fleuri assumed that if this northerner was running around with such a dangerous weapon, surely he'd be experienced enough to not hurt himself with it. On the other hand, assuming the warrior wasn't an amateur who had no idea what he was doing, this might lend a bit of predictability to when and where he'd would and wouldn't use his axe's special power. When Steffen moved in for another attack, Fleuri was ready to support him. The Ingvarr moved in close and attacked unarmed, presumably wanting to get in too close for the axe- and too close for the warrior to safely use the magical explosion. Fleuri rushed in too, bringing his sword and hooking it beneath the axe's beard or heel, preventing the Barukstaedian from bringing it down on the approaching Invgarr. Between the length of his greatsword blade and the leverage that he had, he should be able to keep the axehead away from himself, but he kept a safe distance behind his sword's crossguard just in case. Whatever the others were going to do, they'd better do it fast before the northern warrior managed to free his axe. @Rune_Alchemist@Creative Chaos</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion The bones rattled to that, scattered across the floor under the blows of the knights. But any skeleton that did not suffer major damage to its structure had already begun to rise again, pulling itself together and gripping its weapon to fight once more. One such undead was greeted with the blade of Fanilly's sword, striking its skull, cutting into the bone and sending it stumbling before a followup with the pommel caved its head inwards, causing it to collapse to the floor once again. Indeed, for Necromancers, the benefit of skeletal undead was the difficulty with which to permanently disable them. On the other hand, they were also quite easily knocked apart compared to their fleshier counterparts. The numbers of the initial group of skeletons were dwindling. The burst of wind from Cecilia's arrow had caused many of them to collapse to the ground and tumble apart in pieces, forced to pull themselves together in order to rise once more. This made them easy pickings, and considerably cut the number of those that posed an immediate threat. Even still, Fanilly found herself knocking another skeleton apart as it raised its rusted sword, cutting into its spine in order to make its attempt at rising just a bit more difficult. "We're almost through!" she called to the other knights. But even as she spoke, another group of skeletons marched up the steps, brandishing their weapons as their jaws opened soundlessly. That wasn't all, for alongside them was a large, grotesque figure. It was an undead of some description, but larger then any of the others seen before. Bloated was perhaps the best way to describe it. In one large hand it gripped a hefty, rough-looking black iron hammer, its head obscured entirely by a ragged hood. Aside from pants, it was without any further form of armor, but its bloated form would make it harder to cut apart. Its warped, decaying figure did not appear to be entirely human-like, but its exact nature was difficult to make out. "Iron Roses!" called Fanilly, "Disable the skeletons and then cut down the giant abomination! Finishing the skeletons can wait until it's been slain!" If they could disable all the skeletons, then cut down the massive undead, then that would make the followup far easier. But beyond the skeletons, and the bloated undead, was another very much alive figure. A man clad in leather armor, appearing to be in his late twenties perhaps, several daggers on his waist and a gleaming red gem hanging from his neck. He was eyeing the Roses warily, using the skeletons and the massive undead as a barrier between himself and the knights. That mush have been one of the other conspirators. It fell in line with what Tili had described! But without finishing the undead off first, reaching him simply wasn't a possibility. Chaos@Rune_Alchemist@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@VahkiDane@HereComesTheSnow@Erode@Conscripts --- As the knights assembled beyond the door, the Princesses both approached, trying to peer beyond it and see what was going on. The moment that Elisandre caught a glimpse, she swiftly grasped Maletha and covered her eyes. Whatever was going to happen, she had guessed that it wasn't something she should be watching. The moment the oils ignited, a hideous shriek seemed to arise from the very air itself. A hazy form appeared above the nem, its shape impossible to fully make out as it warped and twisted in the air. All that could be discerned was two long-fingered hands, wrapped around Tili's throat. The screeching grew in volume, until the finger seemed to shimmer strangely and finally release the nem's through, leaving her sputtering, coughing, squirming on the ground. The exorcism had been a success. The hazy, misty figure was somewhat more distinct now. A skull-like face perched upon a long neck, a hunched, skinless figure exposing bone and sinew, a mane of hair stretching from its head and down its back. It was not much larger then Tili herself, but its hands were as wide as dinner plates and possessed long, thin fingers tipped in sharp nails. "Then it was a wicked spirit," Adeforth's eyes narrowed, one hand placed on his blade, "It's lucky we had one of the clergy at our disposal. If no-" The creature sprang into the air, suddenly hurling itself towards the princesses. Was this some sort of backup plan? If it wasn't intercepted in time...! @The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- On one hand, the skeletons were proving easy enough to deal with. On the other... "Ahahah, Looks worse then Lord Autmere does." Cecil laughed to herself, before shaking her head. Focus, she had to focus. Thankfully though, that hulking monstrosity might have its size...but it made it a much easier, much bigger target to hit. "Alright big guy, lets see how well you stay put together." Fill it full of enough holes, use wind to rip and tear at its flesh, it could be easily done. First, cripple that arm of its. Another wind burst arrow, this time aimed for the things shoulder that was carrying the hammer. It was followed by deftly knocking a few normal arrows, towards its legs, hoping to slow it down even slightly. The man from Barukstaed Paladin@Conscripts@Creative Chaos --- As Steffen rushed towards the Barukstaedian, the hulking mass of a man seemed to make a calculated movement himself. After all, if he had no weapons, then he was going to have to get close. Real close. Which meant a large two handed axe wouldn't be all that useful in such close quarters if he got past it. He made a movement that made it seemed like he was going to strike, but the sound of metal grinding and the catching of his axe on something caused a moment of bemusement as the blade did not move - leaving him right open to a flurry of punches from Steffen. "Guh-" the man grunted, impact after impact swiftly being delivered to his armor. The runic armor taking the brunt of each blow more than most armors could. He struggled only briefly with freeing his axe, before deciding that he had enough of Steffen. Releasing the axe with one hand, he'd deliver his own blow right to Steffen's face with a left hook in the moment the Ingvarr also struck, the force momentarily dazing the Ingvar. This was followed by him grasping the axe again with both hands, twisting it and managing to unhook it from Flueri's lockdown. He'd follow it up with a step forward, a knee aimed towards Flueri's midsection, and a horizontal swing with the axe, its runes glowing with arcane might.</s>

<|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage "Gods, the smell of this place is enough to make the dead walk away." Vier actively resisted the urge to gag at the smell of rot and decay, but his general discomfort with being around the rotting dead was obvious. It dredged up memories he'd rather not have to deal with in the middle of a fight, so he repressed them for the time being. It was unhealthy, but it was also the best he could do in the moment. For now, he assessed the situation. Between getting tossed like an old toy, and having to hit zombies until they decided to get back to being dead, Vier was not having a good time with the battle. To be frank, Vier wanted to just beat on the giant until it stopped moving, but he took a shallow breath and calmed himself down. Magic took focus, and using it in combination with swordplay made that even more important. Alright, this is an absolute behemoth of a man. His armor is runic, so I can't just batter him until it gives. I'll stick with the more reliable method: cutting the tendons. He noticed the armored man swing his runic axe at Fleuri and moved up to deflect the strike with his right sword, imbuing it with reinforcement magic to make sure it doesn't shatter on impact. He would use some of the inevitable recoil to make a quick swing at the armored man's dominant wrist, heating up the blade of his left sword to make the stab easier, and in case of leather padding underneath the runic armor.</s>

<|description|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Vier stands at 6' 2", having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about. Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn't believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn't be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier's steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won't give up on an issue until it's solved. He's got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won't cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward. Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick. This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn't know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage's College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier's father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he'd come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier's story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey. After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight. Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt. Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn't the stuff of stories, it's palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn't measure up to any nobleman.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk --- If Fionn was surprised that Renar had even heard what Maletha had said to him earlier, he didn't show it. "Stalwart ball knight," he corrected, doing his best to maintain a perfectly straight face—at least the humour would hopefully be to the princesses' benefit. Assuming they didn't find the ability of two experienced veterans to crack jokes so shortly after the shock of a sudden attack utterly offputting. He turned away and stood back up, looking over to Adeforth. "This necromancer already has us on the back foot. While we might have given them something else to deal with, we don't know the capabilities of any of their co-conspirators, or the fullness of their own. Anything we can do to retake the initiative is worth it, I think." He gestured over at the court mage. "He's just finished strengthening the defenses, and could make illusions to cover our leave. If nothing happens on our way to Candaeln, that at least makes this place the perfect decoy after we've gotten out. Unless they're watching the exit or have everything between here and Candaeln crawling with undead and assassins, we should all be more than enough to escort the princesses to the rest of the Roses." Assuming they agreed to it, of course, but allaying Adeforth's misgivings and giving Elisandre more information to consider should help in making the decision. "I'll even take point if we go. Make sure the way is clear."</s> <|message|>Steffen Gravinir ⚘ Steffen Gravinir ⚘ --- Steffen found himself staring eye to eye with his fellow landsman as yet again both of them engaged in a test of might. The Ingvarr could feel the bone surfacing on his skins making contact with his gauntlet, as he gritted his teeth to suppress the fierce resistance of the Barukstaedian man. Visibly, Steffen was superior raw strength-wise, but it was not clear, as there were still movements that his opponent could do that would later manifest into a proper retaliation. But that was when Sir Fleuri came in, and also when Steffen was quite disappointed that despite it, he was able to dodge the lethal blow, moving his head to catch the blade slightly off the artery. It was progress sure, but now the warrior from Barukstaed had a legitimate opportunity to counter-attack. The first sign for Steffen of danger was when his opponent shifted his hand over to the blade, slowly finding the foothold to raise the axe against the Ingvarr's tremendous strength. The second and the last sign that he needed to disengage was the arcane power flowing through the axe once again. The explosion that sent Sir Vier flying was now threatening to do the same for him. He was forced to let go of that axe and jumped back from the axe that was slamming towards his head. That axe did not make contact with the ground though. His opponent was smarter than that, as he stopped the axe as soon as the Ingvarr moved away from its movement path, turned around and trying to engage Fleuri instead, knowing that they were the pain dealer, but much less resilient to the Barukstaedian's advances. This time though, Steffen was not stunned by the attack. His jump got him close to the nearby wall of the mausoleum, to which his hand pushed against with his full might for momentum to charge right back at the Barukstaedian once again. Continuous pressure, leaving him no room to breath. If he were to catch his opponent from behind, Steffen would immediately grapple him, one hand around the man's neck and the other reaching for his dagger strapped to his belt, aiming to accomplish what Fleuri could not earlier. Otherwise, he'd continue his barrage of both fist and knife-play, smelling blood in the wound that was dealt. @Crimson Paladin@Creative Chaos</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen Renar would have sassed Fionn further, but it seemed the time for levity was over. Tyaethe's proposal was something that he wholeheartedly agreed with: any shift in momentum was to be taken at this point. Ever since the initial attempt, all the Iron Rose and the Crown Knights had been doing was responding. They couldn't depend on the squadron sent into the mausoleum to take care of everything, or even survive. Moving the princesses was a reasonable precaution, so long as it was done with absolute stealth and haste. The plan could backfire should the enemy catch wind of it, but that risk could be mitigated should they commit immediately and catch the crown's enemies flat-footed. Moreover, Sir Adeforth's hesitation rankled at Renar. Why? Because clearly, the old man was too hung up on the princesses' rightful place to look at facts and reason. Had Renar thought any less of the commander, he'd assume that Adeforth was more concerned about the Iron Rose butting in and stealing glory from the Crown Knights, but this wasn't his brother. If nothing else, Sir Adeforth legitimately had the royals' interest in mind. It was just that his view conflicted with reality in this case. "Highnesses. Sir Adeforth." Renar stepped forward, hoping that he could swap their opinions. "If I may, my fellow knights and the Court Mage speak true. This is our one chance to catch the foe off-guard. Should the necromancer escape the knights sent to the crypts, the safety of the crown is paramount. Everything we've seen tonight indicates that they have only made plans to assault you within the confines of your home. If we move swiftly and quietly, they'll be none the wiser about the switch. Princesses, every knight of Candaeln will do their utmost to ensure that your stay will be as comfortable as possible should you agree. Please do consider this." One last idea came to his mind, even as he spoke. Renar sideeyed Tyaethe before his gaze shifted to the younger royal. "And besides, Princess Maletha." He softened his gaze as best as he was able. Likely not very well, by his own estimate. Renar wasn't exactly the best at dealing with children, outside of his younger brother. But an attempt had to be made. "Wouldn't you like the chance to converse further with Dame Tyaethe? She does live there, you know. And could even show you her chambers."</s> <|message|>Fleuri Jodeau Fleuri Jodeau Thanks to Vier's intervention, the warrior's axe never reached Fleuri. Unfortunately, this resulted in his fellow knight taking the blast, throwing him across the room. Fleuri wasn't sure how injured Vier was- that explosion might have merely knocked the wind out of him, or it could have shattered every bone in his chest. We need to end this before anyone else gets hit with that attack. The Barukstaed man had avoided Fleuri's attack, but his sword was still close to his neck. As he raised his axe, once again glowing in preparation for another explosion, it was immediately clear that Fleuri wouldn't have time for anything elaborate or risky. Instead, the knight stepped back out of the range of the axe, sliding the blade of his greatsword against the man's neck as he withdrew. He wouldn't have enough leverage to decapitate, but he hoped that there'd be at least sufficient force to inflict a fatal laceration. Unless, of course, the Barukstaedian's neck was protected by mail (Between the tomb's lighting and his helmet, Fleuri couldn't quite discern whether it was), in which case, it would at most annoy him. @Rune_Alchemist@Creative Chaos</s>

<|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Vier was sent rolling across the ground by the Barukstaedian's explosive axe, losing his sword and most of the feeling in his preferred hand. The good news was that he was mostly ambidextrous thanks to practice, but without his shield or a defending hand, it wasn't going to make much of a difference. He propped himself up onto his knees, then pushed to his feet, whirling his remaining blade. Okay, that was a bit of a bad move. Who am I kidding, I'm monoplegic. That was an amateur mistake. Time to think, Alma. He took in everyone and everything that had occurred in the last few minutes, building up a general idea of what the Barukstaedian was capable of. That axe would most likely kill Steffen if it hit him in the head, and Fleuri would be right in the line of a second attack if the Ingvarr decided to move. The giant man was also smart, and more durable than any of the knights. But the axe seemed to be his ace in the hole, and his lack of real speed was obvious. Throwing the Barukstaedian off balance seemed to be what worked best. Vier forced himself to focus past the pain in his right arm, folding it behind his back. After a few moments of concentration, he imbued sharpening magic on his blade and ran at the Barukstaedian to take a stab at his neck. He used his forward momentum to make the thrust that much more precise, twisting his body to keep his frame small. Regardless of his speed, that axe was always a threat to keep note of.</s>

<|description|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage Age: 24 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Vier stands at 6' 2", having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about. Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn't believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn't be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier's steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won't give up on an issue until it's solved. He's got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won't cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward. Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick. This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn't know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage's College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier's father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he'd come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier's story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey. After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight. Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt. Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn't the stuff of stories, it's palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn't measure up to any nobleman.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe Now dressed, Tyaethe felt her face heat up as she saw what Maletha was doing. Honestly, did the girl...? She was a two centuries old paladin, not a child! Had she gotten confused? But no, that shouldn't be it, she had spent most of the evening as an adult, the girl probably just wanted someone to play with, and it wasn't like any of the other knights would be particularly suited for it. Well, Lilianna had her family, that might be an option... but it was doubtless to late in the night to go and wake her up. Maybe if the princess came visiting again. No, for now she would just have to play along, and the vampire climbed onto the bed behind the rabbit, making it wave back. Hmm, was there something else...? Oh, it was just a little rabbit, and this was a mighty dragon. Dragons were very proud creatures, you didn't want to upset them at all if you could help it. So, she had it bow, too.</s> <|message|>Steffen Gravinir ⚘ Steffen Gravinir ⚘ --- "Gladly." Steffen nodded before Serenity took off back into her fight. He was to move as well, seeing an opening to the barrier that was only guarded by the undeads that wasn't the Demonbreaker revived, but the witch at the other side of the corner decided otherwise. He were to be the sole target of her wrath. A piece of his heart sank as soon as her hair roses from the electricity conducting naturally through her body. There was a saying - he had forgotten the origins - that if a mage wants someone dead, unless you have something of your own, there is basically nothing one can do about but run. They are quintessential part of an army; death, destruction and chaos coming out of their body sweatless. He did not expect to be caught in the receiving end of that phrase, and for what? This axe?! As for running... "Alfrid is a great warrior. And a great warrior's weapon belongs on the battlefield, not a casket." Steffen's hand reaching up for the shield behind his back, his other hand gripping on the axe shifted to the rear end of the pole. There is no running. He couldn't bring himself to run from a battle. Not anymore. "But fine. Honor him your way!" With a side-swing, Steffen threw the two-handed axe away from him. The weapon was clumsy and not meant to be thrown, and so it landed in the middle of the room. "Now do what you must, if you feel like that would ease your grief." Both his arms were open, but he was walking forward. And his eyes. It wasn't one who seemed willing to back off from this fight. And he wouldn't. If the witch were ever to fire her magic, Steffen would immediately snap off of his stance to toss the small shield in front of him, hoping that metallic object will absorb the lightning rather than him for a few seconds necessary for him to dash towards Erich, or rather remain in sight obstruction of him, using the undead to deter another lightning strike.</s> <|message|>Nicomede, formerly Nicomede Durant --- "Evening, Tuono." The chestnut palfrey snorted his opinion of the hour. Whatever ambivalence Nicomede might have felt about the change in their circumstances, he felt it was nothing but their due. However patient he had been about their turn in fortune the castle's stables were much more to his liking. Shelter, good feed, and staff to see to his care just like the good days of his youth. Nicomede thought he'd grown just a touch conceited. But the horse had earned it, after their shared exile. "None of that. We've got work to do." The second snort seemed just as disdainful, but cooperative; he stood still for his tack and saddle, and Nico pulled himself atop with long practice. Whatever his complaint about the hour Tuono had been the steed of an heir, once, and he hadn't forgotten. Nicomede guided him to the group with the smooth amble characteristic of his descent, patiently waiting for the other riders. But when all were ready he took off in a gallop like his namesake, a thundering charge that challenged any of his peers to meet the pace. That was Tuono's thought, such as it was for the proud animal. Nicomede's thoughts had already turned toward the fight ahead, holding his lantern extended ahead at his left to better see into the night. Landshark @The Otter</s> <|message|>Fanilly Danbalion She'd stopped the Demonbreaker's swing! It was all she'd been asking for, in the moment, to prevent it from making contact and cutting through Sir Gerard's body. Unfortunately, Fanilly couldn't stop what happened next, unable to do much more then watch as that shield deflected a blow from Dame Serenity before the undead hero's hand was used to send Gerard hurtling back. It was doubtlessly a better outcome then being cut apart, but it didn't change the fact that there was very little that Fanilly could do to stop it. Already the shield was swinging into position, swiftly enough that she couldn't try and follow up. Even though Erich Cazt was undead, he still possessed such power and agility, far beyond the near-skeletal rabble that shambled about the room. But she had to do something. Fanilly had to try and ensure this ended, to save the hostage, to- The axe landed on the floor with a heavy clank. The air was still vibrating, glowing lines of light shining beneath Fierense's clothing as lightning crackled from her fingertips. But the witch faltered. It was only a moment before she spoke once more. "... I don't forgive you." But even as she spoke, the Lightning Witch turned on the spot, her crackling arm now pointed squarely at the barrier surrounding the necromancer and his hostage. As the flashing light grew, swirling, sparking with magic energy and electricity, it spread out from her palm, swelling with power. The building light was growing larger and larger, brighter and brighter, and then with a sound like a roll of thunder it was unleashed, and- -Before Fanilly's eyes, the barrier cracked and shattered. There had been a spectacular flash of light coming from the right side of the room, and then the sound of shattered glass, and then it was coming apart. The fragments scattering into the air, cracking, dissipating into nothinginess, the necromancer's shocked gaze turning towards the source of the light... Fanilly was already running, as the lesser undead began to surge towards the necromancer. "Cecilia!" she called out. Of the two archers, Dame Cecilia had the better vantage point as far as she should tell. No clearer orders needed to be given. The necromancer was no longer untouchable, after all. Fierense lowered her arm, the lights beneath her clothing fading. @HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze@ERode@PigeonOfAstora@Conscripts@Crimson Paladin@Creative Chaos</s>

<|message|>Vier Alma, the Sword Sage After cleaning and sheathing his remaining blade, Vier wrenched his shoulder into place, stumbling from the shock to his nerves. He turned to the axe wielder, swaying a bit. This could've been so much worse. I don't doubt it for a second. If I had dueled him, I'd be dead. His fellow Roses were the only reason he was still standing. And internally, he was forever grateful for the help he had received. The red haired man didn't bother to check the damage, he knew what the result would be. His heart finally began to slow down, as he watched their opponent clutch his wounds. Vier knew it was over, but he heard the man, Alfrid, begin speaking. Vier wasn't really one for honor, but he respected a man's right to speak his last words. Despite himself, he smirked slightly at the words of praise, and moved a bit closer. "My name is Vier Alma. It was a challenging time fighting against you." Vier simply left Flueri and Alfrid to their own devices, and went to retrieve his other blade, wincing at the movement of his shoulder. Definitely something that he would need to give a more thorough look at, in case he had somehow cracked the joint or set it back improperly in his haste. He knew he needed both hands to hold his own, especially without his longsword and armor. Steffen's concern was mostly warranted in Vier's eyes, but it was a lesser issue compared to the fact that their compatriots still hadn't come back from below. Whatever was happening down there had to be of great importance, considering there were five of them down there. Okay, this is definitely a very dangerous situation. So no fooling around, Alma. While Steffen went down to the lower levels, Vier quickly checked his twin blades for any nicks and folds in their edges, or stress lines in the middle. Nothing too worrying in the present moment, but enough for him to run reinforcement magic through them before he went down. As he walked down, he saw a…rather confusing scene. First, there were an alarming amount of undead, which was a problem that seemed to be dwindling away. Then, there was the necromancer and a hostage behind a magical barrier: definitely a top priority. Then Vier noticed a woman pointing lightning at Steffen from the far end of the room, which was surprisingly not the scariest thing in the chamber. That honor went to what seemed like the corpse of Erich Cazt, the Demonbreaker. Fanilly and Gerard seemed to have a good handle on the situation, so he tore his eyes away and attempted to slowly sneak around to the necromancer amidst the chaos, layering sharpening magic on top of the reinforcement magic as a way to try breaking the barrier on his own. But there was no need. The witch did the work for them, and shattered the necromancer's barrier with a bolt of lightning. An unexpected development, but not at all unwelcome. Vier heard their captain give Lady Cecilia an order, and decided to capitalize on his own sudden arrival, waiting for an opportunity to surprise the necromancer with a strike from both blades if Cecilia didn't do it for him.</s>

<|description|>Steffen Gravinir Age: 31 Gender: Male Race: Ingvarr Appearance: Very tall, towering at 7ft, along with a well-built body and broad shoulders, Steffen would be a giant if other giant races did not exist. But he often concealed that physique through more conservative and sharp styled clothes, giving off a more intellectual aura. He sported a neck-length black hair that had a slights jut out to the side due to his wide and pointy ears. A clear trademark that he would or could not hide from anyone would be his red twisty horns on top of his head. While an intimidating sight to be seen in combat, it did make him resemble a bit like a goat, something people sometimes made fun of him for. His eyes dimmed a mesmerizing amethyst color. Personality: Steffen is a gentle and quiet man. He is quite reserved and stoic, but willing to share his learned knowledge with those around him, combined with the contrasting reputation of the Ingvarr people made him quite an eccentric figure for those around him. It would be quite rare to see him raise his voice to someone who is not his enemies, and even less so his allies. He is also a pushover, and while he would refuse anything outright immoral, he found it difficult to say no to any requests for help, nor would he be disagreeable in conversations. In fact, his fellow knights would find him quite pleasant to talk to, having that air of knowledge around him. However, he does tend to keep his past to himself, making some people to wonder or be skeptical to why he is here. Steffen is quite diligent in his day-to-day life, both on-duty and off-duty. His best effort were derived from satisfaction from accomplishing the smallest of things: a sharp blade, a clean house, or a task well-done. He often took on menial tasks for the other knights, or rather being pushed into doing, as they trusted that he would complete them with satisfactory results. Steffen has nothing really to prove to anyone unless it's required to. All he wanted is to live a low profile, working for the sake of others and enjoying the simple things. He avoids confrontations or challenges, never being the instigator, as he find those to be often times pointless. That is no excuse to push him over the edge, however, as those who were caught at the sharp end of his spear tend to not enjoy that experience. He is inadvertently good with children, despite not necessarily fond of talking to them. His distinct Ingvarr horns and pointy ears tend to attract the younglings and the curious. Being someone who wouldn't want to refuse others, he would let them play with it. Brief Backstory: Ingvarrs are fierce warriors. People in this land knew that, the Ingvarrs knew that, the Gravinir family knew that, and Steffen knew that too. But he consciously chose the life of peace and knowledge, despite his family insisting otherwise. He would not budge. No matter how many combat sessions he had with his father, a renowned warrior in his tribe, how many insistence of family traditions, how many Ingvarr legends that were passed, and how he could become one of them, Steffen was not interested. He liked reading literature, growing flowers and writing instead. Initially he would be looked upon with scorn, but overtime, his parents accepted his path. After all, it was his choice, and he was sticking by it quite admirably, so who were they to force him otherwise. It was still a shame, however, as Steffen is a good warrior in his own right, and could've been a perfect inheritor of the warrior reputation of his ancestors. But solemnly, the head of family title would be passed down to his little brother, Ogand, and he was expected to carry his family's traditions instead. Ogand, however, did not possess the warrior capability nor the honor that his older brother had. Though he aspired to make a name for himself and his family, he was a middling fighter, could barely persevere with his father's strict training regiments, which became even more strict to shape him. That aspiration slowly grew to resentment. Resentment of his parents for inflicting so much pain on him, resentment on his older brother for handing him that responsibility despite being more than capable of fulfilling it himself. Steffen did occasionally look out for his younger brother, though did not stray away from his chosen path, which only made Ogand's resentment grew even more. It all came to a breaking point when Ogand threw away everything, his honor and aspiration to betray his parents and brother, murdered the former and burned their house down. Steffen luckily was not around when the betrayal happened, but Ogand was going for him next. News of the treachery spread quickly, however, and a kind soul managed to warn Steffen before he suffered the same fate as his parents. The eldest son of the Gravinir family took up the spear that he put down long ago, and the next time the two brothers met, only one would come out alive. Heartbroken for his beloved parents, and even more so his brother, whose betrayals hurt him personally, Steffen left his tribe, hoping to find peace in solitude. On his travels, he met a nice group of Ingvarr hunters who liked to camp near his area. They befriended one another, and eventually they invited him to live with their tribe. Steffen reluctantly accepted, but soon found comfort in his new tribes. He figured he could settle here and enjoy a stable, mundane life. He even swore a blood oath of brotherhood with one of his close friends there. He was happy for a few years, until it was taken from him again. Unbeknownst to Steffen, his leader had a dispute with another tribe, something that escalated to a conflict. Their tribe struck first with a raid on his village, one that caught them by surprise. In spite of that, the warriors of his village, including Steffen, managed to resist the invaders, and thus repelling them after hours of gruelling combat. However, many of his friends including his oath-sworn brother were among the fallen. The weight of another tragedy plus superstitions of Steffen by the locals who were aware of what happened to his family, believing the man to be bringing bad luck to the tribes, convinced him to leave his tribe one more time to find another place to live. This time he would go south to Thaln. He would initially find work here and there in the northern area of Thaln with the locals who were friendly with the Ingvarrs, but a more permanent settlement for him would be further south. People were initially wary of the Ingvarr due to never having seen one before, but suspicions mellowed out a bit overtime as his good deeds accumulated. While he mainly helped the village out with bookkeeping and some botanical works, his Ingvarr super-strength made him flexible to most village commissions. One day, several knights stumbled into the village, beaten and bloodied, desperate for refuge. The village chief took them in and helped them recover from their wounds. It would be later be revealed that they were the Iron Rose knights, fleeing a lost battle of what would be known as the War of the Red Flag, but not after their recovery, but before by their predators. A band of soldiers from Lord Cainz would stumble into the village to finish off the remnants of the Iron Roses, but was met with a firm refusal from the old village chief, who told off the soldiers that they should be ashamed for trying to hunt down the wounded and the sick. For his kindness though, the village chief would be ran through with a spear. They tried to ransack the village afterwards, but Steffen was there and he, despite not having a proper weapon on-hand, would slaughter the rebels with utter brutality. There would be no more meaningless massacre in the land he loved. The Iron Rose Knights would recover after a few days, explained to the villagers of the war that broke out, helped the leaderless village to set up defence watch against the rebels while they try to reach their Order. Naturally, they worked alongside Steffen mostly, and this outlander proved life-saving in times of desperation, fending off multiple follow-up rebel raids with the knights. Both impressed by his skills, admirable conducts, and lacking in manpower, the knights impromptu roped him into more knightly battles to defend the land, and there he did so with distinction. As the tide of the war gradually turned against the rebels, and more knights were available to reinforce the front, Steffen was phased out and spent the rest of the war defending his village. But for the knights who stumbled into the village on that fateful day, the fearsome warrior was exemplary knightly behavior, more so than some of their own, and readily recommended him to join their Order. He was initially reluctant to be taking up the warrior life again now that the war was over, but after seeing tragedies happen, snatching away his peaceful life one time after another, he was convinced that there would be no peace in this chaotic world if the threats were not to be dealt with. He accepted his invitation this time to the Iron Rose Knights, being one of a few outlander knights of the Order. Equipment: Gravinir Spear: The only relic left of his long dead family, one that he used in the fight with his brother. A box-standard spear of his tribe, nothing too special, but given the inhuman strength of the Ingvarr, they were made almost entirely out of metal in order to withstand the test of might. It stood just as tall as Steffen, topped by a triangular spearhead that could slice or pierce. The back of the spear also is sharpened with a spearhead, though leaf-shaped. Armor: Plate armor custom-made when he joined the Iron Rose Knights, to replace the haphazard one he had during the war. He does not have a helmet with him, as the smither refused that, citing too much work to do. How the hell do you make a helmet for such a head? Skills: His most obvious skill is his inhuman physical strength, capable of bending metal and breaking boulders with relative ease. He can use most conventional weaponry with some degree of familiarity, but his weapon of mastery is the spear. His spearmanship style is defensive, often overcoming opponents with counterattacks, parries that disorient their intended move. He prefers not to make much movement of his own and while more pacifistic, he would not hesitate to be brutal the more serious the threat became. Steffen is also a good martial artist, very well being able to hold his own unarmed, while always presenting the threat of the earth-shattering punch that embodied his physical strength. Outside the battlefield, Steffen is quite fond of gardening and botany, enjoyed reading and writing literature. His knowledge and advanced literacy allowed him on more important bookkeeping roles for the knights.</s> <|message|>Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio della Gherardesca Sergio breathed in as Gerard lifted the scarf, glancing to Tyaethe with an annoyed look as she tapped him. He'd been too quick on the draw. Unbefitting. He slowly let the Nem down, twirling his dagger in his other hand as he looked to Dame Serenity, suggesting they hand her over. He quietly nodded, eyes softened as they moved to the Knight-Captain. "May I take a moment?" He asked of Fanilly, tone of voice lowered considerably. @HereComesTheSnow @Raineh Daze @Psyker Landshark @ERode</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen Well, Renar wasn't exactly going to suggest that they torture the nem in plain view of the princesses. They had dungeons for that, after all. Still, the girl's slashed throat suggested that this path of inquiry would lead to no results. That said, if this assassin's handlers saw fit to mangle their own agent, it seemed likely enough that her loyalties to her employer and superiors would be less than sterling. As for extracting information out of her, Renar did notice an avenue they'd not taken yet. Just as he was about to start, Felix came in from the side as if to try to seize credit after doing absolutely nothing. Oh, for the love of... "Wait your turn, buffoon." Renar hissed near-silently into Felix's ear, out of earshot of Fanilly and the princesses, at the very least. "If you want to interfere, you can do so after we're finished here." "One moment," He said politely to his superiors and the royals as he began to pat the nem assassin down. Hopefully he'd find something on her person that would provide a clue. A competent killer wouldn't leave anything incriminating on themselves in case of death or capture, but judging by her haphazard attempted shooting, they weren't exactly dealing with a master criminal here. Whatever he found, he'd turn over to Tyaethe first.</s>

<|message|>Steffen Gravinir Despite his anxiety circulating through his body at the unknown event currently happening inside the ballroom, Steffen carried out his duty principally, walking up and down the hallway to the royal quarters looking for any movement or individuals that might be hiding from plain sight to finish off what couldn't. He only knew that it was an assassination, but on who and who the assassin was was not known to him, until the third and final time he returned to the ballroom to check on the situation, that's when he saw a wolf-eared individual, whistling from beneath the sea of noble heads, making his way over to him. He recognized the Hundi lad. Sir Lein. He hadn't interacted with him much but his name popped up several times in his records for not exactly great reasons. However, from what he heard, he's otherwise a mischievous and interesting one. "On the princess? That's daring." He gave a concerned look over in the direction of the attention, not seeing clearly what was going on, but given the lack of major movement, it looked like the assassin may have gotten subdued as Lein said. If that's the case, he saw no need to work on something someone had already worked on. Besides, he found no pleasure in torturing or interrogating the perpetrators. "I think there's enough hands, and will be enough soon." He wasn't sure what exactly they are doing, it didn't seem like hitting up the assassin, but the most important part was that she was in custody, so they should be able to extract information from her sooner or later. The other most important part at the moment was to get his Highness to safety, and it was exactly what the knights assigned him to do. "I've been checking the hallways, it seems safe, but nothing wrong with going over it again with a clear eyes. And umm..." Steffen's finger tapped on his shoulder a little reservedly. "If that is favourable for you, Sir Lein, you're welcome to." Steffen was not aware of Hundi's riding on shoulders for fighting or for better visions, maybe it's just a thing for Lein, but he was fine with it either ways. They were light, and he was strong enough to not be impeded much by their weight. Maybe...he never had to fight with someone on his shoulders yet.</s>

