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<|description|>David Liang Age: 17 Gender|Sex|Identity: Male Personality Description: He generally comes off as a serious person, even though it is not exactly the case, mainly due to his language barrier. While his communication for the most part get his point across, he is still fitting in when it comes to the nuances like jokes and slangs, often choosing not to make them due to fear of being insensitive. When it comes to it, this boy from a distant land is actually rather friendly and polite, maybe a little uptight, but would love to talk to and get to know his friends around him. His number one desire is to fit in and be accepted, wanting to be part of everyone's friend group. Physical Description: David is a tall person by his home country's standard, but rather average around New Hope (5'7"/175cm), with average physique. He enjoyed a neat crew cut hairstyle for his convenience. His clothing preference is rather conservative, often picking long-sleeves, collared and darker clothes due to the more temperate climate than what he's used to, and also because he does like the style. Yo'Bikur Appearance: His Yo'Bikur form dons a dark blue tunic covering all but his foot, hand and head, layered behind a white wide-shouldered half coat with gold outlines. But the most dramatic change compared to his old self is his body. His hand was covered in a weird amalgamation of treated wood, tin and metal. The wood covers most of his palms and fingers on the front side, while the tin covers the backside, along with the joints also made of metal. There are also springs beneath the tin layers David's face is also covered in tin, his hair solidified, but the facial features still looks just like the original David. His right eye has turned sapphire blue, the iris turns into a four-pointed star. Backstory: David feels culturally adrift. His legal name is An Liang, born to a middle-class family, whose father, Wong Liang, worked as a computer technician. His mother unfortunately passed away to illness before he could recognize himself in the mirror, and the single father was forced to raise his only son alone. Living around his father, who often surrounded himself with computers, got An acquainted with technology, and being a curious child, An used these machines a lot, much to his father's initial reservation. However, his father being a little bit too busy in his life did allow An to roam free on the zeroes and ones, as well as accessing information a young adolescent could find on the Internet. He'd gradually get in touch with foreign games, foreign cartoons, books or media, which introduced him to a culture entirely different from his own, at a time of crucial personality development nonetheless. Soon, unbeknownst to him, his mannerism and behaviour shifted. He found himself code-switching from a traditional culture at school and with friends, to a foreign one at home when he immersed himself in the wonders of the Internet, slowly identifying with the latter as his curiosity grew. For the Liang family, his father who felt listless after his wife's passing, being reminded too much of a home that he missed, decided to immigrate. This actually was an exciting opportunity for An, who's always been mesmerized by a foreign land. When he arrived, he took on the first name David and got enrolled in middle school in a metropolitan area. However, this city was not exactly kind towards immigrants like David. The school that he enrolled in did not have much contact with immigrants, with nine out of ten students being locals. As a result, someone who couldn't speak English that well, quite nerdy with computers at best did not fit with the school's social group, or at worst, a target of bullying and harassment. Only after a year in the city, the two moved away to New Hope, a small village that from word of mouth was a lot more welcoming to people of different background. His father found work in the Armstrong PC Shop, ran by the Armstrong family, who was eager to have experienced hands in the shop, and David would often help out the shop as well. David is a year behind school due to all the moving around, but is always eager to be a part of the school community. He is a member of the school computer club, has high academic performance, especially mathematics and informatics. Notable Connection: Wong Liang: His father, whom David felt great sympathies for. He was not exactly there all the time, but who could blame him. David looked up to him and hoped to help him in any way he could. Nicolas & Sarah Armstrong: The two owners of the Armstrong PC Shop, and his dad's boss. David owes much to these two for the things they give to his family, and they too appreciated David's help, especially the scripts he write to make their job a lot easier. Respond to these prompts in character: You're in class and the Fire Alarm goes off. Everyone begins to panic. "If teacher is around, I would listen to them. If not, I would help my friend(s) to escape. Then I would go. That is what I think I would do, but I might panic too." You've made plans to go to the festival and are running late, but may make it in time to see the fireworks with your friends. On your way, you see a stranger with a flat tire on the side of the road. "I don't like it, but I would have to leave them. I made a promise to a friend, I do not want them disappointed that I couldn't be there." You fall asleep in class and begin to dream; you're atop a ruined tower and a massive dragon circles overhead. You reach for... "Umm...a book? I like to learn about the dragon; how it behaves. I don't want to make it angry. If I could understand it, maybe I could be friends with it." The world is so boring; you wish you had a super power. What do you wish for? "I like to talk to computers, but using codes and commands feel a little cold. I would like to talk to it more personally, intimately." You are suddenly reminded that tomorrow is the Midterm Exam. "I should have remembered the main points of each lesson from going to class. I don't mind losing a few marks from not memorizing."</s> <|message|>William Mencia Oh, Toby is doing fine, that's good, she seemed pretty sad when the teacher gave the results for the exams last week even though she scored pretty high (I got a C and pas pretty pumped about it), maybe talking will get her to relax a bit more. "These last few days have been brutal! I have been around the whole town like four or five times making deliveries for Grandpa, people love the traditional bread that he makes for these festivities and they never seem to get fed up with it, not that I am complaining tho, more business for the bakery is always good and doing so many deliveries means Grandpa gives me some extra allowance" Not that everything was good "Not that everything is good, I haven't had the time to hang out with Syd in ages, and the few times I have been free she is always busy with other things... welp what can you do? So Toby, I just finished my last run and I got a bike and a desire to spend time with a friend, so what do you say, wanna hang out for a bit?"</s> <|message|>Audrey Springer Audrey left the house quietly while her parents still slept. They had both had a late night; her mother from serving drinks at the bar, and her father from drinking half of them. She hopped on her father's Mustang. It was her father's in name only, as Audrey was the primary driver ever since his DUI last year. Instead of starting the engine, she disengaged the parking brake, and let it roll down their long, sloped driveway, swerving around her mother's Corolla with practiced grace, and backing neatly into the street. Here she did finally start the car, a reasonable distance from the house so that she hoped it wouldn't alert her parents to her departure. She didn't want to get entangled with either of them, and ruin her summer freedom. As she pulled down their side street toward one of the town's main roads, she put her flip phone on speaker and dialed. "Hey Aud," a tinny, crackling voice came through. "Hick, got any work for me? Even just one?" "Sorry, sweetheart, but I usually just extend everyone's loans around the festival. People get forgetful, you know? Just trying to give them one fewer thing to think about." Audrey,  who had been hoping that same forgetfulness would translate into pocket money for her, grimaced but kept her tone light. Hickory Earhart was a very nice man, and she wanted to stay on that side of him. "Alright, I understand. But if anything comes up, I dunno, like you need shelves moved or something...?" Hickory was perfectly capable of moving any shelves he needed moved. More so than Audrey, truth be told, but he didn't say so. "You'll be the first I call." "Right, thanks Hick, you're good people." "You too, enjoy the festivities, should be a good one this year." As she ended the call, she wondered what festivities she was meant to enjoy without any money. Her mother always gave her gas money out of her tips from the bar, but Audrey would never ask for more. She knew an allowance just wasn't in the budget. ~~~ She turned the car away from festivities(many of which were, in fact, quite free) and instead toward the edge of town. One of the roads that led to the nearby highway had a small paved parking pad on the side of it. Just three parking spaces, in faded white lines, and a sign marking a trail into The Shaded Grove. The trail was generally disused, including today, when Audrey walked right off it and into the woods, heading for the heart of the Weeping Sam. Audrey wasn't dressed the best for the adventure. Her boots, at least, were functional, if well scuffed Doc Martens, but she wore constricting skinny jeans. On top, she had what had once been a plain black T-shirt, but she had bleached a spooky face onto the front, and cut and tied it at the sides until it was a raggedy sort of tank top. She walked with her hands in her pockets, not sure where she was going, nor exactly why she had come here. Presently, she came to a certain fallen, rotting tree and, not yet noticing that she wasn't alone, she lifted her foot up and kicked in some of the soft, spongy wood.</s>