<|description|>Steffen Gravinir Age: 31 Gender: Male Race: Ingvarr Appearance: Very tall, towering at 7ft, along with a well-built body and broad shoulders, Steffen would be a giant if other giant races did not exist. But he often concealed that physique through more conservative and sharp styled clothes, giving off a more intellectual aura. He sported a neck-length black hair that had a slights jut out to the side due to his wide and pointy ears. A clear trademark that he would or could not hide from anyone would be his red twisty horns on top of his head. While an intimidating sight to be seen in combat, it did make him resemble a bit like a goat, something people sometimes made fun of him for. His eyes dimmed a mesmerizing amethyst color. Personality: Steffen is a gentle and quiet man. He is quite reserved and stoic, but willing to share his learned knowledge with those around him, combined with the contrasting reputation of the Ingvarr people made him quite an eccentric figure for those around him. It would be quite rare to see him raise his voice to someone who is not his enemies, and even less so his allies. He is also a pushover, and while he would refuse anything outright immoral, he found it difficult to say no to any requests for help, nor would he be disagreeable in conversations. In fact, his fellow knights would find him quite pleasant to talk to, having that air of knowledge around him. However, he does tend to keep his past to himself, making some people to wonder or be skeptical to why he is here. Steffen is quite diligent in his day-to-day life, both on-duty and off-duty. His best effort were derived from satisfaction from accomplishing the smallest of things: a sharp blade, a clean house, or a task well-done. He often took on menial tasks for the other knights, or rather being pushed into doing, as they trusted that he would complete them with satisfactory results. Steffen has nothing really to prove to anyone unless it's required to. All he wanted is to live a low profile, working for the sake of others and enjoying the simple things. He avoids confrontations or challenges, never being the instigator, as he find those to be often times pointless. That is no excuse to push him over the edge, however, as those who were caught at the sharp end of his spear tend to not enjoy that experience. He is inadvertently good with children, despite not necessarily fond of talking to them. His distinct Ingvarr horns and pointy ears tend to attract the younglings and the curious. Being someone who wouldn't want to refuse others, he would let them play with it. Brief Backstory: Ingvarrs are fierce warriors. People in this land knew that, the Ingvarrs knew that, the Gravinir family knew that, and Steffen knew that too. But he consciously chose the life of peace and knowledge, despite his family insisting otherwise. He would not budge. No matter how many combat sessions he had with his father, a renowned warrior in his tribe, how many insistence of family traditions, how many Ingvarr legends that were passed, and how he could become one of them, Steffen was not interested. He liked reading literature, growing flowers and writing instead. Initially he would be looked upon with scorn, but overtime, his parents accepted his path. After all, it was his choice, and he was sticking by it quite admirably, so who were they to force him otherwise. It was still a shame, however, as Steffen is a good warrior in his own right, and could've been a perfect inheritor of the warrior reputation of his ancestors. But solemnly, the head of family title would be passed down to his little brother, Ogand, and he was expected to carry his family's traditions instead. Ogand, however, did not possess the warrior capability nor the honor that his older brother had. Though he aspired to make a name for himself and his family, he was a middling fighter, could barely persevere with his father's strict training regiments, which became even more strict to shape him. That aspiration slowly grew to resentment. Resentment of his parents for inflicting so much pain on him, resentment on his older brother for handing him that responsibility despite being more than capable of fulfilling it himself. Steffen did occasionally look out for his younger brother, though did not stray away from his chosen path, which only made Ogand's resentment grew even more. It all came to a breaking point when Ogand threw away everything, his honor and aspiration to betray his parents and brother, murdered the former and burned their house down. Steffen luckily was not around when the betrayal happened, but Ogand was going for him next. News of the treachery spread quickly, however, and a kind soul managed to warn Steffen before he suffered the same fate as his parents. The eldest son of the Gravinir family took up the spear that he put down long ago, and the next time the two brothers met, only one would come out alive. Heartbroken for his beloved parents, and even more so his brother, whose betrayals hurt him personally, Steffen left his tribe, hoping to find peace in solitude. On his travels, he met a nice group of Ingvarr hunters who liked to camp near his area. They befriended one another, and eventually they invited him to live with their tribe. Steffen reluctantly accepted, but soon found comfort in his new tribes. He figured he could settle here and enjoy a stable, mundane life. He even swore a blood oath of brotherhood with one of his close friends there. He was happy for a few years, until it was taken from him again. Unbeknownst to Steffen, his leader had a dispute with another tribe, something that escalated to a conflict. Their tribe struck first with a raid on his village, one that caught them by surprise. In spite of that, the warriors of his village, including Steffen, managed to resist the invaders, and thus repelling them after hours of gruelling combat. However, many of his friends including his oath-sworn brother were among the fallen. The weight of another tragedy plus superstitions of Steffen by the locals who were aware of what happened to his family, believing the man to be bringing bad luck to the tribes, convinced him to leave his tribe one more time to find another place to live. This time he would go south to Thaln. He would initially find work here and there in the northern area of Thaln with the locals who were friendly with the Ingvarrs, but a more permanent settlement for him would be further south. People were initially wary of the Ingvarr due to never having seen one before, but suspicions mellowed out a bit overtime as his good deeds accumulated. While he mainly helped the village out with bookkeeping and some botanical works, his Ingvarr super-strength made him flexible to most village commissions. One day, several knights stumbled into the village, beaten and bloodied, desperate for refuge. The village chief took them in and helped them recover from their wounds. It would be later be revealed that they were the Iron Rose knights, fleeing a lost battle of what would be known as the War of the Red Flag, but not after their recovery, but before by their predators. A band of soldiers from Lord Cainz would stumble into the village to finish off the remnants of the Iron Roses, but was met with a firm refusal from the old village chief, who told off the soldiers that they should be ashamed for trying to hunt down the wounded and the sick. For his kindness though, the village chief would be ran through with a spear. They tried to ransack the village afterwards, but Steffen was there and he, despite not having a proper weapon on-hand, would slaughter the rebels with utter brutality. There would be no more meaningless massacre in the land he loved. The Iron Rose Knights would recover after a few days, explained to the villagers of the war that broke out, helped the leaderless village to set up defence watch against the rebels while they try to reach their Order. Naturally, they worked alongside Steffen mostly, and this outlander proved life-saving in times of desperation, fending off multiple follow-up rebel raids with the knights. Both impressed by his skills, admirable conducts, and lacking in manpower, the knights impromptu roped him into more knightly battles to defend the land, and there he did so with distinction. As the tide of the war gradually turned against the rebels, and more knights were available to reinforce the front, Steffen was phased out and spent the rest of the war defending his village. But for the knights who stumbled into the village on that fateful day, the fearsome warrior was exemplary knightly behavior, more so than some of their own, and readily recommended him to join their Order. He was initially reluctant to be taking up the warrior life again now that the war was over, but after seeing tragedies happen, snatching away his peaceful life one time after another, he was convinced that there would be no peace in this chaotic world if the threats were not to be dealt with. He accepted his invitation this time to the Iron Rose Knights, being one of a few outlander knights of the Order. Equipment: Gravinir Spear: The only relic left of his long dead family, one that he used in the fight with his brother. A box-standard spear of his tribe, nothing too special, but given the inhuman strength of the Ingvarr, they were made almost entirely out of metal in order to withstand the test of might. It stood just as tall as Steffen, topped by a triangular spearhead that could slice or pierce. The back of the spear also is sharpened with a spearhead, though leaf-shaped. Armor: Plate armor custom-made when he joined the Iron Rose Knights, to replace the haphazard one he had during the war. He does not have a helmet with him, as the smither refused that, citing too much work to do. How the hell do you make a helmet for such a head? Skills: His most obvious skill is his inhuman physical strength, capable of bending metal and breaking boulders with relative ease. He can use most conventional weaponry with some degree of familiarity, but his weapon of mastery is the spear. His spearmanship style is defensive, often overcoming opponents with counterattacks, parries that disorient their intended move. He prefers not to make much movement of his own and while more pacifistic, he would not hesitate to be brutal the more serious the threat became. Steffen is also a good martial artist, very well being able to hold his own unarmed, while always presenting the threat of the earth-shattering punch that embodied his physical strength. Outside the battlefield, Steffen is quite fond of gardening and botany, enjoyed reading and writing literature. His knowledge and advanced literacy allowed him on more important bookkeeping roles for the knights.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Erich Cazt As predicted, the concerted effort to halt the demonslayer's swing found success--the blade bit into the joint, and the desperate block was successful. Gerard was indeed not cut in half, free to try and disarm the immense figure of his equally huge blade. What he no doubt wasn't expecting was to meet no resistance to leveraging the weapon out of his hand— —stepping forward even as Erich's free arm raised a shield to block the ambitious strike towards his head— —and pivoting, outstretched arm wrenching free of the impairing stab, but more alarmingly, being solidly aligned with Gerard's midsection. Gerard, who had fully committed to a shockingly easy disarm, pushing himself entirely within the ancient hero's reach. As it transpired, Erich's agility was scarcely less alarming than his strength without impediment. More than fast enough to turn Gerard into an impromptu projectile to disrupt Serenity's attempted follow-up, and temporarily limit the attacks from his now-unarmed sword hand. It was intelligence and skill unbecoming of an undead, his shield warding the captain off as the knight dropped to one knee and rose again with sword in hand. The demon cocked her head, munching some more nuts as the reinforcements started to filter in.</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe Now dressed, Tyaethe felt her face heat up as she saw what Maletha was doing. Honestly, did the girl...? She was a two centuries old paladin, not a child! Had she gotten confused? But no, that shouldn't be it, she had spent most of the evening as an adult, the girl probably just wanted someone to play with, and it wasn't like any of the other knights would be particularly suited for it. Well, Lilianna had her family, that might be an option... but it was doubtless to late in the night to go and wake her up. Maybe if the princess came visiting again. No, for now she would just have to play along, and the vampire climbed onto the bed behind the rabbit, making it wave back. Hmm, was there something else...? Oh, it was just a little rabbit, and this was a mighty dragon. Dragons were very proud creatures, you didn't want to upset them at all if you could help it. So, she had it bow, too.</s>

<|message|>Steffen Gravinir "Gladly." Steffen nodded before Serenity took off back into her fight. He was to move as well, seeing an opening to the barrier that was only guarded by the undeads that wasn't the Demonbreaker revived, but the witch at the other side of the corner decided otherwise. He were to be the sole target of her wrath. A piece of his heart sank as soon as her hair roses from the electricity conducting naturally through her body. There was a saying - he had forgotten the origins - that if a mage wants someone dead, unless you have something of your own, there is basically nothing one can do about but run. They are quintessential part of an army; death, destruction and chaos coming out of their body sweatless. He did not expect to be caught in the receiving end of that phrase, and for what? This axe?! As for running... "Alfrid is a great warrior. And a great warrior's weapon belongs on the battlefield, not a casket." Steffen's hand reaching up for the shield behind his back, his other hand gripping on the axe shifted to the rear end of the pole. There is no running. He couldn't bring himself to run from a battle. Not anymore. "But fine. Honor him your way!" With a side-swing, Steffen threw the two-handed axe away from him. The weapon was clumsy and not meant to be thrown, and so it landed in the middle of the room. "Now do what you must, if you feel like that would ease your grief." Both his arms were open, but he was walking forward. And his eyes. It wasn't one who seemed willing to back off from this fight. And he wouldn't. If the witch were ever to fire her magic, Steffen would immediately snap off of his stance to toss the small shield in front of him, hoping that metallic object will absorb the lightning rather than him for a few seconds necessary for him to dash towards Erich, or rather remain in sight obstruction of him, using the undead to deter another lightning strike.</s>

<|description|>Steffen Gravinir Age: 31 Gender: Male Race: Ingvarr Appearance: Very tall, towering at 7ft, along with a well-built body and broad shoulders, Steffen would be a giant if other giant races did not exist. But he often concealed that physique through more conservative and sharp styled clothes, giving off a more intellectual aura. He sported a neck-length black hair that had a slights jut out to the side due to his wide and pointy ears. A clear trademark that he would or could not hide from anyone would be his red twisty horns on top of his head. While an intimidating sight to be seen in combat, it did make him resemble a bit like a goat, something people sometimes made fun of him for. His eyes dimmed a mesmerizing amethyst color. Personality: Steffen is a gentle and quiet man. He is quite reserved and stoic, but willing to share his learned knowledge with those around him, combined with the contrasting reputation of the Ingvarr people made him quite an eccentric figure for those around him. It would be quite rare to see him raise his voice to someone who is not his enemies, and even less so his allies. He is also a pushover, and while he would refuse anything outright immoral, he found it difficult to say no to any requests for help, nor would he be disagreeable in conversations. In fact, his fellow knights would find him quite pleasant to talk to, having that air of knowledge around him. However, he does tend to keep his past to himself, making some people to wonder or be skeptical to why he is here. Steffen is quite diligent in his day-to-day life, both on-duty and off-duty. His best effort were derived from satisfaction from accomplishing the smallest of things: a sharp blade, a clean house, or a task well-done. He often took on menial tasks for the other knights, or rather being pushed into doing, as they trusted that he would complete them with satisfactory results. Steffen has nothing really to prove to anyone unless it's required to. All he wanted is to live a low profile, working for the sake of others and enjoying the simple things. He avoids confrontations or challenges, never being the instigator, as he find those to be often times pointless. That is no excuse to push him over the edge, however, as those who were caught at the sharp end of his spear tend to not enjoy that experience. He is inadvertently good with children, despite not necessarily fond of talking to them. His distinct Ingvarr horns and pointy ears tend to attract the younglings and the curious. Being someone who wouldn't want to refuse others, he would let them play with it. Brief Backstory: Ingvarrs are fierce warriors. People in this land knew that, the Ingvarrs knew that, the Gravinir family knew that, and Steffen knew that too. But he consciously chose the life of peace and knowledge, despite his family insisting otherwise. He would not budge. No matter how many combat sessions he had with his father, a renowned warrior in his tribe, how many insistence of family traditions, how many Ingvarr legends that were passed, and how he could become one of them, Steffen was not interested. He liked reading literature, growing flowers and writing instead. Initially he would be looked upon with scorn, but overtime, his parents accepted his path. After all, it was his choice, and he was sticking by it quite admirably, so who were they to force him otherwise. It was still a shame, however, as Steffen is a good warrior in his own right, and could've been a perfect inheritor of the warrior reputation of his ancestors. But solemnly, the head of family title would be passed down to his little brother, Ogand, and he was expected to carry his family's traditions instead. Ogand, however, did not possess the warrior capability nor the honor that his older brother had. Though he aspired to make a name for himself and his family, he was a middling fighter, could barely persevere with his father's strict training regiments, which became even more strict to shape him. That aspiration slowly grew to resentment. Resentment of his parents for inflicting so much pain on him, resentment on his older brother for handing him that responsibility despite being more than capable of fulfilling it himself. Steffen did occasionally look out for his younger brother, though did not stray away from his chosen path, which only made Ogand's resentment grew even more. It all came to a breaking point when Ogand threw away everything, his honor and aspiration to betray his parents and brother, murdered the former and burned their house down. Steffen luckily was not around when the betrayal happened, but Ogand was going for him next. News of the treachery spread quickly, however, and a kind soul managed to warn Steffen before he suffered the same fate as his parents. The eldest son of the Gravinir family took up the spear that he put down long ago, and the next time the two brothers met, only one would come out alive. Heartbroken for his beloved parents, and even more so his brother, whose betrayals hurt him personally, Steffen left his tribe, hoping to find peace in solitude. On his travels, he met a nice group of Ingvarr hunters who liked to camp near his area. They befriended one another, and eventually they invited him to live with their tribe. Steffen reluctantly accepted, but soon found comfort in his new tribes. He figured he could settle here and enjoy a stable, mundane life. He even swore a blood oath of brotherhood with one of his close friends there. He was happy for a few years, until it was taken from him again. Unbeknownst to Steffen, his leader had a dispute with another tribe, something that escalated to a conflict. Their tribe struck first with a raid on his village, one that caught them by surprise. In spite of that, the warriors of his village, including Steffen, managed to resist the invaders, and thus repelling them after hours of gruelling combat. However, many of his friends including his oath-sworn brother were among the fallen. The weight of another tragedy plus superstitions of Steffen by the locals who were aware of what happened to his family, believing the man to be bringing bad luck to the tribes, convinced him to leave his tribe one more time to find another place to live. This time he would go south to Thaln. He would initially find work here and there in the northern area of Thaln with the locals who were friendly with the Ingvarrs, but a more permanent settlement for him would be further south. People were initially wary of the Ingvarr due to never having seen one before, but suspicions mellowed out a bit overtime as his good deeds accumulated. While he mainly helped the village out with bookkeeping and some botanical works, his Ingvarr super-strength made him flexible to most village commissions. One day, several knights stumbled into the village, beaten and bloodied, desperate for refuge. The village chief took them in and helped them recover from their wounds. It would be later be revealed that they were the Iron Rose knights, fleeing a lost battle of what would be known as the War of the Red Flag, but not after their recovery, but before by their predators. A band of soldiers from Lord Cainz would stumble into the village to finish off the remnants of the Iron Roses, but was met with a firm refusal from the old village chief, who told off the soldiers that they should be ashamed for trying to hunt down the wounded and the sick. For his kindness though, the village chief would be ran through with a spear. They tried to ransack the village afterwards, but Steffen was there and he, despite not having a proper weapon on-hand, would slaughter the rebels with utter brutality. There would be no more meaningless massacre in the land he loved. The Iron Rose Knights would recover after a few days, explained to the villagers of the war that broke out, helped the leaderless village to set up defence watch against the rebels while they try to reach their Order. Naturally, they worked alongside Steffen mostly, and this outlander proved life-saving in times of desperation, fending off multiple follow-up rebel raids with the knights. Both impressed by his skills, admirable conducts, and lacking in manpower, the knights impromptu roped him into more knightly battles to defend the land, and there he did so with distinction. As the tide of the war gradually turned against the rebels, and more knights were available to reinforce the front, Steffen was phased out and spent the rest of the war defending his village. But for the knights who stumbled into the village on that fateful day, the fearsome warrior was exemplary knightly behavior, more so than some of their own, and readily recommended him to join their Order. He was initially reluctant to be taking up the warrior life again now that the war was over, but after seeing tragedies happen, snatching away his peaceful life one time after another, he was convinced that there would be no peace in this chaotic world if the threats were not to be dealt with. He accepted his invitation this time to the Iron Rose Knights, being one of a few outlander knights of the Order. Equipment: Gravinir Spear: The only relic left of his long dead family, one that he used in the fight with his brother. A box-standard spear of his tribe, nothing too special, but given the inhuman strength of the Ingvarr, they were made almost entirely out of metal in order to withstand the test of might. It stood just as tall as Steffen, topped by a triangular spearhead that could slice or pierce. The back of the spear also is sharpened with a spearhead, though leaf-shaped. Armor: Plate armor custom-made when he joined the Iron Rose Knights, to replace the haphazard one he had during the war. He does not have a helmet with him, as the smither refused that, citing too much work to do. How the hell do you make a helmet for such a head? Skills: His most obvious skill is his inhuman physical strength, capable of bending metal and breaking boulders with relative ease. He can use most conventional weaponry with some degree of familiarity, but his weapon of mastery is the spear. His spearmanship style is defensive, often overcoming opponents with counterattacks, parries that disorient their intended move. He prefers not to make much movement of his own and while more pacifistic, he would not hesitate to be brutal the more serious the threat became. Steffen is also a good martial artist, very well being able to hold his own unarmed, while always presenting the threat of the earth-shattering punch that embodied his physical strength. Outside the battlefield, Steffen is quite fond of gardening and botany, enjoyed reading and writing literature. His knowledge and advanced literacy allowed him on more important bookkeeping roles for the knights.</s> <|message|>Steffen Gravinir ⚘ Steffen Gravinir ⚘ --- A cough brought the Ingvarr back from his subtly meditative state, enjoying both the view and also making sure the plants and flowers get to do the same to anyone who visited in the future. Turning around, he was met with another sight of pink, one not that far off from the roses he just watered earlier. It was Dame Tyaethe inquiring something about a painting. While the subject matter was quite out of the blue that it took Steffen a few seconds to register the question, her phrasing of it really drove it home to him. "...You're talking about that one, right?" He said, with a finger raised. The prestige of the Iron Rose were hard to dispute, and thus some artistic folks would occasionally send in their work to show their gratitude, and maybe other purposes as well. A lot weren't exactly displayable, not always necessarily because of the skills of the artists. Those ones he'd gladly send a letter of appreciation for. But no, that was likely not the one Tyaethe was asking about. This one was...let's just say even Steffen, who was quite liberal with his standards of artistic expression, was a little hesitant on calling it so. He really wasn't sure what kind of thoughts and feelings that portrait was supposed to arouse to the bystanders. "Yes, we did get a painting like that." A slight tint of exasperation came from Steffen. "And no, no one approved it. It was just there somehow." Seeing the Tyaethe being a bit twitchy about the sun in front of her, Steffen looked around and extended one of his arms towards a bench nearby, one where the sun is behind it instead. If the conversation were to continue, the vampire probably would like to be sitting to face the much taller Ingvarr rather than standing, not to mention the sun too - annoying for anyone facing it and not just vampires. "Dame Merilia's getting...more creative I'd say." He said, trying his best to soften his real feelings about the painting. He had seen through the hallways full of these work, and her work had always had a distinct look to it. The choice of material, the shockingly realistic brushstroke, like if someone just take a sword and cut the scenery out from reality. It wasn't hard to infer the artist once he was introduced. "It's in the storage if you're interested. Truth be told, I'm letting Dame Liliana decide on what to do with it, when she's free." Daze</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Tyaethe Taking the seat, although the parasol was still carefully angled to avoid the inevitably rapid sunburn, Tyaethe shook her head. "I'm not asking because I want to see the picture... we're probably just going to keep it, to be honest. It's not something we can give away or sell off, and breaking the protections on it to get rid of the thing would be a massive pain. Seriously, I've seen flimsier protections on a castle gateway, and that was specifically shored up in times of war. Not that we couldn't if we tried, she's not here to fix it again, but it would be too much work over a painting..." Voice trailing off, the girl blinked a few times, trying to get her train of thought back to where it was to start with. Right, the painting wasn't why she was here. "No, I've just been hearing people mention Merilia all morning. That usually means she's dropped something off here... don't tell me she's sent one of her concubines over? I thought that letter was a joke..." The girl gave a blank stare at the colourful mass ahead that was probably a flowerbed. Or maybe someone had spilled several buckets of paint over a hedge, hell if she could see from here. Were they going to have to deal with some foreign rabbit that didn't speak any of the local languages, at all? That would be a problem.</s>

<|message|>Steffen Gravinir "I certainly hope some creative folks can come up with a good use of that painting. Because I cannot." Steffen replied with an amused headshake. Now he imagined that thing being used as some sort of decoy in case some thief decided to take chances with the Roses. Give or take, those paintings would still be expensive just by the owners alone. Or better yet, a prank to counter-prank some certain knights in the order. Or even a shield of some kind too on the battlefield, as long as one went through a very severe and thorough ego death before wielding that into battle. "Concubines?" Steffen looked up with a confused look, before opening his eyes wide and gazed away. "Oh right right." His hand rubbed his temple, a little embarrassed he didn't know the word at first. Maybe it was him, but he wasn't aware that having mistresses seems to be more common in these area than from where he lived. Or maybe it could just be Merilia. But what's the big deal with having her mistresses come over? Are they troublemakers? "I don't know anything about that yet. But if they're here, they'll make themselves known soon enough." Steffen said, leaning his head slightly. "Is them coming an issue though? I can always help them out if needed." Daze</s>

<|description|>Steffen Gravinir Age: 31 Gender: Male Race: Ingvarr Appearance: Very tall, towering at 7ft, along with a well-built body and broad shoulders, Steffen would be a giant if other giant races did not exist. But he often concealed that physique through more conservative and sharp styled clothes, giving off a more intellectual aura. He sported a neck-length black hair that had a slights jut out to the side due to his wide and pointy ears. A clear trademark that he would or could not hide from anyone would be his red twisty horns on top of his head. While an intimidating sight to be seen in combat, it did make him resemble a bit like a goat, something people sometimes made fun of him for. His eyes dimmed a mesmerizing amethyst color. Personality: Steffen is a gentle and quiet man. He is quite reserved and stoic, but willing to share his learned knowledge with those around him, combined with the contrasting reputation of the Ingvarr people made him quite an eccentric figure for those around him. It would be quite rare to see him raise his voice to someone who is not his enemies, and even less so his allies. He is also a pushover, and while he would refuse anything outright immoral, he found it difficult to say no to any requests for help, nor would he be disagreeable in conversations. In fact, his fellow knights would find him quite pleasant to talk to, having that air of knowledge around him. However, he does tend to keep his past to himself, making some people to wonder or be skeptical to why he is here. Steffen is quite diligent in his day-to-day life, both on-duty and off-duty. His best effort were derived from satisfaction from accomplishing the smallest of things: a sharp blade, a clean house, or a task well-done. He often took on menial tasks for the other knights, or rather being pushed into doing, as they trusted that he would complete them with satisfactory results. Steffen has nothing really to prove to anyone unless it's required to. All he wanted is to live a low profile, working for the sake of others and enjoying the simple things. He avoids confrontations or challenges, never being the instigator, as he find those to be often times pointless. That is no excuse to push him over the edge, however, as those who were caught at the sharp end of his spear tend to not enjoy that experience. He is inadvertently good with children, despite not necessarily fond of talking to them. His distinct Ingvarr horns and pointy ears tend to attract the younglings and the curious. Being someone who wouldn't want to refuse others, he would let them play with it. Brief Backstory: Ingvarrs are fierce warriors. People in this land knew that, the Ingvarrs knew that, the Gravinir family knew that, and Steffen knew that too. But he consciously chose the life of peace and knowledge, despite his family insisting otherwise. He would not budge. No matter how many combat sessions he had with his father, a renowned warrior in his tribe, how many insistence of family traditions, how many Ingvarr legends that were passed, and how he could become one of them, Steffen was not interested. He liked reading literature, growing flowers and writing instead. Initially he would be looked upon with scorn, but overtime, his parents accepted his path. After all, it was his choice, and he was sticking by it quite admirably, so who were they to force him otherwise. It was still a shame, however, as Steffen is a good warrior in his own right, and could've been a perfect inheritor of the warrior reputation of his ancestors. But solemnly, the head of family title would be passed down to his little brother, Ogand, and he was expected to carry his family's traditions instead. Ogand, however, did not possess the warrior capability nor the honor that his older brother had. Though he aspired to make a name for himself and his family, he was a middling fighter, could barely persevere with his father's strict training regiments, which became even more strict to shape him. That aspiration slowly grew to resentment. Resentment of his parents for inflicting so much pain on him, resentment on his older brother for handing him that responsibility despite being more than capable of fulfilling it himself. Steffen did occasionally look out for his younger brother, though did not stray away from his chosen path, which only made Ogand's resentment grew even more. It all came to a breaking point when Ogand threw away everything, his honor and aspiration to betray his parents and brother, murdered the former and burned their house down. Steffen luckily was not around when the betrayal happened, but Ogand was going for him next. News of the treachery spread quickly, however, and a kind soul managed to warn Steffen before he suffered the same fate as his parents. The eldest son of the Gravinir family took up the spear that he put down long ago, and the next time the two brothers met, only one would come out alive. Heartbroken for his beloved parents, and even more so his brother, whose betrayals hurt him personally, Steffen left his tribe, hoping to find peace in solitude. On his travels, he met a nice group of Ingvarr hunters who liked to camp near his area. They befriended one another, and eventually they invited him to live with their tribe. Steffen reluctantly accepted, but soon found comfort in his new tribes. He figured he could settle here and enjoy a stable, mundane life. He even swore a blood oath of brotherhood with one of his close friends there. He was happy for a few years, until it was taken from him again. Unbeknownst to Steffen, his leader had a dispute with another tribe, something that escalated to a conflict. Their tribe struck first with a raid on his village, one that caught them by surprise. In spite of that, the warriors of his village, including Steffen, managed to resist the invaders, and thus repelling them after hours of gruelling combat. However, many of his friends including his oath-sworn brother were among the fallen. The weight of another tragedy plus superstitions of Steffen by the locals who were aware of what happened to his family, believing the man to be bringing bad luck to the tribes, convinced him to leave his tribe one more time to find another place to live. This time he would go south to Thaln. He would initially find work here and there in the northern area of Thaln with the locals who were friendly with the Ingvarrs, but a more permanent settlement for him would be further south. People were initially wary of the Ingvarr due to never having seen one before, but suspicions mellowed out a bit overtime as his good deeds accumulated. While he mainly helped the village out with bookkeeping and some botanical works, his Ingvarr super-strength made him flexible to most village commissions. One day, several knights stumbled into the village, beaten and bloodied, desperate for refuge. The village chief took them in and helped them recover from their wounds. It would be later be revealed that they were the Iron Rose knights, fleeing a lost battle of what would be known as the War of the Red Flag, but not after their recovery, but before by their predators. A band of soldiers from Lord Cainz would stumble into the village to finish off the remnants of the Iron Roses, but was met with a firm refusal from the old village chief, who told off the soldiers that they should be ashamed for trying to hunt down the wounded and the sick. For his kindness though, the village chief would be ran through with a spear. They tried to ransack the village afterwards, but Steffen was there and he, despite not having a proper weapon on-hand, would slaughter the rebels with utter brutality. There would be no more meaningless massacre in the land he loved. The Iron Rose Knights would recover after a few days, explained to the villagers of the war that broke out, helped the leaderless village to set up defence watch against the rebels while they try to reach their Order. Naturally, they worked alongside Steffen mostly, and this outlander proved life-saving in times of desperation, fending off multiple follow-up rebel raids with the knights. Both impressed by his skills, admirable conducts, and lacking in manpower, the knights impromptu roped him into more knightly battles to defend the land, and there he did so with distinction. As the tide of the war gradually turned against the rebels, and more knights were available to reinforce the front, Steffen was phased out and spent the rest of the war defending his village. But for the knights who stumbled into the village on that fateful day, the fearsome warrior was exemplary knightly behavior, more so than some of their own, and readily recommended him to join their Order. He was initially reluctant to be taking up the warrior life again now that the war was over, but after seeing tragedies happen, snatching away his peaceful life one time after another, he was convinced that there would be no peace in this chaotic world if the threats were not to be dealt with. He accepted his invitation this time to the Iron Rose Knights, being one of a few outlander knights of the Order. Equipment: Gravinir Spear: The only relic left of his long dead family, one that he used in the fight with his brother. A box-standard spear of his tribe, nothing too special, but given the inhuman strength of the Ingvarr, they were made almost entirely out of metal in order to withstand the test of might. It stood just as tall as Steffen, topped by a triangular spearhead that could slice or pierce. The back of the spear also is sharpened with a spearhead, though leaf-shaped. Armor: Plate armor custom-made when he joined the Iron Rose Knights, to replace the haphazard one he had during the war. He does not have a helmet with him, as the smither refused that, citing too much work to do. How the hell do you make a helmet for such a head? Skills: His most obvious skill is his inhuman physical strength, capable of bending metal and breaking boulders with relative ease. He can use most conventional weaponry with some degree of familiarity, but his weapon of mastery is the spear. His spearmanship style is defensive, often overcoming opponents with counterattacks, parries that disorient their intended move. He prefers not to make much movement of his own and while more pacifistic, he would not hesitate to be brutal the more serious the threat became. Steffen is also a good martial artist, very well being able to hold his own unarmed, while always presenting the threat of the earth-shattering punch that embodied his physical strength. Outside the battlefield, Steffen is quite fond of gardening and botany, enjoyed reading and writing literature. His knowledge and advanced literacy allowed him on more important bookkeeping roles for the knights.</s> <|message|>Gerard Segremors Gerard Segremors Landshark "Considering I don't even get to sleep without Erich Cazt showing up, I'll pass. I'm a dolt, not an idiot." It was like that spurt of mental communique had laid the seed for his specter to populate the darker corners of Gerard's mind— appearing at the end of the gauntlet of the many deaths Gerard had suffered at the height of his powers, after even Agrahn. Even aside from that singularly vexing night... Many times now, when working alone on his cuts, the shadows of fellow mercenaries or knights fell away in his mind's eye when placing them, when conjuring imagined foes— replaced by the Hero. An incessant reminder of the plain truth that Renar and he arrived upon— stagnation would be the end of them both. He didn't fear dying. He'd long ago been convinced not to— but to Renar's point of their ambitions, it was an utterly souring thought to not realize them off the back of ones' own inaction. They knew the woods well— but needed to wisen up to tackle the dark forest that was the world. "We'll have to figure out how to get there. We train pretty damn hard already, so there's only so much redoubling the effort's gonna do. Need to change up the method, I think." Get smarter. Use your head. "And I gotta fight a little less stupid along the way. Conditioning, though... Paladin Tyaethe mentioned hauling statues around to me a while back. Fionn has his construction project. Guess they're worth trying out." Starts, but not nearly the finish line. Strength work, but little to match it for speed.</s> <|message|>Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias Renar Hagen For all of Gerard's self-depreciation, he did bring up a good point. They were already training as hard as they believed they could. More effort would only lead to injury, most likely. So then, what to do? "At least you're finally getting it through your head that you ought to be at least trying to fight in a less suicidal manner. Although that begs the question of how I ought to change my methods." Renar mused aloud, while already coming up with the basics of a plan in his head. "Hauling statues doesn't seem to be a poor idea, at the very least. I do know that between all of our little training group, I tend to focus more on technique than outright force. Adopting a more rigorous method of physical conditioning ought to provide dividends. Though I don't quite intend to neglect arms training. Or reduce it, for that matter. But perhaps what we all need to improve faster is a change of pace. New foes to practice against." A sigh. "Dame Lilette is still within the city somewhere. I intend to find her. From there, it's a matter of seeing exactly how I can bribe her into training me for however long she intends to stay in Thaln. And by train, I mean repeatedly beat me to within an inch of my life until I can better stand up to someone of her calibur." He took a sip of wine to fortify himself. As it stood, Renar truly didn't see a better way to become a better combatant faster than this. There were more sane and less grueling ways, certainly. But those would take longer than he feared they had until the next great threat arose. "As I see it, she's likely been asked far less than Dame Tyaethe about this. Which means it won't be as impossible of a task to secure her assistance. And by the time she leaves, hopefully I'm improved somewhat enough that the aforementioned might be interested enough to continue that training."</s>

<|message|>Steffen Gravinir The joke was taken a little seriously, he thought. But a reminder here and there of the prestige wouldn't hurt. Besides, it's Dame Tyaethe, the First and Youngest, the serious, no-nonsense founder of the Iron Rose. If there were anyone who would want to keep the knight's image proper, in this case for a good reason too. Steffen simply just let the matter fade away naturally. As the issue, or so it seemed, about Merilia returned to the picture frame, Steffen began to stagger in the amount of information to process. "There has been talks about Merilia, yes, since the painting came over." He said, scratching his chin. "But I don't think I hear anything about rabbits?" When Tyaethe mentioned Akitsushima and Merilia's concubines, his mind defaulted over to those far eastern princesses that he had heard from the collection of Vos Korvungaand tales, it reminded him a lot of the Hundis. He had never seen them in person before though, so if one were really going to show up this week, he'd be willing to greet them. Both out of curiosity as well as empathy that a foreign person likely knowing little of the local language would be quite a scary prospect. He had been through that before. "She has her charm, but you have a point." Trying to steer clear of Tyaethe's statement of her popularity as much as possible, Steffen simply nodded. "I'll keep my eyes open. If there's any lost rabbit or anything on discussion, I will certainly let you in on it." A small smile turned up on him. "I'm sure it's not that serious." Daze</s>

<|description|>Steffen Gravinir Age: 31 Gender: Male Race: Ingvarr Appearance: Very tall, towering at 7ft, along with a well-built body and broad shoulders, Steffen would be a giant if other giant races did not exist. But he often concealed that physique through more conservative and sharp styled clothes, giving off a more intellectual aura. He sported a neck-length black hair that had a slights jut out to the side due to his wide and pointy ears. A clear trademark that he would or could not hide from anyone would be his red twisty horns on top of his head. While an intimidating sight to be seen in combat, it did make him resemble a bit like a goat, something people sometimes made fun of him for. His eyes dimmed a mesmerizing amethyst color. Personality: Steffen is a gentle and quiet man. He is quite reserved and stoic, but willing to share his learned knowledge with those around him, combined with the contrasting reputation of the Ingvarr people made him quite an eccentric figure for those around him. It would be quite rare to see him raise his voice to someone who is not his enemies, and even less so his allies. He is also a pushover, and while he would refuse anything outright immoral, he found it difficult to say no to any requests for help, nor would he be disagreeable in conversations. In fact, his fellow knights would find him quite pleasant to talk to, having that air of knowledge around him. However, he does tend to keep his past to himself, making some people to wonder or be skeptical to why he is here. Steffen is quite diligent in his day-to-day life, both on-duty and off-duty. His best effort were derived from satisfaction from accomplishing the smallest of things: a sharp blade, a clean house, or a task well-done. He often took on menial tasks for the other knights, or rather being pushed into doing, as they trusted that he would complete them with satisfactory results. Steffen has nothing really to prove to anyone unless it's required to. All he wanted is to live a low profile, working for the sake of others and enjoying the simple things. He avoids confrontations or challenges, never being the instigator, as he find those to be often times pointless. That is no excuse to push him over the edge, however, as those who were caught at the sharp end of his spear tend to not enjoy that experience. He is inadvertently good with children, despite not necessarily fond of talking to them. His distinct Ingvarr horns and pointy ears tend to attract the younglings and the curious. Being someone who wouldn't want to refuse others, he would let them play with it. Brief Backstory: Ingvarrs are fierce warriors. People in this land knew that, the Ingvarrs knew that, the Gravinir family knew that, and Steffen knew that too. But he consciously chose the life of peace and knowledge, despite his family insisting otherwise. He would not budge. No matter how many combat sessions he had with his father, a renowned warrior in his tribe, how many insistence of family traditions, how many Ingvarr legends that were passed, and how he could become one of them, Steffen was not interested. He liked reading literature, growing flowers and writing instead. Initially he would be looked upon with scorn, but overtime, his parents accepted his path. After all, it was his choice, and he was sticking by it quite admirably, so who were they to force him otherwise. It was still a shame, however, as Steffen is a good warrior in his own right, and could've been a perfect inheritor of the warrior reputation of his ancestors. But solemnly, the head of family title would be passed down to his little brother, Ogand, and he was expected to carry his family's traditions instead. Ogand, however, did not possess the warrior capability nor the honor that his older brother had. Though he aspired to make a name for himself and his family, he was a middling fighter, could barely persevere with his father's strict training regiments, which became even more strict to shape him. That aspiration slowly grew to resentment. Resentment of his parents for inflicting so much pain on him, resentment on his older brother for handing him that responsibility despite being more than capable of fulfilling it himself. Steffen did occasionally look out for his younger brother, though did not stray away from his chosen path, which only made Ogand's resentment grew even more. It all came to a breaking point when Ogand threw away everything, his honor and aspiration to betray his parents and brother, murdered the former and burned their house down. Steffen luckily was not around when the betrayal happened, but Ogand was going for him next. News of the treachery spread quickly, however, and a kind soul managed to warn Steffen before he suffered the same fate as his parents. The eldest son of the Gravinir family took up the spear that he put down long ago, and the next time the two brothers met, only one would come out alive. Heartbroken for his beloved parents, and even more so his brother, whose betrayals hurt him personally, Steffen left his tribe, hoping to find peace in solitude. On his travels, he met a nice group of Ingvarr hunters who liked to camp near his area. They befriended one another, and eventually they invited him to live with their tribe. Steffen reluctantly accepted, but soon found comfort in his new tribes. He figured he could settle here and enjoy a stable, mundane life. He even swore a blood oath of brotherhood with one of his close friends there. He was happy for a few years, until it was taken from him again. Unbeknownst to Steffen, his leader had a dispute with another tribe, something that escalated to a conflict. Their tribe struck first with a raid on his village, one that caught them by surprise. In spite of that, the warriors of his village, including Steffen, managed to resist the invaders, and thus repelling them after hours of gruelling combat. However, many of his friends including his oath-sworn brother were among the fallen. The weight of another tragedy plus superstitions of Steffen by the locals who were aware of what happened to his family, believing the man to be bringing bad luck to the tribes, convinced him to leave his tribe one more time to find another place to live. This time he would go south to Thaln. He would initially find work here and there in the northern area of Thaln with the locals who were friendly with the Ingvarrs, but a more permanent settlement for him would be further south. People were initially wary of the Ingvarr due to never having seen one before, but suspicions mellowed out a bit overtime as his good deeds accumulated. While he mainly helped the village out with bookkeeping and some botanical works, his Ingvarr super-strength made him flexible to most village commissions. One day, several knights stumbled into the village, beaten and bloodied, desperate for refuge. The village chief took them in and helped them recover from their wounds. It would be later be revealed that they were the Iron Rose knights, fleeing a lost battle of what would be known as the War of the Red Flag, but not after their recovery, but before by their predators. A band of soldiers from Lord Cainz would stumble into the village to finish off the remnants of the Iron Roses, but was met with a firm refusal from the old village chief, who told off the soldiers that they should be ashamed for trying to hunt down the wounded and the sick. For his kindness though, the village chief would be ran through with a spear. They tried to ransack the village afterwards, but Steffen was there and he, despite not having a proper weapon on-hand, would slaughter the rebels with utter brutality. There would be no more meaningless massacre in the land he loved. The Iron Rose Knights would recover after a few days, explained to the villagers of the war that broke out, helped the leaderless village to set up defence watch against the rebels while they try to reach their Order. Naturally, they worked alongside Steffen mostly, and this outlander proved life-saving in times of desperation, fending off multiple follow-up rebel raids with the knights. Both impressed by his skills, admirable conducts, and lacking in manpower, the knights impromptu roped him into more knightly battles to defend the land, and there he did so with distinction. As the tide of the war gradually turned against the rebels, and more knights were available to reinforce the front, Steffen was phased out and spent the rest of the war defending his village. But for the knights who stumbled into the village on that fateful day, the fearsome warrior was exemplary knightly behavior, more so than some of their own, and readily recommended him to join their Order. He was initially reluctant to be taking up the warrior life again now that the war was over, but after seeing tragedies happen, snatching away his peaceful life one time after another, he was convinced that there would be no peace in this chaotic world if the threats were not to be dealt with. He accepted his invitation this time to the Iron Rose Knights, being one of a few outlander knights of the Order. Equipment: Gravinir Spear: The only relic left of his long dead family, one that he used in the fight with his brother. A box-standard spear of his tribe, nothing too special, but given the inhuman strength of the Ingvarr, they were made almost entirely out of metal in order to withstand the test of might. It stood just as tall as Steffen, topped by a triangular spearhead that could slice or pierce. The back of the spear also is sharpened with a spearhead, though leaf-shaped. Armor: Plate armor custom-made when he joined the Iron Rose Knights, to replace the haphazard one he had during the war. He does not have a helmet with him, as the smither refused that, citing too much work to do. How the hell do you make a helmet for such a head? Skills: His most obvious skill is his inhuman physical strength, capable of bending metal and breaking boulders with relative ease. He can use most conventional weaponry with some degree of familiarity, but his weapon of mastery is the spear. His spearmanship style is defensive, often overcoming opponents with counterattacks, parries that disorient their intended move. He prefers not to make much movement of his own and while more pacifistic, he would not hesitate to be brutal the more serious the threat became. Steffen is also a good martial artist, very well being able to hold his own unarmed, while always presenting the threat of the earth-shattering punch that embodied his physical strength. Outside the battlefield, Steffen is quite fond of gardening and botany, enjoyed reading and writing literature. His knowledge and advanced literacy allowed him on more important bookkeeping roles for the knights.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow --- "How'd you get that tan in just a week?" Possibly one of the stranger questions he could ask, but perhaps it being almost utterly disconnected from everything else she was saying might keep her from spiralling off any further. "You can tell me on the walk around if you want. I've got to make my way back to the dining hall and see if a couple of people are there, can take you along to the captain after if you'd like."</s> <|message|>Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin, First and Youngest of the Knights. Lilia, Outside Candaeln "Oh, well, um..." the elf-girl replied, looking away and blushing, "I... didn't? I just covered it with a glamour for the ball to get less attention, I would have to stay inside for weeks to lose it. Dad was a desert elf, see, so... oh, and I spend a lot of time outside, that helps." A variety of expressions flickered over her face, before she settled on, "If it's not too much trouble...? I don't want to take up any of your valuable time, you're an important knight and I'm just some elf! I don't mind if you just tell me where to go, I can wait!"</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow --- Covered it with a glamour. That explained it well enough, he imagined. "Magic, then? Something I need to figure out myself, now that Tyaethe's done me the favour of pointing out that I'm magical too." Just to emphasize that he wasn't pulling her leg, he held up the hand that he was about to open their way with, setting a fingertip to glow again for just a moment. Then—rather than listen to the nervous elf's protestations of not wanting to take up much time—he pushed the door in, stepping inside and holding it open. "Now, don't mess with the seat with all the pillows, that's Tyaethe's and she—" He stopped mid-sentence, seeing a recognizable pillow in the stack. He stared for a second, before setting his jaw, walking over, and plucking his old favourite pillow out of the stack. "Takes pillows from the other knights, apparently. I've been wondering where this went for months." Taking a nap out in the sunlight one afternoon, he had gotten up for a short time to go and grab a quick drink of water. By the time he made it back his pillow had been gone. Now, though, now he knew the first place to look if such should happen again. Purloined head cushion secured under his arm, he started to continue back along. "Of course, we've got all the relics, paintings of the founding knights, that sort of stuff. Better to look at when you've got Tyaethe out here like normal to talk about them, though. No real time to waste to see if I can remember it all off the top of my head, we've got to be quick..." He'd taken longer to get back than he wanted, anyways. Knowing his luck as soon as he made it to the dining room and glanced in, his day's next quarry would be long gone. With that in mind, he rushed the poor elf woman along with barely any explanation or introduction to the castle itself, bursting into the dining hall at high speed with a heavy impact to the door, casting his eyes back and forth across the few heads still in there. Renar he couldn't spot easily—likely facing the wrong direction—but it didn't take much before he locked eyes with Gerard, waving at the man to get up and come over.</s>

<|message|>Steffen Gravinir Steffen tapped on his knee a few times as the conversation winded down, occasionally glancing to Tyaethe to see her seemingly deep in thoughts. He would try to think up of something else to say about Merilia, but that was pretty much the extent of his knowledge about her. She did come up in the dream he had this morning for encouragement, but he felt it would be too weird to bring up all of a sudden. A few little birds, brown cute little sparrows, landed on the stone walkway in front of both of them. Steffen tilted his head and picked up some seeds from his pocket, letting them fly over onto his palm. With a tickle, the sparrows stood and pecked the seeds. He could hear the squeaks that they made that lightened up the garden every day. If he wasn't wrong, this was the one who would actually wake up late but would tweet all day without exhaustion. It took a little bit for him to earn its trust, but it was worth it. "Anyway, is there anything else you need to discuss? Or you're just chatting?" Steffen turned to ask, the sparrows flying off once they were done. "I'll head off to the training later if you want to see me." Daze</s>

<|description|>Nicomede, formerly Nicomede Durant Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Personality: A serious man of noble bearing, though the edges have been worn away by long years on the road. The ceremony of his birth is long gone but Nicomede still acts in a way consistent with the respect he intends to show, even if commensurate respect has long been absent in reply. Highborn manners are taught young, and impossible to shake. With those manners comes an unshakable sense of duty followed even at great cost. A task taken is a task completed, and a life under his care is a life preserved. Whether an innocent or a man under his command, it makes little difference. Those who would spite their responsibility are Nicomede's greatest foe, and Nicomede's own record a fast route to his anger. None of this is to say that Nicomede is a humorless man. He has an easy, affable disposition well-suited to making friends. So long outside of the nobility has given him a friendly understanding of the common man, and despite the grace with which he can navigate higher society's mores he's grown more comfortable with the rank and file than with those of his own birth. But he doesn't truly belong in either world, and in his heart he craves nothing more than the respect he was robbed of. The right to remain in one place and hold his head high again. No longer the disowned and unwanted. True friendship is hard won, best forged in fire and in blood, but Nicomede is unafraid of sharing the wisdom he has garnered with those younger or less experienced. If his friendship is hard won his loyalty is a Herculean task but once earned it will never waver unto even the brink of death. Brief Backstory: Nicomede, born Nicomede Durante, was once the heir apparent to the current Lord Durante's titles. The family Durante originated in Velt many generations ago but it was in Thaln that they reached new heights. Lord Durante controls an influential fief in the northwest of Thaln. A key stop in trade between the two kingdoms, bountiful natural resources, and a loyal populace. Nicomede was raised to inherit and trained accordingly in all the matters necessary to be an ideal nobleman. He took to the sword like a duck to water, and magic with only a little less fervor though he emphasized the martial and tactical applications of the art. As a young adult he lead a part of the fief's forces against a nearby traitorous lord. His younger brother commanded the rest. Towards the end of the war Nicomede was positioned, with only half his strength after detaching the rest to assist his brother, in a village without fortifications or natural defenses. The force advancing on him outnumbered him significantly. Standing his ground might have succeeded, but would certainly have been bloody and left little of the town intact. Rather than throw his own men, and the town's population and livelihood into the grinder, Nicomede ordered them to withdraw. His forces regrouped with his brother's forces and retook the town with a minimum of losses. Not that any of that mattered to his father. The embarrassment of retreat, the shame that his heir had ordered it, was insurmountable. Face had to be saved, and there was a clear choice. Nicomede was a coward, he proclaimed, that had run to his younger sibling for help and it was only the work of his brother that the township had been saved. His heir had cut and run rather than face an uncertain battle, unable to face the realities of war. Under the circumstances he had no choice but to disown his eldest son, strip him of his name, and ensure that the title would fall to his more worthy sibling. He traveled to the front lines in person to do just that before the war even ended. The Lord Durante's men were marshalled to bear witness in the town's main square, delivered the same decree that had already been sent to every corner of the fief and beyond and watched as the family's crest was struck from Nicomede's armor. In the eyes of the Goddesses, the Lord Durante announced, Nicomede had no family name and the Lord had only one son. Henceforth he was banned from setting foot on Durante land. With no money, no home, and nothing but the gear on his person Nicomede sold his services as a fighter to survive. There was no company that would take in a disgraced noble, by now word of his shameful cowardice in contrast to the kingdom's grand victory had spread far. Without status or money his reputation was a hindrance more than his arm was a help. For five years he has roamed alone, fighting to stick to his principles as well as he could. His work paid little, his gear lost its luster, and his face faded further and further from the public consciousness. Not his story, his was a cautionary tale. But within a few years no one could have associated the roaming sellsword with the former heir to Durante. Certainly the Iron Rose Knight he saved in the course of a job, rescuing the wounded warrior from likely death at bandit hands, couldn't. If he had he might not have invited Nicomede back to the capital to join the Knights. Equipment: Nicomede wears what clearly used to be a regal set of gleaming alwhyte plate armor, simple but masterfully crafted with gold trimming as befit his status. Pieces are missing now, lost to battle and too little money to repair them. His torso remains armored, but of the arms and legs only his pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves remain. The pieces that persist are scuffed and dented, the place his family crest once sat scored away before his exile. The arrangement bears more resemblance to a seat of half plate now, thick and durable traveling clothes supplementing the remaining armor. The spada da lato belted at his side, on the other hand, is immaculately maintained. There is no doubt that it is a functional blade, no mere badge of office, but its craftsmanship remains untouched by rough living. The blade, more slender than a contemporary longsword, runs down towards an intricate swept hilt that nevertheless incorporates a rigid cruciform guard. Some of this durability can be attributed to enchantment upon its crafting, but the rest is thanks to diligent, regular maintenance. Though not an enchantment in and of itself, the blade was forged with careful attention to Nicomede's preferences and synergy with his applied magic. The blade is supplemented by an offhand dagger, belted on the opposite side. More commonly he has a lantern shield buckled to his left arm, incorporated into his gauntlet and itself containing a blade that can be triggered to swing out and lock in place. Nicomede's final possessions are a worn but sturdy leather bag and a durable cloak to combat the elements. Skills: A gifted duelist, and a talented tactician. Make no mistake there is as much difference between a regulated bout and real combat as there is between wading into a chaotic bloodbath and facing down a single opponent focused on you and no one else. Nicomede has a gift for both, but a true edge when it comes down to his skill and that of an opponent. His training emphasizes thought and flow, seeking or creating the perfect opening rather than battering down a foe's defenses. His style reflects that, wielding two weapons equally suited to defense and granting the ability to strike effectively at close or medium range. He is familiar with a variety of blades but his sidesword is what he prefers. Befitting his original inheritance, Nicomede is a deft hand at the game of tactics if not necessarily familiar with the level of strategy. And though not a Paladin himself Nicomede embraced wholeheartedly his Mayonite faith and its affinity for water in the use of his magic. Though possessing nothing but respect for Paladins who see their element differently, Nicomede had never subscribed to the passivity of a Mayonite's defense versus a Reonite's fiery offense. Water is strongest of all he believes; what water cannot flow around, water will flow through given enough time. To fight like water is not to be passive, but to flow around and through those who would bring harm. To that end Nicomede has, in addition to more traditional workings of the element, harnessed water's pressure to punch through enemy armor in a concentrated point in supplement to his spada's tip. His tutor also instructed him in other applications of magic, in varying degrees. In addition to his extensive formal education, Nicomede had picked up the skills of surviving on the road with little money. Unfortunately for him, cooking was not one of them. Nicomede cannot cook better than boiling even if it were to save his own life.</s> <|message|>Fionn MacKerracher Fionn MacKerracher --- Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR --- After a quick glance through the crack he'd opened at the choking Nem, Fionn drew back from the door, turning towards the bed. "This is one for you, ma'am," he said quickly to Tyaethe. "Someone's magically choking our Nem. If you can break it, I've got the door for you."</s> <|message|>Cecilia --- "...You guys worry to much." Cecil idly commented. Perhaps it could be said she worried too little about things like this, but Serenity could handle herself, and what were they going to do? Waste time and let these conspirators do whatever it was they set out to do? "I'll buy ya a drink when we all get back, Serenity." She'd offer the knight a cheeky smile and a friendly salute as she'd follow off after the others, forming up as the captain had told her to. It was little surprise more undead awaited them in the crypts. "Well at least we don't have to worry about the smell of a rotting corpse." Cecil immediately knocked a few arrows, but there was on thing her keen eyes had spotted and she was definitely not going to let go so easily. Her goal was obvious. Arrows wouldn't do to terribly much against skeletons as a whole aside from some well placed blunt force wind trauma or smash them against the walls, but she could definitely make it easier for the others and rattle whatever it was following the skeletons. "Shael - Windburst!" The twang of the bowstring. The whizzing of the arrow through the air. Aimed towards a skeleton towards the back, as soon as the arrow impaled its skull the arrow would explode in a flurry of wind, hopefully knocking or at least making the skeletons movements difficult for a few moments so the others could take care of them...and also distract whatever it was that was sneaking up in the back. The man from Barukstaed Paladin@Conscripts@Creative Chaos --- A swing and a miss. The axe missed Steffan by just a hairs breadth, the head of the weapon slamming into the floor again, another smoking crater being left behind where the knight had been previously. Rocks and earthen debris were flung from the crater, dust and smoke clouding the air from the impact. Immediately following the miss, however, the large warrior wasted no time in following through. The mans grip loosened on the axe, a single hand moving towards the very end of the weapons haft and swiftly turning to his right. As Flerui's blade found its mark, the cleric would suddenly find his head ringing as the axe was swung around in a wide arc, just clipping his helm. This would put Vier in a somewhat favorable position on his left side, aiming to slice the mans unoccupied left wrist. The runed warrior, shifting his stance slightly would move his feet back to steady his stance, easily avoiding Vier's strike and instead bringing his own fist down on the other mans head, shoving him out of range before taking a few steps back, assessing the situation now. And thus, his eyes fell on Steffan and his taunt. "...Humph." An irritable grunt followed as he pulled his axe back into his hands...but he had a job to do. He wasn't to let these three past. That was his job, and that's what he was going to do. Instead of moving from his position blocking the path down, he'd merely glare at Steffan. Exhaling, the large warrior would choose not to engage Steffan immediately again and instead heft his axe, giving a nod with his head, with a very clear understanding of "You come over here." If Fflueri's strike was bothering him, he didn't show it.</s>

<|message|>Nicomede, formerly Nicomede Durant "I think I can help." The blonde man slipped past Fionn with the lone, quiet sentence. He moved quickly, but not hurriedly; hurrying made for mistakes, mistakes that could be afforded least when time was short. He rolled up the sleeves of his formal attire in quick, efficient movements and surveyed the scene. The problem was obvious, the source unseen and untouchable. No physical force to oppose, and thus no physical remedy to be found. A human could survive without air for a couple of minutes. A Nem wouldn't last as long, not with their smaller size. An attack by arcane means required a defense in kind. "Accerchiare d'acqua." A small canteen from his pocket, upended on the ground,, did not fall in the random grasp of gravity; it arched, wrapping a perfect circle of water on the ground around the Nem with an unbroken sheen of surface tension. Purely holistic magic had never been his strongest suit. But in this moment Nicomede was the one at hand, the one with a chance to square himself against the malignant force that sought to end the same life it had sought to ruin. He would not allow that to happen. However strange this place had felt, however much thought it took to try and reconcile the people he had been in this place of nobility, this was crystal clear. He would not permit this. Magic obeyed rules, and if you understood them you could understand the nature of a work. Within versus without, like behaved as like, and so on. With this circle, with his will, he created adversity; he set himself against the work by cutting it off from its target. A threshold, a barrier, that malevolence would have to project its will across. If it would not stop it would slow. He would force the evil to force its way past his will, and in so doing he would force it to reveal itself. "Protection of Moon, protection by water. Protection of innocence that will not falter." The circle began to glow, softly, as if infused with moonlight. "Within thy demesne evil holds no sway. So as I plead, as I pray. Guardia lunare." His eyes pierced the space before him, a second flask of water clasped in his hand. If the source was revealed he would strike, and strike without hesitation. Until that moment, until the crisis passed, he would set his will against evil.</s>

<|description|>Brandon Archer 23 [Human] Lightning Corp Agent Specialists Driving Durability and Endurance (If that even counts) Been with company for a little over 3 years. Recruited, trained and protected for 90% of that time by the infamous Vatican operative, MacKensie Trydant. Due to the unusual circumstances of his career's manifestation, his general below-average competence as an assassin, and his brash attitude with his employers, Archer probably doesn't have long left in the profession. Whether that means the English native will be fired from his post, killed in the field, or be assassinated by Lightning Corp... that's anyone's guess.</s> <|message|>Brandon Archer A wolf has escaped from Central Park Zoo... At least, that's what the papers are saying. Anyone with half a brain who saw the second victim of this 'wolf' would know that this was the work of no natural creature. All that was left on the murder scene was a piece of scalp with a little blonde hair, a skull with the spinal cord still attached, and pints of blood all over the pavement. For those in New York who knew of such things, the general notion was that a feral Lycan was on the loose. Hunters, Assassins, B.F.P... everyone involved in the non-mortal community... they were all worried. The longer this creature was allowed to continue it's rampage, the more the risk of the non-mortal world being unveiled to the general human population, and if that happened, then the race of vampires might just make their move to take over the world. *** It was dark. Brandon Archer crept forward slowly, one foot at a time softly crunching gritty floor underneath him. His desert eagles point upward, flanking his head, his squinted eyes searching the darkness of the narrow tunnel. In the relative silence was a slow, regular drip of water on some unseen pipe. Archer had been hunting the succubus known as Sindel all day, and finally, this late afternoon, he had tracked it to this underground service tunnel of Chase Bank. <"I won't deny it, am a straight rider..."> The Tupac ringtone of Archer's iPhone shattered the silence and the assassin looked down to his coat pocket. Suddenly Sindel screeched, diving from the shadows and striking Archer to the ground with a stiff back-hand slap, the power of which belied the petite frame of the succubus. "Ugh!" Archer landed hard on his back, but he quickly lifted his head up to see the fleeing monster. He aimed his guns and squeezed the triggers twice each resulting in four loud shots. Sparks and pings told him he'd missed his target, and the monster, along with her shrieking, disappeared into the darkness. "Shit!" he shouted angrily, the ringtone and vibration of his phone still going strong. He stood up, holstered one weapon at the small of his back and pulled the phone out of the inside pocket of his grey trench-coat. "What!?" as soon as he put the phone to his ear. "I'm kinda in the middle of something..................... alright, whatever....... yeah, on me way." Archer hung up, jaw clenched and teeth grinding. After spending a full week finding Sindel, he finally laid his eyes and guns on her and now he was being called back to headquarters for something apparently more important. Now that sudden burst of adrenaline had worn off, he could feel the painful mark on his cheek where he was struck by the succubus. He looked at the phone in his hand, then down the tunnel where his quarry had fled. Sindel was supposed to put him in double-figures for kills. Now she was gone. "For fucks sake!" With that, he headed back to a service ladder that would take him back to the oblivious 'real world.'</s> <|message|>Wynne Scottson The musky smell that filled the cave, now mixed itself with blood and whatever types of herbs had been burning. Bloody fathers covered the floor as dim light filtered it's way through the cracks and holes above. Giving just enough light for the short brunette to search for what Lightening Co wanted her to look for after this kill. Though it might have been a little bit easier if they had actually told Wynne what she was looking for. Maybe then she wouldn't be standing in a cave with her shirt ripped up and bleeding while she looked for anything suspicious before the witches came back. It hadn't been as easy of a kill as usual, but it had been a fun hunt for sure, plus she still had her heart intact, so that was a big plus. She would sigh to herself if this cave didn't stink so badly she would likely taste it for a year afterwards. Gathering up a few more things that maybe they were looking for, as she thought they were interesting at least, Wynne put them in the bag she carried with her. The screen of her phone lit up and she squinted her grey eyes looking at the new brightness lighting the dim area around her before answering it with a hushed tone. "Wynne….oh hi Susan." She spoke as she gathered some bloody fathers from her kill as proof of completion. "Um…it's probably going to take a few to get back in town." She threw the bag out of the hole she had crawled through to get into the cave. It was probably a good thing Susan wasn't there in person as she rolled her eyes so hard it could've hurt. "Mhmm….right……right. Okay Susan I'll be there as soon as possible…..mhmm…mhmm okay bye." She quickly hung up before Susan had a chance to go on more. How was she supposed to get out of this cave if the woman wouldn't shut the fuck up. Putting the phone back in her bag, she looked over the place one more time, only finding a ring among the feathers that she stuck in her pocket before tipping the stand burning herbs on top of the feathers to send the creature she killed up in flames. Climbing out of the hole into the fresh air again she took a deep breath before she made her way back to her car and changed her shirt before heading back into town. What they had for her had better be important if she didn't even have time to change clothes or get herself checked out.</s>

<|message|>Brandon Archer Central Park was a nice place in the daytime. In Archer's opinion, it turned utterly miserable at night. At the time Archer's taxi pulled up, it was somewhere in between it's transformation. A few vagrants milled about with bottles of wine. Some moody, tired working folks headed to or from their shift. The young assassin stared up at the commercial tower across the road from him as the taxi drove off. A few bodies crissed and crossed his path before he headed over the road, to the looming office block. "Archer," Sam, the receptionist greeted. Archer threw up a hand in leui of a wave. "Lost your bike again?" He had. Yesterday, he'd crashed the motorcycle while chasing down his target. The whole thing turned into a footrace and massive circus, Archer had forgotten where he'd even left his vehicle. The young man looked at the receptionist and shrugged his shoulders as he passed., then entered the elevator which was already waiting for him. As the doors were shutting, he smiled, unable to think of any smart remark or quip he could make to sound like a badass. The truth was he should've been using a car, as he could actually drive those without nearly killing himself. But it just wasn't nearly as cool as riding a motorcycle. She always rode a bike. Sam shook his head disappointedly and went back to some work he was doing. The elevator arrived at one of the classified floors, (Archer had to put a code in to do so,) and the doors opened to a giant, open office space; a room strewn with lines of desks arranged in different shapes and sections. It was busy, as always. Half a hundred people on phones, making international calls, interdepartmental calls, agent-to-agent, national government... there were a lot of conversations and arguments in the air. A man called David, veteran assassin, was walking around with a SPAS shotgun, trying to get someone to help him fix it. "Archer!" "Shit," Archer muttered. He didn't even get a chance to make a coffee. The big office adjacent to the open-plan floor - the bosses office - was at the end of the room, and there was the boss man, red-faced and staring right at Archer. 3 Above: Sergeant Walter Daniels, Head of the Field Operations "Get your ass in here." Archer carried himself with a head held high on his walk of shame, getting a few looks from colleagues as he passed them. Some looks of pity, some derision, some amusement. "Alright, Guv," he greeted as he walked into the office of Sergeant Daniels, the department head. He hated his boss. Such a fucking try-hard, who'd go to an early grave with blood pressure issues if he wasn't careful. "Don't you 'alright, Guv' me, you little piece of shit. Do you know how much damage you caused with that shit show yesterday!?" It was admittedly messy, but what was one supposed to do when a nonhuman serial killer just decides to book it above ground and run around in the daylight? Archer was about to explain as much but got cut off as soon as he opened his mouth. . "500K, Archer. Half-a. Fucking. Million. Dollars, Archer! That's the bill for the damages; repairs, compensation, hush money, media spin... all because of your fucking idea of what it means to be an agent!" The tirade of abuse went on for another ten minutes. Some fresh new lines, sure, but mostly the same old stuff; how Archer was incompetent and never should've been allowed to become a fully fledged agent. How he costed the company untold thousands with his bull-in-a-china-shop antics. How he was on his last warning before being sent to work in the Antarctic for the rest of his life. Nothing Archer did was good enough for Daniels. A neutral assessor would totally understand why this was the case. According to Archer, everyone just hated him because he was English. "Listen, forget the succubus. We've got other people on it now. We need you for this." Daniels dropped a massive file onto the desk in front of Archer, who thumbed through the pages looking for pictures. "Word around town is; It's a Lycan. Particularly nasty one, too." "Jesus Christ," Archer exclaimed when he finally found a picture of a victim in the pages. "Yeah, it's not good," Daniels agreed, sparking up a cigarette and going to his window to look out on the city. "I dunno, Archer, I think this might not just be any old Lycan. I think it's something big. We're getting calls from Italy. The Vatican are getting themselves involved." Archer's eyes lit up. "The Vatican?" "Yeah." Daniels noticed Archer's reaction. "Don't get excited, they're not sending your fucking mommy over." Archer deflated, but tried to hide it by being angry at the insult. "Oh, you thought she was coming back? Save your hopes for something else." That one hurt. A lot. Archer decided he'd had enough of this shit, grabbed the huge file and turned to leave. "Everyone's got their eyes on this one, Archer, the whole world. The Assassins, Vatican, Templar, Shogun... everyone is watching us right now." Archer paused his exit to look at his boss who turned away from the window to give weight to his last words. "Don't fucking screw this up."</s>

<|description|>Brandon Archer 23 [Human] Lightning Corp Agent Specialists Driving Durability and Endurance (If that even counts) Been with company for a little over 3 years. Recruited, trained and protected for 90% of that time by the infamous Vatican operative, MacKensie Trydant. Due to the unusual circumstances of his career's manifestation, his general below-average competence as an assassin, and his brash attitude with his employers, Archer probably doesn't have long left in the profession. Whether that means the English native will be fired from his post, killed in the field, or be assassinated by Lightning Corp... that's anyone's guess.</s> <|message|>Brandon Archer Central Park was a nice place in the daytime. In Archer's opinion, it turned utterly miserable at night. At the time Archer's taxi pulled up, it was somewhere in between it's transformation. A few vagrants milled about with bottles of wine. Some moody, tired working folks headed to or from their shift. The young assassin stared up at the commercial tower across the road from him as the taxi drove off. A few bodies crissed and crossed his path before he headed over the road, to the looming office block. "Archer," Sam, the receptionist greeted. Archer threw up a hand in leui of a wave. "Lost your bike again?" He had. Yesterday, he'd crashed the motorcycle while chasing down his target. The whole thing turned into a footrace and massive circus, Archer had forgotten where he'd even left his vehicle. The young man looked at the receptionist and shrugged his shoulders as he passed., then entered the elevator which was already waiting for him. As the doors were shutting, he smiled, unable to think of any smart remark or quip he could make to sound like a badass. The truth was he should've been using a car, as he could actually drive those without nearly killing himself. But it just wasn't nearly as cool as riding a motorcycle. She always rode a bike. Sam shook his head disappointedly and went back to some work he was doing. The elevator arrived at one of the classified floors, (Archer had to put a code in to do so,) and the doors opened to a giant, open office space; a room strewn with lines of desks arranged in different shapes and sections. It was busy, as always. Half a hundred people on phones, making international calls, interdepartmental calls, agent-to-agent, national government... there were a lot of conversations and arguments in the air. A man called David, veteran assassin, was walking around with a SPAS shotgun, trying to get someone to help him fix it. "Archer!" "Shit," Archer muttered. He didn't even get a chance to make a coffee. The big office adjacent to the open-plan floor - the bosses office - was at the end of the room, and there was the boss man, red-faced and staring right at Archer. 3 Above: Sergeant Walter Daniels, Head of the Field Operations "Get your ass in here." Archer carried himself with a head held high on his walk of shame, getting a few looks from colleagues as he passed them. Some looks of pity, some derision, some amusement. "Alright, Guv," he greeted as he walked into the office of Sergeant Daniels, the department head. He hated his boss. Such a fucking try-hard, who'd go to an early grave with blood pressure issues if he wasn't careful. "Don't you 'alright, Guv' me, you little piece of shit. Do you know how much damage you caused with that shit show yesterday!?" It was admittedly messy, but what was one supposed to do when a nonhuman serial killer just decides to book it above ground and run around in the daylight? Archer was about to explain as much but got cut off as soon as he opened his mouth. . "500K, Archer. Half-a. Fucking. Million. Dollars, Archer! That's the bill for the damages; repairs, compensation, hush money, media spin... all because of your fucking idea of what it means to be an agent!" The tirade of abuse went on for another ten minutes. Some fresh new lines, sure, but mostly the same old stuff; how Archer was incompetent and never should've been allowed to become a fully fledged agent. How he costed the company untold thousands with his bull-in-a-china-shop antics. How he was on his last warning before being sent to work in the Antarctic for the rest of his life. Nothing Archer did was good enough for Daniels. A neutral assessor would totally understand why this was the case. According to Archer, everyone just hated him because he was English. "Listen, forget the succubus. We've got other people on it now. We need you for this." Daniels dropped a massive file onto the desk in front of Archer, who thumbed through the pages looking for pictures. "Word around town is; It's a Lycan. Particularly nasty one, too." "Jesus Christ," Archer exclaimed when he finally found a picture of a victim in the pages. "Yeah, it's not good," Daniels agreed, sparking up a cigarette and going to his window to look out on the city. "I dunno, Archer, I think this might not just be any old Lycan. I think it's something big. We're getting calls from Italy. The Vatican are getting themselves involved." Archer's eyes lit up. "The Vatican?" "Yeah." Daniels noticed Archer's reaction. "Don't get excited, they're not sending your fucking mommy over." Archer deflated, but tried to hide it by being angry at the insult. "Oh, you thought she was coming back? Save your hopes for something else." That one hurt. A lot. Archer decided he'd had enough of this shit, grabbed the huge file and turned to leave. "Everyone's got their eyes on this one, Archer, the whole world. The Assassins, Vatican, Templar, Shogun... everyone is watching us right now." Archer paused his exit to look at his boss who turned away from the window to give weight to his last words. "Don't fucking screw this up."</s> <|message|>Wynne Scottson Wynne let out an exhausted sigh as she parked her car in the parking garage. Part of her was surprised she didn't just sleep in this parking garage. As soon as she got done with one assignment, she was called in for a new one. She used a few wet wipes to wipe what blood she had gotten on her and fixed her hair and clothes before heading into the office building. She gave Sam a slight wave once inside, but he was on the phone at the moment and simply gave a wave back as she entered the elevator and entered the passcode. The large office space was always so busy, hundreds of people talking once. Someone was always walking around trying to get attention, today it was David and his shotgun. Wynne makes a mental note to avoid that area if possible, she and David hadn't really got along during her linguistics period. Now she avoided him like the plague as an actual agent. Her eyes snapped towards Sergeant Daniels' door hearing it slam, before seeing who came out and rolling her eyes. Another person on her personal avoid list. Someone waving at her caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and she smiled a little heading over to Susan. "Hey, Susan." She greeted before handing her the bag full of stuff she had gathered from the cave. Only frowning a bit as it was almost snatched from her hand. "Hopefully it has what you guys needed, no one really told me what you were looking for." "Oh I'm sure you did, it's one of those you would know if you saw it type of deals." Susan said, giving a little wave with her hand as she started laying the bag out and the people on her team came over to look at it too. Wynne frowned at the dismissal of her point, because it was in fact not something she would know when she found. Or else she would have actually found it. After standing there awkwardly for a moment she sighed and started towards Daniels' office. "I'm going to want that bag back." She said loudly as she walked away. At least once she got to the office he wasn't yelling at anyone. It seemed like everything she was sent to the office to get an assistant that man was yelling at someone, or the phone, she wouldn't be surprised if he screamed at himself in the mirror when he was alone. She gave a knock at the door before opening it a bit. "You wanted to see me sir?" "Took you long enough, sit." Daniels said not even looking away from his window and Wynne frowned a bit at the unwarranted anger and sat down. "Susan tells me you took care of the hograven for us." Wynne smiled and nodded "Yes sir." "Don't get cocky…Smith." He scolded "any other agent would have taken less than a week to get that job done." Wynne sat there quietly frowning at him. Not really sure, rather to be more insulted that he was undermining the fact it had only taken her a week to get information, track the cave down, wait until the witches to leave the creature alone, climb in. Which she had gotten stuck the first time. Kill the thing and get whatever Susan needed to fuck around with. Or the fact he couldn't even get her name right, which she thought he kept doing on purpose. A large file was pushed towards her and she took it looking through the pages as he talked. "I expect better on this assignment, it might even prove you're worthy of the agent title." "Fuck, what even is this sir?" Wynne said as she looked over the picture of the victim. "They're saying it's a Lycan, a particularly nasty one at that." Daniels said before shaking his head and taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Everyone is watching us right now. The Assassins, Vatican, Templar, Shogun, the Vatican are getting themselves involved." Wynne frowned a little at the mention of the Assassins as she flipped through the file once more, skipping the victims picture this time. "I put Archer on this mission too." She looked up at him as he said that and opened her mouth to argue that she didn't want to work with that arrogant asshole, but he cut her off before she could. "He is going to fuck this up, undoubtedly and I need you there to fix it." She nodded understanding why this high of an assignment was given to her now, so she would probably be the one this fell on if something went wrong instead of the golden boy. As soon as Wynne left the office she finally felt that she could breathe normally again and went back to her desk and started thumbing through the file. Able to escape into routine reading and background research.</s>

<|message|>Brandon Archer "Excuse me, sir, spare some change?" The man walked right past the dirty-dressed girl, seeming not to hear her. Penny scrunched up her brow in a scowl, then tried again. "Excuse me... miss... spare some change? I've no home and I'm starving." This time the woman looked, but shrugged her shoulders helplessly and continued to walk. This was not going well and Penny Brice was hungry. How cruel was this world that grown adults could walk right past a starving child without even considering offering help. Or throwing the poor beggar a few coins, at least. In spite of the lack of success though, deep down she was thoroughly enjoying herself. It was all like a fascinating experiment. In Penny's vast experience, she had come to conclude that it was other poor people who were the most charitable. After that, it was the low working class. And from there, the richer they were, the stingier they were. It was a rather odd scale, at face value, but then, those who had learned to acquire wealth would obviously hold it fast. People didn't usually get rich by being nice. There weren't many people in New York who were willing to hire a teenager for work. And Penny was determined to start this phase of her life with nothing, and become something. So right now, she was homeless and begging. If she didn't get some donations soon, she'd be going without dinner tonight. She decided to be a little more aggressive next time. "Sir," she called out, tottering meekly up to another passer-by and tugging his coat. "Sir, spare some change? I'm..." "Get off me you little rat," the man wrenched away from Penny, shot her a glare of contempt and then was on his way. Penny growled low in her throat. Ignorance was one thing, but insults. Penny did not like to be called names. She had recent memories in her mind of bullies in school, and the insult lit a fire of disquiet in the pit of her stomach. She began to march after him in her dirty black shoes. The rest of her attire was an unwashed, flowery dress with a red cardigan over the top. Her face might be considered cute if it was cleaner and she didn't have that angry, vengeful look in her eyes. Through the light crowd, she followed the oblivious man, her fists balled at her sides as her kept up with her quarry. The evening was here and she fancied settling down on the subway with a nice Big Mac and Fries. Ah well, she thought. A proper meal will have to do. The man turned down an alley and Penny followed. Judging by his suit, he looked like a man with a decent job. Penny wondered he did for a living. What insane, pointless job (or career) in this day and age, did he have? What did he think and feel? What did he know? It was not until he heard Penny's voice again that he turned around. "How dare you..." He turned about to see Penny stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart. "...you ignore the pleas of a starving fourteen year old girl. Have you no heart?" She walked forward slowly and the man backed away a step, more in confusion than anything else. He wasn't scared at first, with the seeming lack of physical threat, but then outright terror struck him when Penny's eyes - even the whites of her eyes - become blood-red. "What the hell...!" Penny convulsed and her form grew, black fur sprouted quickly all over body and her nose elongated. The child's clothes began to melt away into nothingness as she grew, and within seconds, Penny Brice was no longer Penny Brice. In her place, standing six feet tall and weighing a dense and muscular 280lbs, was Baroness Aurora: The Malevolent - First of her kind and mother of all Lycanthropes. Saliva dripped from her razor-sharp teeth, her fiery gaze burning holes into the poor man who was statue-like in fear and disbelief. Aurora lunged at the shrieking man..............</s>

<|description|>Wynne Scottson 29|Human|Lighting Co. Agent Specialists Infiltration Hand to hand combat Stealth Hand weapons Linguistics Wynne has been working for Lighting Co for almost ten years now, and is technically considered a legacy in the company as both parents worked for the company at some point. Wynne has worked her way up from the linguistics department to becoming a field agent through the years. As takes great pride and enjoyment out of being an assassin.</s> <|message|>Wynne Scottson The musky smell that filled the cave, now mixed itself with blood and whatever types of herbs had been burning. Bloody fathers covered the floor as dim light filtered it's way through the cracks and holes above. Giving just enough light for the short brunette to search for what Lightening Co wanted her to look for after this kill. Though it might have been a little bit easier if they had actually told Wynne what she was looking for. Maybe then she wouldn't be standing in a cave with her shirt ripped up and bleeding while she looked for anything suspicious before the witches came back. It hadn't been as easy of a kill as usual, but it had been a fun hunt for sure, plus she still had her heart intact, so that was a big plus. She would sigh to herself if this cave didn't stink so badly she would likely taste it for a year afterwards. Gathering up a few more things that maybe they were looking for, as she thought they were interesting at least, Wynne put them in the bag she carried with her. The screen of her phone lit up and she squinted her grey eyes looking at the new brightness lighting the dim area around her before answering it with a hushed tone. "Wynne….oh hi Susan." She spoke as she gathered some bloody fathers from her kill as proof of completion. "Um…it's probably going to take a few to get back in town." She threw the bag out of the hole she had crawled through to get into the cave. It was probably a good thing Susan wasn't there in person as she rolled her eyes so hard it could've hurt. "Mhmm….right……right. Okay Susan I'll be there as soon as possible…..mhmm…mhmm okay bye." She quickly hung up before Susan had a chance to go on more. How was she supposed to get out of this cave if the woman wouldn't shut the fuck up. Putting the phone back in her bag, she looked over the place one more time, only finding a ring among the feathers that she stuck in her pocket before tipping the stand burning herbs on top of the feathers to send the creature she killed up in flames. Climbing out of the hole into the fresh air again she took a deep breath before she made her way back to her car and changed her shirt before heading back into town. What they had for her had better be important if she didn't even have time to change clothes or get herself checked out.</s> <|message|>Brandon Archer Central Park was a nice place in the daytime. In Archer's opinion, it turned utterly miserable at night. At the time Archer's taxi pulled up, it was somewhere in between it's transformation. A few vagrants milled about with bottles of wine. Some moody, tired working folks headed to or from their shift. The young assassin stared up at the commercial tower across the road from him as the taxi drove off. A few bodies crissed and crossed his path before he headed over the road, to the looming office block. "Archer," Sam, the receptionist greeted. Archer threw up a hand in leui of a wave. "Lost your bike again?" He had. Yesterday, he'd crashed the motorcycle while chasing down his target. The whole thing turned into a footrace and massive circus, Archer had forgotten where he'd even left his vehicle. The young man looked at the receptionist and shrugged his shoulders as he passed., then entered the elevator which was already waiting for him. As the doors were shutting, he smiled, unable to think of any smart remark or quip he could make to sound like a badass. The truth was he should've been using a car, as he could actually drive those without nearly killing himself. But it just wasn't nearly as cool as riding a motorcycle. She always rode a bike. Sam shook his head disappointedly and went back to some work he was doing. The elevator arrived at one of the classified floors, (Archer had to put a code in to do so,) and the doors opened to a giant, open office space; a room strewn with lines of desks arranged in different shapes and sections. It was busy, as always. Half a hundred people on phones, making international calls, interdepartmental calls, agent-to-agent, national government... there were a lot of conversations and arguments in the air. A man called David, veteran assassin, was walking around with a SPAS shotgun, trying to get someone to help him fix it. "Archer!" "Shit," Archer muttered. He didn't even get a chance to make a coffee. The big office adjacent to the open-plan floor - the bosses office - was at the end of the room, and there was the boss man, red-faced and staring right at Archer. 3 Above: Sergeant Walter Daniels, Head of the Field Operations "Get your ass in here." Archer carried himself with a head held high on his walk of shame, getting a few looks from colleagues as he passed them. Some looks of pity, some derision, some amusement. "Alright, Guv," he greeted as he walked into the office of Sergeant Daniels, the department head. He hated his boss. Such a fucking try-hard, who'd go to an early grave with blood pressure issues if he wasn't careful. "Don't you 'alright, Guv' me, you little piece of shit. Do you know how much damage you caused with that shit show yesterday!?" It was admittedly messy, but what was one supposed to do when a nonhuman serial killer just decides to book it above ground and run around in the daylight? Archer was about to explain as much but got cut off as soon as he opened his mouth. . "500K, Archer. Half-a. Fucking. Million. Dollars, Archer! That's the bill for the damages; repairs, compensation, hush money, media spin... all because of your fucking idea of what it means to be an agent!" The tirade of abuse went on for another ten minutes. Some fresh new lines, sure, but mostly the same old stuff; how Archer was incompetent and never should've been allowed to become a fully fledged agent. How he costed the company untold thousands with his bull-in-a-china-shop antics. How he was on his last warning before being sent to work in the Antarctic for the rest of his life. Nothing Archer did was good enough for Daniels. A neutral assessor would totally understand why this was the case. According to Archer, everyone just hated him because he was English. "Listen, forget the succubus. We've got other people on it now. We need you for this." Daniels dropped a massive file onto the desk in front of Archer, who thumbed through the pages looking for pictures. "Word around town is; It's a Lycan. Particularly nasty one, too." "Jesus Christ," Archer exclaimed when he finally found a picture of a victim in the pages. "Yeah, it's not good," Daniels agreed, sparking up a cigarette and going to his window to look out on the city. "I dunno, Archer, I think this might not just be any old Lycan. I think it's something big. We're getting calls from Italy. The Vatican are getting themselves involved." Archer's eyes lit up. "The Vatican?" "Yeah." Daniels noticed Archer's reaction. "Don't get excited, they're not sending your fucking mommy over." Archer deflated, but tried to hide it by being angry at the insult. "Oh, you thought she was coming back? Save your hopes for something else." That one hurt. A lot. Archer decided he'd had enough of this shit, grabbed the huge file and turned to leave. "Everyone's got their eyes on this one, Archer, the whole world. The Assassins, Vatican, Templar, Shogun... everyone is watching us right now." Archer paused his exit to look at his boss who turned away from the window to give weight to his last words. "Don't fucking screw this up."</s>