<|message|>David Liang David's morning was rather boring. He was no person to laze around inside for too long, but rather he was lazing around in the Armstrong Computer Shop. Now that the final exam period had ended, he could spend time more consistently to help out the Armstrongs with their day-to-day woes with machinery. But unlike the constant demand of food or drinks, computing service was not always so. Sometimes, things just work, and for David, that meant less work to do. He yearned to be out and about, hanging out and catching up with those in class, but he had one client he would need to take care of. Enrique Mencia from the bakery. He reportedly had a non-functional laptop, but he had a lot of work to do for the festival preparation, so he postponed it until now, so David couldn't really go anywhere until this one was finished. Luckily, it was almost time. "Mr. Nicolas." David called out to the person inside a storage room, his supervisor of sort. Nick was more friendly and casual than that, but considering the boy who didn't know his way around the language that well, he was fine with being a little formal. He poked his head out of the door to hear what David had to say. "Is there the toolbox in there?" "Oh, yes." He disappeared back in for a brief second before coming back out with the box he required, knowing why he was asking for it. "Enrique right?" Nick asked, to which David nodded. "Awesome! Tell him I said hi." "I will, don't worry." David gave a smile. "Oh, and if you don't mind. Can I take my day off after this one?" Nick looked up and leaned his head slightly before nodding. "No problem, I think we can handle the workload for the rest of today. Go and have fun ok?" "Thank you. You too, the festival's starting soon." David bowed, and looked to his father who was immersed in his own work in his own corner. "See you dad." He said before heading off with the kit and a little piece of paper as he headed off to the Mencia Bakery. The village was bustling with exciting activities. Everyone was busy but many had a smile to spare as David strolled along the street with his stuff. They knew he was part of the Computer Shop, some of them he had helped before, so he was no strangers. He would love to join them to help out or just to hang out, but he continued onto his destination nonetheless. "Hi. Mr Enrique?" The door to the bakery opened slowly, as the boy poked his head in. "It's David."</s>

<|description|>Damon Howard Age: 16 Gender | Sex | Identity: Male Personality Description: At the core of it, what Damon most wants is to be liked, so he does what he can to make himself likeable. He desires admiration, and popularity…but perhaps the most of it all, acknowledgement. He is friendly, approachable, charming, polite, and respectable. He is a tad vain, but willing to play it off for laughs. He can be sarcastic, passive-aggressive, and too fixated on some things (e.g. his appearance, the notion of success), but at least he does have a backbone…Socially speaking, that is. In a physical altercation, Damon is almost next to useless. That is why he'd rather defuse tensions with words if at all possible. It is known that Damon has aspirations to go to the city, and to 'make it big'. He's been enthralled with the metropolitan lifestyle since he was a child, and hasn't given up on his dream since he's first thought of it. This despite all the opposition, tensions, and stress he's faced due to it. Despite his best efforts, this has caused him many issues in a town so insular as New Hope. Though he's been determined not to look down on them all the way some of them do to him, it'd be a lie to say Damon has no resentment. He does, and has many frustrations and insecurities to boot. He just hides it all. Physical Description: Of average height for his age and gender at 173 cm (5'8), he is hoping for more of a growth spurt. He has a very lithe, delicate frame, and a pale complexion which bruises and burns very easily. He is decently agile and dexterous, and is a good dancer. Despite having put quite some effort into improving it, his endurance is still middling at best. As far as any other athletic activities go, he is 'ok' at best. In group sports especially, he is rather the wild card; sometimes, he will pull off something remarkable, and others, he'll fail disastrously. Whichever happens, most people assume he was just trying to show off…which is not too far off the mark. Even from a distance, and at first glance, it is apparent Damon is trying to stand out. He dyes his hair, which is always neatly styled, trims his eyebrows, wears coloured contacts, has several earrings, paints his nails when the mood strikes, and even uses makeup for most of his online content. He orders most of his clothing online, preferring a city chick style. He moves with grace and purpose, many of his movements carefully studied and deliberate even when they seem entirely casual. Yo'Bikur form: His hair was now longer, falling past his shoulders, and pitch black. Elongated, pointed ears peeked through. His canines were sharper, too. A pair of blood red horns curled from atop his forehead. His pupils were slit – like a cat's, or some snakes' – and his irises were so strange. There were all sorts of colours there. Each time he tilted his head or tried to take a closer look, they shifted. It took a few flashes of silver – the only consistent thing – for him to realize that they reflected the environmental hues. He went to brush through his thicker mane, but was stopped by two things. One. His fingernails were now matte black and clawed. (Same with his toes.) Two. There were these strange broken up lines on his (still pale) skin; spidery, thin, light gray – barely visible, but definitely there. Like cracks seeping through. ...Thankfully, none were on his face. Backstory: The single child of Ashton Howard, of the Howards. The Howards were one of the early pioneers to New Hope, and have stuck around ever since. They're responsible for the banking business, and other financial matters, and have often worked with or on the council. On the other hand, Damon's mother, Mirabel (née Blanchard) moved to this small, calming village when she was 23. She'd come due to her poor constitution, and the environment seemed to suit her well. She married Ashton when she was 25 (and he was 31), and they had Damon but a year later. While his mother was still alive, things were good. Damon went to school, had friends, and a decent family. Sure, there were conflicts between his two sets of grandparents, but since his maternal ones lived away, it was never that much of an issue. Mirabel, who worked as a private music teacher, taught her son the piano, and to sing. She encouraged all his interests (dancing, acting…), even if they were considered 'unusual' by many others. She took him out to her home city the few times that she could, and was the one to expand his horizons, as it were. But then, when he was 13, she died of a terminal illness at 39 years of age. That's when everything changed. Damon's father most especially. Ashton's parents renewed their criticisms for his having married some out-of-towner, and have been trying to push him towards a remarriage. Though he resisted that, for some (to Damon inexplicable) reason, he veered hard towards traditionalism; whereas he'd been previously more or less neutral, he now associated closely with the likes of Ezekiel the Elder. In turn, Ashton has been pressuring Damon, wanting him to stay in New Hope, and to take over the so-called family business. He's been far less supportive of him; in fact, it's almost as if the more time passes, the more he opposes all that his son wants, and does, and is. Damon feels that he has to fight for each and every inch of freedom – and that far too often, he is the one forced to make concessions. Notable Connection: Ashton Howard, Damon's father, banker (48). While Mirabel was still alive, Ashton was often too busy with his work to be there for him as much – but Damon remembers that he was affectionate both to him and his mother while at home, if subtly so. He was the silent support Damon hadn't quite realized had been there until he lost it. With his mother gone, his father has begun to more actively involve himself in his life – but in the form of trying to control it. Needless to say, it's a tense, strained relationship between father and son. Open to other connections too! Respond to these prompts in character: You're in class and the Fire Alarm goes off. Everyone begins to panic. "Panic? Me? Why would I panic? I know what to do. Just keep calm; act it, look it, and you'll feel it, too…And! And! 