<|message|>Wynne Scottson Wynne let out an exhausted sigh as she parked her car in the parking garage. Part of her was surprised she didn't just sleep in this parking garage. As soon as she got done with one assignment, she was called in for a new one. She used a few wet wipes to wipe what blood she had gotten on her and fixed her hair and clothes before heading into the office building. She gave Sam a slight wave once inside, but he was on the phone at the moment and simply gave a wave back as she entered the elevator and entered the passcode. The large office space was always so busy, hundreds of people talking once. Someone was always walking around trying to get attention, today it was David and his shotgun. Wynne makes a mental note to avoid that area if possible, she and David hadn't really got along during her linguistics period. Now she avoided him like the plague as an actual agent. Her eyes snapped towards Sergeant Daniels' door hearing it slam, before seeing who came out and rolling her eyes. Another person on her personal avoid list. Someone waving at her caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and she smiled a little heading over to Susan. "Hey, Susan." She greeted before handing her the bag full of stuff she had gathered from the cave. Only frowning a bit as it was almost snatched from her hand. "Hopefully it has what you guys needed, no one really told me what you were looking for." "Oh I'm sure you did, it's one of those you would know if you saw it type of deals." Susan said, giving a little wave with her hand as she started laying the bag out and the people on her team came over to look at it too. Wynne frowned at the dismissal of her point, because it was in fact not something she would know when she found. Or else she would have actually found it. After standing there awkwardly for a moment she sighed and started towards Daniels' office. "I'm going to want that bag back." She said loudly as she walked away. At least once she got to the office he wasn't yelling at anyone. It seemed like everything she was sent to the office to get an assistant that man was yelling at someone, or the phone, she wouldn't be surprised if he screamed at himself in the mirror when he was alone. She gave a knock at the door before opening it a bit. "You wanted to see me sir?" "Took you long enough, sit." Daniels said not even looking away from his window and Wynne frowned a bit at the unwarranted anger and sat down. "Susan tells me you took care of the hograven for us." Wynne smiled and nodded "Yes sir." "Don't get cocky…Smith." He scolded "any other agent would have taken less than a week to get that job done." Wynne sat there quietly frowning at him. Not really sure, rather to be more insulted that he was undermining the fact it had only taken her a week to get information, track the cave down, wait until the witches to leave the creature alone, climb in. Which she had gotten stuck the first time. Kill the thing and get whatever Susan needed to fuck around with. Or the fact he couldn't even get her name right, which she thought he kept doing on purpose. A large file was pushed towards her and she took it looking through the pages as he talked. "I expect better on this assignment, it might even prove you're worthy of the agent title." "Fuck, what even is this sir?" Wynne said as she looked over the picture of the victim. "They're saying it's a Lycan, a particularly nasty one at that." Daniels said before shaking his head and taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Everyone is watching us right now. The Assassins, Vatican, Templar, Shogun, the Vatican are getting themselves involved." Wynne frowned a little at the mention of the Assassins as she flipped through the file once more, skipping the victims picture this time. "I put Archer on this mission too." She looked up at him as he said that and opened her mouth to argue that she didn't want to work with that arrogant asshole, but he cut her off before she could. "He is going to fuck this up, undoubtedly and I need you there to fix it." She nodded understanding why this high of an assignment was given to her now, so she would probably be the one this fell on if something went wrong instead of the golden boy. As soon as Wynne left the office she finally felt that she could breathe normally again and went back to her desk and started thumbing through the file. Able to escape into routine reading and background research.</s>

<|description|>Tadashi Ryu Age: 16 Crest: Bonds Personality: Focused and driven, Tadashi is a top-notch athlete and ball player. The problem is that he kinda knows it. Oh he's not super arrogant or anything, but he has had a history of having moments of overconfidence - be it on the field, at bat, or elsewhere. So while he is technically the star player on his team, his occasional overconfidence has rubbed some teammates the wrong way. But at the end of the day, Tadashi is not a bad kid by any stretch of the imagination. In fact if anything his drive is to not only be the best player he can be, but for his team to also be the best they can be. He's just not that good at expressing those feelings without it coming across as patronizing. Backstory: Tadashi has always had a love for baseball since he was a little kid. He collected trading cards, jerseys, whatever memorabilia he could get his hands on. Naturally, he played in little league during his late elementary and junior high years, but it wasn't until high school that his talent for the game really started to show itself. In particular, he became known for two things: his fast ball and his speed as a runner. But he did have a rather... strange experience during his first year at high school. On his way home from practice, he found himself seemingly spirited away into an empty space. But before he could start freaking out, a voice spoke to him which was enough to calm his nerves. It offered him an egg, telling him that if he cared for it and protected it, it would one day do the same for him. But he didn't have a chance to actually answer, instead finding himself back where he was previously except he was now carrying a melon-sized egg. He snuck the egg home and kept it in his room. He couldn't explain why, but he would often talk to the egg as if it could hear and understand him. Whenever he was at home, he would rant and rave to egg about his baseball games and other things occupying his time at school. It almost felt like Tadashi had someone he could just vent to, whether it was about the good things that happened or even his frustrations. It felt good to just get things off his chest... even if it was just to an egg that never seemed to move or offer any meaningful response. Yuki the Blucomon Personality: He can be excitable at times, particularly when fun and games are involved. And while he acts mostly child-like while in Rookie form, that tends to melt away into a more matured personality whenever he is evolved into his later forms. Also seems to have developed a love for baseball comparable to his partner, the two having a sort of dynamic reminiscent of teammates on a baseball team. Evolution Line In-Training: Hiyarimon - Diamond Dust Rookie: Blucomon - Baby Hail - Ice Mash Champion: Paledramon Ultimate: Mega:</s> <|message|>Aiden Merrick Of Data and Code - A Digimon Adventure Chapter 1: If a Tree Falls... Shining symbols of white-yellow DigiCode floated all over a stone brick room that looked like a mages workshop. The DigiCode thrummed with power, such that seemed to want to lash out from its shaped and contained form. Branching off of each of them were tendrils of pure energy which tied each symbol to another, creating a complex canvas of gleaming magic. As the canvas wove together it became a sphere tethered to six powerful digimon. These digimon were Piximon, Gravimon, Sanzomon, Taomon, Mercuremon, and Baalmon. They all sat in a circle casting the spell above them, each of them famous scholar magicians whom had pledged themselves to this work. For a moment the brightness of the energy waned, and then suddenly a bolt of black and red destructive power tore off from the main construct tearing at the walls of the chamber. Wisemon shouted to the wizardmon at his side, "They are interfering with the spell. I need you-" he was interrupted by another bolt of energy booming across the room. Wisemon narrowly avoided it and pulled wizardmon out of the way as well. After they regained their feet he put his hand on Wizardmon's shoulder, "I need you to to take this journal far from here to the school of sorcery," Wisemon shoved the journal into Wizardmon's hands. "This contains all my work on the relation between the people of the two worlds. I will stay and do my best to stabilize the spell and ensure we finish the task at hand. The sacrifices we made to pull this off, we can't let them go to waste, and if we don't stop him its our server next." Wizardmon glanced beyond Wisemon to look at the circle of powerful digimon involved in the casting of sorcery. Each one slowly reverting to younger and younger forms. Giving up their very energy and data to form the programming of the spell. A great sacrifice of the scholars that worked here in the tower. Digimon Wizardmon looked up to for years. "Wizardmon you must go, as fast as you can. Take my research and protect it. Get the school to follow through on my designs. I truly believe those children are our last chance." Wisemon turned back to the net of code above him and began to pour his own energy and data into it. Wizardmon gave one last glance back and took off down the stairs of the tower. He could hear the energy of the spell tear at the walls of the building as he ran further and further down. He ran and he ran, out the door of the tower and he followed the road. He knew the direction to the school. Its where he was born, but more important to him it's where he met Wisemon. Wisemon had brought him and other students back to his tower to pursue his research. They all knew what they were signing up for, most seeing it as an important job but to Wizardmon it was his home. He was raised here among the other students and scholars. They remained though to finish their task, one that would leave them reduced to digi-eggs. While in the original plan Wisemon and Wizardmon would look after their slumbering friends, but plans change and now his task was to leave them behind and deliver the research that would give the children the tools to fight. --- An unseen digimon could be heard snickering to himself, "Did they really think I wouldn't notice? Me of all digimon?! Using children was practically my idea in the first place." The digimon in the shadows suddenly stopped his laughing, "But if they really think these children will save them, they're horribly wrong." Then picking up with a lighthearted lilt in his voice he asked, "I think I'd know better than them, right?" "Um, yes sir?" Shakily said a Kokabuterimon . "Rhetorical question little one... And why are you so nervous? It's a buzz kill. This is supposed to be fun. So relax, sit back and enjoy the show. I already enacted plans for a welcoming party and it's being handled by exactly who you think. I'm not gonna lie Kokabuterimon, I'm pretty excited to watch it all unfold." --- Two years ago a lifeline was cast into our material world. That lifeline was in the form of six digi-eggs left in the care of six chosen children. Children whom would look after them, raise them, and bond with them. Each digimon had been tagged with a rune for them to be located in the future and now these runes served as anchors for the spell Wisemon's troupe had cast. A spell that would bring these future heroes to the digital world to start their adventure. Six portals pierced through the barrier between our worlds, bordered by shimmering symbols of rotating DigiCode that sustained their existence. Around the children their worlds seemed to stop all accept for them and their digimon. Their digimon, through the link to the spell, were compelled to seek out these portals, bringing their partners along in tow. As they and their partners approached the portals the portals themselves sprung at the duos, giving them no choice whether to enter or not. No chance to heed the risks or question what and why. The children awoke on a beach, the smell of salt strong in the air and the sun beating down from above high in the center of the sky. The weather was warm and humid but the sea breeze was cool and soothing. The sand was an unfamiliar pinkish color and the sea a deep blue of the ocean.Bordering the beach was a forest with tropical trees and vines of all sorts of reds and blues in accompaniment to the normal green one would expect. Footprints of recently present creatures dotted the beach, with baskets half filled with supplies like sticks, reeds and fruit left beside them. Though one would expect the noise of critters in the woods, or birds in the sky, it was instead distinctly quiet in the area. Leaving only the six children and their digimon together on the beach, left alone with their piling questions.</s> <|message|>Leonardo "Leo" Silverstone Leo gradually woke up to the sound of Daisy the Labramon's voice, and her tongue licking his face. "Leo! Wake up!" Leo yawned, sat up, and looked around. The last thing he remembered was taking a walk through his neighborhood, when suddenly the world literally stopped except for him. Then Daisy had run off, and when Leo chased after her, he was swallowed up by a mysterious portal. Now here he was on the beach. The sand was pink, the ocean was blue, and it looked like a bright sunny day! If Leo had known he was going to get magically transported to the beach, he would have brought a bathing suit so he could at least go swimming! He slowly rose to his feet. "Wow! This kind of thing only happens in cartoons and video games. Where are we anyway?" With the exception of the sound of the ocean, the place was oddly quiet. "I don't know, but look! More humans!" Sure enough, their were other kids on the beach too. The Labramon ran up to one of them, and started licking their face. "Wake up human!"</s>

<|message|>Tadashi Ryu "Wake up human!" The unlucky recipient of the Labramon's tongue lay face down on the beach. He sported a black shirt, blue jeans, and an ocean blue unzipped hoodie. And he also had a pair of squared goggles wrapped around his head, but they weren't actually covering his eyes. On the sand beside him was a white sports duffle bag, with a blue baseball team logo plastered on it. It's contents amounted to a baseball practice uniform, left-handed baseball glove, two wooden bats, and a single ball. He groaned and slowly regained consciousness and tried to push the creature off him. "Hey, knock it off Yuki." he said as he rubbed the grogginess from his eyes. Evidently he hadn't yet noticed that the thing licking him was not who he thought it was. "But I'm over here, Tadashi." said the Blucomon, his voice coming from off to the side somewhere. "Huh? But then who...?" the sleepiness left him and Tadashi finally saw the friendly looking dog, "Oh... just a dog." he said, not actually registering the fact that she had talked to him a second ago. Then he shot to his feet, "Oh crap, where are we? I'm supposed to be at practice now!" he snatched the nearby sport bag and was about to make a run for it, only to now fully notice his surroundings. "Um, I don't think we're at home anymore, Tadashi." said the Blucomon, walking up beside him. His icy armored scales gleamed in the sunlight in a way that made it almost look crystalline.</s>

<|description|>Tadashi Ryu Age: 16 Crest: Bonds Personality: Focused and driven, Tadashi is a top-notch athlete and ball player. The problem is that he kinda knows it. Oh he's not super arrogant or anything, but he has had a history of having moments of overconfidence - be it on the field, at bat, or elsewhere. So while he is technically the star player on his team, his occasional overconfidence has rubbed some teammates the wrong way. But at the end of the day, Tadashi is not a bad kid by any stretch of the imagination. In fact if anything his drive is to not only be the best player he can be, but for his team to also be the best they can be. He's just not that good at expressing those feelings without it coming across as patronizing. Backstory: Tadashi has always had a love for baseball since he was a little kid. He collected trading cards, jerseys, whatever memorabilia he could get his hands on. Naturally, he played in little league during his late elementary and junior high years, but it wasn't until high school that his talent for the game really started to show itself. In particular, he became known for two things: his fast ball and his speed as a runner. But he did have a rather... strange experience during his first year at high school. On his way home from practice, he found himself seemingly spirited away into an empty space. But before he could start freaking out, a voice spoke to him which was enough to calm his nerves. It offered him an egg, telling him that if he cared for it and protected it, it would one day do the same for him. But he didn't have a chance to actually answer, instead finding himself back where he was previously except he was now carrying a melon-sized egg. He snuck the egg home and kept it in his room. He couldn't explain why, but he would often talk to the egg as if it could hear and understand him. Whenever he was at home, he would rant and rave to egg about his baseball games and other things occupying his time at school. It almost felt like Tadashi had someone he could just vent to, whether it was about the good things that happened or even his frustrations. It felt good to just get things off his chest... even if it was just to an egg that never seemed to move or offer any meaningful response. Yuki the Blucomon Personality: He can be excitable at times, particularly when fun and games are involved. And while he acts mostly child-like while in Rookie form, that tends to melt away into a more matured personality whenever he is evolved into his later forms. Also seems to have developed a love for baseball comparable to his partner, the two having a sort of dynamic reminiscent of teammates on a baseball team. Evolution Line In-Training: Hiyarimon - Diamond Dust Rookie: Blucomon - Baby Hail - Ice Mash Champion: Paledramon Ultimate: Mega:</s> <|message|>Axel Ryder Axel Ryder and Faraday A bit further down the beach, Axel groggily began to rise up. The sudden sunlight piercing through his safety goggles caused him to slam his eyes shut. Removing the goggles, Axel slowly re-opened his eyes as they adjusted to the new light. Before suddenly waking up on a random beach, he'd been on his back working on the wiring in an arcade cabinet at Brewer's. The last thing he remembered, Faraday had been pulling his leg, shouting for him to pull his head out of the machine. Axel had done so just in time for a portal to swallow up the duo and drop them... wherever they were. "Oh crap... Faraday?!" Axel worriedly looked around the beach for his partner when he saw the Elecmon trapped with his head buried in the sand. Upon hearing Axel's voice, Faraday's legs kicked furiously in the as as if to free himself. "Hang on, buddy. I got you!" Dashing over, Axel struggled to pull the 80-pound Digimon out of his sandy prison. Eventually, the sand finally gave way and Axel lost his balance as Faraday fell on top of him, "Ugh... we really need to cut the ramen out of your diet, Faraday. I think you're getting too heavy for me." "I can't help it if the noodles are tasty, Axel! Besides, if you really want me to stop eating it, then you need to stop buying it." Axel reluctantly conceded the point while Faraday sat up and took in their surroundings, "It's strange... I don't think we've been here before, but this place feels familiar somehow. Do you recognize it?" Looking around, Axel really didn't have a clue. He hadn't been to a beach in years, and certainly had never visited one that had bright pink sand, "No. I don't think we're in Brewer's anymore, buddy. Hmm... Maybe those guys know something?" He noticed the group of kids gathering down on the beach. Strangely they all seemed to have a partner just like Faraday only theirs' were: a talking rock, a pink puppy, a frozen lizard, and... Axel really didn't know WHAT that thing with the little kid was. Faraday nodded his agreement and the duo began walking down the beach to join the rest of the group. As they approached, the talking rock had just introduced itself as Arthur, and the human with him as Trent. "Uh... I don't think WE can answer that question," he said as Arthur asked about their location, "Last thing I remember, my partner Faraday and I got sucked into some weird portal." At the mention of his name, Faraday perked up and smiled at the assembled crowd. "Hey there! I'm Faraday! While I would also like to know where we are, I'm also concerned about getting food. Axel and I were supposed to grab lunch before we got sent here, and I'm pretty hungry!" As if on cue, Faraday's stomach growled loud enough for all the assembled members of the group to hear. Axel put a hand on his forehead. "Always thinking with your stomach first huh, Faraday...?"</s> <|message|>Hitomi Sakagami ℋ𝒾𝓉𝑜𝓂𝒾 & ᴹᵁᴹᴱᴵ __________________________________________________ "Good morning. It is Ɛ̶̲̼͈͉̖̾̇͂̍̆μ̴͚͓̮̦̲̂̑̂̇̕ट̶̢͓͚̳̭͂͆͗̂͘Ɛ̴̣̙͔̤̖̃̔̅͛̍ट̵̢̹̠̟̉̿̀̚͜͠Ɛ̵̛̛͓̲͖̓̋͗͜ͅ O'clock. The weather forecast for today is ş̸̯̩̮̠̲͆u̴̧̧͇̘̱̕n̶̥̟̰̈́͑̽͂̊̈́̄ǹ̵̡̢̟͙͕̬͌͊͜͝͝y̷̛͓̗̲̍̅͛̉̇ with. A chance of ö̸̦̘͙̤͔̽͒̏͒ɿ̶̡͖̠̦͍̃̈́͌̕͝ɿ̶̨̖̬̯̝̅̓̄͛͝υ̶̢̛̰̖̹̭͗̈́̇̂q̶͙͕̘̺̠̊̔́͘̕-————" Hitomi stirred to the static. She rolled to her side, squinting in the direction of her Digimon partner's artificial voice. "Mumei...?" she mumbled, trying to feel around for her glasses. Without them, most everything was a blur. "What's wrong? Did... did you mess with the socket again? I told you to -- huh?" Sand. Hitomi had yet to find her glasses when she realized she was patting around sand. Alarm chased away her grogginess, and she sat up so suddenly her vision went black for a moment. "Mumei?!" she shouted, startled. "W-where are we?" "Location: Unknown." The Digimon announced upon approach, a pair of glasses neatly tucked above its right wing. Hitomi snatched them up, gave a round of quick bows as thanks, then looked around with newly improved vision. It didn't help make any sense out of the situation, though. Against any sort of sense, she was on a beach. A pink one, from the looks of it, with a handful of other people a short distance away. Baskets sat scattered around, seemingly filled with fruit and junk. Her memories came in waves. A world, standing still. Mumei, flying away so fast she struggled to keep up. And then-- "It must have been..." "The portal", the Soundbirdmon finished. Hitomi nodded, about to ask what they should do next, but the Digimon was faster again, answering before she could even pose the question. "Consult others." "W-what? You mean... them?" she glanced at the gathered group. "Total strangers? Boys? I don't... I, I mean, I doubt they-- w-wait!?" Mumei didn't wait. It had already started to fly towards the rest of the children and their partners, emitting a loud sound. Its voice was that of an announcer, the words it spoke likely stitched together from things it had heard on TV. "And in this corner-- a challenger approaches. Attention, challenger approaching." "I-I'm not challenging anyone!" Hitomi gasped desperately, trying to catch up to the bird so she could shut it up - only to keep tripping on baskets, sand, and her own embarrassment.</s>

<|message|>Tadashi Ryu "Hello. My name is Katsuo. My friend's name is Captain. Do any of you own the baskets along the beach?" The kid was Japanese, but speaking English. Evidently he thought Tadashi was from America or something. Thankfully, Tadashi's parents had been making him take English lessons. They weren't exactly his favorite thing in the world but he had to admit they would be paying off big time now, "Don't worry, I'm from Japan too. I'm Tadashi, and the blue lizard over there is Yuki." he replied in English, jerking a thumb over in the Digimon's direction to indicate who he was referring to. "I can speak English too! ...Mostly." said Yuki. He wasn't quite as fluent as Tadashi, but maybe this situation would be the perfect chance to practice more, "Guess I'd better practicing more." "Not a bad idea, Yuki." said Tadashi with a thumbs-up approval, "In fact, let's make a challenge out of it. From here on, we're only allowed to speak English, got it?" "Sounds fun, you're on!" "Anyway," Tadashi returned his focus to the kid in front of him, "We have no idea who these baskets belong to." One by one, others spoke up. It sounded like nobody knew what the deal was with those baskets. And it also quickly became apparent that Tadashi wasn't the only one with a monster buddy. "Hold on, let me guess... you all had that weird dream about an egg that became real, too?"</s>

<|description|>Katsuo Baker Age:12 Crest: Wisdom Personality: Having grown up on a military base (due to an American grandfather), Katsuo tries to complete orders and please people he deems to be 'greater in authority' than he is - which, when you're 12, is a lot of people. This doesn't mean he's mindlessly obedient mind you; he's mastered the art of the stealth insult when he doesn't have a choice and is surprisingly capable of getting others to do what someone else wants with little fanfare. While it's rare to see, he actually has a bit of a temper when it comes to two things - treating him as a young child, and animal neglect/abuse. He's still hardly quick to violence and more prone to cutting words and going after any observed weak points when truly angered. Backstory: As already noted, Katsuo grew up on Camp Zama, with his father as a colonel and his mother a teacher on-site. His brother, a full decade older than him, joined the army and went out to a base in Somalia. Katsuo wrote regularly to him even, though, about two years ago, he stopped receiving responses. Shortly after that, he found the family computer glowing (on account of his parents deeming him 'too young' to use a computer with unrestricted access) and went to try to figure out what was going on. Instead, he found himself in a plain, unfamiliar room with a strange egg - it was so big it took both arms to lift it, how was that not strange! - that was grey with blue markings. A voice that sounded oddly familiar, with no one around to speak it, told him to care for the egg and the creature that would hatch from it, and the favor would be returned. He ended up back in the "real" world still holding the egg. He spent time mulling over what to do, how to break the news to his parents - but what if they didn't let him keep it, he was only 10 - when one night he overheard his father sob. That was such a strange event, he left the egg in his room to listen in on what was happening. He listened to his father, crying, and his mother, clearly on the brink of tears herself, decide that they could not and would not tell Katsuo that his older brother was dead. Katsuo immediately felt both heartbreak - his brother, dead? - and simmering rage - they were treating him as too young to understand death! That was HIS brother! He snuck back to his room to grieve, lest his parents find out he'd been eavesdropping, and decided he was going to keep the egg and its creature a secret from them. See how THEY liked being treated as too ignorant to understand an admittedly depressing concept. Even after his angered cooled, he kept the egg and the Pagumon that hatched from it a personal secret. He almost regretted it when it became clear the being, the entity that called itself a 'digimon', began treating him as a young kid too, but he kept his tongue bitten. The things his partner, who he nicknamed Captain, seemed to be relatively minor, and perhaps at least he could excuse Captain for being even younger than he was. Notes: As his parents believe in self-sufficiency, he's been enrolled in judo classes since he was 5. He's a brown belt currently. Captain the Gazimon Personality: Larger than life and willing to make it everyone else's problem, 'Captain' loves talking to anyone he can (which, when you're kept secret, isn't many people), and he will talk until he's purple in the face (as he's quick to note, he can already talk until he's blue in the face, have you seen his fur?). He's also fascinated by medicine and the notion of being able to heal without data regeneration. Finally, he recognizes that, while he's technically younger than Katsuo, humans age and mature differently and tend to be much more fragile, and therefore he's determined to protect Katsuo from the worse parts of the world. Notes: While able to diagnose digimon problems, he's much better at this point diagnosing and treating human issues - infections, cuts, illnesses - due to growing up around humans. Due to this interest, Katsuo gifted him with a white armband that has a red cross on it. Captain wears it on his upper left arm. Evolution Line In-Training: Pagumon -Acid Bubbles Rookie: Gazimon -Paralyze Breath -Pitfall Champion: Devidramon Ultimate: Mega:</s> <|message|>Leonardo "Leo" Silverstone Leo gradually woke up to the sound of Daisy the Labramon's voice, and her tongue licking his face. "Leo! Wake up!" Leo yawned, sat up, and looked around. The last thing he remembered was taking a walk through his neighborhood, when suddenly the world literally stopped except for him. Then Daisy had run off, and when Leo chased after her, he was swallowed up by a mysterious portal. Now here he was on the beach. The sand was pink, the ocean was blue, and it looked like a bright sunny day! If Leo had known he was going to get magically transported to the beach, he would have brought a bathing suit so he could at least go swimming! He slowly rose to his feet. "Wow! This kind of thing only happens in cartoons and video games. Where are we anyway?" With the exception of the sound of the ocean, the place was oddly quiet. "I don't know, but look! More humans!" Sure enough, their were other kids on the beach too. The Labramon ran up to one of them, and started licking their face. "Wake up human!"</s> <|message|>Tadashi Ryu "Wake up human!" The unlucky recipient of the Labramon's tongue lay face down on the beach. He sported a black shirt, blue jeans, and an ocean blue unzipped hoodie. And he also had a pair of squared goggles wrapped around his head, but they weren't actually covering his eyes. On the sand beside him was a white sports duffle bag, with a blue baseball team logo plastered on it. It's contents amounted to a baseball practice uniform, left-handed baseball glove, two wooden bats, and a single ball. He groaned and slowly regained consciousness and tried to push the creature off him. "Hey, knock it off Yuki." he said as he rubbed the grogginess from his eyes. Evidently he hadn't yet noticed that the thing licking him was not who he thought it was. "But I'm over here, Tadashi." said the Blucomon, his voice coming from off to the side somewhere. "Huh? But then who...?" the sleepiness left him and Tadashi finally saw the friendly looking dog, "Oh... just a dog." he said, not actually registering the fact that she had talked to him a second ago. Then he shot to his feet, "Oh crap, where are we? I'm supposed to be at practice now!" he snatched the nearby sport bag and was about to make a run for it, only to now fully notice his surroundings. "Um, I don't think we're at home anymore, Tadashi." said the Blucomon, walking up beside him. His icy armored scales gleamed in the sunlight in a way that made it almost look crystalline.</s>

<|message|>Katsuo Baker Katsuo Baker and Captain In the end, it was the itching that brought Captain back to the waking world. He groaned as he sat up, scratching everywhere he could reach and knocking what felt like sand loose from his fur. Ah, that explained it - his fur, good at trapping heat, was also annoyingly good at trapping dust and sand, and other small particles. Except, he and the kid weren't anywhere near sand before... before. Captain opened his eyes to a vast shoreline and the ocean, something he'd only witnessed on television and in magazines beforehand. He'd thought it looked amazing and he would grumble from time to time about the kid taking him to the beach sometime. Now, he sort of regretted it. His eloquent, comprehensive opinion on the matter was: beach sucked. Give him a sunny day, a clean towel, and a clear window any time. He shook his head, sending a cloud of sand flying from the fur on his head and ears, and he sneezed. Alright, normally, his instincts were dead on. That tomcat outside could not be trusted, and what had happened? It spent every visit to the Baker household hissing and pawing at the window that separated it from Captain. A teacher from one of the kid's stories rubbed him the wrong way? Well what do you know, guy had issues. Point was, Captain was very used to trusting his instincts. So when his instincts demanded he go for a walk and take the kid with him, sure, maybe they were gonna a stray for the kid to smuggle home, or the kid was going to ake a new friend. At the very least, nothing bad would happen. Maybe he should've questioned his instincts a little more when they told him the weirdo glowing portal was harmless, but everyone was entitled to a mistake or two, right? As long as neither of them got hurt- The sudden realization that the kid was not at his side made him feel sick. He twisted and turned, looking to either side of him (were those... other humans? Further down the shore?) before looking behind him. Ah. There was Katsuo, stirring and pushing himself up off the sand. Captain stifled a snicker as the kid spat out a mouthful of sand and pulled off his glasses to rub away the sand. So, wherever they were, good to know sand was universally an issue, for human and digimon alike. Seriously, why was the beach so popular? Captain got to his feet and strutted over to Katsuo as if he hadn't panicked over possibly losing his kid mere moments ago. Katsuo seemed to have deemed his glasses clean enough and put them back on, only to take a moment to cough and spit out what was probably more sand. "Jeez, kid, if you told me this is what the beach was all about, I would've bothered you less about going." He grinned as Katsuo huffed. "I guess I don't have to ask if you're alright-" "Ask anyways, it feels good knowing you care." His grin grew as Katsuo managed to get up on his knees and really look around for the first time. Captain did as well - it was very different from home to be certain but somehow, it felt - familiar? Natural? Right. It felt right. "Where do you think we are?" "I... think this is where I came from." There was no point in trying to hide it or deny it. Katsuo seemed to have a sixth sense for being lied to, and it always made Captain's job of keeping him safe that much harder. He wondered if Katsuo would bombard him with questions, but the kid surprised him - he just got to his feet. "Are you sure? I mean, you were an egg when we met." He seemed distracted by their surroundings, but Captain decided to entertain the question anyways. "Well, yeah, but it just feels right somehow. You know, like after you stretch for the first time after sitting still for forever and a day? You know exactly what I mean." "Homework's important." Captain frowned; normally, the kid was a bit more spirited about this line of discussion, but he seemed focused on their surroundings. So he did what came naturally - he jumped behindthe kid and hopped up to cling to his shoulders. "Somethin' going on in that big brain of yours?" And this close, he could tell the kid's breathing had grown a tad shallow. "Cap, why do you think there are so many abandoned baskets along the beach?" Captain frowned at the simple question and looked around. He wouldn't call them 'so many', but he counted several of them, now that the kid had mentioned it. "I'm gonna guess it doesn't mean everyone went out for a swim, huh." He let go of his kid and flicked his ears. It was quiet - which felt weird as well, after coming from a city-like area, but even then weren't there birds at the beach? He thought of the commercials on tv, where squawking birdcalls would accompany the breaking waves, and mentally compared it to the silence around them. It sent shivers up his spine. He then remembered - the humans! "Any chance the baskets are theirs?" He gestured towards them. Katsuo tore his glance from an oddly-shaped footprint and looked to the others - two awake, the rest stirring bit by bit. "Maybe?" He bit his lower lip. Captain could tell his kid could probably use a distraction. "Hey, Kid." He held up his arms, which would easily reach Katsuo's ears were he closer. "Carry me over? I'll do the talking. I'm better at it anyways." "You are not!" Katsuo bristled. For a moment, Captain figured he miscalculated just how stressed Katsuo was, being somewhere this unusual. Then, Katsuo sighed and picked Captain up under his arms. To the unaware, it looked like a child carrying a massive bunny plushie (and a strangely-made one at that, Captain had overheard a few times). "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap." "Just weird, yeah." Captain nodded as the two headed over. They caught snippets of speech - English, it sounded like. "Oh. You wanna introduce us or should I?" "I can. I should ask about the baskets anyhow." Despite their attempts to keep their voices down, they were close enough to be overheard speaking Japanese. Katsuo cleared his throat, and Captain could tell the 12-year-old was taking a moment to remember his lessons (their lessons, really, Katsuo had taken great pains to repeat them for Captain). "Hello. My name is Katsuo. My friend's name is Captain. Do any of you own the baskets along the beach?" Captain gave a lazy wave as Katsuo spoke. Hopefully, someone would claim responsibility, and the worry would be for nothing.</s>

<|description|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire Age: 19 Gender: Male Description or Image: Clickity Alias/Nick Name: Grey Gadgeteer Background & Reason for Joining: For the longest time, Manny has always aspired to be like the super heroes he'd watched all his life on the tv. There was something about the idea of saving people that made the man's spine tingle. But instead of taking the normal route of going to a profession like firefighting or becoming an emergency technician, he opted to walk the path of dauntless heroism; much to the chagrin of his parents. But he knew that with how a big place Hero City was, he'd need to create a team to stand a snowball's chance of making any significant impact in the hero world. Thus the Council of Heroes Against Malicious Persons was formed! Personality: A friendly, well intentioned but socially awkward young man. Powers & Weaknesses: * Genius-level Technological Aptitude * Encyclopedic Knowledge [Heroes and Villains] * Grey Gadgeteer suit * Poor Hand-to-Hand Combatant * Borderline Broke * His Family Judging him Name: Paul Han Age: 19 Gender: Male Description or Image: Clickity Alias/Nick Name: Pau [by friends and family] Background & Reason for Joining: When Paul was still young and new to Hero City, the other kids didn't like him very much. Always getting picked on for being new and his exceptional grades didn't help on the matter. But one day when he was about to get his weekly pummeling, a kid in a Gold Guard costume burst outta nowhere and started wailing on his would be pummelers. They both got their asses kicked, but it was a strong bonding experience between the two youngsters. Through thick and thin, that bond has lasted ten years later. When Manny decided to become a hero, he wasn't too sure if that was a smart idea but being his best friend, couldn't help but support him. Hence, he has become the right hand man of Manny. Personality: A shy but intelligent young man with a knack for business, if not a little gloomy. Powers & Weaknesses: * Great Business Acumen * Expert Accounting Skill * Unyielding Loyalty * Pacifist * Shyness * Type-1 Diabetes Name: ??? Age: ??? Gender: Male Description or Image: Clickity Alias/Nick Name: Façade Background: ??? Personality: Keeps a façade of friendliness but will screw you over for the right price at any given time. Powers & Weaknesses: * Shape-shifter [Mimicry] * Expert Actor * Infiltration Expertise * Poor Combatant * Cowardly * Lactose Intolerant</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire Hero City, The City of Tomorrow! --- --- @ShadowsofNight@Leophael --- "Hero City was built alongside Champion City hundreds of years ago among the verdant woodlands and rolling hills of Massachusetts. It may have been the jewel of the region at one time but no more. The surrounding area's woodland has been deforested and developed into industrial sites and mass housing complexes. The once serene skyline is riddled with elaborate skyscrapers, Neon signs, and a fleet of airships that constantly patrol the streets from a bird's eye view through smog clouded skies. Numerous cultures have left their mark not just on the city's development and identity, for better or for worse. What historically was a city of simplicity and humility has grown into a multicultural hub of decadence and corruption. Yes Hero City, the City of Tomorrow...and Champion City's less flattering sister city. Despite what the news and radio shows tell Hero City itself was in a worse state than the local government let on...not that it fools any average Joe and Jane that hasn't been living underneath a rock for their whole lives. No, Hero City is rife with villains and ne'er-do-wells that prey upon the honest citizens of this city. They operate in the shadows and gutters of this city, like the vermin they are, so the corrupt officials are easier paid to look the other way to their activities. Almost every day, evil goes unpunished...but not today! For today the CHAMP roster has been bolstered by fresh new heroes! Evil beware the CHAMPs are after you!" Manny proclaims proudly to nobody in particular while he uses a hairbrush as an impromptu mic and raising his hands upward as if basking in the love of an invisible crowd. Just as he's bowing to his imaginary audience, Paul enters the dingy one room apartment with a box of donuts and a tray of coffee. "Manny, you really need to tone down a little. Especially when doing these monologues. The neighbors are starting to think you're crazy." Paul said with a slightly concerned tone, hoping that his best friend hasn't gone and lost his mind. Manuel turns to look at his long time friend with a wide grin and a sparkle in his eyes. "How can I, Pau? We got three. Not one. Not two. But THREE email application in one night. This is an outstanding success! Mark my words, Pau. This is a turning point for the CHAMP." "Well be a CHAMP and help me with the donuts and coffee." Paul says while setting down the box of donuts and coffee on a kitchen counter top only to grimace as he feels a wetness on the back of his hand as it touches the surface. "Jesus, Manny. When was the last time you properly cleaned this dump?" The Asian man says as he frowns at the motor oil that stained the back of his hand. "Roughly two months ago, but that isn't the point. The point is that we got to make our first impression count with these applicants. What makes a better first impression than a rousing speech, donuts, and coffee?" "Meeting in a dirty cramped apartment that smells and looks like an auto shop barfed in it." Paul said with no thin layer of sarcasm. "Touché. Help me clean before the applicants arrive. They could be here at any moment." Manuel finally agreed and began haphazardly sweeping trash and junk into areas where it wouldn't be seen easily.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman The Jersey Devil bounced, swung, and ran across the city roofs, his mask playing "Breaking Out" by Protomen to pump him up. A real gig. Interesting. He definitely never thought to do something like this, but in the time he had spent here, homeless and prowling the city, he had already been pranking the lowlifes while trying to find money and food. He refused to steal from the innocent, but lowlifes... that was fair game. But now he was going to be doing something about them as part of a cause. Being a good guy... maybe even a hero. He sprang high off a ledge, flipped, and landed on a chimney that was billowing out smoke. He perched there, hidden in the cloud, though the mask still allowed him to breath and think. And he wouldn't be alone. He had been alone since the day he watched his friends die. Painful images ripped through his mind, and he used them to solidify his resolve. He was going to stop people from suffering the way he had. He was going to save people. He looked around, checking his location, and the Jersey Devil Sprang out from the smoke, flipped, and was on the move again. Jersey Devil? He had come up with that name based on where he had come from... but he wasn't there anymore... probably never would be again. Hero City Devil just didn't have the same ring. Eh, work in progress. Coming to the building, he jumped and landed on the wall, using his claws to hold onto the windowsill. Slowly he moved around the building, looking for the right room. After a time, he came to a room where two men were cleaning. There were donuts and coffee, like they were preparing for company. Probably the place... kinda shoddy for an HQ of the City's Protectors.... but what did he expect, an massive cave under a billionaires mansion? Through the window of the one room apartment, the bug eyed gas mask of the Jersey Devil watched the men clean. Waiting to be seen, or waiting for further developments</s>

<|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire Just as The Jersey Devil peered into the dingy room, Paul saw Jacob's vaguely humanoid silhouette and soulless lenses of the gasmask that protected his identity. It was reasonable for Paul to immediately go into a panic and scrambling away from the window, knocking over and scattering the trash he had the responsibility of cleaning. "Manny! MANNY! Monster outside your window! KILL IT!" "Wait...what?" Manny, dumbfounded, asked incredulously before turning to see what Paul was seeing. Initially, the sight startled the founder of the CHAMP, and was ready to fight for his life, but after a moment or two of processing what he was looking at he finally realized who it was outside his window. It was the same guy from one of the application emails! "Paul. Calm down. That ain't no monster." Manny said to his friend before excitedly approaching the window to open it and let Jacob in. "This is one of the newest recruits of CHAMP. THE JERSEY DEVIL!" Manny announced with arms outstretched and hands shaking jazzily to the open window.</s>

<|description|>Jacob Richman Age: 24 Gender: Male Description or Image: Alias/Nick Name: Bob, The Jersey Devil Background & Reason for Joining: Jacob was just like any other young rich kid who thought they were ten feet tall and bullet proof. Where actions didn't involve consequences, and the whole city was simply a playground. He and his friends would take to the streets daily to skate, or bike, or in Jacob's case, Run all over the city. There were no places safe from Jacob and his friends, and if there was a place they were not supposed to go, they found a way in. They never Stole anything, or hurt anyone, they were simply obnoxious and annoying, and didn't understand the concept of trespassing. Then one day, a new building was constructed. A big fancy lab of some sort, and it didn't take long for the friends to break in to have a look around. They were creating weapons and things that looked super high tech, but not uniformed like it would be for a military. Jacob was trying on a nifty set of clawed gloves, and spring like boots, and turned to his friends saying, "I'm Catman" when all hell broke loose. This place didn't play by the rules. There was no, "Freeze.", "You're Under Arrest." Nothin. Two of his friends were shot down in front of him, and none of them made it out that he knows of. Jacob made it out doing what he did best. Running and jumping, and with the gloves and boots, there was nothing to slow him down. He had hoped to go home and report to his rich dad about what he had found, but when he got there, he found the people from the lab already there. His family, and everything he knew was dead. He quickly withdrew all the money he had access to, and left behind the name of Jacob Richman. Running to Hero City he fell into deep depression and spent most of his nights drinking and practicing his parkour throughout the city with a mask to hide his identity. It was on one of these nightly excursions that he noticed a new building being built. A new lab. Rage replaced depression, and he decided he should do something about it. He stumbled across an odd blog while trying to get a clue as to where he should even start, and figured it was as good a places as any. Champs huh? Personality: On his good days, Bob is an overly friendly socialite, especially if he's too drunk or distracted to remember his past at the time. He truly seems like a guy with no care in the world, and will give out money and gifts to anyone he meets. He was that guy all the time once, but now, there is a seriousness, and haunting glint behind his eyes, and a bitterness towards the world under his tongue. He can still come across as cocky though. Powers & Weaknesses: Parkour Expert, very efficient with other X-Game equipment but specializes in the Parkour. Jump boots: the boots read the pressure and force of the wearer, then channels extra force back down, causing a bounce effect. The more pressure applied, the more let off, while also buffering the impact from the wearer, allowing them to land on their feet without shattering their legs. Claws: retractable claw inside gloves that are reinforced with the same insulation as the boots to accommodate impact. While considerable weapons, The Jersey Devil uses them to help him climb, and steer his running. Mask: and old gas mask modified to have headphones, and protect his eyes and lungs from smoke. weaknesses: -slight obsession with revenge against the labs. -tendency to take too big of risks. -Still being hunted by the labs for their stolen tech.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman The Jersey Devil bounced, swung, and ran across the city roofs, his mask playing "Breaking Out" by Protomen to pump him up. A real gig. Interesting. He definitely never thought to do something like this, but in the time he had spent here, homeless and prowling the city, he had already been pranking the lowlifes while trying to find money and food. He refused to steal from the innocent, but lowlifes... that was fair game. But now he was going to be doing something about them as part of a cause. Being a good guy... maybe even a hero. He sprang high off a ledge, flipped, and landed on a chimney that was billowing out smoke. He perched there, hidden in the cloud, though the mask still allowed him to breath and think. And he wouldn't be alone. He had been alone since the day he watched his friends die. Painful images ripped through his mind, and he used them to solidify his resolve. He was going to stop people from suffering the way he had. He was going to save people. He looked around, checking his location, and the Jersey Devil Sprang out from the smoke, flipped, and was on the move again. Jersey Devil? He had come up with that name based on where he had come from... but he wasn't there anymore... probably never would be again. Hero City Devil just didn't have the same ring. Eh, work in progress. Coming to the building, he jumped and landed on the wall, using his claws to hold onto the windowsill. Slowly he moved around the building, looking for the right room. After a time, he came to a room where two men were cleaning. There were donuts and coffee, like they were preparing for company. Probably the place... kinda shoddy for an HQ of the City's Protectors.... but what did he expect, an massive cave under a billionaires mansion? Through the window of the one room apartment, the bug eyed gas mask of the Jersey Devil watched the men clean. Waiting to be seen, or waiting for further developments</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- Just as The Jersey Devil peered into the dingy room, Paul saw Jacob's vaguely humanoid silhouette and soulless lenses of the gasmask that protected his identity. It was reasonable for Paul to immediately go into a panic and scrambling away from the window, knocking over and scattering the trash he had the responsibility of cleaning. "Manny! MANNY! Monster outside your window! KILL IT!" "Wait...what?" Manny, dumbfounded, asked incredulously before turning to see what Paul was seeing. Initially, the sight startled the founder of the CHAMP, and was ready to fight for his life, but after a moment or two of processing what he was looking at he finally realized who it was outside his window. It was the same guy from one of the application emails! "Paul. Calm down. That ain't no monster." Manny said to his friend before excitedly approaching the window to open it and let Jacob in. "This is one of the newest recruits of CHAMP. THE JERSEY DEVIL!" Manny announced with arms outstretched and hands shaking jazzily to the open window.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The sunlight coming in from the window slowly made its way into the thin crack's of Link's eyelids, gradually stirring him back to consciousness. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry and tacky. As his eyes began to open, he found himself staring at a ceiling fan he didn't recognize. Out of the four blades that were supposed to be there, it appeared as though there were only two blades left intact while the others appeared to have broken off. Odd. His blurred vision began to sharpen. He turned to his side and beheld a sleeping woman in her birthday suit who probably looked more attractive when there was less light about. Link cocked his head a little in a sort of shrug. Whatever, he thought. A good time is a good time. He just wished he could remember it. The more he came awake, the harder his head seemed to throb. Link forced himself to sit up in the bed he was in to try and get his wits back. As he did, he noticed a small thing wrapped in green and red nestled toward the foot of the bed. ...the fuck is that? Before he had a chance to investigate, his peripheral vision caught the shape of something else at his side. As he turned, he took in the vision of a very rotund woman adorned in a tight leather outfit that screamed dominance. It looked absolutely brutal to sleep in, and yet here she was, passed out, snoozing like a baby. Link paused for a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the getup. The fact that it still held its integrity against the woman's overabundance of thickness was damn near miraculous. Wild. His attention quickly fell back on the slowly pulsating pile of red and green cloth at the foot of the bed. He leaned forward and held out his hand, pointing all of his fingers in its direction. There was only one finger that stood above the rest, however. With a symphony of small cracks and pops, his middle finger began to grow and stretch like an elastic tendril as it found its way to its target. With a small flick, Link twisted the pile, flipping it over to reveal yet another surprise. It wasn't a pile of cloth at all but, rather, a middle aged little person dressed in an elf costume with an abnormal amount of drool covering his chin. No friggin way... he thought as he took it all in. His finger quickly retracted to its normal size and that's when the smell started to hit him. Odorous, rotten... fishy? Link sniffed the air, trying to track the scent. It was close... very close. He looked at the bed sheets, trying to find the source of offense, but there wasn't anything left. He began to scratch his head, perplexed. That's when the odor got stronger... The slow realization of horror began to paint itself upon Link's face as his eyes wandered to his hand. Hesitantly, begrudgingly, he brought the tips of his fingers to his nostrils... "Oh god!" The words shrilly escaped his lips as he tried to maintain control over his gag reflex. Almost immediately, Link rolled over off the bed, trying to avoid waking up any of his new, unconscious friends. As he stood there, buck naked, he could see he was definitely in a hotel room - a cheap one at that - and whatever they got into last night was definitely rowdy. There were broken bottles on the floor, discarded clothing in every corner of the room and what appeared to be a big red velvet sack filled with something that sat upon the chest of drawers. Link tried to ignore it all and scurry to the bathroom, trying to watch every step as to not cut his feet on any glass. He stepped inside, shut the door, and switched on the florescent lights that emitted a bothersome humming sound. His hands quickly found their way to the faucet as he turned the water on full blast and tried fervently to wash them clean. As he did so, he heard the... the sound of... Was that a sad duck? He glanced over toward the bathtub. Lying there, dressed only in red velvet pants, was an unconscious old burly man with a beard as white as snow. You've got to be fuggin kidding me. That's when the smell of raw eggs hit him like a freight train. Link could no longer breathe. That sound from before was no fucking duck! He burst out of the bathroom, slamming the door as it opened, no longer giving a damn if he would stir the others. He frantically grabbed the askew articles of his clothing and clumsily began to dress himself as he made his way toward the exit door. He couldn't remember anything from last night and, at this point, he wasn't sure he even wanted to. Finally clothed and in the safety of the parking lot, he scanned the vehicles and quickly found his own. He reached into his jean pockets to retrieve his keys. Just as he did, his cell phone began chiming. He pulled both items out and looked at the screen. "Meeting at CHAMP HQ" was all the screen said, along with an option to Snooze the alarm. He had nearly forgotten. This was his chance to land a real job, be an upstanding citizen, be respected in the community. He looked at the time in the corner of the screen. He still had plenty. He stuffed the cell phone back into his pocket, jumped into his car and started the ignition. It was time to head to the CHAMP HQ. But first, he would have to stop for a little hair of the dog. His head was killing him. --- KNOCK, KNOCK Link stood outside the apartment door, a half emptied flask in hand. This was not the sort of HQ he was expecting. It sort of made sense, though. Only an operation like this would be interested in the likes of him. He didn't care. This was fine. A first step. Everyone's gotta start somewhere. He took another quick swig before shoving the flask in his back pocket. He heard movement on the other side of the threshold. Slowly, he took a deep breath and waited with anticipation for the door to open.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- The knocking of the apartment's front door was audible enough to snap Paul's attention away from the open window with the new hero(?) his best friend recruited for his heroic organization. Rather than waiting for the gasmasked figure to enter the room, he opted to go and see who was knocking at the door. As the Asian man peers into the peep hole of the apartment's front door, he sees a rather gruff individual patiently waiting for something. Likely him opening the door. Seemed normal enough in that get up if not a little rough looking, he opens the door for the man outside. Paul's nose would soon regret that decision as the odorous mixture of booze, sweat, and sex assaulted his nostrils. " *gagging* O-oh sweet Lord that is foul. S-sorry...not trying to be rude but...goddamn." Paul was forced to begin breathing through his mouth to prevent his eyes from watering. "Uhh. Are you one of the applicants, Manny was waiting for?" The aforementioned man takes a peek at whoever Paul was speaking to. Eyes widened even more and the sheer mirth could be heard in his voice as it raised in pitch and cadence. "Oh my God, you must be The Finger! The one applicant with a legit super power! You came to the meeting, AWESOME!"</s>

<|message|>Jacob Richman Jacob practically rolled up into the room as the window opened, sitting on the window frame. His eyebrow was raised at the odd people, not that the lifeless eyes of the mask showed this. He simply cooked his head a little and chuckled. "Jaz hands... nice." His attention instantly went to the door and the noise coming from there. How many had answered the email?</s>

<|description|>Jacob Richman Age: 24 Gender: Male Description or Image: Alias/Nick Name: Bob, The Jersey Devil Background & Reason for Joining: Jacob was just like any other young rich kid who thought they were ten feet tall and bullet proof. Where actions didn't involve consequences, and the whole city was simply a playground. He and his friends would take to the streets daily to skate, or bike, or in Jacob's case, Run all over the city. There were no places safe from Jacob and his friends, and if there was a place they were not supposed to go, they found a way in. They never Stole anything, or hurt anyone, they were simply obnoxious and annoying, and didn't understand the concept of trespassing. Then one day, a new building was constructed. A big fancy lab of some sort, and it didn't take long for the friends to break in to have a look around. They were creating weapons and things that looked super high tech, but not uniformed like it would be for a military. Jacob was trying on a nifty set of clawed gloves, and spring like boots, and turned to his friends saying, "I'm Catman" when all hell broke loose. This place didn't play by the rules. There was no, "Freeze.", "You're Under Arrest." Nothin. Two of his friends were shot down in front of him, and none of them made it out that he knows of. Jacob made it out doing what he did best. Running and jumping, and with the gloves and boots, there was nothing to slow him down. He had hoped to go home and report to his rich dad about what he had found, but when he got there, he found the people from the lab already there. His family, and everything he knew was dead. He quickly withdrew all the money he had access to, and left behind the name of Jacob Richman. Running to Hero City he fell into deep depression and spent most of his nights drinking and practicing his parkour throughout the city with a mask to hide his identity. It was on one of these nightly excursions that he noticed a new building being built. A new lab. Rage replaced depression, and he decided he should do something about it. He stumbled across an odd blog while trying to get a clue as to where he should even start, and figured it was as good a places as any. Champs huh? Personality: On his good days, Bob is an overly friendly socialite, especially if he's too drunk or distracted to remember his past at the time. He truly seems like a guy with no care in the world, and will give out money and gifts to anyone he meets. He was that guy all the time once, but now, there is a seriousness, and haunting glint behind his eyes, and a bitterness towards the world under his tongue. He can still come across as cocky though. Powers & Weaknesses: Parkour Expert, very efficient with other X-Game equipment but specializes in the Parkour. Jump boots: the boots read the pressure and force of the wearer, then channels extra force back down, causing a bounce effect. The more pressure applied, the more let off, while also buffering the impact from the wearer, allowing them to land on their feet without shattering their legs. Claws: retractable claw inside gloves that are reinforced with the same insulation as the boots to accommodate impact. While considerable weapons, The Jersey Devil uses them to help him climb, and steer his running. Mask: and old gas mask modified to have headphones, and protect his eyes and lungs from smoke. weaknesses: -slight obsession with revenge against the labs. -tendency to take too big of risks. -Still being hunted by the labs for their stolen tech.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @ShadowsofNight@myinneroblivion --- As Link took a seat and made himself comfortable on the sofa, he politely gestured for Jacob to do the same if he wanted to unwind. As Manny had no doubt that climbing to the second floor to reach his apartment must have taken significant effort. Turning his attention to Link to answer his questions his confidence in meeting the new heroes grew weaker. Things had not been going well for the CHAMP even since the beginnings of the hero group...he really didn't want to tell that to the new guys the truth but how could he call himself the founder of the CHAMP, or even more a hero, if he lied to his teammates? "Uhh...funny thing is that this is kind of really what CHAMP Head Quarters is. BUT! I promise you all that once we get out of bottom ranking in Rent-A-Hero ® and getting a decent reputation, the money will flow and we'll be getting a proper hideout for HQ and even individual vehicles." Manny paused for a good long while before finally getting the courage to say it. " butfornowwehavetosettlehereandusepublictransporttogettojobs. " He spat the words out so fast that even a Rap God would have been jealous. While Manny was talking, Paul finally noticed the lady wearing a jacket and harem pants in the hallway. From his memory, he's never leased any of the building's rooms to a woman like her nor did the current tenants had any relatives or visitors like her. Hazarding a guess, he calls out to the woman. "Hey. You. If you're the last of the three applying heroes for CHAMP, well, just feel free to go in. The meeting already started. I, on the other hand, need to go back to the ground floor and man the laundromat café before I loose any more customers." And with that, the Asian man waves off the growing bunch of weirdos that his best friend was gathering. Ah. The things he'd do for friendship...</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Starting suddenly at the voice calling her way, Talia stepped said a quick and rushed "oh thank you" before walking swiftly yet gracefully into the room with the other guys. She looked them each up and down briefly, a bit nervously, before saying a soft "hello, my name is Talia and it's nice to meet all of you." She added a sweet smile. Some of her nerves and shyness was already evaporating because traveling and performing for years had taught her how to break the social awkwardness with groups of people and how to fit in best as possible. It was a facade but.. she was well-versed in it all and the stage didn't care. Her voice was soft and gentle and quite the direct opposite of the man that she'd briefly seen in the hallway. She had seen and known his kind before, but didn't judge. Besides, if this was indeed headquarters, they would be some kind of oddly matched team by the end of this. Her sharp eyes combed the room and took in the other odd man standing by the window… wearing a kind of gas mask? That was interesting and a bit confusing, Talia thought but again, no judgment, just intrigue as she looked around for some kind of chair to sit comfortably but straight, just like she'd been taught.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Jacob gives a double devil horns hand gesture in response to Link's, then shifts to sit on the floor in front of the window in a kind of yoga position. As the woman walks in, there is a kind of echoing whistle from inside the gas mask as the blank eyes of the mask follow her for a moment. Not a lewd whistle, just one of appreciation. He noted the mention that there were only three applicants, so assumed this was it. Once the door closed, he reached up and pulled off the helmet like mask, running a hand through his hair to ruffle it out. The soft echoes of music drifting barely out from inside. "Yeah, most people just call me Bob. Or the Jersey Devil if I'm performing."</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @myinneroblivion@ShadowsofNight --- Manny let out a mental sigh of relief when the new members of the CHAMP didn't seem to mind that they were not doing well financially nor were they highly regarded by the citizens of Hero City nor their fellow heroes. But hopefully they'd be with CHAMP long enough to prove their nay-sayers wrong. The man perked up when the members began introducing themselves to one another. "Hello all. I am Manuel Donaire, also known as, The Grey Gadgeteer and the founder of the Council of Heroes Against Malicious Persons. It is a pleasure to meet you and an honor to call you all my fellow CHAMPs." He truly was grateful for the three misfit heroes that sat before him. It had nearly been two months since Slug Girl had retired from her hero duties after the Barton's Rock Salt Mine incident...poor Slug Girl won't be the same ever again. But now was not the time for regrets, now was a time for celebration. The CHAMP now had more than enough heroes to be fully active once more. "I know it may be a little early, but I just couldn't help it." Manny said before walking to his laptop and opening it to show the others present. "I got us a debut job." --- The Debut Job. --- "The job in itself was a simple one. The client wanted them to go and capture Volk Bucur, the owner of a popular nightclub in downtown Hero City after bribing his way out of arrest for a hit and run three weeks ago that left our client with a broken leg." Manny then pulls up a handful of headlines that show the incident as well as a prominent portrait of the aforementioned club owner to help the group familiarize themselves with what Volk looked like. "But this is the part where it gets difficult for us. I've done some digging and a contact of mine from the Hero City Police Department shared with me that the nightclub is only a front and is a suspected distribution center of this new drug called 'Diamond Dust'. Real nasty stuff from what I understood from the info. Makes you feel like a billion bucks and gives you temporarily enhanced physical abilities, but fucks up your brain chemistry so bad that if you take in another dose within 24 hours, you go nuttier than squirrel poop." Manny then pulls up the police files that were given to him and to say the aftermath of a berserk Diamond Dust junkie was messy was sugar coating the scene. It looked like a typhoon swept through the areas in the pictures, leaving tens of thousands of dollars worth of property damage and scores of injuries and even some deaths. "A couple hero groups tried to do this a few days ago and wound up in the ICU or dead. So they'll be expecting us to go in guns blazing...figuratively and literally like the other groups did. So I suggest that we do this all sneaky like and strike only when we are sure that we can capture Volk and maybe even stop the Diamond Dust distribution in the area there." Manny paused to let the information sink in with the others present. He knew that this was definitely one of the more dangerous jobs available in Rent-A-Hero® for smaller and less powerful hero groups but if they managed to pull this off they'd be finally be respected as proper heroes and even get a good sum of cash for completing it. "So...what do you guys say? Wanna kick some bad guy's ass and deal with a drug problem in the process?"</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link's face was stone, emotionless as he listened to the briefing. Super powered junkies and henchmen were cause for an awkward, audible gulp as he took in the information. He hadn't seen any of his teammates in action and, frankly, he had never swam in waters this deep, himself. The name Volk Bucur didn't ring any bells. Link had been to plenty of clubs and had countless single-serving friends who also enjoyed the night life. He began to wonder if he had ever been in Bucur's club in particular or if he knew any shallow acquaintances who had. "I mean..." he finally answered. His voice uncharacteristically lacked his usual electric confidence. "...what else are we gonna do?" His eyes bounced from one face to the other, trying to gauge body language. "We're in, right? Incognito style. Full ninja. But, uh... how?"</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- As Link tried to remember any acquaintance that he knew that had any relation to the nightclub, Manny began to explain to them the possible ways they can tackle this job. "Well I have a couple of suggestions to how we'd get inside of the nightclub and launch the surprise attack. The first is that we pretend that we're club goers that are looking to get 'dusted' as they would say and attack when we reach the club's VIP area. Our gear can be smuggled piece by piece into the building but I think I'll be the only one that would need to get my gear smuggled inside as most of you have inconspicuous gear that could be passed off as fashion items." Manny paused to approach a pile of seemingly nondescript garbage covered by a thick motor oil stained sheet to pull it off, revealing the Grey Gadgeteer Suit. "As you can see, mine is significantly more conspicuous. Thus leading me to the second suggested plan of action." He walks away from the poor clunky hodgepodge excuse of an exoskeletal suit he lovingly called his hero suit and towards his laptop once more. Sifting through the files in it for the one he was looking for. "We could use the adjacent buildings' roofs to gain access to the roof of the nightclub and launch our attack to the VIP area from there...but I am open to your suggestions if you have any." Link would then remember a hazy memory from last night. The rotund woman, that he had the pleasure or displeasure of bedding, mentioned in passing that she was the one responsible for dispatching all the liquor deliveries to the shitty clubs in the downtown area. Likely including Bucur's nightclub. Maybe that memory could be useful to finding alternative ways into infiltrating the club without rousing unnecessary attention?</s>

<|message|>Jacob Richman Bob shrugs a little, smirking. "I'm pretty good at sneaking into places I don't belong... fuzzy already looks like a club goer, and can probably just walk in. Probably best for you that way too, miss. Do we have any fancy spy gear to help us communicate and stuff? I can check things out from above, and you guys from inside?" Jacob never liked drugs. Maybe pot, but nothing more than that. And Any kind of drugs could be fatal with parkour, so he never touched the stuff himself. This was definitely the kind of crimes he wanted to stop. "I'm in though" He was already moving closer to take a look at the suit that their employer uncovered, having some thoughts of his own.</s>

<|description|>Jacob Richman Age: 24 Gender: Male Description or Image: Alias/Nick Name: Bob, The Jersey Devil Background & Reason for Joining: Jacob was just like any other young rich kid who thought they were ten feet tall and bullet proof. Where actions didn't involve consequences, and the whole city was simply a playground. He and his friends would take to the streets daily to skate, or bike, or in Jacob's case, Run all over the city. There were no places safe from Jacob and his friends, and if there was a place they were not supposed to go, they found a way in. They never Stole anything, or hurt anyone, they were simply obnoxious and annoying, and didn't understand the concept of trespassing. Then one day, a new building was constructed. A big fancy lab of some sort, and it didn't take long for the friends to break in to have a look around. They were creating weapons and things that looked super high tech, but not uniformed like it would be for a military. Jacob was trying on a nifty set of clawed gloves, and spring like boots, and turned to his friends saying, "I'm Catman" when all hell broke loose. This place didn't play by the rules. There was no, "Freeze.", "You're Under Arrest." Nothin. Two of his friends were shot down in front of him, and none of them made it out that he knows of. Jacob made it out doing what he did best. Running and jumping, and with the gloves and boots, there was nothing to slow him down. He had hoped to go home and report to his rich dad about what he had found, but when he got there, he found the people from the lab already there. His family, and everything he knew was dead. He quickly withdrew all the money he had access to, and left behind the name of Jacob Richman. Running to Hero City he fell into deep depression and spent most of his nights drinking and practicing his parkour throughout the city with a mask to hide his identity. It was on one of these nightly excursions that he noticed a new building being built. A new lab. Rage replaced depression, and he decided he should do something about it. He stumbled across an odd blog while trying to get a clue as to where he should even start, and figured it was as good a places as any. Champs huh? Personality: On his good days, Bob is an overly friendly socialite, especially if he's too drunk or distracted to remember his past at the time. He truly seems like a guy with no care in the world, and will give out money and gifts to anyone he meets. He was that guy all the time once, but now, there is a seriousness, and haunting glint behind his eyes, and a bitterness towards the world under his tongue. He can still come across as cocky though. Powers & Weaknesses: Parkour Expert, very efficient with other X-Game equipment but specializes in the Parkour. Jump boots: the boots read the pressure and force of the wearer, then channels extra force back down, causing a bounce effect. The more pressure applied, the more let off, while also buffering the impact from the wearer, allowing them to land on their feet without shattering their legs. Claws: retractable claw inside gloves that are reinforced with the same insulation as the boots to accommodate impact. While considerable weapons, The Jersey Devil uses them to help him climb, and steer his running. Mask: and old gas mask modified to have headphones, and protect his eyes and lungs from smoke. weaknesses: -slight obsession with revenge against the labs. -tendency to take too big of risks. -Still being hunted by the labs for their stolen tech.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob admittedly glossed over most of the technical jargin Manny was using, but was smirking by the time he had finished. He would take the offered earpiece, and turn mostly to Manny. "You sound a lot like my old friend Zane. He used to do all the hacking and tinkering back in the day." he tapped the gas mask, indicating the modifications that were made in it. "If we're good, think you'd be able to tinker with some more stuff? I have some ideas I have been thinking about. Not sure what everyone else can do... But I'm no Superman." He lifts one hand, flexing the fingers some to pop out the sharp claws, then retracting them again. "I haven't the foggiest idea how these things work, just know that they do." He rolls back on his heel's some, the boots pushing him back up into a small hop. He turns to the others, a brow lifting questioningly. "Any of yall bullet proof, or flying or something? Hear there's a guy who can lift a who city bus... Any of yall able to do something like that?" He picked up a lot of random information while bouncing around the city. Thugs tend to talk about heros and villains when they're scared of getting caught. He had heard a lot about the Big time heroes just like everyone, but he'd never heard of these smaller groups back in Jersey.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link gingerly placed the micro devices in his inner jacket pocket. He looked on intently as Bob displayed his demo of abilities. Are we bullet proof?, he silently repeated Bob's question in his mind. If I were bullet proof, I wouldn't be sitting in this apartment, that's for sure. What he could do, though, paled in comparison to An Indestructible, A Muscle or a Flier. At least, it certainly wasn't as traditional. Then again, neither was Link. "So Metal Man, with a super suit, and Gas Mask, with the hoppity hops and the pokey pokes, are coming in from the roof. Me and Chatty Cathy are shooting for general entry. And, all the while, we've got to avoid suspicion, get passed any security, find Bucur and successfully extract him without dying." It nearly sounded like a question, but was purely rhetorical. Link just had to keep it all straight in his mind and an audible recap was typically his go-to. His eyes shot over to Talia's. For a few beats, he remained silent, sizing her up. These roles they were about to play were either going to require a lot personality or a lot of honed skill. He could probably provide the former. He just hoped she could at least cover the latter. They could get stuck in queue purgatory if the bouncer decided they weren't worthy of admission and its not like Link had the scratch to bribe their way in. Usually the quickest way in was to bring some skimpy party girl with you, but Talia didn't seem the type. Maybe he could call in a club rat or two just to get in the door? He finally broke contact and, with a closed mouth, his tongue began to run along the sides of his teeth, an automatic tic that occurred when he was mulling something over in his head. How were they going to do this...? Maybe if they- "MESSAGE, MUDDAFUKKA! MESSAGE, MUDDAFUKKA!" Link was snapped out of his thought by the text notification on his cell phone. He scrambled to pull it out and unlock the screen. `From: Bertha McBigTiddies Where did you go, Finger Man? You were A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! A deal is a deal. You showed me what you can do, I'll show you what I can do. Tonight you're drinking free anywhere downtown as my VIP. All the bar tenders and owners know me. They'll treat you like a king. Password is 'Banana Hammock'. Don't be a stranger! XOXO` A grimace formed on Link's face, but soon softened into a state of intrigue. He couldn't remember her real name, but that lady could drink. I guess being in the liquor business would provide anyone ample time to build up a tolera- "Oh-ho!" Link couldn't help the outburst. An epiphany hit him like a freight train. He looked up at Talia again, his hungover mind racing as fast as it could under the circumstances. This was it. This was the In. "Alright, Chatty, you better have your glass slippers ready, because I just got us tickets to the ball. You can be Cinderella and I'll be Prince Charming." Feeling a small sense of accomplishment, Link felt he was deserving of a little reward. They wanted a show and tell? Fine. Without leaning forward in his seat, he extended his hand toward the pile of donuts. He was well short of the necessary distance, but he wasn't done, yet. Gradually, his middle finger began to stretch and pop, extending further and further until it plunged itself into one of the donut holes. With a flick and a turn of his wrist, the ringed donut slid all the way down his now two foot long finger and stopped abruptly at his knuckles. The finger shrank back to normal size as Link took a healthy bite of the donut, grabbing what was left of it with his other hand. "Ah lihk da pink ones wif sprinklez bedder," Prince Charming announced as he chewed, some bits of the donut falling into his beard. He looked over to Talia. "So whatchoo do, pinsess?"</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Things were going better than expected. Lady luck was finally smiling down upon them after a year and a half of getting kicked in the teeth by her metaphorically and literally at one point for a former hero of CHAMP, Pearly Whites. Poor guy had to get dentures after getting a face full of boot...seven times in one fight. "Sure thing, Bob. Maybe you can even invite your friend Zane to help me tinker with your gear." Manny says innocently with a friendly thumbs up before turning to Link and Talia. "That would be the plan as the client would prefer that Bucur to face justice but...has no qualms if we kill him. He'd still consider the job done and we'd still get renown and paid." Manny pauses and scratches the back of his head while slightly looking down to the floor. "I know that killing people is unavoidable at times in our line of work but I follow a strict no-kill rule that Captain Amazing followed." Manny believed that the late great hero did it out of the altruistic sense of righteousness of giving a bad soul to reform and be good. But in truth it was simply bad for the sponsors if their 'hero' had any blood on his hands. "But I know that the thugs in the nightclub will likely have guns in their possession and I've learned from my mistakes over the past year and a half. I don't have them with me right now...but I will have them by tonight. They're personal shield generators. The kind that people like the President have. I'd go into detail on how I made these from junk but I think it'd take too long and it'll just bore you guys. Just keep in mind that these things will protect you from a few bullets but not so much from slower moving things like thrown objects, fists, or melee weapons."</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Okay that's cool and definitely useful for something like this, Talia thought as she watched the man by the window display his claws and bounce abilities. She wondered what his gas mask thing did, but then decided that was probably really obvious and that she'd look stupid for asking about it. Also, she began to wish she had the ability to have some claws that could just pop out of her hands because that just sounded awesome. However, when it came to The Finger showing his skill to them all, she couldn't help but start slightly and then laugh out loud. Her laugh was soft but audible and trained, just like the rest of her, to be ladylike and gentle and graceful. God, how Talia wished to just be able to talk and sound and act like the rest of humanity. They seemed so free to be themselves. "Sorry," she said to the others, feeling the need to apologize even for that. "It's just... I honestly did not expect that but should be interesting." She took a breath then turned to Manny and also took one of the earpieces carefully for herself, saying a sweet "thank you" as she did so before turning back to the others. "Well, it so happens I can indeed be the perfect Cinderella," she said with a hint of a semi-forced smile. "But I'm a ribbon dancer and if anyone here does not know what that is, it is a display on stage of a lot of acrobatics and some skill. I cannot reveal very much here, as it is not a lot of space to work in without umm knocking things over," she finished with an actual, amused smile this time. Then she took off the jacket and placed it onto the arm of a chair and removed the ribbons from her bag. Breathe. Ignore their stares. This was nothing more than another performance, she thought to herself. With that, she began twirling the ribbons about in expert, controlled movements that whipped and whistled above their heads and to sweep the floor as she herself twirled and leapt about, circling the group, making such use of the space that the size of the apartment seemed to be forgotten. It would be clear to the onlookers, that she had control of the entire room similar to how an actual performer could command the stage but also literal control as the ribbons whipped around and energies swirled. It seemed as though she was in control of the forces, bending them to her will, but in fact she worked in tandem with them: a cooperative, enchanted performance. Afterwards, she stopped and stepped up closer to them all again and showed each the thickness and strength of the sheer fabric, a material that was not fragile at all, and also the razor-tipped metal edges that she had had sewn into the fabric itself to make the whip-like ribbons a weapon, capable of stripping skin and slicing through other materials as well. "I know it doesn't seem like much," she said, her confidence temporarily fueled by the performer she was, "but I have even been able to suspend my entire weight by these so they are not just weapons, but I can send them out and swing from them too. Also, if you take a look around, you'll notice that nothing and no one is damaged even though I whipped them around each of us. I hope that is a satisfactory performance for you all to still consider me."</s>

<|message|>Jacob Richman Bob's expression instantly fell at the mention of inviting his dead friend. Zane would have loved this. He was such a huge fan of the heros and always talked about being one some day. It was Zane that spread the rumors of the Jersey Devil after giving him the mask. Bob just nodded to Manny, and turned with a little more interest at the prospect of knowing what the woman could do. His brow raided again as the woman took of her jacket, and his mind was racing to produce some smart ass comment, though all thoughts stopped as she started her performance. After seeing the razor tips, and the skill in which she used them, he began reconsidering his call for 'dibs' he was going to call out in jest. He was a fan of having all his limbs attached, and didn't think it smart to upset such an apparently dangerous woman. After his surprise wore off, he applauded shortly, looking to the others. "Whelp, I'm sold." And he slips his helmet back on to hide any further betraying facial expressions.</s>