'Cause I so obviously know what I'm doing, it'd keep others calm, too, and we could all get out like we're supposed to." You've made plans to go to the festival and are running late, but may make it in time to see the fireworks with your friends. On your way, you see a stranger with a flat tire on the side of the road. "Yeah, sorry, but I don't wanna let down my friends or miss the fireworks...Oh, but, hm. Maybe if I gave them a hand, they'd give me a ride over? Win-win, right?" You fall asleep in class and begin to dream; you're atop a ruined tower and a massive dragon circles overhead. You reach for... "…Gold to give to the dragon, so it doesn't eat me in exchange?" The world is so boring; you wish you had a super power. What do you wish for? "Hmm…A way to get people to do what I liked? But maybe then it really would be too boring. Oh, what about staying young, good-looking, and healthy?" Then, he visibly became more somber than usual. "…If I had had a way to help my mother…That. That's what I'd pick." You are suddenly reminded that tomorrow is the Midterm Exam. Damon picked up his phone, and the following could be heard, his tone polite though his expression was clearly annoyed: "Yes?" "I know…thank you." "Of course, I studied." "Yes, father, I am ready." Blankly, he removed the phone from his ear and stared at the 'call ended' notification on it. "Goodbye to you, too," he snarked.</s> <|message|>Toby Springer Toby pondered the question for a bit, before pulling out her phone, attempting to call Audrey right then and there. She knew her cousin had the habit of wandering off, though, so it wouldn't be a surprise if she couldn't pick up... @Gisk</s> <|message|>Audrey Springer Audrey Springer --- Audrey chuckled at seeing the compass. "Making your own luck," she said, "Now that really is witchcraft." Dropping down to her haunches, she looked over the fungi and insects that were slowly, but diligently, returning the dead tree to the earth. She could appreciate it, in her own way, though she knew she understood it much less than Rowan did. Looking up at her friend, she asked, "Hey, do you know which of these shrooms could kill a guy?" Somehow, from her the question sounded off-handed, rather than off-putting. ~~~ As Audrey and Rowan conversed deep in The Weeping Sam, Toby's call went straight to voicemail. "Hey, it's Aud. If you don't leave a message, I'm not returning the call. Even if you do, no guarantees..." Beep</s> <|message|>Brown L. Cheeseman Brown unfurled himself from his berth, almost bashing his head on the low ceiling due to his focus being placed on porthole looking out to the streetside. His mother always said he was clumsier when he was growing, god forbid he was still growing. He stumbled out of the cabin onto the deck, still his mind wandering idly. He noticed Freyja, and another boy ehom he only vaguely recognised. He considered going up and asking if they needed help, but he didn't know them that well and wasn't sure if it would appear odd or not. He wished one of his friends was there, but nay, it was just him and his decision. Eventually he concluded that it might appear rude to wander off without offering, especially as he realise, since he had apparently been staring for some time now. He just hoped they had not noticed. He put on his shoes, an old ratty pair of trainers. He then timidly wandered down the lakeside towards the raft. The boy and Freyja seemed to have a good rapport, and Brown's self-consciousness was only exacerbated by the fact the well put together boy seemed far better dressed than Brown, in his worn jeans and battered flannel shirt. Yet he was to close to back out now for he had been noticed. He gave a polite, if noticeably timid smile. He only hoped she remembered who he was, seeing as they were only acquaintances, in his consideration, despite them having grown up together. He didn't know the boy's name, only having seen him in passing around town, though he was visibly wealthy. After what he believed to be the socially acceptable amount of time to smile at them for, bridging the awkward gap of distance between them noticing him and him being able to talk to them without shouting. He spoke out to them from the shore, "Hi Freyja, noticed you over here. I was j- just wondering if you needed a hand from someone with a little more height." He chuckled nervously, realising it sounded like he was bragging, and implying the other bloke was short. Which was very much not the case. Memory@psych0pomp</s>

<|message|>Damon Howard "And that's a wrap!" Carlos called out as he clapped. He was a sizeable middle-aged man at 6' feet. He had a beer belly going on, but there was definitely some muscle there too, especially in his arms. He had a warm Mediterranean complexion, and his thick dark brown hair had quite some grays in it already. There were laugh lines on his face which betrayed his friendly disposition. Carlos Linares often helped organize events like this. For the Summer Festival, he'd been overseeing a group of volunteers as they prepared to help out re-enact the sealing of the Chartreusean demons. Some villagers even believed it to be an actual resealing. And sure, Freyja would have the starring role in that. Each year, the Fontaines picked who the most appropriate person was, based on the alignment of the stars, and spiritual energies, and who knows what else. Though, credit where credit was due, when Damon had watched her practice, he'd thought she'd do very well. Today, Freyja was away helping build the ceremonial raft – also very symbolically important. But these past few weeks, she'd often been right here in the town's enclosed sport's hall, going through the ceremonial dance, and prepping for the real thing. The point was, even though she'd do the main part, there was still a very involved side-procession; first on the water in two-person boats to accompany the big raft, then on foot along the lake's shore and further inland. Damon might just be one among the several supports, and it was a small-scale production all in all, but he was pleased to be involved nonetheless. Proud too, though he didn't like admitting that one. As Carlos called an end to the day's rehearsal, the participants dispersed into smaller groups to chatter and clean up. Damon, who was the only one around his age there today, was mostly left alone. Honestly though, he was pretty damn tired, and didn't mind missing out on some socialization just then. His breathing was laboured, and he'd sweated a lot. His clothes clung to him, uncomfortably sticky. "Pheeew," the boy breathed out, and went to sit at one of the spectator benches. Off to the side, some refreshments had been set up, including bottles of water; blessed, precious water. He grabbed one, closed his eyes, and gulped down almost the whole half litre in one sitting. He'd drunk it so fast, he was forced to cough a bit at the end there. "Hola! You ok there?" Carlos came by, looking down on him kindly. Damon nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, and looked up at the older man with a tired smile. "So? We all pass?" He asked jokingly. "Si, si," the Spaniard nodded, good-natured. "And you! You did good. Muy bueno! Glad you're on the team," the man grinned, and reached out to ruffle his hair. The adolescent scrunching up his nose in faux discomfort, even though he secretly enjoyed and appreciated the gesture. Carlos chuckled and let him go. More people gathered at the refreshments, and Damon too picked a home-made oatmeal bar and some fruit to nibble at. After they were finished with the clean-up here, they'd all go up to the Shrine, to help sort out the various other props and start transporting them over to the lake.</s>

<|description|>Njal Ulrik Njal Ulrik The frontier is a roleplay with anthropomorphic animal characters. The cool thing about that is that they are just as human as you and me. They all have fears, flaws, weaknesses and things they fundamentally struggle with. In short, characters need to be imperfect, make mistakes, mess up and eventually pull themselves back together again. Character summary Aliases: Giant Age: 33 Birthday: November 12th Birth planet/birthplace: Planet Zovelar in the Noble region of the Arctic Province Species: Smilodon/Cave lion hybrid Gender: Male Role on the Dauntless: Other Appearance Height: 9'1" Weight: 267 lbs. Build: Muscular Eye color: Green Fur color: Grayish black Personal clothing style: He normally wears tan fitting cargo pants, along with a black tank top and black cargo boots with built in steel tips. He also wears a black belt pouch to carry old and rare coins and small gems to trade with. Psychology Sexual orientation: Straight Relationship status: N/A Personality: Njal is usually quiet and doesn't make much conversation with others, preferring to have moments of solitude to enjoy the peace and quiet when he chooses to, sometimes finding constant chattering voices annoying. He purposely makes himself act less intelligent to fool everyone into thinking he's not that smart, only hiding how manipulative and secretive he truly is. He will also lie and act friendly towards others if it benefits him in the long run, willing to pit friends or crew members against one another. Likes: * Fighting against strong enemies * Traveling through space * Making homemade bombs Dislikes: * Canine and primate anthropomorphics * Being caught by the law * Clients who try to cheat him out of a deal Flaws: * He is very overconfident in thinking no one will find out how manipulative he is * He will betray anyone for money * He refuses to use guns, preferring weapons that can crush an enemy History Background: Njal was born on the planet Zovelar, growing up in the Arctic province of the Noble region where it's cold all throughout the year. His father was a member of a large spacecraft carrier, dealing with some illegal cargo supplied by shady clientele in which he would be gone for nearly months at a time while his mother homeschooled him. Unfortunately, his father was soon laid off from his job when the Omni Core became involved with the shipping of illegal goods, forcing his family to leave Zovelar and search for a new place to call home. They moved to planet Terra, settling within Terra city, much to Njal's dislike, while his father desperately searched for a job that would pay enough to keep them afloat. During his time in Terra city, Njal had slowly learned how to con and haggle those that he knew were gullible and naive, making a small bit of money from them as he grew older, as well as making enemies and getting into frequent fights from those that despised his con artist nature. He broadened his horizons by stealing crates of drugs and small weapons from several stores and shops, selling them to whoever wanted to buy them for whatever price he could get them to pay, only to get caught many times from the law, being given multiple warnings since he was still considered a minor. Despite his father threatening to send him to Phobos and enlist him in the Omni Core Security Academy, Njal ignored the threats and continued in his drug and weapon money making from anyone he could, soon finding himself being introduced to an organization known as the Triads by a Triad member who had taken an interest in Njal's skills. Curious of the organization, Njal began to learn more and more about what the Triads were and what they did, becoming very interested in joining them to the point that he made up his mind to just do it, wanting to earn enough money to get away from his parents and Terra city for good, although he chose to wait until he was at least twenty to join the organization, performing the initiation rite on the night of his birthday, becoming a Triad member. From then on, he was able to find jobs as a cargo loader, due to his size and strength, with the help of the Triads to make sure certain cargo that contained very rare and lethal weapons, drugs, prostitute slaves and rare exotic animal species were delivered safely to whatever clients paid for them, along with making other clients disappear permanently if they caused trouble for him. On two occasions, he kept a large hammer from one client after killing him for trying to cheat him out of his payment, while receiving a dangerous creature known as a Krite in exchange for an extra crate of drugs. Unfortunately, he had been caught by Omni Core soldiers during one cargo run, finding out that it was an undercover operation to expose what he was doing and who he was working for. To avoid whatever punishment or execution they would give him, Njal got away by killing several soldiers and escaping on a stolen spacecraft, only to steal another spacecraft and ditch the one he stole to get away. To keep himself out of sight from Omni Core, Njal found a cargo loading job on a ship known as the Dauntless, feeling it was the best choice until the heat on him died down. Motivation: Trying to make a profit for himself while staying hidden from the law. Skills and talents Space travel: * Basic piloting skills to pilot his personal spacecraft * Average navigation skills to plot courses * Astrography skills of planets, star systems and nebulas Combat: * Self-taught hand-to-hand combat * Street fighting skills * Expert in wielding two-handed weapons, mainly hammers Utility: * Bomb making specialist * Street smart * Can lift up to 450-500 lbs Other: * Bilingual * Studies ancient civilization * Looking into DNA infusion Gear and possessions On person: * Two handed hammer * Metal wrist gauntlet to carry a few small tools for making bombs * Crew communicator * Personal communicator to keep in contact with clients and the Triads * Necklace with a round black onyx pendant that is secretly a video recorder * Adaptable full body exo suit In quarters/storage: * Change of clothes * Personal spacecraft manual * Textbook guide on repairing different spacecrafts * Worldwide book on bombs and how to make them * Compass given to him from his father when he was young * Caged pet Krite acquired from the black market Personal spacecraft Manufacturer and Type: Musk Industries FVU-85 FFS Seats: Pilot and co-pilot seating Max acceleration in space: N/A Max range in space: N/A Max speed in atmosphere: N/A Armament: None * * * * * * Extras Character quotes: "If the cash is there, I do not care." Theme song: Nightmare Anything else: Njal has a pet Krite, which is a small strange looking creature resembling a porcupine or hedgehog. It has a large rotund body, covered in a haze of black fur, having small limbs with three tiny claws on both hands and feet. It has a large mouth filled with multiple rows of sharp teeth that can deliver a crushing bite, which it uses to attack, allowing it to devour its victim down to the bone. Its nose is wide and flat, and it bears signature red cat-like eyes, which sometimes appear florescent from a distance. The Krite can roll into a ball like a hedgehog and roll off, climb and leap from one area to another, and can shoot poison quills that knock out its victims. In order to travel, the Krite can walk, but will commonly tuck into a ball (like a hedgehog) and roll. While rolling, it can gather enough momentum to 'launch' from a position and reach quite long distances. The Krite can behave mischievously, but has a vicious appetite that makes it deadly to handle and keep as a pet. It can navigate its way through ventilation ducts and can communicate with Njal through body language, as well as listen to commands given by Njal if he ever needs the Krite to perform specific tasks that he is unable to do, such as finding specific items or finding a way around locked doors in case he is trapped. Njal usually keeps the Krite in its cage, but will take it out so long as its internal microchip is fully functioning, in which the Krite is kept in a calm state of mind, allowing Njal to sometimes use it to help him take down enemies. The Krite has been known to reproduce eggs asexually, but was quickly made incapable of doing so due to the microchip which blocks the reproductive signals of the body to keep it from reproducing. May God help you all if that microchip ever stops functioning.</s> <|message|>Peppermint Karma Riddle "Oh, a diagnostic panel?" the Orangutan smiles bemusedly. "A... new one?" Where had the fox found a 'new' diagnostic panel for a ship over sixty years old? "Uh, was this like still crated in some warehouse?" Karma pressed, absently putting the cleaning cloth in the pocket of her coveralls as she went to sit down. "I bet someone was happy to finally get rid of it, not like there's a lot of demand for sixty-year old tech. In the yards, if we had to work on one, we just refurbished it because of all the...." "Wait!" she paused in the act of sitting down, looking over at the captain in a panic. "You want me to swap out a Constellion-class diagnostic panel before we leave?!" The panel in Engineering was two meters tall and wide! She was looking at two days work, at least! Unless.... "Captain, is this like a universal diagnostic panel?" Since nobody was making the old diagnostic panels anymore, someone had the bright idea of making these large computerized displays that ran an emulator that you just plugged in. And they were cheap. Well, cheap-ish.</s> <|message|>Evren Frost Evren noticed how Anxi giggled. He could not help it but found the little red panda had an attractive smile. However as captain, engaging in personal relationships with those who work under you was a no go. Or least rules against fraternization were something that was continually drilled into the fox at the Omnicore academy as such actions undermined unit cohesion, discipline and lead to commanding officers showing favoritism towards underlings. However he wasn't in Omnicore anymore and wasn't sure if such rules should still apply to his ship. This wasn't Omnicore and he would make damn sure that it would never turn into anything like them. Evren repressed such thoughts to the back of his mind as Karma had questions about the panel. The Orangutang looked rather startled by his suggestion to install the diagnostic panel before they would depart again. "It's an original one. As new as you can get these days. It belonged to the spareparts stock of a small shipping company that went bankrupt last year. They flew a small fleet of Constellions, mostly between the Frontier and the Rim but lost business to more efficient ships. Most was already sold but there was not much interest in the diagnostic panel. I guess those things will just keep working until you put a few bullets in them." For a moment he looked closely at Karma, wondering what part of the request had startled her. "You think there isn't enough time to replace it before we depart? Would extra hands help? Perhaps Njal can help out. Considering the size and weight of that thing his strength might come in handy." The fox took a bite of the food and noticed it was pretty tasty, not that his standards in food were particularly high. Anything that tasted better as his own cooking or field rations would get an easy pass. Luck's cooking was more than sufficient. However the droid also mentioned that his scheduled maintenance was coming up again. And with other required repairs and maintenance. Karma already had a lot on her plate."Hmm, perhaps doing the panel before departure is a bit much. Can we do it when flying, Karma?"