<|description|>Jacob Richman Age: 24 Gender: Male Description or Image: Alias/Nick Name: Bob, The Jersey Devil Background & Reason for Joining: Jacob was just like any other young rich kid who thought they were ten feet tall and bullet proof. Where actions didn't involve consequences, and the whole city was simply a playground. He and his friends would take to the streets daily to skate, or bike, or in Jacob's case, Run all over the city. There were no places safe from Jacob and his friends, and if there was a place they were not supposed to go, they found a way in. They never Stole anything, or hurt anyone, they were simply obnoxious and annoying, and didn't understand the concept of trespassing. Then one day, a new building was constructed. A big fancy lab of some sort, and it didn't take long for the friends to break in to have a look around. They were creating weapons and things that looked super high tech, but not uniformed like it would be for a military. Jacob was trying on a nifty set of clawed gloves, and spring like boots, and turned to his friends saying, "I'm Catman" when all hell broke loose. This place didn't play by the rules. There was no, "Freeze.", "You're Under Arrest." Nothin. Two of his friends were shot down in front of him, and none of them made it out that he knows of. Jacob made it out doing what he did best. Running and jumping, and with the gloves and boots, there was nothing to slow him down. He had hoped to go home and report to his rich dad about what he had found, but when he got there, he found the people from the lab already there. His family, and everything he knew was dead. He quickly withdrew all the money he had access to, and left behind the name of Jacob Richman. Running to Hero City he fell into deep depression and spent most of his nights drinking and practicing his parkour throughout the city with a mask to hide his identity. It was on one of these nightly excursions that he noticed a new building being built. A new lab. Rage replaced depression, and he decided he should do something about it. He stumbled across an odd blog while trying to get a clue as to where he should even start, and figured it was as good a places as any. Champs huh? Personality: On his good days, Bob is an overly friendly socialite, especially if he's too drunk or distracted to remember his past at the time. He truly seems like a guy with no care in the world, and will give out money and gifts to anyone he meets. He was that guy all the time once, but now, there is a seriousness, and haunting glint behind his eyes, and a bitterness towards the world under his tongue. He can still come across as cocky though. Powers & Weaknesses: Parkour Expert, very efficient with other X-Game equipment but specializes in the Parkour. Jump boots: the boots read the pressure and force of the wearer, then channels extra force back down, causing a bounce effect. The more pressure applied, the more let off, while also buffering the impact from the wearer, allowing them to land on their feet without shattering their legs. Claws: retractable claw inside gloves that are reinforced with the same insulation as the boots to accommodate impact. While considerable weapons, The Jersey Devil uses them to help him climb, and steer his running. Mask: and old gas mask modified to have headphones, and protect his eyes and lungs from smoke. weaknesses: -slight obsession with revenge against the labs. -tendency to take too big of risks. -Still being hunted by the labs for their stolen tech.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman That was his que, it seemed. With one final breath, Bob kicked off the top of the shaft, bursting through the vent into the VIP room. He tried to keep a mind on where everyone was, but he was not used to working in tight spaces. So a lot of what happened came across more like someone chunking a super ball in an elevator. Swinging out of the shaft, he would aim both feet at the Facades back, hoping to slam him down, while pushing back off him into a backflip and using his hand springs to shove him feet first at one of the goons with a gun. He wanted to take those out quickly. The spring off that goon, or the wall behind him, was meant to drive him palms first into the big bad guy himself. His trajectories planned, he tried to keep the case with the dust in sight, hoping his bouncing around would bring him close enough to snag it or kick it out of reach. He went from Jersey Devil, to Cat man, to Racket Ball in a single evening. A new record.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Slimy. It was the only word Link could think to describe the tactile resonance of his middle finger at the moment. He hurriedly wiped it dry on his jeans before taking in the sight of the aggressively approaching Muscle Squad. Weapons, he thought as he analyzed their bludgeoning instruments from a distance. His hands curled into fists once more, all except for his middle fingers which quickly grew in size, weight and thickness becoming comparable in proportion to the clubs welded by the bouncers. While he wanted nothing more than to fearlessly stare down his pursuers as they approached, he forced himself to break his gaze and look toward Talia, if only to assess her situation in that moment. She seemed aware of the imminent danger. "Maybe we both dance this time," he loudly suggested with a crooked grin before turning back to the bouncers. "The thing is, I only know how to dance one way: Swing Dancing." His grin grew wider as he lifted his finger-bats in the air. "...cuz I'm about to swing these things..." he continued, the confidence quickly vanishing from his voice. "...at their faces. It's sort of a double entandr- you know what, forget it. Let's fuck these guys up!"</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia indeed noticed the danger that her partner, Link was in... seizing the moment of the brief disruption he had now afforded her, she leaped lithely to land next to the bag she had also shrugged to the floor with her jacket before her dance, and quickly pulled out the ribbons from within, though no one would think they were any sort of weapon. She considered for a moment that her pathway to the VIP area where Bob was, now was clear but she could and would never leave a teammate to deal with danger alone when she knew about it. Deciding this was the better course of action for a new heroine in training, she danced her way towards the bouncers, ribbons whipping in snake-like fashion around and above her as she twirled them ever faster and faster. She unleashed them, once near enough to the two bouncers, to coil expertly and neatly around the baton and tonfa and to slip them instantly from their tight grips. She will have done this so quickly and with such a flow of energies and movement that they would not notice her and then she will return to sliding back amongst the crowd, continuing her beautiful and graceful dance once more as though nothing had happened.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- So Far, So Good. --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Manny did his best to check on the vitals of the fallen bouncer...but he was a college drop-out not a medical expert! He poked and prodded the prone form of the seemingly dead man and the lack of reaction raised his anxiety each passing second. He'd just told his companions that he strictly followed a no kill rule earlier this day. He seemed like a hypocrite now. He can already imagine the disappointment! His mother and father were right, he was not hero material! Just as the dread set in, the bouncer finally began breathing. Unconscious, without a doubt, but still breathing. "Oh my God. Thank you Jesus." The moment of relief was cut short by the sound of conflict from the open roof access. He surmised that the others had gotten into position and were already launching the attack. He'd nod his head to pump himself up and looked to the ventilation shaft Bob entered the nightclub with and was ready to jump headlong into the darkness. Unfortunately a rather large spider made itself known and forced the hero to use the more direct approach of the roof access. Bob's surprise attack was successful, Bucur, Façade, and the goons were caught unaware as the blur of a man slammed into them like a human-sized pin ball. Façade's seat was crushed underneath the force and combined weight of the two, leaving the shapeshifting villain to writhe on the floor in pain while cradling his sides. The goon with the gun clutched his crotch as the Jersey Devil's amplified kick ensured that even his great grand children could have felt the kick. Bucur however was another matter, after getting a face full of augmented palm strikes, the large man simply spat out a tooth and grabbed the Jersey Devil by the left forearm. "My turn." Bucur then threw the hero clean across the room, over the drugged out party goers, and into the door leading to the stairs to the roof access. "Another wannabe hero trying to make a name for himself by trying to take big bad me down." Bucur paused as one of his available goons offered him a handkerchief to wipe away the blood dripping from his mouth. "Well. You should haven't gone alone little man." "Who said he was alone!" A voice answered back as the door Bob crashed into was pulled open by none other than the Grey Gadgeteer himself. As brave as he sounded, Bob could see that the sight of so many enemies caused Manny's knees to tremble. Down in the dance floor... The chaos in the VIP area was largely ignored by the blaring electronic music and the dancing bodies of the club goers. Just as the bouncers got close enough to Link and Talia's location, a ribbon from the crowd snagged the weapons out of the hands of the bouncers. Confused they look around for the source of the ribbons but the crowd of dancing people and the swiftness of the disarming caused them to quickly give up and going towards Link; unarmed but undeterred. They approach Link and prepare to tussle with the man and his engorged fingers. The first bouncer throws a straight at Link while the second goes for a grapple. Link only had time to dodge one or the other...unless, that is, if Talia did something to intercept one of the attacks but also risking getting caught up in the melee.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia had kept her keen eyesight on Link and his predicament even though she had gone back to twirling and dancing, doing her best to keep up the distraction for as long as possible. But now, her teammate was still being stalked by the two men and if she didn't do something and fast, he might end up getting attacked! She danced and twirled her way quickly back within striking distance and struck out again with both of her ribbons, this time allowing the metal-tipped ends to coil around both wrists of the man that was aiming a punch straight at Link. The bouncer would feel the silken, cool touch of the ribbons at first but then it would instantly become confusing pain as he becomes aware of something slicing their way through the tendons at the top parts of both wrists. Talia had carefully selected and aimed at her target area, avoiding the risk of accidentally cutting through any major arteries that would cause someone to bleed out if the flow was not staunched. She was not to kill, only... deter... Possibly maim... Using the Chi energy and momentum fueling her moves, she pulled back hard with the ribbons still wound tightly into the bouncer's arms, planning for him to be yanked away from Link but still able to land at a distance from her. If all went according to plan, she'd "call" err... guide her ribbons to release the target and return to her, prepared for the next strike.</s>

<|message|>Jacob Richman The Jersey Devil looked up at the Gadgeteer with his big blank goggle eyes, that covered up the surprised look in the human face below. *He's more tough and strong than human. He's a super. I'd start out of reach if you can.* Bob's voice would mumble through the communicator to Manny. Without needing to look, Bob reaches down to his bag and taps the skip button on his music player. Faintly, in the background of the communicator, 'Shut me Up' by Mindless Self Indulgence begins to play as Bob speaks to the group. "This is the dream, Boys... and ma'am. These are some bad men, and we're the good guys. Lets show em we're tired of their shit in our city." Kicking his legs up over him in a roll, his plants his feet on the stairs the Grey Gadgeteer just came off of, and kicked off of it as hard as he could. With the full recoil off his boots would shoot him back into the room like a cannon ball. This time, however, he was aiming for the briefcase. As soon as his claws latched onto it, he would smack the floor with his other hand, changing his trajectory to a higher wall where he would imbed his claws in order to stick to the wall. Keeping his feet under him, prepared to kick off in a different direction if attacked, he clipped the briefcase to one of the carabineers on his suit.</s>

<|description|>Jacob Richman Age: 24 Gender: Male Description or Image: Alias/Nick Name: Bob, The Jersey Devil Background & Reason for Joining: Jacob was just like any other young rich kid who thought they were ten feet tall and bullet proof. Where actions didn't involve consequences, and the whole city was simply a playground. He and his friends would take to the streets daily to skate, or bike, or in Jacob's case, Run all over the city. There were no places safe from Jacob and his friends, and if there was a place they were not supposed to go, they found a way in. They never Stole anything, or hurt anyone, they were simply obnoxious and annoying, and didn't understand the concept of trespassing. Then one day, a new building was constructed. A big fancy lab of some sort, and it didn't take long for the friends to break in to have a look around. They were creating weapons and things that looked super high tech, but not uniformed like it would be for a military. Jacob was trying on a nifty set of clawed gloves, and spring like boots, and turned to his friends saying, "I'm Catman" when all hell broke loose. This place didn't play by the rules. There was no, "Freeze.", "You're Under Arrest." Nothin. Two of his friends were shot down in front of him, and none of them made it out that he knows of. Jacob made it out doing what he did best. Running and jumping, and with the gloves and boots, there was nothing to slow him down. He had hoped to go home and report to his rich dad about what he had found, but when he got there, he found the people from the lab already there. His family, and everything he knew was dead. He quickly withdrew all the money he had access to, and left behind the name of Jacob Richman. Running to Hero City he fell into deep depression and spent most of his nights drinking and practicing his parkour throughout the city with a mask to hide his identity. It was on one of these nightly excursions that he noticed a new building being built. A new lab. Rage replaced depression, and he decided he should do something about it. He stumbled across an odd blog while trying to get a clue as to where he should even start, and figured it was as good a places as any. Champs huh? Personality: On his good days, Bob is an overly friendly socialite, especially if he's too drunk or distracted to remember his past at the time. He truly seems like a guy with no care in the world, and will give out money and gifts to anyone he meets. He was that guy all the time once, but now, there is a seriousness, and haunting glint behind his eyes, and a bitterness towards the world under his tongue. He can still come across as cocky though. Powers & Weaknesses: Parkour Expert, very efficient with other X-Game equipment but specializes in the Parkour. Jump boots: the boots read the pressure and force of the wearer, then channels extra force back down, causing a bounce effect. The more pressure applied, the more let off, while also buffering the impact from the wearer, allowing them to land on their feet without shattering their legs. Claws: retractable claw inside gloves that are reinforced with the same insulation as the boots to accommodate impact. While considerable weapons, The Jersey Devil uses them to help him climb, and steer his running. Mask: and old gas mask modified to have headphones, and protect his eyes and lungs from smoke. weaknesses: -slight obsession with revenge against the labs. -tendency to take too big of risks. -Still being hunted by the labs for their stolen tech.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob was preparing cocky comments and comebacks, as well as a string of compliments to Talia..... then he saw her pale face, and things started making sense in his head. Parents weren't really a subject of talk between them yet. It seemed like a topic that they both wanted to avoid to keep the fun going. But he had seen that kind of look on the face of some of his friends when parents were called, and he figured he knew where this might be heading. There always seemed to be two kinds of rich parents... the ones that didn't care about their kids, and just threw money at them so the parents could continue their work, or play, or drugs, or whatever else they did. That's how his parents were. Then there were the ones that dominated their kids. Molding and training them, often abusively, into what the parents wanted them to be. It's those parents that usually brought on the look Talia wore. When Talia dropped to her knees, Bob went to her, taking off his mask and dropping it to the floor, placing and arm protectively over her shoulders. "Hey, it's alright. We can get you decked out. I know some stores we can get a good deal on costumes and stuff. And you don't have to see your parents if you don't want to..." He turned to Manny with look that said *isn't that right, Boss*</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- The man could only look at his own feet and twiddle his thumbs together as the usually composed Talia let the weight of the news fall upon her. It seemed that it was something beyond the usual parent and child conflict when becoming a hero. From what he could assume, Talia's parents had more pull to the woman's life than he could have imagined to be healthy. Manny quickly glanced at the woman and heard her attempt in salvaging the situation with a little humor. He was rather glad that Bob was there to comfort her. He really didn't know what to do when someone was overwhelmed by grief and disbelief. Bob then looked over to him with that look. A look pleading for reassurance that they'd do whatever they could to help Talia keep her distance from her overly manipulative parents. "O-of course. If you don't want to meet up with them I can probably hatch up a plan before they arrive tomorrow." The Latino man felt a little more confident now. He stopped twiddling his thumbs and stood tall. He didn't know Talia's situation with her parents much but if he could become a hero despite his parents' very vocal protests then Talia could too if she damn well wanted. "Who knows? Maybe your parents will just give up once they can't find you; come to their senses and realize that you're a grown woman now and they can't do squat if you want to keep being a hero." He took a knee in front of both Talia and Bob. "We're not the losers that we were a week ago. We've faced overwhelming opposition and come out on top! Defenders of the innocent and of Justice!" Manny extends his hand towards the two in an offer to perform a team hand stack. "We're the goddamn CHAMPs and we don't give up!"</s> <|message|>Talia Rose 'They cared?' Talia was shocked when her two teammates reached down to be on her level and console her with words and even an arm around her shoulder. She couldn't believe that they actually wanted to help her! 'Maybe, just maybe... she wouldn't have to return to the life her parents had tried for so long to imprison her in... their own personal, stifling and suffocating destiny for her... No, she couldn't do that to them.' She dropped her head and looked away from Bob and Manny. 'She couldn't just disappear and change her appearance so that she couldn't be tracked. Besides, people would pick up on her moves as being from The Performer no matter what she tried to don as her outward appearance. She also couldn't hurt her new friends though. She cared for them, too, and would have defended them if the positions were reversed.' Steeling herself, she looked back up at them again and forced the words to exit her mouth with a semblance of confidence and assurance she didn't yet feel inside. "Yes, we are the CHAMPS and I don't want to give up... I won't!" Her face screwed up with determination and focus. "Whatever ideas you both have for me to try or wear or whatever, I am all ears. I don't ever want to go back to them or that life... ever again." Her voice faltered a little at the end, but she still had finished her statement. She'd spoken it out loud. She was never going back to them, not if she could help it.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob stood, giving his best confident and assured pose. "You don't have to go back. People are scared to do what it takes to get away from situations because they might lose everything and become homeless. But look at me!" He strikes a 'I am awesome" pose. "I make this lifestyle look Gooood." He laughs at himself a litte, but then his smile goes back to being reassuring. "But seriously, I got your back. Even if we have to fight the whole world, you have the Jersy Devil at your side. Plus you got a Job, and friends now. And you can always crash at my place."</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- This was the stuff of legends. Staunch companions coming together to overcome a great obstacle to help a friend in need, and Talia was definitely a friend in need. "Awesome. Well first things first, we gotta enjoy the highs of our last success." He holds his envelope of righteously earned dollar bills. "We'll meet back up here later this afternoon so we can go into the nitty gritty of things for the plan. In the mean time, lets go enjoy ourselves." Manny knew where he would go first. To Hero City's Industrial Recycling Plant. The best place to get premium scrap and spare parts he'd need to fix and even keep building his Gadgeteer suit. He may even have enough extra bills to pay the plant the extra couple hundred bucks or so to have the privilege of scavenging the parts before they dismantle them into raw material to be re-sold to corporations and such. To Manny, this was akin to a kid visiting a toy store with a huge wad of cash on hand. He could have anything he could find.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia smiled a little at Bob's fun and jest and Manny's enthusiasm. She tried to imagine what life could be like having true friends that had her back and were at her side... She tried to imagine how much different that life could be and that she could actually feel safe instead of always watching her back or keeping her parents caught up with stories. It had worked for a while, because she hadn't done anything really, truly freeing... Now she had and she loved it! But she didn't even feel safe in her own apartment, and it was no one's fault but hers. 'Enjoy the highs of their successes,' Manny had told them. She didn't even know how to at this point. 'Maybe she could drop back off at home and grab the majority of the things that mattered to her and stow them away at some place where not even her parents would think to look for her,' she thought to herself. Bob had offered to her that it was okay for her to even stay wherever he stayed. She was already accustomed to heights due to her own performances but thankfully the couple days she'd spent on rooftops with him had made her more comfortable with the building heights too. "Bob, is there some kind of nook or overhang or something you know of where I could stash some of my belongings for a while? I don't want my parents knowing where I am and so I'm going to have to find somewhere else to stay. Also, I'm going to definitely take you up on that offer of finding a new look." The thought of hiding away from them, of running, was almost too much for her to allow... it was better not to think too far ahead, or she might crumble and not be strong enough to do this after all. Regaining herself she turned to The Gadgeteer, "Thank you, Manny, for your help and your care. It means more than you'll ever know. I'm sorry if you end up having to deal with my parents. Hopefully, they are more pleasant to you if I'm not around. I will see you again this afternoon." She will leave with Bob when he is finished in the room, though attempt to persuade him to maybe not exit straight out the window...</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman "Heck Yeah!" Bob exclaimed, already getting excited before clearing his throat and trying to compose himself better. He snags the money envelopes and tosses Talia's to her while pocketing his own. "Yeah, I got the perfect place. No worries. Hey... when I ran away from home, I had a chance to empty my bank account of my allowance... do you have something like that that you can do... or need to pick up your stuff? We should probably do that first, if there's still time." He turns to Manny, Showing his excitement and childish glee in his eyes before he slips the mask back on over his head. "See you soon! We'll get this all worked out." Bob would head for the window, then pause. Reaching down, he turns off the boots, and then extends his elbow in a formal gesture to Talia to take her arm, prepared to take the stairs like a normal person. "Sorry, the boots make the stairs and exorcise in patience... which isn't my strong suite."</s> <|message|>Talia Rose In spite of herself and the current stress of the situation, Talia couldn't help but smile at Bob's recovery as he caught himself before jumping back out the window per his usual exit strategy. Some of the tension fades from her as she takes his proffered arm and thanks Manny again before they walk out of headquarters. "Yes," she says as they walk back down to where the cab was waiting that she took earlier to get here. "Yes, unless they've already drained the account somehow, but I don't think they have because they got on a plane so quickly to come here. So, I do have money kept in a bank and we should also quickly go get my things from the apartment because I also stashed some there in the AC vent." They will make it to her place and get her things and also find that some of her money had already been withdrawn and it was a good thing that she had planned for that ahead of time when she'd first gotten here for her performances, or she wouldn't have had much left. They left the apartment after getting her stash as well, before she looked up at Bob in anxious excitement and curiosity because she now had no idea what kind of plans he had in store for her or where she should now go...</s>

<|message|>Jacob Richman Bob would grin to Talia, "We traveled your way to get to your place. Now we do it my way to get to mine." He will pull one of the sashes off his own costume and tie it gently over her head and face as a mask to hide her identity, then motions up to the roof. Using the techniques they had been learning together, he would lead her to the bad parts of town along the rooftops until they got to the big abandoned building he called home. He chose this one, because only he could make that jump. With his boots on, and changing the music on his headphones to "A Whole new world", he scoops up Talia, did a short run and hard bounce to launch them across to the rooftop. He'd set her down and slid open the window to his isolated flat. With his scavenging he had managed to make it halfway decent with a large bed, partially broken dresser, coat rack, night stand with a stereo, and a small fold up table. The occasional sound of laughter or coughing echos up from below through the broken stairwell from the homeless. Bob will instantly go to a closet where he removes a hidden makeshift panel where he has his own private papers and stash of money. Offering it to her, he would go back to the window sill and perch to let her settle in. "Next step, Costume Shopping".</s>

<|description|>Jacob Richman Age: 24 Gender: Male Description or Image: Alias/Nick Name: Bob, The Jersey Devil Background & Reason for Joining: Jacob was just like any other young rich kid who thought they were ten feet tall and bullet proof. Where actions didn't involve consequences, and the whole city was simply a playground. He and his friends would take to the streets daily to skate, or bike, or in Jacob's case, Run all over the city. There were no places safe from Jacob and his friends, and if there was a place they were not supposed to go, they found a way in. They never Stole anything, or hurt anyone, they were simply obnoxious and annoying, and didn't understand the concept of trespassing. Then one day, a new building was constructed. A big fancy lab of some sort, and it didn't take long for the friends to break in to have a look around. They were creating weapons and things that looked super high tech, but not uniformed like it would be for a military. Jacob was trying on a nifty set of clawed gloves, and spring like boots, and turned to his friends saying, "I'm Catman" when all hell broke loose. This place didn't play by the rules. There was no, "Freeze.", "You're Under Arrest." Nothin. Two of his friends were shot down in front of him, and none of them made it out that he knows of. Jacob made it out doing what he did best. Running and jumping, and with the gloves and boots, there was nothing to slow him down. He had hoped to go home and report to his rich dad about what he had found, but when he got there, he found the people from the lab already there. His family, and everything he knew was dead. He quickly withdrew all the money he had access to, and left behind the name of Jacob Richman. Running to Hero City he fell into deep depression and spent most of his nights drinking and practicing his parkour throughout the city with a mask to hide his identity. It was on one of these nightly excursions that he noticed a new building being built. A new lab. Rage replaced depression, and he decided he should do something about it. He stumbled across an odd blog while trying to get a clue as to where he should even start, and figured it was as good a places as any. Champs huh? Personality: On his good days, Bob is an overly friendly socialite, especially if he's too drunk or distracted to remember his past at the time. He truly seems like a guy with no care in the world, and will give out money and gifts to anyone he meets. He was that guy all the time once, but now, there is a seriousness, and haunting glint behind his eyes, and a bitterness towards the world under his tongue. He can still come across as cocky though. Powers & Weaknesses: Parkour Expert, very efficient with other X-Game equipment but specializes in the Parkour. Jump boots: the boots read the pressure and force of the wearer, then channels extra force back down, causing a bounce effect. The more pressure applied, the more let off, while also buffering the impact from the wearer, allowing them to land on their feet without shattering their legs. Claws: retractable claw inside gloves that are reinforced with the same insulation as the boots to accommodate impact. While considerable weapons, The Jersey Devil uses them to help him climb, and steer his running. Mask: and old gas mask modified to have headphones, and protect his eyes and lungs from smoke. weaknesses: -slight obsession with revenge against the labs. -tendency to take too big of risks. -Still being hunted by the labs for their stolen tech.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Once Talia was settled in, Bob would get them off the building into his favorite run of town. Making sure he wasn't being watched, he would strip off his costume, leaving him just in cargo pants and a tank top. If Talia was going to be exposed as a prodigal child, she wouldn't do it alone. At least not today. Not for now. For the next couple hours, they weren't going to be the Performer and the Jersy Devil. They were just Bob and Talia, two spoiled rich kids rebelling against the world, and having fun doing it. once all his things were put away in his backpack, he would take her hand, and head across the roof tops. This was a pretty easy course, even for a beginner of Parkour, and gradually led to a nice little section of town he figured would work great. First Haircuts, for both of them. Parkour was mostly a punk man's sport, so why not that. Then to clothes, something less conspicuous than the high-class finery Talia had come with. Plus some extra sashes and such to cover her face. While she was trying on clothes, Bob would buy pretzels and hot dogs and sodas for them to share, cheering her on when she picked something good. He didn't know if Talia enjoyed herself.... but this was the first time in a couple years Bob actually felt normal. Where Bob wasn't simply the alter ego of the Jersy Devil. For the first time, he remembered his real name. Jacob. After being satisfied with the costume the best they could be, they would head back to the abandoned building to put away the extra clothes they bought, suit up, and head to Manny's</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Thankfully there was nobody who recognized the two, well none that made themselves known to the pair. Most of those who looked at the two were just admiring how the two pulled off such a casual appearance so well. If they didn't know any better, they would have assumed the two were models doing PR work for the everyman and everywoman's apparel. Majority of common folk would have deemed a day like this any other day; but to Bob at least, this was a good day. A brief break from reality when he could feel like Jacob again. By the time the two got to HQ, Paul had already woken up from his morning nap and greeted them with a friendly smile and used his head to gesture them to the stairway leading to the second floor while catering to a handful of people enjoying the café, using the laundromat, or both. Upon reaching the room, they were to see Manny dressed up in a slightly ill fitting suit. On the table they see the man's laptop connected to a dusted old projector that looked like it came straight from the 90s. Likely was from the 90s. "Ah, welcome welcome. Take a seat on the sofa and let's begin the presentation of the plan. Please do save the questions or comments for later." He gestures the pair to the sofa treating it as if they were his professors during his dissertation defense. Using a wireless mouse as an impromptu clicker, the ancient projector noisily hums to life and projects his presentation to the kitchen wall. It was a power point presentation with a LOT of cheesy slide effects to the words: 'Operation: Bamboozle' "What I plan to do is not very heroic." The slide changes to a png of a generic moustache twirling villain from old time movies. "Not sanctioned by Rent-A-Hero nor the HCPD. Technically this is illegal, but I'm willing to go in between good and evil to help a friend. Cause that's what real heroes do." The slide changes to now one of a comic book of a man in a phoenix outfit looking somberly at a glass of whiskey. "The Inextinguishable Phoenix, issue # 9. The titular super hero gets depressed after getting his powers sealed by his arch nemesis Frostbite. Feeling distraught and disheartened at losing his power, he quits being a hero and the Bay City is left worse without him." A click from the wireless mouse changes the slide to show a a teenaged boy dressed in a full costume with a lightning motif. "Enter Sparky, one of Phoenix's closest allies. Been with the birdman fighting for Justice since 1996. Couldn't bear to see his best buddy and ally like this. And goes off and puts himself in danger knowing that Phoenix won't let him get hurt." Another click and it shows the phoenix themed super hero saving the teenager from a gang of thugs. "As depicted on screen, Phoenix even without powers goes to help save his friend and realizes that even without his powers he can still be a hero. And in issue 11 we get to see how he gets his powers back by making a deal with a cosmic being to help him beat Frostbite. OH and in issue 15 Sparky sacrifices himself to save-" Manny pauses and coughs into his hand to regain his composure as he got a little too into the topic. "Well, I got a plan." Another click shows a building with a sign saying 'Curtain Call: Amateur Actor's Club and Theater Troupe' "I've hired ten actors from Curtain Call to pose as a gang of kidnappers to pretend kidnap your parents when they get to Hero City." He pauses to display himself. "I will be pretending to be their gang leader holding them for ransom." He takes a sack cloth and puts it over his head. "I present to you Bagman, an upcoming criminal overlord looking for old money to 'fund' his building of his criminal empire." He pauses to take the mask off. "I'll be coordinating with you via the earpieces I provided and by the time you guys come in and save Talia's parents, they'll be in awe of Talia's heroic ability and forever indebted to her." He clicks the mouse one more time and it goes to the fin page with the hand drawn logo of the CHAMP. "So what you think?"</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia found herself a bit overwhelmed as Manny went on and on about the different heroes and their stories and the different issues that they were from in each... She had just come from a time of surprisingly enjoying herself with Bob even though it had been under stressful circumstances. He had a way of just keeping her fears at bay and distracting her with one thing after another. She had dared to look in the mirror once, after their haircut appointment, and already scarcely recognized herself... Her usual long, flowing, dark hair had been cropped rather short, and she'd gotten highlights of a light purple/lavender color streaked throughout it now. She'd been forced to forego her previous silken, flowy, sensual outfit from her days as The Performer for something more of a steampunk/goth appearance with shorts and a crop top. It wasn't what she was used to, but it was still form-fitting and made of a flexible enough material to not hinder her typical tricks and moves and that was the important thing. It had been a lot of change and a long day full of strange and new and frightening and as Manny talked on and on, she struggled to keep up. When he got to the part about the pretend kidnapping of her parents, her mouth fell open in shock. She quickly closed it, having been exceptionally well-trained at keeping her opinions to herself and deferring to others that were smarter and wiser than she. Bob had been trying to work on this with her, but she fell straight back into the old, programmed habits in a second. What a loser she still was... she thought to herself. "Oh," she managed to get out and it sounded calmer than she felt... Resigned? Already? "Wow, that's not what I expected. That's an interesting plan, Manny." She had to stop after that. If she kept going, she might accidentally give away everything with a nervous laugh. Talia knew this was a bad idea; that kidnapping her parents under some pretense could backfire on this plan in a million ways. Manny and Bob didn't know her family, they didn't know the heavy dishonor that would fall on them all with such a trick, they didn't know the backlash that Talia would get from it either... but she said nothing. Her desire to not disappoint or hurt her new friends, vastly outweighed her ability to speak her mind in front of everyone.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob kicked back to watch the slide show and listen to the speech. He liked comics. And liked the superheros he had read about in the papers, but he had spent so much time in his parkour that he was no were near educated in the matter. He wished he had popcorn or something, and he was completely enraptured... until the end. He was glad Talia had spoken, because he had to take a second to process this, but when she failed to express what he knew she had to be thinking, he instantly jumped in. His tone and manner was more like friends discussing the plot of a movie, rather than an Actual Kiddnapping. "Dude! That was a twist. I was not expecting you to go there. You were talking about Phoenix, and I Totally thought you were going to try for a 'Fake your own death' skit..." He sat up some, looking a bit more serious. "This is Sooooo much worse... and I know, because disappeared from my own life, and even if I'm found out, I can play it off as a rich kids rebellion... but this? This???? No. Dude no. This reeks so badly of backfire I can smell it from the future. Call it off. I would rather beat up her parents myself then try to pull this off...."</s> <|message|>Talia Rose It was even worse now... She hadn't expected Bob to step up like that and speak her own mind for her, but he'd left something out... and it caused her to find her own voice again for a moment. "Bob, wait, no! I mean... umm... thanks but... well, Manny is just trying to help. I don't want to just refuse the only plan he has if that's all we can do... and he got all these other people to go in on it... I... don't know what to do..." her voice was quiet and subdued, careful, clearly trying to consider everyone's emotions and reactions. She closed her mouth afterwards and swallowed hard, looking down at her hands wringing anxiously in her lap, purposely averting her eyes from everyone else.</s>

<|message|>Jacob Richman Bob turned to Talia, mouth open to say something potentially chastising, but closed it and turned to Manny, his mouth open to say something potentially chastising, then just shut his mouth and lowered his head. "Sorry Manny... I didn't mean to, like shoot down you plan like that, I get your trying to help, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't appreciate you... but trust me, I know what can happen when plans go bad." Flashes of his friends dying cause him to close his eyes tighter. "They shouldn't be impressed just because the heroics are personal. If they can't accept she's a hero, they won't accept it. And I know I'm saying 'a hero' a lot, but that's because whatever we do, that's what we need to be. Not staging kidnappings to make ourselves look like heros. If her parents can't accept it, she can stay with me. She's an adult, and is allowed to make her own decisions. They can't force her to go back with them. And I'll pop them in the nose if they try. My vote... Manny... get us some good gigs. Make us heros to everyone. Talia... if they cut you off, or try to tale you... stay with me."</s>

<|description|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The Finger Age: 31 Gender: Male Description or Image: Long brunette hair, blue eyes, semi-athletic build. Link stands at about 6'1" and typically has a grungy attire. Alias/Nick Name: The Finger Background & Reason for Joining: Link discovered his ability on accident during a particularly memorable guitar riff with his band, Identical Snowflakes. Ever since, he has used it to enhance his rock shows during gigs and bring about righteous justice in his off hours. There is a certain thrill that comes from giving a criminal (or just a total total jerk) their comeuppance. When Link can get involved, he does and when he learned of an opportunity to put his unique skills to work on a grander scale, he leapt at it (mostly because he's hoping it will come with a regular paycheck as he is habitually 'in between jobs'). Personality: Link is every bit the rock n' roll blasting, profanity slinging, shamelessly womanizing, alcohol drinking, smoke 'em if you got 'em type of laid back dude. However, he does have a moral code and a sense of justice that he cannot ignore. Fun loving most times, but serious when he needs to be, Link can certainly be an asset when properly motivated. Powers & Weaknesses: Link's super hero moniker comes from his very specific unique attributes. The middle fingers on each of his hands are supernaturally gifted. They can grow, stretch, regenerate and alter their density. If they are ever damaged or severed, they would heal rather quickly. Were he to will it, his middle fingers can grow and harden, becoming bludgeoning instruments similar to baseball bats. He could also stretch them into points like a pair of animated fleshy needles capable of piercing. The elasticity of the fingers has its limits, but they can be used to subdue and constrict criminals like a python would, or even act as grappling hooks to help Link traverse heights and cityscapes. The rest of his body, however, is absolutely human and, otherwise, unremarkable. While his middle fingers can regenerate, if you were to cut off his leg, it would have the same result as anyone else whose leg got cut off. If you shot him, he'd be in grave danger. He has every weakness a common human has.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The sunlight coming in from the window slowly made its way into the thin crack's of Link's eyelids, gradually stirring him back to consciousness. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry and tacky. As his eyes began to open, he found himself staring at a ceiling fan he didn't recognize. Out of the four blades that were supposed to be there, it appeared as though there were only two blades left intact while the others appeared to have broken off. Odd. His blurred vision began to sharpen. He turned to his side and beheld a sleeping woman in her birthday suit who probably looked more attractive when there was less light about. Link cocked his head a little in a sort of shrug. Whatever, he thought. A good time is a good time. He just wished he could remember it. The more he came awake, the harder his head seemed to throb. Link forced himself to sit up in the bed he was in to try and get his wits back. As he did, he noticed a small thing wrapped in green and red nestled toward the foot of the bed. ...the fuck is that? Before he had a chance to investigate, his peripheral vision caught the shape of something else at his side. As he turned, he took in the vision of a very rotund woman adorned in a tight leather outfit that screamed dominance. It looked absolutely brutal to sleep in, and yet here she was, passed out, snoozing like a baby. Link paused for a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the getup. The fact that it still held its integrity against the woman's overabundance of thickness was damn near miraculous. Wild. His attention quickly fell back on the slowly pulsating pile of red and green cloth at the foot of the bed. He leaned forward and held out his hand, pointing all of his fingers in its direction. There was only one finger that stood above the rest, however. With a symphony of small cracks and pops, his middle finger began to grow and stretch like an elastic tendril as it found its way to its target. With a small flick, Link twisted the pile, flipping it over to reveal yet another surprise. It wasn't a pile of cloth at all but, rather, a middle aged little person dressed in an elf costume with an abnormal amount of drool covering his chin. No friggin way... he thought as he took it all in. His finger quickly retracted to its normal size and that's when the smell started to hit him. Odorous, rotten... fishy? Link sniffed the air, trying to track the scent. It was close... very close. He looked at the bed sheets, trying to find the source of offense, but there wasn't anything left. He began to scratch his head, perplexed. That's when the odor got stronger... The slow realization of horror began to paint itself upon Link's face as his eyes wandered to his hand. Hesitantly, begrudgingly, he brought the tips of his fingers to his nostrils... "Oh god!" The words shrilly escaped his lips as he tried to maintain control over his gag reflex. Almost immediately, Link rolled over off the bed, trying to avoid waking up any of his new, unconscious friends. As he stood there, buck naked, he could see he was definitely in a hotel room - a cheap one at that - and whatever they got into last night was definitely rowdy. There were broken bottles on the floor, discarded clothing in every corner of the room and what appeared to be a big red velvet sack filled with something that sat upon the chest of drawers. Link tried to ignore it all and scurry to the bathroom, trying to watch every step as to not cut his feet on any glass. He stepped inside, shut the door, and switched on the florescent lights that emitted a bothersome humming sound. His hands quickly found their way to the faucet as he turned the water on full blast and tried fervently to wash them clean. As he did so, he heard the... the sound of... Was that a sad duck? He glanced over toward the bathtub. Lying there, dressed only in red velvet pants, was an unconscious old burly man with a beard as white as snow. You've got to be fuggin kidding me. That's when the smell of raw eggs hit him like a freight train. Link could no longer breathe. That sound from before was no fucking duck! He burst out of the bathroom, slamming the door as it opened, no longer giving a damn if he would stir the others. He frantically grabbed the askew articles of his clothing and clumsily began to dress himself as he made his way toward the exit door. He couldn't remember anything from last night and, at this point, he wasn't sure he even wanted to. Finally clothed and in the safety of the parking lot, he scanned the vehicles and quickly found his own. He reached into his jean pockets to retrieve his keys. Just as he did, his cell phone began chiming. He pulled both items out and looked at the screen. "Meeting at CHAMP HQ" was all the screen said, along with an option to Snooze the alarm. He had nearly forgotten. This was his chance to land a real job, be an upstanding citizen, be respected in the community. He looked at the time in the corner of the screen. He still had plenty. He stuffed the cell phone back into his pocket, jumped into his car and started the ignition. It was time to head to the CHAMP HQ. But first, he would have to stop for a little hair of the dog. His head was killing him. --- KNOCK, KNOCK Link stood outside the apartment door, a half emptied flask in hand. This was not the sort of HQ he was expecting. It sort of made sense, though. Only an operation like this would be interested in the likes of him. He didn't care. This was fine. A first step. Everyone's gotta start somewhere. He took another quick swig before shoving the flask in his back pocket. He heard movement on the other side of the threshold. Slowly, he took a deep breath and waited with anticipation for the door to open.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- The knocking of the apartment's front door was audible enough to snap Paul's attention away from the open window with the new hero(?) his best friend recruited for his heroic organization. Rather than waiting for the gasmasked figure to enter the room, he opted to go and see who was knocking at the door. As the Asian man peers into the peep hole of the apartment's front door, he sees a rather gruff individual patiently waiting for something. Likely him opening the door. Seemed normal enough in that get up if not a little rough looking, he opens the door for the man outside. Paul's nose would soon regret that decision as the odorous mixture of booze, sweat, and sex assaulted his nostrils. " *gagging* O-oh sweet Lord that is foul. S-sorry...not trying to be rude but...goddamn." Paul was forced to begin breathing through his mouth to prevent his eyes from watering. "Uhh. Are you one of the applicants, Manny was waiting for?" The aforementioned man takes a peek at whoever Paul was speaking to. Eyes widened even more and the sheer mirth could be heard in his voice as it raised in pitch and cadence. "Oh my God, you must be The Finger! The one applicant with a legit super power! You came to the meeting, AWESOME!"</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Jacob practically rolled up into the room as the window opened, sitting on the window frame. His eyebrow was raised at the odd people, not that the lifeless eyes of the mask showed this. He simply cooked his head a little and chuckled. "Jaz hands... nice." His attention instantly went to the door and the noise coming from there. How many had answered the email?</s> <|message|>Talia Rose 'Talia Rose... no no The Performer, the city's new superhero'... The Asian girl sighed contentedly, pulling her long, black jacket closer around her for security and familiarity, mulling the idea over in her mind. She was sitting in the back of a vehicle on the way to the headquarters where she was supposed to meet and hopefully get this job. She wondered how many others might have answered this desperate call for help and wondered what they might act or look like... Her young and rather sheltered mind filled with ideas and images of imagined heroes both male and female. What would they think of her? Would they all be able to be a team and work together? She knew she didn't look like she could do much other than look pretty, but a lot of people underestimated her. Talia was used to that by now. All through her childhood and teen years, everyone in her family just tried to make her into this petite, graceful, beautiful dancing girl. They even gave her a name befitting of her exotic beauty: Talia Rose and even Talia meant "dew drop." In fact, she felt more like a doll than a child as both of her parents doted on her and hovered about trying to mold her to fit the imagined destiny that they worked so hard to build. Trouble was that no one bothered to ask her how she felt about it or if she was happy with this life. Women of her nationality didn't really get much of a say in their preferences or opinions, so she just learned to keep quiet and practice her own tricks and challenges alone in her room or on the way to the various performances. One night however, when she was a little girl of ten years old, her father had come to her and told her about the energy and life force that is all around and within every living being. He said it was called Chi and Talia, utterly enthralled, took it upon herself to learn to practice and master understanding Chi and how it worked. As she studied and meditated and practiced diligently every day and night, she shared her experiences with no one. This gave her the ability to harness her own capabilities of movement and even the movement of her own dancing sashes and ribbons and make them into something more extraordinary. Sometimes, if viewers of her performances were lucky, she might even add a little extra flourish into the dances themselves... and all because of her father sharing his knowledge with her that one night... Talia's thoughts broke off slightly when she remembered, with a slight pang of guilt, the message that she had left her family and friends with back home: basically, a lie saying that she would stay safe and send them any pictures and information regarding her next performance. 'They would be proud someday,' she convinced herself, straightening up and lifting her head in confidence and excitement. The enthusiasm on her face drained a little bit, however, when the car stopped in front of a run-down looking building and the driver looked back at her expectantly. With a start, Talia realized that this must be the headquarters and she quickly paid the man then grabbed her cloth bag and stepped out of the car. It was slightly windy, and she was glad to have the black jacket covering her almost-bare midriff, chest and shoulders. The dance attire of the blouse and harem pants was skimpy, yet the only suitable thing she could think of to wear to such a thing since it was literally her special outfit worn anywhere that she performed. Still, for the moment she was glad that no one could see anything. Talia knew it wasn't her time to be "onstage" so to speak. She walked into the building and up the hallway of the correct door and then started slightly as she saw a rough, unkempt-looking man standing at the same door where she was supposed to be. Her face fell slightly but she covered it well and stayed a little at a distance as she caught the strong scent of alcohol and God knew what else on him.</s>