</s> <|message|>Darien Ziplon Darien Ziplon Darien sat at one of the tables back to the mess hall doors because he had a modicum of trust on the ship. You can trust your shipmates, just as you trust your squad mates and company unit. If you can't trust the people you work with...well you're in the wrong unit. He noshed away at the food and listened to the banter. Pleasant news around. Anxi landed a way into Dock supplies by the sound if it, good on her. And a diagnostic panel had been found. And discussions were going on about if it could be installed. The bobcat scoops up the last dregs on his plate and is just sopping up the last bits with a piece of bread when his comunit beeps and shakes. The older fellow riches for it, stopping brief to wipe his hands, then grabbing the com unit up and thumbing it on. His eyes narrowed pupils slitting. "Whit th' hell? this is a auld contact." The bobcat read the message."Na wey, cannae be. This haes gotta be some kind o' peely-wally joke." He looked over at the captain "Sur let's nae celebrate yit, cause a dinnae ken if this is true or nae, bit someone fae back in mah alphabet days says thay hae a surplus auto doc unit that thay kin secure fur me. Thay wantae catch up wi` ower in th' heich hive district. Something lik' that cuid be a gift 'n' mair. " The old bobcat looked at Evren "If hee haw else ought tae gang ower 'n' titch base. If tis anither corpsman micht be able tae hampden roar some supplies if th' auto doc thing is a deid leid." He gave the young captain a smile, "Sound a'richt tae ye laddie?" The bobcat is already rising to his feet to put his plate and utensils into the washer. The man is military in thr end so permission from his CO would be nice. Just trying to be polite in the end. And yes respectful too.</s>

<|message|>Njal Ulrik Njal had paused in eating for just a moment when he heard the captain mention his name, briefly staring at Evren before shifting his gaze to Karma, not even realizing how much he was bending the utensil in his paw. This would end up being a huge problem for him to resolve. He had to sell that panel as soon as possible before Karma discovered it missing, that way if Evren were to have the crew search the Dauntless for it, the panel would no longer be in his room for the others to find and ultimately avoid being caught in the long run. Simple and easy, that's all it was. Bending his utensil back the way it was, Njal continued to eat the food remaining on his plate, forming a plan on what he would need to do once he was finished eating, hoping to execute his plan smoothly without any problems along the way. Although, with how shy and timid Karma already was, he could always intimidate her into keeping her mouth shut, a thought that he would keep on the back burner if it ever came to that. Hell, if it did ever come to that, threatening to make her disappear might keep her quiet for months. Back in his room, the Krite had finally succeeded in transporting every pill bottle to its cage, in which the creature was also in its cage to rest despite the little bit of space it had. The Krite would wait until Njal returned to the room, sleeping until then as it felt it deserved to get some rest for its hard work, staying rolled up in a ball as it slept.</s>

<|description|>Elio Abbelman "I hope you know what you're doing. Because I don't." Gender: Male Age: 20 Appearance: Short and scrawny, Elio looks a bit younger than his real age. His messy brown curls and faded clothes speak to his unfortunate circumstances, but his clear blue eyes shine with bright defiance. He doesn't have many sets of clothes in his beaten backpack, so his outfit coordination is sloppy at best. But he makes do with what he has. Personality: Sceptical | Withdrawn | Persistent Elio's youth belies a cynical sensibility, molded by his environment. He keeps his distance from others and treats things he doesn't understand with skepticism. The years have not yet blunted his optimism, but he has become more and more resigned to his circumstances in recent years. Nonetheless, the stubborness that comes with youth has not yet left him. It can be easy to think of the modern era as one no longer in need of magic. They had magic in a different form now, wondrous machines that did things their ancestors couldn't even dream of. But people never truly forgot their love of magic, the need of spirituality. In the age of religous freedom, when Christianity's tyrannical grasp finally loosened from peoples' lives, they were free to explore their spirituality in any way they chose. There were some who took advantage of this wondrous freedom, rekindling the ancient ways. They did what they could to stop these practices, pointing and rooting out cult after cult filled with arcane enthusiasts. But after years of chasing shadows, the general consensus was that these new beliefs were ultimately harmless. They were just chasing after the shadows of magic, rather than recreating it. Meditation, chakras, and energy were mere amusements in today's enlightened age. Flashy, insubstantial, and inexplicably popular. And when something so vacuous spreads its immense influence on the people, leeches would inevitably emerge. From the very moment of his birth, chaos followed Elio. His parents, poor by any measure, had spirited him away from the hospital he had been born in, in an effort to avoid adding a hefty hospital bill on top of their already sizeable debts. Their occupation was not a particularly prosperous one, but they were bound by their noble mission - to spread the word of the Chaos, to enrich the lives of others with their holy bible, that these lost lambs might find their fortunes by catching the winds of change in their sails. Missionaries, they called themselves. Scam artists, said everyone else. Elio spent most of his life in transit, moving from one state to another, hiding behind manufactured identity after manufactured identity. It was difficult making friends in such a volatile environment, doubly so when debt collectors were hot on their heels. Though, that only turned out to be part of the puzzle. Elio had no illusions about his parents' work, and though he wouldn't admit it, he had no small amount of hatred in his heart. Of them, of their circumstances, of many little things. But what could a child do? The wayward family would stay in hotels, hostels, caravan parks, camping; anywhere they could get shelter. Formal education was an imposible prospect, due to their lack of permanent address and eternally inadequate finances, so Elio's parents gave him what scraps of wisdom they could. Somehow or another, he got used to it. As he entered his teenage years he even began to enjoy it somewhat. Unfortunately, the good times had to end at some point. When the family settled in an area, they tried to stay as long as possible. They didn't want to leave if they didn't have to, but when debts came knocking, it wasn't much of a choice. But sometimes, with no warning signs at all, they would pick up their things and leave. And one day, in the smouldering remains of one of their temporary camps, Elio had learned why. Smoke choked the air as his tent burned around him, heat rising through the soles of his feet from the blasted crater he found himself standing on. Fire raged through his veins, and he came to a dreaded realisation - the things his parents had told him, what he and the wider believed to be false, was true. Magic was real. On seeing this, Elio's parents split from him, directing him to a certain place, supposedly a safehouse with some instructions. They said it would help him, and that splitting up would be safer. And before he could respond, they left. He journeyed to the safehouse, jumping at shadows all the while - there were too many things he didn't know. Somehow, a letter had arrived ahead of him, addressed to Elio by name. He found it very suspicious, but what choice did he have? He was on his own now. Somehow or another, Elio made it to the cabin. Perhaps it had been the skills he had picked up during his turbulent upbringing, or maybe it was his newly blossomed magical talent. Either way, he was here now, and he had no idea what to expect. He could only hope that they had food, water, and a place to sleep. What more could a vagrant ask for, after all? Equipment: Knife Trail mix Water flask Compass Old nokia (low battery) Leonardo Abbelman's Guide to Chaos Mastery, now available for only $10.99! Magic: Elio Abbelman wields the mighty power of the Chaos Flame, an unpredictable and fearsome power, as likely to burn the user as it would his enemies. Based on pyromancy, Elio can build the flame inside his body, direct it to his hands (or other limbs), and release it. As for what form it takes when it comes out, only god would know. Speed, size, shape, and power all change inconsistently from cast to cast. There are limits to this, of course, and the spell's firepower generally will not be much higher or lower than his 'average' output. Elio's attempts to control this phenomenon ended in failure, but through the guidance of his parents' booklet, he can sometimes predict the end result before it leaves his hand.</s> <|message|>Elio Abbelman Elio looked down. He did, in fact, have one foot on the grass. "Sorry." He muttered quietly. He wasn't really sure if she heard it or not. He wasn't sure if she'd really felt his foot either. Maybe she was just a weirdo - no shortage of those around here. At any rate, the people he was waiting for were here, presumeably. The brown haired teen stayed right where he was, next to the car that wasn't his, which was hiding his back from people he didn't know. He was on his guard, as always, and for some reason he was getting somewhat nervous. A bead of sweat rolled down his back as he studied the group. Was it just him or was it getting warmer? Maybe the sunlight was getting to him. Elio studied the people who came. He was pretty sure he'd seen the other guy on TV at some point, but the details eluded him. He watched a lot of TV (when he could watch one, anyway), but he mostly stuck to old action movies. He wasn't really sure where he came from, but it seemed to be right on the tip of his tongue, which bothered him immensely. In addition, his name was Leon, and that was close enough to his own name to make him annoyed. Elio quietly stared at him, as a grimace unknowingly formed on his face. The other 2 strangers made him wary, but this fashionable young man was even more dangerous. "I'm Elio." He said quickly. "Just Lio is fine, though." He couldn't let him get too far ahead.</s> <|message|>Cassandra Thompson {DELETED}</s> <|message|>Cassandra Thompson Cassandra had finally reached the area where the people she could only hope were not deranged psychopaths who lured people to this run-down manor to meet their demise. Much to her surprise, she stood corrected about her assumption when one introduced herself as Alora, but the introduction was cut short as the woman pointed towards the grass and asked her to get off of it. Oh sorry, wasn't even paying attention, She quickly stepped onto the gravel driveway while not forgetting to unintentionally crush a few blades underneath her foot. Hoping she wouldn't notice the involuntary clumsy disregard for the other blades of grass, Cassandra turned her attention toward the woman again She had to admit as far as first impressions went, she was a bit intimidated by Alora. She seemed to have a cold and aggressive demeanor about her. Her choice of clothing screamed rebel and her hairstyle was interesting, to say the least. The grass thing was a little strange, but if any of them were suffering from the same thing she was, strange was something to be expected. This was someone her father would hit the roof if he knew Cassandra was even remotely associated with, not that she was one to just write this girl off without a chance. Cassandra could not help but notice the woman before her was gazing at her. Uh, Name's Cassandra or cassie, whichever one you prefer, she stuck her hand in the air as a nervous quick gesture of greeting. Yeah, he said he had answers to what's been going on, but after seeing this dump, I'm kind of wondering if we've been lured here to be murdered. She look over the manor one more time before looking back to the rest of the group that had arrived. One had introduced himself as Leon. He looked familiar, but for the life of her, she could not put her finger on where she had seen him, television maybe? The other one who called himself Elio, well.....looked a little rough around the edges.</s> <|message|>RESERVED FOR SIDE CHARACTERS The Return of Magic:Act 1 - An Intro Scene three- The house beckons "Sorry, I didn't mean to actually damage nature. In any case, I did receive the same letter as you described. And my name's Leon. It's a pleasure." "Leon," Alora thought to herself, "that is not the name I thought I would hear." Alora truthfully did not expect to hear any name in particular, she however expected to get one that helped her figure out who he was. She gave the mystery man a simple nod in acknowledgement. "I'm Elio. Just Lio is fine, though." "Lio, it's a pleasure to meet you." "Uh, Name's Cassandra or cassie, whichever one you prefer. Yeah, he said he had answers to what's been going on, but after seeing this dump, I'm kind of wondering if we've been lured here to be murdered" Alora let out a laugh at Cassie's response. "Well, if they did want to murder us they chose an amazing place to do it," Alora paused as she took in the visage of the house, "the internet would love a murder mystery set in such a place." Alora looked over the group again person by person. "Besides, if someone did want to kill us it wouldn't make sense for them to bring us all together as I assume you all ha-" Alora paused as she realized the words he was about to say aloud to this group of strangers. "Oh, this is insane. This is the moment where I will realize just how crazy I am. Like who actually believes in magic?" As she became trapped in her thoughts her breathing once again became shallow and fast paced. Alora would not let herself be trapped in these thoughts for long, and she broke back to the present as she gulped in a deep breath and exhaled equally hard. Her eyes darted to the ground and shifted for a second until she saw a patch of nearly dead dandelions at her feet. "I assume you all have some form of magic," Alora said as she squatted down and placed her hand on the ground next to the dandelions. She took in a deep breath before she conjured forth her magic. In an instant the dandelions became more lifelike in both color and appearance. In an instant, the dandelion was brought to a bloom as the yellow flower erupted forth. "I can control plants, and nature, I guess? I can also feel what the plants feel hence why… your footsteps hurt." As Alora pulled her magic back she looked up from the ground and towards the group. "A month ago I developed it. Thought I was going crazy at first. One minute the world made more sense, you know? The next minute I can feel the gust of wind on each blade of grass and it's-" Alora exhaled as she focused her breathing once again, "so exhausting." "What about you all? What fun parlor tricks brought you here?" Behind her the house groaned as a strong wind blasted across it's broken visage. The wind would flow down and crash across the group bringing an icy chill with it. The group would feel the wind ebb and flow across the group reminding them that the seasons marched forward regardless of their new found discoveries. Something would feel off about this wind, and each remember of the group would feel an unnatural chill fall down their spine.</s>

<|message|>Elio Abbelman Elio felt the burn in his body. He considered letting it out, letting it breathe. It would be easy, effortless even. All he had to was let it flow, follow the channels, and project it out of his open palms... But he quickly crushed his desires into his fist. It had taken him some time to arrive at this mansion, and for a good portion of that, he had been walking. With nothing better to do, he had practised his new 'ability'. He wanted to know what it was, how it worked. He wanted to control it, so that he wouldn't burn anymore of his belongings. His progress was... disappointing. The chief issue was its frustrating inconsistency. Sometimes, things would go fine. He would think of a form for it, and it would come out more less like he wanted it too. As for every other time, well. Elio had mostly been travelling in the wilderness with no one around, and that had proven to be a wise decision. His parents' book had helped, or maybe it hadn't. Sometimes, before he released the energy, he could feel whether it would be good or bad for him. He still didn't know how it would end up, and it didn't work all the time, but sometimes he would have a bad feeling, and every time he released his magic with that bad feeling, bad things happened. A pretty clear and obvious association, but he couldn't help but be frustrated at the vagueness of it all. How much of it was because of the book, and how much of it was his own intuition? "Do you think this is the time for that?" Elio asked, turning his head to scan the surroundings. "It feels a bit... ominous around here." Ominous, that was a good word for it. Whether it was the chill wind blowing in, or the feeling of being watched from the windows, something felt off. He had a pretty good instinct about these kinds of things, but nothing looked out of place. Was it just him being nervous from meeting with strangers? Was it because his nerves had been worn down by the journey? Or could it have been some magical sense he had been newly awoken to? Whatever it was, he would probably only find out after it happened. That was how things usually ended up for Elio.</s>