<|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link's eyebrows furrowed at the less-than-welcoming reception from the Asian man who answered his summons. The other fellow's praise, however, was just enough to calm Link's nerves as he looked toward him and gave a solemn nod, simultaneously confirming his identity and thanking him for the recognition. Just as he was about to step inside, another caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Young, fit... shy? As she seemed to hide her face, he made it a point to shrug off the behavior and continued his advance into the apartment. After two steps, he paused briefly as he found himself face to face with a freak in a gas mask. For a solid four seconds, he just stared in silence, taking in the man's image. Finally, he gave a horned gesture with his hands and declared, "I dig it. Rock fuggin' on, man." A smirk quickly flashed on his face before he made his way to an open seat on the couch and collapsed upon it dramatically. It wasn't long before his feet were kicked up and resting on the coffee table. Jovially he began to hum, allowing sporadic murmurs of lyrics to escape his mouth. "HmmHmmm Weeee are dahh Champions, muh fray-yunds! HmmHmm We'll duhduh fighting, til the end! Hah! So what is this place? Is this apartment like a front for the real HQ? Do we need badges to get in? OH! Do we get company cars?! Shotgun, 'Shag'n Wagon'! Don't even look at me that way, Gas Mask!" Link jested. "I called it first. You can call yours the Respirator Rod or something..."</s>

<|description|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The Finger Age: 31 Gender: Male Description or Image: Long brunette hair, blue eyes, semi-athletic build. Link stands at about 6'1" and typically has a grungy attire. Alias/Nick Name: The Finger Background & Reason for Joining: Link discovered his ability on accident during a particularly memorable guitar riff with his band, Identical Snowflakes. Ever since, he has used it to enhance his rock shows during gigs and bring about righteous justice in his off hours. There is a certain thrill that comes from giving a criminal (or just a total total jerk) their comeuppance. When Link can get involved, he does and when he learned of an opportunity to put his unique skills to work on a grander scale, he leapt at it (mostly because he's hoping it will come with a regular paycheck as he is habitually 'in between jobs'). Personality: Link is every bit the rock n' roll blasting, profanity slinging, shamelessly womanizing, alcohol drinking, smoke 'em if you got 'em type of laid back dude. However, he does have a moral code and a sense of justice that he cannot ignore. Fun loving most times, but serious when he needs to be, Link can certainly be an asset when properly motivated. Powers & Weaknesses: Link's super hero moniker comes from his very specific unique attributes. The middle fingers on each of his hands are supernaturally gifted. They can grow, stretch, regenerate and alter their density. If they are ever damaged or severed, they would heal rather quickly. Were he to will it, his middle fingers can grow and harden, becoming bludgeoning instruments similar to baseball bats. He could also stretch them into points like a pair of animated fleshy needles capable of piercing. The elasticity of the fingers has its limits, but they can be used to subdue and constrict criminals like a python would, or even act as grappling hooks to help Link traverse heights and cityscapes. The rest of his body, however, is absolutely human and, otherwise, unremarkable. While his middle fingers can regenerate, if you were to cut off his leg, it would have the same result as anyone else whose leg got cut off. If you shot him, he'd be in grave danger. He has every weakness a common human has.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Okay that's cool and definitely useful for something like this, Talia thought as she watched the man by the window display his claws and bounce abilities. She wondered what his gas mask thing did, but then decided that was probably really obvious and that she'd look stupid for asking about it. Also, she began to wish she had the ability to have some claws that could just pop out of her hands because that just sounded awesome. However, when it came to The Finger showing his skill to them all, she couldn't help but start slightly and then laugh out loud. Her laugh was soft but audible and trained, just like the rest of her, to be ladylike and gentle and graceful. God, how Talia wished to just be able to talk and sound and act like the rest of humanity. They seemed so free to be themselves. "Sorry," she said to the others, feeling the need to apologize even for that. "It's just... I honestly did not expect that but should be interesting." She took a breath then turned to Manny and also took one of the earpieces carefully for herself, saying a sweet "thank you" as she did so before turning back to the others. "Well, it so happens I can indeed be the perfect Cinderella," she said with a hint of a semi-forced smile. "But I'm a ribbon dancer and if anyone here does not know what that is, it is a display on stage of a lot of acrobatics and some skill. I cannot reveal very much here, as it is not a lot of space to work in without umm knocking things over," she finished with an actual, amused smile this time. Then she took off the jacket and placed it onto the arm of a chair and removed the ribbons from her bag. Breathe. Ignore their stares. This was nothing more than another performance, she thought to herself. With that, she began twirling the ribbons about in expert, controlled movements that whipped and whistled above their heads and to sweep the floor as she herself twirled and leapt about, circling the group, making such use of the space that the size of the apartment seemed to be forgotten. It would be clear to the onlookers, that she had control of the entire room similar to how an actual performer could command the stage but also literal control as the ribbons whipped around and energies swirled. It seemed as though she was in control of the forces, bending them to her will, but in fact she worked in tandem with them: a cooperative, enchanted performance. Afterwards, she stopped and stepped up closer to them all again and showed each the thickness and strength of the sheer fabric, a material that was not fragile at all, and also the razor-tipped metal edges that she had had sewn into the fabric itself to make the whip-like ribbons a weapon, capable of stripping skin and slicing through other materials as well. "I know it doesn't seem like much," she said, her confidence temporarily fueled by the performer she was, "but I have even been able to suspend my entire weight by these so they are not just weapons, but I can send them out and swing from them too. Also, if you take a look around, you'll notice that nothing and no one is damaged even though I whipped them around each of us. I hope that is a satisfactory performance for you all to still consider me."</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob's expression instantly fell at the mention of inviting his dead friend. Zane would have loved this. He was such a huge fan of the heros and always talked about being one some day. It was Zane that spread the rumors of the Jersey Devil after giving him the mask. Bob just nodded to Manny, and turned with a little more interest at the prospect of knowing what the woman could do. His brow raided again as the woman took of her jacket, and his mind was racing to produce some smart ass comment, though all thoughts stopped as she started her performance. After seeing the razor tips, and the skill in which she used them, he began reconsidering his call for 'dibs' he was going to call out in jest. He was a fan of having all his limbs attached, and didn't think it smart to upset such an apparently dangerous woman. After his surprise wore off, he applauded shortly, looking to the others. "Whelp, I'm sold." And he slips his helmet back on to hide any further betraying facial expressions.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link found himself mesmerized with the calculated, beautiful motions as he watched Talia gracefully do her thing. When it stopped, he found himself impressed and hungered for more, but perhaps the next time he would get to see it would be even more exciting in the heat of the mission. "Seconded," he finally said, agreeing with Bob that she made a surprisingly excellent part of the team. "So this is it, eh? This is us. We are the CHAMPs." A crooked grin grew upon his face. "I mean, if we survive this thing, of course. And why wouldn't we? With the technical might of Manny, the graceful precision of Talia, the agile savagery of Bob and of course the unparalleled superiority of these guys..." he said, flipping up both birds. "...we've got this in the bag."</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Manny was almost vibrating with excitement. There they were, the newly re-formed Council of Heroes Against Malicious Persons, ready to dish up some well deserving Justice to those who escaped the clutches of the long arm of the law. But he had to keep his excitement in check, they were professionals after all. Posing himself up in the most heroic way a nerdy man could while he puts both his hands to his waist triumphantly and clears his throat before speaking. "Well then CHAMPs, lets get it done." Manny then abruptly rushes outside of the cramped room for a good few moments before the overly zealous man sheepishly coming back. "Forgot that nightclubs aren't open during the day. Uhh...I guess I'll see you guys here by 8 pm?"</s>

<|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link nodded as he pulled himself to his feet. "Hey, yeah, great meeting you all," he said as he began grabbing at the donuts. He lifted one up and help it in his available hand. "I really think this mission is going to go well..." he grabbed another and started cradling it in his elbow. "I mean, how can it not..." and another. "We are skilled as hell..." And another. After nabbing about four, he seemed relatively satisfied. "Welp! I gotta shit," he declared, his go-to phrase for graciously exiting a potentially awkward situation. "See you all in a few hours." With that, he pushed his way out the door before stuffing one of the donuts into his mouth. As he walked down the hallway there seemed to be a little pep in his step. Maybe it was just eagerness. Or could it have been happiness? --- Location: Blame The Beans Gas Station (roughly 1 mile from HQ) Link parked his old black muscle car by pump six and left the engine running while he made his way inside to make a quick gas purchase. He found himself at the back of an already established line with a wrinkled tenner clasped in his fist. "And can I get three of the number nines and, let's see... umm... what else," mused the older gentleman at the front of the queue wearing an old navy blue baseball cap and pointing at a numbered roll of scratch off lottery tickets. There were two other additional people waiting patiently in line ahead of Link ready to finalize their purchases. "Oh god, this is going to take forever," announced the heavy set man who appeared directly behind him. The man then shot Link glance and rolled his eyes dramatically, telegraphing his annoyance. Link gave a small, almost non-existent nod of acknowledgement. He didn't say a word, though. Link hated lines enough as it was. There was no need to add sass and negativity on top. "No, no, not number two. I said I wanted two tickets of number ten," the skinny grandad-looking dude explained to the cashier, his shiny eyeglasses nearly touching the bill of his cap. Link looked him up and down and found himself a little amused. The old fella was wearing a plain white t-shirt with a set of blue suspenders to hold up his jean shorts. Tightly fastened around his waist was a belt that served the same purpose. One way or another, this geezer was not about to let these shorts hit the ground under any circumstances. "C'mon, Gramps! We ain't got all day!" The rude oily-haired fat ass, whose dingy wardrobe looked like it came from a garage sale, bellowed from behind. The old guy either ignored him or never heard him as he continued calling out his lotto shopping list to the attendant. "Dammit, they gotta stop letting people outside on their own after they turn 70," Fatty Scalesbane ranted through his greasy goatee, seemingly addressing Link. The latter refused to engage. He simply kept waiting patiently. "They're so slow, the whole lot of them. And don't get me started on their driving, you know what I mean, man?" This time he gave Link's shoulder a tap, demanding the man's attention. Link's level of agitation was rising. "Sure." The simple response was all he was willing to offer. Finally the older man concluded his sale and shuffled to the store's exit with a healthy stack of lottery tickets shoved into the back pocket of the unpantsable jean shorts. With that, the line moved up a body. Only one person left before Link was at the counter. "Look at him go," wheezed the chunky jackass as he watched the elder shuffle away. "I bet that snail doesn't even make it to his car before I make it to mine." Again, Link's shoulder was met with an infuriating tap. "You know what I'm sayin', guy? Ha! I wouldn't even have to run!" "Iseriouslydoubtyoucouldrun," Link whispered under his breath. "What did you say?" balked the jackass. "Nothing. Great joke. You're real witty." The customer in front of Link stepped away from the counter, finally clearing the way for him to approach the cashier. "Hey, man, you got a problem?" Hefty Henry was clearly starting to get riled up. In a fight, Link had no doubt he would dominate the guy, but who wants to have to deal with that? Instead, linked moved up and tossed his ten dollar bill to the attendant. "Can I just get that on pump six, please?" He requested. The cashier nodded and began to ring him up. Having no need for a receipt, Link started toward the exit. However, he found himself abruptly stopped as an open hand planted firmly into his chest. "Yo, I'm talking to you! Don't you walk away from me. The fuck did you just say a second ago?" He was nearly yelling at this point. Everyone else in the little store looked on as if they were watching a movie play out in real life. There were two ways to go about this. Match the aggression, stoke the fire, turn this into an all-out brawl, become a criminal, get arrested, get a court date, pay money you don't have or get locked up for some time you can't spare. Or... acknowledge that you'll probably never meet this poor excuse for a person ever again and diffuse the situation as quickly as possible. "You're right, bud," Link finally conceded. "Slow, inconsiderate, idiotic humans should definitely be systematically killed off so they won't bother the rest of us anymore. I don't think we need to wait until 70 though. Seems a little too long for those types. We can come up with a better number. Hey, how old are you? Doesn't matter, I guess. Welp! I've gotta shit." Link pushed the human bowling ball's hand off of his chest and made his exit toward the parking lot. As he walked over to gas pump number 6, he slowed his pace down to a complete halt. His car was gone. As he looked around frantically, he heard an engine rev and then the sound of screeching tires. He knew that engine intimately. That was his car. As he tried to find the source, the black 90s coup shot passed him. Hanging out the driver's side window was an arm waving around a navy blue baseball cap like a flag. Connected to that arm was the spectacled old man squealing with glee as he sent the gas pedal to the floor. In seconds, the car was out of the lot and then out of sight altogether. Link just stood there in utter disbelief. His brain could not compute. Finally, he just burst out, "FUCKING OLD PEOPLE!"</s>

<|description|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The Finger Age: 31 Gender: Male Description or Image: Long brunette hair, blue eyes, semi-athletic build. Link stands at about 6'1" and typically has a grungy attire. Alias/Nick Name: The Finger Background & Reason for Joining: Link discovered his ability on accident during a particularly memorable guitar riff with his band, Identical Snowflakes. Ever since, he has used it to enhance his rock shows during gigs and bring about righteous justice in his off hours. There is a certain thrill that comes from giving a criminal (or just a total total jerk) their comeuppance. When Link can get involved, he does and when he learned of an opportunity to put his unique skills to work on a grander scale, he leapt at it (mostly because he's hoping it will come with a regular paycheck as he is habitually 'in between jobs'). Personality: Link is every bit the rock n' roll blasting, profanity slinging, shamelessly womanizing, alcohol drinking, smoke 'em if you got 'em type of laid back dude. However, he does have a moral code and a sense of justice that he cannot ignore. Fun loving most times, but serious when he needs to be, Link can certainly be an asset when properly motivated. Powers & Weaknesses: Link's super hero moniker comes from his very specific unique attributes. The middle fingers on each of his hands are supernaturally gifted. They can grow, stretch, regenerate and alter their density. If they are ever damaged or severed, they would heal rather quickly. Were he to will it, his middle fingers can grow and harden, becoming bludgeoning instruments similar to baseball bats. He could also stretch them into points like a pair of animated fleshy needles capable of piercing. The elasticity of the fingers has its limits, but they can be used to subdue and constrict criminals like a python would, or even act as grappling hooks to help Link traverse heights and cityscapes. The rest of his body, however, is absolutely human and, otherwise, unremarkable. While his middle fingers can regenerate, if you were to cut off his leg, it would have the same result as anyone else whose leg got cut off. If you shot him, he'd be in grave danger. He has every weakness a common human has.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Only a few moments had passed since the last of the new CHAMPs left Manny's cramped apartment. With no-one to see him he finally let his excitement out. "Yes! YES! The CHAMPs are back in the hero game, baby!" The man exclaimed for the world, or more likely his neighbors, to hear while hopping from one section of the apartment to another in abject glee. Not only had they managed to recruit three new heroes, but all of them had amazing abilities. Not that Manny looked down on the original CHAMPs, but the current roster of heroes were clearly better. Just as Manny went to the tray of untouched coffee for a celebratory caffeine refilling, Paul entered the room. "Manny, what did we agree upon jumping around the second floor? The customers don't like bits of asbestos on their laundry. Or their coffee and snacks for that matter." Paul gently chided his best friend as he leaned on the door frame, arms folded in front of his chest. "Yes, yes. Health inspector said that if we get one more complaint, he'd shut the laundromat-café until we fix it." Manny sighs dejectedly before taking a long drink from the coffee. "I know you're excited for the CHAMP to be back, but does your first job have to be this dangerous?" Manny nearly does a spit-take at the knowledge that Paul knew that he and the others were going to fight a nightclub full of potentially dusted up thugs. "Wait...how did you-" Paul silences any further confusion by simply showing a black ear stud like device attached to his right ear. "You really ought to remember that despite me being only sidekick in name, I still have to keep track of what dumbass shit you're up to." "I'm assuming that you don't want me to go?" "Yep. Kind of obvious that I don't want you to die. You're my best friend and, honestly, the closest thing to a brother." It was now Paul who sighed. "But I know this means a great deal to you so. Here." The Asian man tosses something to Manny. Catching it he realizes it was a set of keys. "Pau, are these...are these the keys for the delivery car? Oh my God, are you serious?" Manny asked almost in disbelief. He'd never been allowed to use the delivery car for hero use ever since it nearly got totaled during a car chase last year. "Yes. As much as I loathe the idea of you going, this is the new CHAMPs debut job and the media can't see you roll up in a bus. Plus it'll be free advertisement when you do." Paul said nonchalantly shrugging the generosity off, getting caught off guard when the Latino man go in for a bear hug and dashing off to get the personal shield generators from the storage place a quarter mile away from HQ. Getting ready for the job later that evening. --- Downtime Results --- The walk to the nearest bus stop was extra embarrassing for Link when Fatty McGreasington rode past the man in a shitty convertible that barely held the girth of the man and giving him a double middle fingered salute as he drove past. But lady luck was smiling at Link and made the walk a little more bearable when the asshole excuse of a land whale promptly lost control of his vehicle and crashed it into a literal dumpster fire. Talia found her zen state while meditating in her hotel room. While not the best hotel in Hero City, that honor goes to the Royal Orchid Hotel in Uptown, she managed to relieve herself from the anxiety and began to fully grasp that she was now truly her own woman and a genuine heroine of the city...despite keeping the truth away from her parents. Bob's pre-emptive scouting would pay off. Even as evening rolled in and the nightclub just began readying itself for their customers, the number of wannabe party goers piled up more and more by the passing hour; allowing the Jersey Devil to keep observing with impunity. From his spot he discovered that the roof was relatively unguarded, while the entrance and back entrance had at least two thugs keeping an eye on it and the visitors. The roof also had a couple of large air vents as well as a pair of industrial grade air conditioning units. But for the interior of the building, Bob had no clue due to the lack of windows and opaque glass for the VIP section. It was also to be noted that the thugs seemed to be lightly armed, at least for the ones outside, with only a few armed with a tonfa each and maybe one pistol toting one. But soon everyone would convene back to the CHAMP HQ to gear up and get ready to take Volk Bucur out.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman The Jersey Devil would arrive the same way, there being an audible *Thud* as he landed against the wall at the window, his claws holding onto the windowframe. Knowing the right window meant he could simply jump from the nearby building and land with confidence that he would peak in on someone he shouldn't. The lifeless eyes of the gas mask peered into the room to see if anyone was about. He wasn't sure how helpful his information would be, but he at least knew how he was getting in to the club. He should probably take some martial arts training if he was actually going to be a super hero. Maybe kick boxing. What kind of effect would his boots have with a kick.... things that make you go hhmmmm.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy After some time, Link found himself staring at a familiar door. The feeling of déjà vu crept up his spine as he gave it two hard knocks. He probably could have just walked in - familiarity had already been established - but he hesitated to assume.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia had set up the taxi driver to come get her and arrive back at headquarters several minutes early. She did not know what the night would bring, but she had her large overcoat with her once more, with the ribbons in her bag, and was ready for whatever happened... as ready as she could be. She hoped her parents would forgive her for what she was about to do and especially, for the fact that she hadn't even told them about it. Readying herself, she made her way confidently to the door of the headquarters once more only to find that she wasn't alone waiting at the door. The guy so ironically and fittingly named "The Finger" was also outside. She greeted him in a more friendly manner this time as she hoped that they could begin to establish a more relaxed rapport, since apparently the plan was for her to walk in with him in order to get into their first assignment. She still didn't know how she felt about that plan yet, but she had nothing better to offer and even if she had, she wouldn't dare have assumed that her suggestions would be of equal importance.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy "Chatty," he said as she saw Talia come into view. "Why didn't you lead with your asskickery!" he loudly quipped as she approached. Link couldn't help but reserve some admiration for the femme fatale. Being shy was natural. Being apprehensive in a life or death situation, however, could be bad for their health. Progress needed to be made. He knew he was on a timer, seconds away from the door opening. "Alright, quick," He hurriedly insisted. "Give me a deep dark, stat," he instructed as his eyes darted from her to the door nervously. Quid pro quo. He knew he had to offer something. "Platypi creep me out. Part duck, part beaver, poisonous as hell. It freaks me out. Hopefully this mission won't involve taking out any duck billed mammals. What's something under your shell?"</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia couldn't help but laugh again as she listened to him share his deep, dark thing. "Wait... a platypus?" she asked him, confused but smiling and amused. When she felt his attempt to put her under some pressure to have a response immediately, she went with the only thing that completely clouded her mind... though she wished she was just afraid of a platypus too... "Umm... I'm supposed to just be on a stage doing performances while here and no one knows I've changed the plans." She had blurted out the words fast so that she couldn't stop to take them back. But it felt a relief to actually tell someone. She smiled up at him again, thankful that he was encouraging and reciprocating her attempt to be a little more talkative. She was probably not very good at this when not on some kind of stage, she mused. But then she returned to his first question... "I would have shown what I could do but it wasn't my turn yet. I wanted to see what the guys could do. Are you scared tonight or just excited?" she asked him, voicing what she had wanted to ask each of them since earlier that day.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy "Mmm," He grunted in acknowledgment. "Making your own destiny. I dig it." The corner of his mouth rose into a crooked grin just before she asked her next question. Then the smile quickly faded. "If I'm being honest, I'm scared shitless," he admitted, his face holding a solemn expression. "My luck hasn't been great, my life has been a bit of a joke, and I'm in the deep end of the pool, hoping to survive with a dog paddle." Why am I saying this, he thought. Not his most motivating speech and certainly counterproductive from his original intention. "But, while my solo act has been a little disappointing, I believe in us. We're going to be stronger together. I've got your back. It's like Musketeers. All for one, One for all." His grin return as he reflected on what he just said. Slowly, however, confusion began to set back in. "Did the Musketeers even have fuggin muskets? Seems like they just sworded shit. Swordeteers. Sworders. The Three Sword Dudes. Whatever." He shot out one of his middle fingers and willed it to grow out three and a half feet while uttering a snikt sound from his mouth. "We're gonna sword the fuck outta these drugged out douches."</s> <|message|>Talia Rose "Aww.." Talia couldn't help but say as she felt his fear and felt her own compassion for him and what lay deeper behind his words. She had suspected as much from people like him… she'd seen them and met them often in her times in performances. A lot of types of people were drawn to those, whether for enjoyment or distraction or to get laid with one of the dancers afterwards. Yeah, she was no stranger to understanding how that went. "Hey," she added quickly to change the mood and also keep things lighter. "I've got your back, too, alright? Each one of us should do that for each other honestly. Even the kid with the claws and gas mask surely wouldn't object to that. We've got this." She'd smile encouragingly to him.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @Leophael@ShadowsofNight --- Manny had just finished calibrating and adjusting the power output of the last jury rigged personal shield generators when he decided to finish off the last of the coffees. Seemed like the current CHAMPs liked donuts but not so much coffee. But he took no offence to it, rather he was grateful they'd forgone the drinks. His most productive state would be his caffeinated state. As he chugged the drink down he turned to face the kitchen window only to see the Jersey Devil's face-errm-mask. One spit take and another wall stain to clean up in a few months later, he lets the hero in. "Bob, we really need to talk about the window thing. You know that we have a door leading up to the second floor beside the laundromat café, right?" Just then, he heard the knocking on his apartment door. "Just a moment." He excused himself to go open the door but took an extra moment or two to throw away the scattered coffee cups on the sofa. Once the sofa had been sufficiently cleared, he goes to open the door to see Link and Talia. "Welcome back to HQ. Come on in, Bob just arrived a little while ago." Manny left the door open for the duo to enter while he presented the shield generators. They were roughly the size of a portable CD player, if only a little thicker. "As promised, here are the shields. I know they're way bigger than the pocket watch sized ones the President and other officials use, but believe me that these things will save you from getting shot a few times... atleastfrompistolgradebullets ." He places his on his belt and activated the small-ish device, a semi transparent barrier appeared encompassing him for a split second before disappearing. "Just like that I'm safe...ish. Go feel free to try yours on before we leave."</s>

<|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link awkwardly fumbled with the shield generator, nearly dropping it at first, but he managed to make a full recovery. He opened up his jacket and let us snugly drop into his inside pocket along with the other devices. As the barrier activated, he could feel a tinge of electricity in the air that soon normalized. He looked at Bob and fought the urge to ask his teammate to shoot him. As an ear-to-ear grin formed on his face, he found it quite difficult to contain his excitement. Slowly, he started doing karate moves with terrible form and even worse technique.</s>

<|description|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The Finger Age: 31 Gender: Male Description or Image: Long brunette hair, blue eyes, semi-athletic build. Link stands at about 6'1" and typically has a grungy attire. Alias/Nick Name: The Finger Background & Reason for Joining: Link discovered his ability on accident during a particularly memorable guitar riff with his band, Identical Snowflakes. Ever since, he has used it to enhance his rock shows during gigs and bring about righteous justice in his off hours. There is a certain thrill that comes from giving a criminal (or just a total total jerk) their comeuppance. When Link can get involved, he does and when he learned of an opportunity to put his unique skills to work on a grander scale, he leapt at it (mostly because he's hoping it will come with a regular paycheck as he is habitually 'in between jobs'). Personality: Link is every bit the rock n' roll blasting, profanity slinging, shamelessly womanizing, alcohol drinking, smoke 'em if you got 'em type of laid back dude. However, he does have a moral code and a sense of justice that he cannot ignore. Fun loving most times, but serious when he needs to be, Link can certainly be an asset when properly motivated. Powers & Weaknesses: Link's super hero moniker comes from his very specific unique attributes. The middle fingers on each of his hands are supernaturally gifted. They can grow, stretch, regenerate and alter their density. If they are ever damaged or severed, they would heal rather quickly. Were he to will it, his middle fingers can grow and harden, becoming bludgeoning instruments similar to baseball bats. He could also stretch them into points like a pair of animated fleshy needles capable of piercing. The elasticity of the fingers has its limits, but they can be used to subdue and constrict criminals like a python would, or even act as grappling hooks to help Link traverse heights and cityscapes. The rest of his body, however, is absolutely human and, otherwise, unremarkable. While his middle fingers can regenerate, if you were to cut off his leg, it would have the same result as anyone else whose leg got cut off. If you shot him, he'd be in grave danger. He has every weakness a common human has.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia watched the Jersey Devil leap out of the window and apparently take his own ride to their meeting place. She looked to The Finger and half-laughed, kind of nervously, "Well, though I can suspend myself from these sashes and swing around like I'm on a trapeze, I think I'll vote for the car that Manny is suggesting. And... I am going to get in it the normal way," She'll laugh nervously again and then turn to go back out the apartment door and down to where the car was waiting for them. All the while, her mind conjuring up images and the feeling of leaping through the air like the Jersey Devil, but in her own way. Could she ever come up with something like that herself? Maybe if she knew the layout of the city better... If offered to get into the car, she will and then will try to make sure she understands the plan for when they arrive. Was she still playing as Cinderella, holding onto his arm? The typical, pretty lady all dressed up and acting flirtatious? It was a good thing that she was a performer because this would take some Convincing acting.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy As Link arrived outside, he looked at the vehicle with a dubious expression. "I mean..." he stammered as he took in its lack of majesty. "...it's better than the bus," came the conclusion. It wasn't lost on him that he had arrived a beggar with no right to be choosy. His own car was long gone now and he had already walked plenty today. He dutifully stepped in front of Talia and opened the front passenger door before giving a small wave of his arm accompanied by a slight bow, offering the premium seat with the maximum leg room. He would eventually take the backseat for himself. "Your chariot, m'lady," he said facetiously with a terribly improvised English accent. As a thought suddenly occurred to him, he then shot Manny a glance. "We should definitely keep some distance before we park." His voice had switched back to a tone of seriousness. "We're going to get attention for all the wrong reasons if we get caught strutting out of this thing."</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- The unflattering looks made by those regular folk passing by and later by Link to the admittedly lame car went largely unnoticed by Manny who was too giddy that he was allowed to even use the ting again. While waiting for the three to come down, he sees Bob leap out the window and away into the night. "I dig the initiative. Guess we'll see him there." He didn't have to wait long for the two to come down and, after a little bit of theatrics on Link's end, the two entered the vehicle. Link would ask him something regarding the conspicuity of their 'chariot'. "Ah. Don't worry about it none. We're gonna park half a block away from the club proper. So you two can go in incognito while I have to figure out a way to enter the building without folk seeing me." Seemed easy enough said than put into practice when three of Manny's limbs had reflective metal on them. As they drove off into the night and deeper into downtown Hero City, he ran through the plan one more time just to get that nagging feeling of worry out of his system. "Hooo boy. Ok...so just going through one final rundown of the plan. You two would be infiltrating the club through the main entrance, because Link has a way in no issue. While I assume Bob would be going through the roof. Leaving me to get to the roof and hopefully use the way Bob used." Manny paused to take a signaled turn. Just because they were going headlong into danger doesn't mean they should ignore road safety. Yet. "While inside, you two find a way to the VIP area and Bob and I will hopefully be above that place when you guys arrive. We launch our attack, we find and beat Bucur and any of his cronies that want a fight, as well as find and secure the Diamond Dust they have." If the plan went off without any issues, the CHAMP would drastically rise in renown and ranking in Rent-a-Hero™ as well as get paid for the job and bonus of stopping the distribution of drugs in the area. God he hoped things would go smoothly. Just then the Jersey Devil would contact them. He'd made it to the nightclub in record time! "You're really friggin fast. Uhh...I guess stay out of sight as best you can until we get there. We're like five...maybe six minutes away from where we gonna park." Manny replied through the earpiece before turning to look at Link and Talia. "Seatbelts on and and hope that there are no cops patrolling the area cause road safety is about to get ignored. For the sake of Justice of course." He would demonstrate how his driving privileges were revoked. --- Location: Foxglove Avenue, 8:26 pm, [Half-block away from Nox nightclub] --- After one HELLUVA drive later, the three manage to find a vacant parking spot. "Hot damn I nearly forgot how fun it was to drive. Good to know that Paul didn't remove the turbochargers I put in this thing. Let me tell Bob that we're on site." Bob would have been in the vent for roughly seven minutes before he received a transmission. In the meantime he was able to scout a little bit and find out that the rumors Manny talked about were true. People in the VIP area were drugging themselves up using small pills. Not sure what kind of drugs though...could be Diamond Dust. Could be Ecstasy. But there was one thing he saw for sure, Bucur was there and handing out the pills and taking in cash. Bob would also notice that Bucur had more cronies inside the club than out. They numbered six in total but were mercifully lightly armed with only batons or tonfas attached to their hips. "Bob, we're on site. Talia and Link are going in the main entrance incognito while I'm gonna figure out how to get to the roof and meet up with you. Once we spot Bucur and the drug stash we launch our attack." Manny let out a quick breath to psych himself up. "This is it guys. Let's get it done." With that done, everyone goes their separate ways for the moment. Also, Link would recognize one of the many parked cars when approaching the nightclub. How could he not? It was the very same car that was stolen from him by that old fart earlier this afternoon. But the sight would put a tear to his eye as the poor car had large dents, deep scratches, cracked or shattered windows, and missing hubcaps. Poor gal was butchered by the old dude.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman The Jersey Devil slid slowly through the air vents, snaking his thin fit form as quietly as possible. He would stop, laying comfortably over the vent to the VIP room and watching. As the the group arrived, he would make his replies in soft whispers, grateful that his mask would muffle responses hopefully enough to keep from getting overheard. The mission impossible song playing faintly in the background. *Got eyes on the target. Count about six guards inside. All melee, no guns on them that I see. Will wait for yalls signal* His hope and plan, was when things got into place, he could use his boots to bust him out of the vent, and try to swing straight at the big bad guy. Give him a nice pounce.... God he even described his attacks like a cat. He really was cat man. He didn't even Like cats.... then something dawned on him... *Hey... uh... the guys here are taking pills... didn't you say that dust stuff gave them superpowers?*</s> <|message|>Talia Rose As soon as the car was stopped, Talia would turn to The Finger to make sure their plans were on the same page: that they would enter the nightclub together, per password given at the front, and then proceed to do their own thing (as intuition leads) once inside. After things had been agreed upon, she would ready herself for the walk to the location, all the while listening intently to the news over the earpiece. Grabbing her bag, which discreetly held her sashes and a couple other necessities, she would adjust the large overcoat once more to ensure she was covered. Then she would make the walk side by side with him until they got closer to the front entrance, whereupon she would smile apologetically and link arms with him, waiting for the chance that they could both be able to be let in, due to his knowledge of an apparent passcode that he possessed.</s>

<|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link's fingernails were firmly implanted in the shoulders of the front-side seats as the CHAMPs mobile came to a halt. Eyes wide, looking like his life had flashed before his eyes, his stare bored into the back of Manny's head. Never again, he swore to himself. Manny's driving certainly had a style of its own. Hurriedly, he pushed himself out of the vehicle's back door and firmly placed his feet on the concrete, taking in the glorious feeling of safety and freedom as he stretched out and attempted to chiropractically pop his neck with a few different maneuvers. They were finally here. Time to put on their game faces. He looked to Talia and nodded, affirming that he was ready and their plan was a go. As they walked, he adjusted his earpiece to fit into his ear more comfortably and transmitted. "Let's get it started, ha! Let's get it started in herr!" he quipped, reciting a radio edit from the Black Eyed Peas. His attempt at alleviation was cut short when the sight of his true love came into view. She was parked haphazardly and crooked in a spot toward the front. She was banged up, abused. Her paint was scratched. Link felt his eye twitch and his teeth grind. Don't worry, love, he mentally professed to the 4-wheeled object of his affection. I'm not leaving here without you. As they ventured closer, the serpent of desperation began to come into focus. That's the only way Link could describe the queue of people wrapped around the building, all dolled up and waiting behind a velvet prison for a pass from the security overlords that would likely never come. Link looked to Talia and answered her smile with a smirk of his own before offering his elbow. The two of them continued on, foregoing the line. "Don't look any of them in the eye," he whispered under his breath, intending to enter her earshot alone. No doubt, if she were to meet their gawking stares, she would discover faces of ire, envy, jealousy and hatred that often came when those who are struggling bear witness to those who thrive. As they skipped the line in its entirety, they stopped at the two very burly looking men in black t-shirts who who stood on the inside of a velvet barrier, one of whom was positioned behind a podium. Atop the podium was a notebook whose contents consisted of the identities of the privileged. Within the podium were several keys organized by the valet drivers. Link took a mental note before looking at the twin meatheads. "Name." Meathead Number 1 was all about business, no pleasantries. Link glanced at the notebook and then quickly back up to meet Gigantor's gaze. He wasn't going to be in the book. "Uh," he stammered. His eyes widened for a moment. His mind was blank. Oh, fuck! What the hell was the password, again?! Speedo? Dong wagon? Butt floss? Oh, wait- "Banana Hammock," he said with a forced sense of confidence. Big Boy raised an eyebrow and looked the two up and down. The silence that permeated the air lasted for what seemed like hours. Links hands slowly curled into fists. This wasn't going to wor- "Enjoy your evening," The Big Guy said with a newly sprouted grin as he pulled back the rope and gestured toward the club's entrance. Link let out a long sigh through his nostrils before taking a step forward, Talia still in tow. As they stepped inside, they could feel the rhythm of the music. The bass, the vibrations, the movement of the dancers, the shrieking attempts at communication over all the sound pollution... He loved it! It felt like home. Inasmuch as he had an urge to succumb to his social desires, he had to remind himself that they were there on business. They had a mission. He looked to Talia, pointed at her, and then swung his index finger like a lasso. His non-verbal request was meant to translate to Do you want to go look around? He then pointed at himself and then over to the bar, telegraphing his own personal destination. Finally, he pointed to Talia once more and then rolled his hand into a fist before extending out his pinky and thumb in a shaka sign, shaking it toward his mouth like a bottle - his way of asking if she wanted a drink before they split off. With a final shrug, he awaited her response. Then came the sound of Bob: "Got eyes on the target. Count about six guards inside. All melee, no guns on them that I see. Will wait for y'all's signal." And then, "Hey... uh... the guys here are taking pills... didn't you say that dust stuff gave them superpowers?" Fuck.</s>