<|description|>Cassandra Thompson "Don't sweat the small stuff" Gender: Female Age: 19 Appearance: Cassandra stands at about a stern five-foot-seven with a slender build. Not the tallest but what can she do, as for her style, it can best be described as down home. She wears what she feels is comfortable, and the colors she chooses are somewhat all over the place. Typically she can be seen wearing a blue crop top denim vest and a white shirt with the sleeves hanging on her arms. She wears ripped black skinny jeans and red high top sneakers, as for accessories, she wears a choker accompanied with a necklace and two black bracelets. Cassandra has long brown hair and keeps it in a messy ponytail further adding to her down homey look. Her most notable feature is the full sleeve tattoo on her left arm which glows when she casts spells. It's not the greatest style, but it's her's Personality: {Witty}{Affable}{easygoing} For the most part, Cassandra is easy to get along with. Growing up in the rural parts of the country, she brings that small town hospitality rural areas are known for......well most areas. Her motto is "you take care of me and I'll take care of you." She is the big sister to those who befriend her just like the one they never had. What's that, they're older? Tough, she is the big sister anyway, being the eldest of two children, has, she can't help it. She will be a shoulder to cry on, offer advice, and tease them when she feels they need it. Her wit is something to be admired as it goes hand in hand with er sarcasm. It is something saved for people she doesn't care for, people she cares for, people she doesn't know, pretty much everyone. The meaner the remark, the more the person she's directing it to will know how she feels about them. But not to worry it's very hard to get on her bad side. She is very easy to talk to and when she's not having a bad day,very easy to approach and her eye rolling dry sense of humor comes standard, dad jokes non negotiable. Beyond her more positive traits, she suffers from insecurities brought on by her powers. She is afraid of hurting someone she cares about or even people in general due to her lack of control over it. Having powers bestowed on anyone from a plane she never knew existed will do that to anyone. She gets frustrated when she can't control it and hates when people give attention to it. Expect her to snap and quickly apologize when she calms down. History: {Highschool graduate}{loving family}{runaway}{drummer} Cassandra was born in a small town in the Midwest. Her childhood was normal at best. She went to school, got good grades, and the latter. Her parents made a decent living being able to put food on the table and a roof over her head, get her into extracurricular activities and everything that could keep a kid out of trouble. It was not easy to get into trouble living in a small town where everyone knew everyone especiallywhen her father was the fire chief. She had everything a girl could need and then some....well almost everything. Being an only child was not all it was cracked up to be. All that would change in the the spring a week after her thirteenth birthday when she met her younger brother. It was the best late birthday gift she could ask for. As time went on, she would spend the remainder of her time in the small town she grew up in now with her little brother at her side. She entered high school during the fall where she would find her love for the drums, banging on things that always seemed to interest her. When summer hit, she graduated from highschool and began to prepare for college. Unfortunately, college was out of the question as misfortune would strike. about a month ago, she began to hear voices. At first they were quiet and she would hear the occasional whisper when she passed by someone. As days turned into weeks, the whispers began to grow into full on voices and got worse as time went on. she could not even be in crowds without hearing talking that wasn't her own and eventully could not be outside without having headphones on and blasting loud music to keep from hearing the whispers. she could not for the life of her figure out what was happening to her and would finally hit a breaking point when misfortune would strike again. It would strike in the form of what she could only describe as these insanely bizarre coincidences. The breaking point came in the form of an illusion she manifested in a public restroom that took the form of a soap dispenser. She could not believe what had happened and thought she was going insane. All of this put a damper on her psyche and she would barely leave the house for fear of something else happening. Her family even began to take notice and wanted to get her help and tried to send her to a mental institution. Before they could, she received a package with a postcard in the mail promising help, and rather than spend however long they planned to keep her, she would take her chances with the mysterious offer. She packed what she could carry, said goodbye to her brother, and fled under the dark of night. Equipment: -an extra pair of clothes -A picture of her family -headphone Magic: Cassandra's magic is more on the mental aspect of things. In most aspects, she would be classified as a psychic as her magic has to do with mental forces. She can use a wide variety of telepathic abilities from telepathic to illusions and more. At the moment, the most she can do is read minds and create illusions of small objects. Her magic is not under her complete control and can tend to get a bit out of hand when in use. reading people's thoughts all the time would wear on anyone's nerves. Not being able to turn it off is even worse, that being said, her telepathy only works on people a few feet away from her. She can't get any farther than that. Reading minds sounds fun in theory, but when you can't turn it off, well it tends to, in layman's terms....suck. She can only read the minds of conscious beings and non mindless entities such as robots, the undead, and the like. Her illusions are limited to small objects</s> <|message|>Cassandra Thompson {DELETED}</s> <|message|>Cassandra Thompson Cassandra had finally reached the area where the people she could only hope were not deranged psychopaths who lured people to this run-down manor to meet their demise. Much to her surprise, she stood corrected about her assumption when one introduced herself as Alora, but the introduction was cut short as the woman pointed towards the grass and asked her to get off of it. Oh sorry, wasn't even paying attention, She quickly stepped onto the gravel driveway while not forgetting to unintentionally crush a few blades underneath her foot. Hoping she wouldn't notice the involuntary clumsy disregard for the other blades of grass, Cassandra turned her attention toward the woman again She had to admit as far as first impressions went, she was a bit intimidated by Alora. She seemed to have a cold and aggressive demeanor about her. Her choice of clothing screamed rebel and her hairstyle was interesting, to say the least. The grass thing was a little strange, but if any of them were suffering from the same thing she was, strange was something to be expected. This was someone her father would hit the roof if he knew Cassandra was even remotely associated with, not that she was one to just write this girl off without a chance. Cassandra could not help but notice the woman before her was gazing at her. Uh, Name's Cassandra or cassie, whichever one you prefer, she stuck her hand in the air as a nervous quick gesture of greeting. Yeah, he said he had answers to what's been going on, but after seeing this dump, I'm kind of wondering if we've been lured here to be murdered. She look over the manor one more time before looking back to the rest of the group that had arrived. One had introduced himself as Leon. He looked familiar, but for the life of her, she could not put her finger on where she had seen him, television maybe? The other one who called himself Elio, well.....looked a little rough around the edges.</s> <|message|>RESERVED FOR SIDE CHARACTERS The Return of Magic:Act 1 - An Intro Scene three- The house beckons "Sorry, I didn't mean to actually damage nature. In any case, I did receive the same letter as you described. And my name's Leon. It's a pleasure." "Leon," Alora thought to herself, "that is not the name I thought I would hear." Alora truthfully did not expect to hear any name in particular, she however expected to get one that helped her figure out who he was. She gave the mystery man a simple nod in acknowledgement. "I'm Elio. Just Lio is fine, though." "Lio, it's a pleasure to meet you." "Uh, Name's Cassandra or cassie, whichever one you prefer. Yeah, he said he had answers to what's been going on, but after seeing this dump, I'm kind of wondering if we've been lured here to be murdered" Alora let out a laugh at Cassie's response. "Well, if they did want to murder us they chose an amazing place to do it," Alora paused as she took in the visage of the house, "the internet would love a murder mystery set in such a place." Alora looked over the group again person by person. "Besides, if someone did want to kill us it wouldn't make sense for them to bring us all together as I assume you all ha-" Alora paused as she realized the words he was about to say aloud to this group of strangers. "Oh, this is insane. This is the moment where I will realize just how crazy I am. Like who actually believes in magic?" As she became trapped in her thoughts her breathing once again became shallow and fast paced. Alora would not let herself be trapped in these thoughts for long, and she broke back to the present as she gulped in a deep breath and exhaled equally hard. Her eyes darted to the ground and shifted for a second until she saw a patch of nearly dead dandelions at her feet. "I assume you all have some form of magic," Alora said as she squatted down and placed her hand on the ground next to the dandelions. She took in a deep breath before she conjured forth her magic. In an instant the dandelions became more lifelike in both color and appearance. In an instant, the dandelion was brought to a bloom as the yellow flower erupted forth. "I can control plants, and nature, I guess? I can also feel what the plants feel hence why… your footsteps hurt." As Alora pulled her magic back she looked up from the ground and towards the group. "A month ago I developed it. Thought I was going crazy at first. One minute the world made more sense, you know? The next minute I can feel the gust of wind on each blade of grass and it's-" Alora exhaled as she focused her breathing once again, "so exhausting." "What about you all? What fun parlor tricks brought you here?" Behind her the house groaned as a strong wind blasted across it's broken visage. The wind would flow down and crash across the group bringing an icy chill with it. The group would feel the wind ebb and flow across the group reminding them that the seasons marched forward regardless of their new found discoveries. Something would feel off about this wind, and each remember of the group would feel an unnatural chill fall down their spine.