<|description|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The Finger Age: 31 Gender: Male Description or Image: Long brunette hair, blue eyes, semi-athletic build. Link stands at about 6'1" and typically has a grungy attire. Alias/Nick Name: The Finger Background & Reason for Joining: Link discovered his ability on accident during a particularly memorable guitar riff with his band, Identical Snowflakes. Ever since, he has used it to enhance his rock shows during gigs and bring about righteous justice in his off hours. There is a certain thrill that comes from giving a criminal (or just a total total jerk) their comeuppance. When Link can get involved, he does and when he learned of an opportunity to put his unique skills to work on a grander scale, he leapt at it (mostly because he's hoping it will come with a regular paycheck as he is habitually 'in between jobs'). Personality: Link is every bit the rock n' roll blasting, profanity slinging, shamelessly womanizing, alcohol drinking, smoke 'em if you got 'em type of laid back dude. However, he does have a moral code and a sense of justice that he cannot ignore. Fun loving most times, but serious when he needs to be, Link can certainly be an asset when properly motivated. Powers & Weaknesses: Link's super hero moniker comes from his very specific unique attributes. The middle fingers on each of his hands are supernaturally gifted. They can grow, stretch, regenerate and alter their density. If they are ever damaged or severed, they would heal rather quickly. Were he to will it, his middle fingers can grow and harden, becoming bludgeoning instruments similar to baseball bats. He could also stretch them into points like a pair of animated fleshy needles capable of piercing. The elasticity of the fingers has its limits, but they can be used to subdue and constrict criminals like a python would, or even act as grappling hooks to help Link traverse heights and cityscapes. The rest of his body, however, is absolutely human and, otherwise, unremarkable. While his middle fingers can regenerate, if you were to cut off his leg, it would have the same result as anyone else whose leg got cut off. If you shot him, he'd be in grave danger. He has every weakness a common human has.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob braced as he watched what was happening. He wanted to stop the drugs before he lost sight of them, but didn't want to jump the gun. Then he saw the shapeshifter. Shit. *Deals going down. Got a case for evidence, but home dude's dealer is a shapeshifter. Just in case, code word is Peepers, in case there's confusion of who's who. Hate shapeshifters. Makes my back itch just thinking about having a knife in it.* he planned to now pounce the shifter, and take the case. Then figure out what to do next, but waited for the others to make a move.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose The young, Asian woman had moved quickly at Link's side as they got into the nightclub. It had gone off without a hitch that was for sure; she was still a little surprised and definitely admiring of how easily and coolly Link had handled it all and now they were at the intended location, with The Jersey Devil on top with eyes on things, and Manny on his way up there as well. How she still wished that was where she was, able to just leap down on the unsuspecting targets like the other two were about to, but she put all of that from her mind and focused... This, here, was her assignment. Now the only things she needed to worry about was Link and the people around her. She drew a deep breath to steady herself for the plan of splitting off from Link, since they'd likely cover more ground or find out more information separate than together. She had already declined his offer for a drink and was stepping away when the young and completely drunk group of men came up to her and flanked Link as well. When she felt one of their arms around her shoulder, she resisted flinging it instantly off and leaping into attack... That might not be the best plan, but it would certainly cause a diversion, she thought to herself. Then she smiled, amused, as she remembered she had many ways to cause a diversion. The sparkling chandelier overhead only further served her purposes and so, she decided to give the men what they wanted, though perhaps not quite in the way they had planned... Sliding quickly and fairly easily out from under the man's arm, she shrugged her overcoat off her shoulders and then moved gracefully and purposefully to an emptier space in the night club. Her eyes never left the group of men, and she kept up the feeling of luring them in, seeking to entrance them with her movements and expression. As she flowed into her effortless movements, she would hear the Jersey Devil's next report: that the diamond dust was indeed here and a... shapeshifter... She didn't let that distract her though, as she began to swirl and spin with her arms reached out, extended gracefully and then swaying as though she was the wind itself... a soft, gentle breeze at first until the energy built around and inside of her and the movements became more intense, like sudden gusts of wind breaking the stillness. As she danced, she listened closely to anything further coming into the earpiece, but didn't miss a single movement even in her focus and her keen eyesight didn't lose sight of her surroundings or the various people.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Geriatric, Link thought to himself, taken aback. I'm barely in my 30's. However, he saw the man in the mirror plenty of times. Link had what one might call 'City Miles'. It wasn't lost on him that he appeared a little rough around the edges. Still, though... ouch. Amusement returned when the lightweight began sloppily shaking his fist toward him as a means of a threat. Just as Link was about to respond, he abruptly swallowed his words to behold Talia and her mesmeric display. Smooth, he thought as he watched her try to capture the attention of the gawking men. The pacifistic approach. Link craned his head slowly to look upon the face of the drunk who still had an arm wrapped over him, despite being seemingly distracted by Talia's impressive grace. I chose the peaceful path once already today, he recalled. All that got me was a long hike and a stolen car. He took an extra beat more, just to fully decide upon his reaction. In the end, he knew what he had to do. What he was born to do. He was The Finger. Time to fucking fing. "That reminds me," he mused out loud. "It's been a while since I've checked the oil." With that, a slow, sadistic grin crept up on his face. In a quick, liquid motion, Link slightly dropped his shoulder and swiftly spun his arm in a windmill fashion under the armpit of his aggressor and cycled it back up until he could get a good grip of the back of the guy's scalp. Link tugged down sharply on his hair with one hand while attempting to deliver an arching punch with the other. However, his fist wasn't in a mere ball. Instead, an ever-elongating middle finger poked out and descended like an arc of lightening, aimed to pass through the guy's mouth and penetrate his gullet.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- Lets Get this Party Started! --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Manny finally reached the roof of the building after a significant amount of climbing up of old and unused emergency escape ladders. He lets out a relived sigh before receiving a transmission from Bob. Apparently they managed to arrive just in time for them to possibly catch the drug dealing scum that was selling the drugs to Bucur. But as soon as Bob mentioned that the dealer was a shapeshifter Manny's encyclopedic knowledge of any known heroes and villains finally proved to be useful to the group. Activating his earpiece and transmitting it to everyone he explains his idea on who this villain was. "A shapeshifter that's dealing street level drugs? That must be one of two villains I know...and I doubt The Green Phoney could be out of prison so soon. That must be Façade. No more dangerous than a common thug but I agree with Bob. If Façade is dealing Diamond Dust, he must have some powerful friends." Just then as Manny was going to squeeze into the vent he assumed Bob entered, the door leading to the roof access opens, causing Manny to turn his head and lock eyes with a confused looking bouncer trying to begin his break. "I'll get back to you guys in a bit." "Oi, roof access is for employees only!" The bouncer approached the Latino man aggressively. "And whats with that get up? You a cosplayer or something?" The bouncer was now only an arm's length away from Manny and he towered over the hero easily. Manny knew why he was chosen to be a bouncer of this establishment. "Uhhh...GADGETEER ZAP!" Without wasting a moment, Manny quickly activated one of the suit's many gadgets and jabbed his armored hand forward and onto the bouncer's unprotected chest. The impact itself did little but Sixty-thousand volts was more than enough to cause the bouncer to fall flat on the ground. "Oh God, I think I killed him!" Meanwhile... Talia's performance would have the majority of the dance floor observing her. Never have they ever witnessed such a graceful dance to the cacophonous electronic music, even the piss-drunk asshats were enamored by the dance. Giving Link the advantage of a surprise attack. The wannabe thug was down in an instant, Link's finger gagging him well enough to induce vomiting. The other two drunks notice what Link just did and decide that maybe picking on him was a bad idea after all. Though victorious, Link notice that some of the bouncers noticed his little stunt and were approaching him likely with an intent to kick him out of the nightclub for fighting. Talia would also notice that the bouncers already had their tonfas and batons drawn. If Link were to fight these two alone he'd be in danger but they haven't figured out that they were in cahoots with one another and she could get into the VIP area easier. Bob on the other hand would see that both Bucur and Façade focus more on the happenings on the dance floor to see the mess wrought by Link. "Ah shit balls. Another bunch of idiot drunks getting into fights. That's another mess I'll have to deal with tonight." Bucur said as he shakes his head in disbelief. "You know how it is with boys and their drinks righ-wait a second..." Façade approaches the ledge of the VIP area and squints at Link. "Oh fuck. That's the dude I nabbed the car from earlier today. Sorry Bucur, I gotta bounce before I get my ass whooped." Before Façade could turn away to make a hasty escape, a heavy meaty hand lays itself on the shapeshifter's shoulder. "Relax. Me and my boys have dealt with supers before. Some drunk shit would be a nothing. Now sit while we discuss the deal." Bucur finished by flashing the shapeshifter a semi reassuring semi intimidating smile as the shapeshifter shifted uncomfortably in his seat offered by the larger man.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman That was his que, it seemed. With one final breath, Bob kicked off the top of the shaft, bursting through the vent into the VIP room. He tried to keep a mind on where everyone was, but he was not used to working in tight spaces. So a lot of what happened came across more like someone chunking a super ball in an elevator. Swinging out of the shaft, he would aim both feet at the Facades back, hoping to slam him down, while pushing back off him into a backflip and using his hand springs to shove him feet first at one of the goons with a gun. He wanted to take those out quickly. The spring off that goon, or the wall behind him, was meant to drive him palms first into the big bad guy himself. His trajectories planned, he tried to keep the case with the dust in sight, hoping his bouncing around would bring him close enough to snag it or kick it out of reach. He went from Jersey Devil, to Cat man, to Racket Ball in a single evening. A new record.</s>

<|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Slimy. It was the only word Link could think to describe the tactile resonance of his middle finger at the moment. He hurriedly wiped it dry on his jeans before taking in the sight of the aggressively approaching Muscle Squad. Weapons, he thought as he analyzed their bludgeoning instruments from a distance. His hands curled into fists once more, all except for his middle fingers which quickly grew in size, weight and thickness becoming comparable in proportion to the clubs welded by the bouncers. While he wanted nothing more than to fearlessly stare down his pursuers as they approached, he forced himself to break his gaze and look toward Talia, if only to assess her situation in that moment. She seemed aware of the imminent danger. "Maybe we both dance this time," he loudly suggested with a crooked grin before turning back to the bouncers. "The thing is, I only know how to dance one way: Swing Dancing." His grin grew wider as he lifted his finger-bats in the air. "...cuz I'm about to swing these things..." he continued, the confidence quickly vanishing from his voice. "...at their faces. It's sort of a double entandr- you know what, forget it. Let's fuck these guys up!"</s>

<|description|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy The Finger Age: 31 Gender: Male Description or Image: Long brunette hair, blue eyes, semi-athletic build. Link stands at about 6'1" and typically has a grungy attire. Alias/Nick Name: The Finger Background & Reason for Joining: Link discovered his ability on accident during a particularly memorable guitar riff with his band, Identical Snowflakes. Ever since, he has used it to enhance his rock shows during gigs and bring about righteous justice in his off hours. There is a certain thrill that comes from giving a criminal (or just a total total jerk) their comeuppance. When Link can get involved, he does and when he learned of an opportunity to put his unique skills to work on a grander scale, he leapt at it (mostly because he's hoping it will come with a regular paycheck as he is habitually 'in between jobs'). Personality: Link is every bit the rock n' roll blasting, profanity slinging, shamelessly womanizing, alcohol drinking, smoke 'em if you got 'em type of laid back dude. However, he does have a moral code and a sense of justice that he cannot ignore. Fun loving most times, but serious when he needs to be, Link can certainly be an asset when properly motivated. Powers & Weaknesses: Link's super hero moniker comes from his very specific unique attributes. The middle fingers on each of his hands are supernaturally gifted. They can grow, stretch, regenerate and alter their density. If they are ever damaged or severed, they would heal rather quickly. Were he to will it, his middle fingers can grow and harden, becoming bludgeoning instruments similar to baseball bats. He could also stretch them into points like a pair of animated fleshy needles capable of piercing. The elasticity of the fingers has its limits, but they can be used to subdue and constrict criminals like a python would, or even act as grappling hooks to help Link traverse heights and cityscapes. The rest of his body, however, is absolutely human and, otherwise, unremarkable. While his middle fingers can regenerate, if you were to cut off his leg, it would have the same result as anyone else whose leg got cut off. If you shot him, he'd be in grave danger. He has every weakness a common human has.</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Talia had kept her keen eyesight on Link and his predicament even though she had gone back to twirling and dancing, doing her best to keep up the distraction for as long as possible. But now, her teammate was still being stalked by the two men and if she didn't do something and fast, he might end up getting attacked! She danced and twirled her way quickly back within striking distance and struck out again with both of her ribbons, this time allowing the metal-tipped ends to coil around both wrists of the man that was aiming a punch straight at Link. The bouncer would feel the silken, cool touch of the ribbons at first but then it would instantly become confusing pain as he becomes aware of something slicing their way through the tendons at the top parts of both wrists. Talia had carefully selected and aimed at her target area, avoiding the risk of accidentally cutting through any major arteries that would cause someone to bleed out if the flow was not staunched. She was not to kill, only... deter... Possibly maim... Using the Chi energy and momentum fueling her moves, she pulled back hard with the ribbons still wound tightly into the bouncer's arms, planning for him to be yanked away from Link but still able to land at a distance from her. If all went according to plan, she'd "call" err... guide her ribbons to release the target and return to her, prepared for the next strike.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman The Jersey Devil looked up at the Gadgeteer with his big blank goggle eyes, that covered up the surprised look in the human face below. *He's more tough and strong than human. He's a super. I'd start out of reach if you can.* Bob's voice would mumble through the communicator to Manny. Without needing to look, Bob reaches down to his bag and taps the skip button on his music player. Faintly, in the background of the communicator, 'Shut me Up' by Mindless Self Indulgence begins to play as Bob speaks to the group. "This is the dream, Boys... and ma'am. These are some bad men, and we're the good guys. Lets show em we're tired of their shit in our city." Kicking his legs up over him in a roll, his plants his feet on the stairs the Grey Gadgeteer just came off of, and kicked off of it as hard as he could. With the full recoil off his boots would shoot him back into the room like a cannon ball. This time, however, he was aiming for the briefcase. As soon as his claws latched onto it, he would smack the floor with his other hand, changing his trajectory to a higher wall where he would imbed his claws in order to stick to the wall. Keeping his feet under him, prepared to kick off in a different direction if attacked, he clipped the briefcase to one of the carabineers on his suit.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link's eyes were wide as he witnessed one of the bouncers being taken away by Talia's skillful use of her instrument. Impressive, he thought. Unfortunately, while he was distracted with her maneuver, the remaining bouncer had just the opening he needed to succeed in his aggressive advance. Just as the goon drove his shoulder into Link's torso, The Finger, attempted to slam down his namesake on his assailant's back before being driven to the ground. "You piece of-" Link growled after his back landed with a thud against the hard floor while he tried to awkwardly move to counter the brute's attempts at grappling. Trying to be agile with severely and awkwardly weighted digits was particularly challenging. At close range, the finger-bats were hardly ideal. He quickly and willfully forced his fingers to deflate. Instead of bludgeoning balloons of musculature, he silently commanded them to harden and morph into sharp-tipped organic stakes akin to railroad spikes. With the goon on top of him wildly striving to execute a submissive hold, Link attempted to take one of his needle-tipped fingers and stab them into the brute's meaty shoulder.</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- Bam! Biff! Pow! --- @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Manny's fear was replaced by genuine shock. "Wait what?! Police records didn't say he was a super!" The Latino man said with incredulity as he looked at Bucur, the goons, and Bob. But as he used the helmet's magnifying specs he noticed that Bucur's body was barely kept in by his clothes, dilated pupils, and a faint glimmering dust at the corner of his bloodied lips. Bob was right, Bucur was a super...but only because he was dusted up. Bob gives a brief but rousing quip to encourage his fellows just Bucur was about to grab the fallen case of Diamond Dust only for it to be snatched away by the human blur known as the Jersey Devil. This irritated the man to no end and snatched up the fallen pistol the crotch cradling thug was holding prior to the fight. "Give back the case, pest!" The man yelled before immediately firing off three shots from the pistol against the wall climbing hero as Bob clipped the case to his person. Bob dodged away from the attack but of the three fired, one hit the hero while the others harmlessly hit the wall he was on prior. The bullet would have hit Bob square in the ribs but with a bright flash of light, the flattened bullet fell harmlessly off his clothes and onto the floor. "A shield? You cowardly shit!" "Oh my God it worked perfectly!" The sudden excited outburst caught Bucur and the thugs' attention and to focus on Manny. The sudden shift in attention caused the young man to dodge behind a sofa that got promptly got riddled with bullets. Miraculously, Bucur missed all his shots and not even the drugged out VIP was hit by the bullets. Bucur angrily threw the gun at the sofa Manny was hiding behind...which did far better than all of his shots as it actually hit Manny's helmet as he peeked out of cover to make a quip. "Man you suck at shooti-Ow! That hurt you asshat!" Down in the dance floor... Talia's lacerations did their job with vicious efficiency as the bladed end of the ribbon cut deeply into the thug's wrist and pulled him back into the crowd and away from Talia and Link. Blood squirted out of the deep wound in rhythm to the thug's heartbeat. The sheer sight of blood squirting out of his injury caused the thug to begin panicking. "Argh! FuckfuckfuckFUCK!" The thug muttered like a mantra while trying his best to staunch the bleeding. When Link hit the floor and the thug that tackled him was trying to properly grapple him in preparation to give the hero a pummeling of a lifetime, three gunshots cut through the blaring music and caused all of the party goers to flinch and wonder what was going on. A number of gunshots answered their collective wonder and panic erupted from the dance floor. Dozens upon dozens of bodies began pushing, shoving, and running for the nearest escape route as they quickly realized that someone was shooting a gun in the nightclub. In the confusion of the stampeding crowd, Link easily got a hit on his attacker and lodged his finger spike deep into the soft tissue of the thug until he felt the shoulder blade causing the thug to immediately jump off Link and got promptly pushed away from both Talia and Link. But as the chaos settled down, only the two heroes were the only ones left on the dance floor...well them and the three new thugs that entered the club proper after hearing the shots and wading through the panicked crowd. "Ah damn it. Heroes are attacking again! Guys, dust up if you have any Diamond Dust on you; that's the only chance we got against these freaks!" A thug said to his fellow thugs before pulling out his pistol and firing blindly at both the prone form of Link and to Talia. Hoping that he'd drive the two heroes into hiding while his buddies got dusted up enough to get an upper hand against their attackers.</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman With his focus and adrenaline, Bob barely registered that he had been shot, let alone that the shield stopped it. His mind had drifted to something else... some When else. He was remembering a lab, gunshots, his friends cries of pain and fear as they were mercilessly gunned down before his eyes. If the eyes of his mask could change colors with his moods, they would be glowing red. As the big man was distracted by shooting at the Grey Gadgeteer, Bob tossed the briefcase behind the couch with his companion as he bounced off the floor, aiming for the wall behind Bucur. Only to use and amplify his momentum to rocket off that wall and fly claws first, at the big man's legs. He was aiming to trip him and be able to have his momentum push him past to the other side before the man fell on him. But with his hate filled mind, his main objective was to drive his claws into the tendons in the back of the man's knees, ripping and tearing them as he went through.</s>

<|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy As he leaned himself up off the ground, he could feel his own pulse in his ears. His heart was racing and it didn't seem like things were ready to slow down. As reinforcements his the floor and called upon the meta-inducing drug, Link resigned to the fact that this had only begun and was about to get worse. It was the flash of light at the end of the thug's gun barrel that sent Like into a state of near catatonia. A fraction of a second moved like an eternity. The loud, thunderous cracks of the bullets' combustion quickly stirred him back to reality. He could see the glowing tip of a billet coming straight for his eye. he tried to scurry back, but his speed was no match for the projectile's velocity. With a frightening spark and static sound of electric discharge, Link witnessed the bullet's trajectory get rejected and refracted by none other than his personal protective shield. Oh thank god, Link mentally exclaimed. He took advantage of the opportunity to fully push himself to his feet and make a mad dash for cover. In a single, liquid motion, Link dashed and dove toward the bar, awkwardly landing on the otherside where patrons weren't typically permitted. He quickly patted his body down, trying to find any bullet holes or wounds. He appeared to be intact. As he peaked over the edge, he tried to determine how Talia had fared through the ordeal.</s>

<|description|>Talia Rose Age: 20 Gender: Female Description or Image: Asian 20-year-old woman, lithe and athletic build but not too skinny, attractive but not to a distracting degree, green, piercing eyes and long, flowing black hair Alias/Nick Name: The Performer Background & Reason for Joining: The Performer has traveled far and wide, searching for shows in which she could demonstrate her skills and prowess with her well-trained acrobatic movements. The whip-like ribbons just served as extra extensions of her own arms. Ever since she was a little girl, she dreamed of being able to use her dancing abilities to do more than just perform, but her parents had tried to keep her sheltered and thus (in their eyes) safe from the world's dangers. Longing for a life that truly means something and can help people, she uses her performances on each stage as a ruse so that she could scout out ways to help and she has made this no secret to her followers and supporters (both online and onstage). Thus, it was no surprise when a young man called out to her after one of her performances and told her that there has finally arrived a chance to do some good for an entire city of people. He shared with her a blog from a place called Hero City and once she reached the small apartment she had rented while performing, she sat down to read through the blog post. Once she finished, she promptly sent in her own information and reasons for being qualified for this request. 'I could finally be on a real team of superheroes,' she thought excitedly to herself, as she planned a way to keep up the ruse to her parents and friends from back home that didn't want to see any harm come to her. Personality: On the inside is eager to please and help but gives off the appearance of being shy and reserved and uncertain at times. She does warm up to people and will become more social after a time, but always wary and alert. Powers: - Razor-tipped, whip-like ribbons that she has trained with for years so that they follow every subtle movement her wrists or even fingers make to direct them - Sharp eyesight and hyper-awareness of her surroundings - Strong even though her body type doesn't betray it - Highly skilled in acrobatics, thus excellent dexterity Weaknesses: - Insecurities about herself that make her second-guess her decisions and actions - People-pleasing and will most times go along with others' ideas even when she doesn't necessarily agree it is wisest - Inwardly vain about her appearance</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire --- The knocking of the apartment's front door was audible enough to snap Paul's attention away from the open window with the new hero(?) his best friend recruited for his heroic organization. Rather than waiting for the gasmasked figure to enter the room, he opted to go and see who was knocking at the door. As the Asian man peers into the peep hole of the apartment's front door, he sees a rather gruff individual patiently waiting for something. Likely him opening the door. Seemed normal enough in that get up if not a little rough looking, he opens the door for the man outside. Paul's nose would soon regret that decision as the odorous mixture of booze, sweat, and sex assaulted his nostrils. " *gagging* O-oh sweet Lord that is foul. S-sorry...not trying to be rude but...goddamn." Paul was forced to begin breathing through his mouth to prevent his eyes from watering. "Uhh. Are you one of the applicants, Manny was waiting for?" The aforementioned man takes a peek at whoever Paul was speaking to. Eyes widened even more and the sheer mirth could be heard in his voice as it raised in pitch and cadence. "Oh my God, you must be The Finger! The one applicant with a legit super power! You came to the meeting, AWESOME!"</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Jacob practically rolled up into the room as the window opened, sitting on the window frame. His eyebrow was raised at the odd people, not that the lifeless eyes of the mask showed this. He simply cooked his head a little and chuckled. "Jaz hands... nice." His attention instantly went to the door and the noise coming from there. How many had answered the email?</s> <|message|>Talia Rose 'Talia Rose... no no The Performer, the city's new superhero'... The Asian girl sighed contentedly, pulling her long, black jacket closer around her for security and familiarity, mulling the idea over in her mind. She was sitting in the back of a vehicle on the way to the headquarters where she was supposed to meet and hopefully get this job. She wondered how many others might have answered this desperate call for help and wondered what they might act or look like... Her young and rather sheltered mind filled with ideas and images of imagined heroes both male and female. What would they think of her? Would they all be able to be a team and work together? She knew she didn't look like she could do much other than look pretty, but a lot of people underestimated her. Talia was used to that by now. All through her childhood and teen years, everyone in her family just tried to make her into this petite, graceful, beautiful dancing girl. They even gave her a name befitting of her exotic beauty: Talia Rose and even Talia meant "dew drop." In fact, she felt more like a doll than a child as both of her parents doted on her and hovered about trying to mold her to fit the imagined destiny that they worked so hard to build. Trouble was that no one bothered to ask her how she felt about it or if she was happy with this life. Women of her nationality didn't really get much of a say in their preferences or opinions, so she just learned to keep quiet and practice her own tricks and challenges alone in her room or on the way to the various performances. One night however, when she was a little girl of ten years old, her father had come to her and told her about the energy and life force that is all around and within every living being. He said it was called Chi and Talia, utterly enthralled, took it upon herself to learn to practice and master understanding Chi and how it worked. As she studied and meditated and practiced diligently every day and night, she shared her experiences with no one. This gave her the ability to harness her own capabilities of movement and even the movement of her own dancing sashes and ribbons and make them into something more extraordinary. Sometimes, if viewers of her performances were lucky, she might even add a little extra flourish into the dances themselves... and all because of her father sharing his knowledge with her that one night... Talia's thoughts broke off slightly when she remembered, with a slight pang of guilt, the message that she had left her family and friends with back home: basically, a lie saying that she would stay safe and send them any pictures and information regarding her next performance. 'They would be proud someday,' she convinced herself, straightening up and lifting her head in confidence and excitement. The enthusiasm on her face drained a little bit, however, when the car stopped in front of a run-down looking building and the driver looked back at her expectantly. With a start, Talia realized that this must be the headquarters and she quickly paid the man then grabbed her cloth bag and stepped out of the car. It was slightly windy, and she was glad to have the black jacket covering her almost-bare midriff, chest and shoulders. The dance attire of the blouse and harem pants was skimpy, yet the only suitable thing she could think of to wear to such a thing since it was literally her special outfit worn anywhere that she performed. Still, for the moment she was glad that no one could see anything. Talia knew it wasn't her time to be "onstage" so to speak. She walked into the building and up the hallway of the correct door and then started slightly as she saw a rough, unkempt-looking man standing at the same door where she was supposed to be. Her face fell slightly but she covered it well and stayed a little at a distance as she caught the strong scent of alcohol and God knew what else on him.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link's eyebrows furrowed at the less-than-welcoming reception from the Asian man who answered his summons. The other fellow's praise, however, was just enough to calm Link's nerves as he looked toward him and gave a solemn nod, simultaneously confirming his identity and thanking him for the recognition. Just as he was about to step inside, another caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Young, fit... shy? As she seemed to hide her face, he made it a point to shrug off the behavior and continued his advance into the apartment. After two steps, he paused briefly as he found himself face to face with a freak in a gas mask. For a solid four seconds, he just stared in silence, taking in the man's image. Finally, he gave a horned gesture with his hands and declared, "I dig it. Rock fuggin' on, man." A smirk quickly flashed on his face before he made his way to an open seat on the couch and collapsed upon it dramatically. It wasn't long before his feet were kicked up and resting on the coffee table. Jovially he began to hum, allowing sporadic murmurs of lyrics to escape his mouth. "HmmHmmm Weeee are dahh Champions, muh fray-yunds! HmmHmm We'll duhduh fighting, til the end! Hah! So what is this place? Is this apartment like a front for the real HQ? Do we need badges to get in? OH! Do we get company cars?! Shotgun, 'Shag'n Wagon'! Don't even look at me that way, Gas Mask!" Link jested. "I called it first. You can call yours the Respirator Rod or something..."</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @ShadowsofNight@myinneroblivion --- As Link took a seat and made himself comfortable on the sofa, he politely gestured for Jacob to do the same if he wanted to unwind. As Manny had no doubt that climbing to the second floor to reach his apartment must have taken significant effort. Turning his attention to Link to answer his questions his confidence in meeting the new heroes grew weaker. Things had not been going well for the CHAMP even since the beginnings of the hero group...he really didn't want to tell that to the new guys the truth but how could he call himself the founder of the CHAMP, or even more a hero, if he lied to his teammates? "Uhh...funny thing is that this is kind of really what CHAMP Head Quarters is. BUT! I promise you all that once we get out of bottom ranking in Rent-A-Hero ® and getting a decent reputation, the money will flow and we'll be getting a proper hideout for HQ and even individual vehicles." Manny paused for a good long while before finally getting the courage to say it. " butfornowwehavetosettlehereandusepublictransporttogettojobs. " He spat the words out so fast that even a Rap God would have been jealous. While Manny was talking, Paul finally noticed the lady wearing a jacket and harem pants in the hallway. From his memory, he's never leased any of the building's rooms to a woman like her nor did the current tenants had any relatives or visitors like her. Hazarding a guess, he calls out to the woman. "Hey. You. If you're the last of the three applying heroes for CHAMP, well, just feel free to go in. The meeting already started. I, on the other hand, need to go back to the ground floor and man the laundromat café before I loose any more customers." And with that, the Asian man waves off the growing bunch of weirdos that his best friend was gathering. Ah. The things he'd do for friendship...</s>

<|message|>Talia Rose Starting suddenly at the voice calling her way, Talia stepped said a quick and rushed "oh thank you" before walking swiftly yet gracefully into the room with the other guys. She looked them each up and down briefly, a bit nervously, before saying a soft "hello, my name is Talia and it's nice to meet all of you." She added a sweet smile. Some of her nerves and shyness was already evaporating because traveling and performing for years had taught her how to break the social awkwardness with groups of people and how to fit in best as possible. It was a facade but.. she was well-versed in it all and the stage didn't care. Her voice was soft and gentle and quite the direct opposite of the man that she'd briefly seen in the hallway. She had seen and known his kind before, but didn't judge. Besides, if this was indeed headquarters, they would be some kind of oddly matched team by the end of this. Her sharp eyes combed the room and took in the other odd man standing by the window… wearing a kind of gas mask? That was interesting and a bit confusing, Talia thought but again, no judgment, just intrigue as she looked around for some kind of chair to sit comfortably but straight, just like she'd been taught.</s>

<|description|>Talia Rose Age: 20 Gender: Female Description or Image: Asian 20-year-old woman, lithe and athletic build but not too skinny, attractive but not to a distracting degree, green, piercing eyes and long, flowing black hair Alias/Nick Name: The Performer Background & Reason for Joining: The Performer has traveled far and wide, searching for shows in which she could demonstrate her skills and prowess with her well-trained acrobatic movements. The whip-like ribbons just served as extra extensions of her own arms. Ever since she was a little girl, she dreamed of being able to use her dancing abilities to do more than just perform, but her parents had tried to keep her sheltered and thus (in their eyes) safe from the world's dangers. Longing for a life that truly means something and can help people, she uses her performances on each stage as a ruse so that she could scout out ways to help and she has made this no secret to her followers and supporters (both online and onstage). Thus, it was no surprise when a young man called out to her after one of her performances and told her that there has finally arrived a chance to do some good for an entire city of people. He shared with her a blog from a place called Hero City and once she reached the small apartment she had rented while performing, she sat down to read through the blog post. Once she finished, she promptly sent in her own information and reasons for being qualified for this request. 'I could finally be on a real team of superheroes,' she thought excitedly to herself, as she planned a way to keep up the ruse to her parents and friends from back home that didn't want to see any harm come to her. Personality: On the inside is eager to please and help but gives off the appearance of being shy and reserved and uncertain at times. She does warm up to people and will become more social after a time, but always wary and alert. Powers: - Razor-tipped, whip-like ribbons that she has trained with for years so that they follow every subtle movement her wrists or even fingers make to direct them - Sharp eyesight and hyper-awareness of her surroundings - Strong even though her body type doesn't betray it - Highly skilled in acrobatics, thus excellent dexterity Weaknesses: - Insecurities about herself that make her second-guess her decisions and actions - People-pleasing and will most times go along with others' ideas even when she doesn't necessarily agree it is wisest - Inwardly vain about her appearance</s> <|message|>Talia Rose Images of the debut job descriptions and of the consequences and results of the diamond dust issue played through Talia's mind as she continued to read while accurately observing the situation and the others' responses. Her ability to multitask very efficiently allowed her to still listen to and analyze the ideas the others have, but she did not have a very high self-esteem herself and had never even worked in a group setting that was not choreographed by someone that knew far more than she. Quietly, she stood there, leaned over to peer at the screen of the laptop where the information was presented. She had not remained off to herself, however, for it was time to look and act like a member of this team... even though it was quite odd and unique and confusingly grouped. That sounded like a recipe for some adventure and freedom and risk-taking, which sounded to Talia like a great time. She had not glossed over the understanding that other previous heroes doing similar things, had died... but she wasn't about to let the next victims be her or any others with her, not if she could help it. As the man named Manny started describing the electronic ear-piece things that would allow them to connect and stay in touch even at vast distances, it was difficult to pay close attention to the details and to remember descriptions of technology that she had never before even heard discussed. She quickly deduced that Manny likely knew a lot about what he was talking about, and she looked around to see if her other fellow heroes were equally confused. She was thankful for the public transportation to and from places, because she was not really from around here. She had journeyed around the area for shows and such but never stayed long enough to get more than basic familiarity of the city. With a start, she realized that no one here had yet discussed with each other what their strengths or abilities or powers even were... likely, only Manny knew and if he had okayed each of them, then there must be a good reason. But she wondered if any of them would share with her about what would stop them from being easily killed? Were they in it just for the adventure and fun? Did they care about helping people and righting wrongs and pursuing justice? Did they have some kind of thing of their past to avenge? She longed to be able to ask but silently and patiently waited her turn, green eyes gently resting on each of their faces as they spoke or reacted to what was being shared. It did not feel like her place, especially as the only female, to just start blurting out suggestions and fighting for the same breath of space to talk in and speak opinions and ideas. Besides, she didn't have much yet to add... unless they tried to end this meeting without even talking about what qualified each for this kind of danger...</s> <|message|>Jacob Richman Bob admittedly glossed over most of the technical jargin Manny was using, but was smirking by the time he had finished. He would take the offered earpiece, and turn mostly to Manny. "You sound a lot like my old friend Zane. He used to do all the hacking and tinkering back in the day." he tapped the gas mask, indicating the modifications that were made in it. "If we're good, think you'd be able to tinker with some more stuff? I have some ideas I have been thinking about. Not sure what everyone else can do... But I'm no Superman." He lifts one hand, flexing the fingers some to pop out the sharp claws, then retracting them again. "I haven't the foggiest idea how these things work, just know that they do." He rolls back on his heel's some, the boots pushing him back up into a small hop. He turns to the others, a brow lifting questioningly. "Any of yall bullet proof, or flying or something? Hear there's a guy who can lift a who city bus... Any of yall able to do something like that?" He picked up a lot of random information while bouncing around the city. Thugs tend to talk about heros and villains when they're scared of getting caught. He had heard a lot about the Big time heroes just like everyone, but he'd never heard of these smaller groups back in Jersey.</s> <|message|>Lincoln "Link" Malloy Link gingerly placed the micro devices in his inner jacket pocket. He looked on intently as Bob displayed his demo of abilities. Are we bullet proof?, he silently repeated Bob's question in his mind. If I were bullet proof, I wouldn't be sitting in this apartment, that's for sure. What he could do, though, paled in comparison to An Indestructible, A Muscle or a Flier. At least, it certainly wasn't as traditional. Then again, neither was Link. "So Metal Man, with a super suit, and Gas Mask, with the hoppity hops and the pokey pokes, are coming in from the roof. Me and Chatty Cathy are shooting for general entry. And, all the while, we've got to avoid suspicion, get passed any security, find Bucur and successfully extract him without dying." It nearly sounded like a question, but was purely rhetorical. Link just had to keep it all straight in his mind and an audible recap was typically his go-to. His eyes shot over to Talia's. For a few beats, he remained silent, sizing her up. These roles they were about to play were either going to require a lot personality or a lot of honed skill. He could probably provide the former. He just hoped she could at least cover the latter. They could get stuck in queue purgatory if the bouncer decided they weren't worthy of admission and its not like Link had the scratch to bribe their way in. Usually the quickest way in was to bring some skimpy party girl with you, but Talia didn't seem the type. Maybe he could call in a club rat or two just to get in the door? He finally broke contact and, with a closed mouth, his tongue began to run along the sides of his teeth, an automatic tic that occurred when he was mulling something over in his head. How were they going to do this...? Maybe if they- "MESSAGE, MUDDAFUKKA! MESSAGE, MUDDAFUKKA!" Link was snapped out of his thought by the text notification on his cell phone. He scrambled to pull it out and unlock the screen. `From: Bertha McBigTiddies Where did you go, Finger Man? You were A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! A deal is a deal. You showed me what you can do, I'll show you what I can do. Tonight you're drinking free anywhere downtown as my VIP. All the bar tenders and owners know me. They'll treat you like a king. Password is 'Banana Hammock'. Don't be a stranger! XOXO` A grimace formed on Link's face, but soon softened into a state of intrigue. He couldn't remember her real name, but that lady could drink. I guess being in the liquor business would provide anyone ample time to build up a tolera- "Oh-ho!" Link couldn't help the outburst. An epiphany hit him like a freight train. He looked up at Talia again, his hungover mind racing as fast as it could under the circumstances. This was it. This was the In. "Alright, Chatty, you better have your glass slippers ready, because I just got us tickets to the ball. You can be Cinderella and I'll be Prince Charming." Feeling a small sense of accomplishment, Link felt he was deserving of a little reward. They wanted a show and tell? Fine. Without leaning forward in his seat, he extended his hand toward the pile of donuts. He was well short of the necessary distance, but he wasn't done, yet. Gradually, his middle finger began to stretch and pop, extending further and further until it plunged itself into one of the donut holes. With a flick and a turn of his wrist, the ringed donut slid all the way down his now two foot long finger and stopped abruptly at his knuckles. The finger shrank back to normal size as Link took a healthy bite of the donut, grabbing what was left of it with his other hand. "Ah lihk da pink ones wif sprinklez bedder," Prince Charming announced as he chewed, some bits of the donut falling into his beard. He looked over to Talia. "So whatchoo do, pinsess?"</s> <|message|>Manuel 'Manny' Donaire @myinneroblivion @ShadowsofNight --- Things were going better than expected. Lady luck was finally smiling down upon them after a year and a half of getting kicked in the teeth by her metaphorically and literally at one point for a former hero of CHAMP, Pearly Whites. Poor guy had to get dentures after getting a face full of boot...seven times in one fight. "Sure thing, Bob. Maybe you can even invite your friend Zane to help me tinker with your gear." Manny says innocently with a friendly thumbs up before turning to Link and Talia. "That would be the plan as the client would prefer that Bucur to face justice but...has no qualms if we kill him. He'd still consider the job done and we'd still get renown and paid." Manny pauses and scratches the back of his head while slightly looking down to the floor. "I know that killing people is unavoidable at times in our line of work but I follow a strict no-kill rule that Captain Amazing followed." Manny believed that the late great hero did it out of the altruistic sense of righteousness of giving a bad soul to reform and be good. But in truth it was simply bad for the sponsors if their 'hero' had any blood on his hands. "But I know that the thugs in the nightclub will likely have guns in their possession and I've learned from my mistakes over the past year and a half. I don't have them with me right now...but I will have them by tonight. They're personal shield generators. The kind that people like the President have. I'd go into detail on how I made these from junk but I think it'd take too long and it'll just bore you guys. Just keep in mind that these things will protect you from a few bullets but not so much from slower moving things like thrown objects, fists, or melee weapons."</s>

<|message|>Talia Rose Okay that's cool and definitely useful for something like this, Talia thought as she watched the man by the window display his claws and bounce abilities. She wondered what his gas mask thing did, but then decided that was probably really obvious and that she'd look stupid for asking about it. Also, she began to wish she had the ability to have some claws that could just pop out of her hands because that just sounded awesome. However, when it came to The Finger showing his skill to them all, she couldn't help but start slightly and then laugh out loud. Her laugh was soft but audible and trained, just like the rest of her, to be ladylike and gentle and graceful. God, how Talia wished to just be able to talk and sound and act like the rest of humanity. They seemed so free to be themselves. "Sorry," she said to the others, feeling the need to apologize even for that. "It's just... I honestly did not expect that but should be interesting." She took a breath then turned to Manny and also took one of the earpieces carefully for herself, saying a sweet "thank you" as she did so before turning back to the others. "Well, it so happens I can indeed be the perfect Cinderella," she said with a hint of a semi-forced smile. "But I'm a ribbon dancer and if anyone here does not know what that is, it is a display on stage of a lot of acrobatics and some skill. I cannot reveal very much here, as it is not a lot of space to work in without umm knocking things over," she finished with an actual, amused smile this time. Then she took off the jacket and placed it onto the arm of a chair and removed the ribbons from her bag. Breathe. Ignore their stares. This was nothing more than another performance, she thought to herself. With that, she began twirling the ribbons about in expert, controlled movements that whipped and whistled above their heads and to sweep the floor as she herself twirled and leapt about, circling the group, making such use of the space that the size of the apartment seemed to be forgotten. It would be clear to the onlookers, that she had control of the entire room similar to how an actual performer could command the stage but also literal control as the ribbons whipped around and energies swirled. It seemed as though she was in control of the forces, bending them to her will, but in fact she worked in tandem with them: a cooperative, enchanted performance. Afterwards, she stopped and stepped up closer to them all again and showed each the thickness and strength of the sheer fabric, a material that was not fragile at all, and also the razor-tipped metal edges that she had had sewn into the fabric itself to make the whip-like ribbons a weapon, capable of stripping skin and slicing through other materials as well. "I know it doesn't seem like much," she said, her confidence temporarily fueled by the performer she was, "but I have even been able to suspend my entire weight by these so they are not just weapons, but I can send them out and swing from them too. Also, if you take a look around, you'll notice that nothing and no one is damaged even though I whipped them around each of us. I hope that is a satisfactory performance for you all to still consider me."</s>