</s> <|message|>Elio Abbelman Elio felt the burn in his body. He considered letting it out, letting it breathe. It would be easy, effortless even. All he had to was let it flow, follow the channels, and project it out of his open palms... But he quickly crushed his desires into his fist. It had taken him some time to arrive at this mansion, and for a good portion of that, he had been walking. With nothing better to do, he had practised his new 'ability'. He wanted to know what it was, how it worked. He wanted to control it, so that he wouldn't burn anymore of his belongings. His progress was... disappointing. The chief issue was its frustrating inconsistency. Sometimes, things would go fine. He would think of a form for it, and it would come out more less like he wanted it too. As for every other time, well. Elio had mostly been travelling in the wilderness with no one around, and that had proven to be a wise decision. His parents' book had helped, or maybe it hadn't. Sometimes, before he released the energy, he could feel whether it would be good or bad for him. He still didn't know how it would end up, and it didn't work all the time, but sometimes he would have a bad feeling, and every time he released his magic with that bad feeling, bad things happened. A pretty clear and obvious association, but he couldn't help but be frustrated at the vagueness of it all. How much of it was because of the book, and how much of it was his own intuition? "Do you think this is the time for that?" Elio asked, turning his head to scan the surroundings. "It feels a bit... ominous around here." Ominous, that was a good word for it. Whether it was the chill wind blowing in, or the feeling of being watched from the windows, something felt off. He had a pretty good instinct about these kinds of things, but nothing looked out of place. Was it just him being nervous from meeting with strangers? Was it because his nerves had been worn down by the journey? Or could it have been some magical sense he had been newly awoken to? Whatever it was, he would probably only find out after it happened. That was how things usually ended up for Elio.</s>

<|message|>Cassandra Thompson Alora let out a laugh at Cassie's response. "Well, if they did want to murder us they chose an amazing place to do it," Alora paused as she took in the visage of the house, "the internet would love a murder mystery set in such a place." Alora looked over the group again person by person. "Besides, if someone did want to kill us it wouldn't make sense for them to bring us all together as I assume you all ha-" The thought of being murdered and ending up as a footnote in someone's internet murder mystery was not exactly an appealing idea. Of course she knew Alora was joking......hopefully. "yeeaah, I'd rather not end up on the nine o clock news or the internet." Thoughts of being murdered aside, she had to reluctantly agree. If there was ever a perfect place to kill a group of people, this would be it. Moving on from the thought of her possible imminent demise, Cassandra Turned her attention to Alora who had mentioned something about the reason they were all here before seemingly being cut short before restarting her sentence. Showing the demonstration of her control over plants, she watched in awe as this girl who she met not two moments ago bring a dead flower back to life. "Y-you just." She had no words for what she had just seen, and did she mention something about magic? There was no way that's what was happening to her "d-did you say magic? There's no way that's what's going on." Is that the reason she had been hearing voices? To say she was shocked was an understatement, but before she could get lost in her thoughts, Alora had asked about their abilities. "Uh......I don't know about magic, but I've....been hearing voices....if that counts, I guess I can make fake images of stuff too." To hear it out loud was crazy, hearing voices, making images, who wouldn't write her off as a lunatic?</s>

<|description|>Maxima [link to halfway finished portrait cuz I think the image is too big] Maxima LA-02 Core Details Age: 18 Gender: Female Species: Android --- Who are you? Maxima, while having remarkably humanlike features, is clearly an android - her reinforced joints and chassis-embedded shield emitters betray that there's more to her than simply looks. Her attention-grabbing outfits and long, flowing hair show a bit of a diva streak, and anyone who converses with her would rest assured that she considers herself a performer above all else - whether that performance is in a firefight or on a stage. She brings a brash and competitive attitude to most things, and hates losing or admitting defeat. She's more likely to claim someone she admires as a rival than a friend - and would be loathe to admit otherwise, even if it actually was the case. Maxima considers weaponry beautiful, perhaps to a strange degree to those around her. During downtime she can be seen lovingly maintaining weapons (oftentimes not even her own weapons) in a way that she would never regard another person. Apart from being used to create a powerful overshield, her hardlight emitters can also be used to project accessories or effects around her in a short radius, which she often uses when showing off or performing. --- What do you bring to the table? Maxima is excellent at grabbing the attention of all. Her body is covered with hardlight shield emitters - miniaturized versions of the same kind used to armor starships and other heavy vehicles - that she can activate at will to project a powerful (and extremely bright) overshield. It offers excellent protection without any hinderances to her range of motion and mobility, letting her be both agile and sturdy at the same time - at the cost of being basically incapable of stealth. Maxima has an obsession with weaponry, and is an avid collector - especially for prototypes and rare productions. She considers herself nothing less than an expert in identification, repair, and maintenance of weapons - and has the eccentric arsenal to back it up. Of course, she is also well trained with several different items she uses - especially her one-of-a-kind personalized LMG built alongside her. With her armor and machine gun, she is ostensibly a vanguard fighter that is meant to be at the front of the fight, more likely to crash through a wall than find a clever way around it. She also is an excellent vocalist and dancer, capable of learning songs and choreography at an astounding rate. --- What's your problem? Maxima was the brainchild of a failing marketing branch of a megacorp, desperately searching for a "hail mary" idea to revitalize their brand. The idea: Create an idol unit of specially-designed combat androids that matched their flair for performance with their competency in battle; creating both a spectacle to draw attention to the brand as well as a designer product to sell. Eager to provide a prototype before their branch was downsized, many corners were cut with Maxima's design. With that, and rumored corporate meddling, sabotage, and power games, Maxima's AI ended up growing beyond the bounds of what anyone expected (or wanted). After a disastrous shareholder presentation, her project was scrapped and the branch completely liquidated. Maxima, being designed as a combat android, had no trouble breaking free and avoiding being liquidated herself. Wandering free, she found herself pursuing whatever whimsy she felt - and whether a part of her initial programming or a quirk developed after being set free, she soon found herself enamored by weaponry. After a string of high-profile musical burglaries, Maxima became the target of several different armed groups, all of which looking to regain the various weapons and relics she had pilfered as if she was the rightful owner all along. She joined the Guernica crew to "lay low," as much as she hated the concept. Maxima believes that she may have sister models, though she has no definitive proof. She insists that her designation as 02 means there was at least one before her, and the scientists developing her constantly mentioned a unit of four - though it could have meant anything at the time. With no trail left from the corporation's liquidation, there is little trace to go on. But that doesn't stop her from looking, attempting to form (or reform) the unit "GA-LA-TE-A" from which her designation LA comes from. --- Life in the crew Maxima is the self-proclaimed armorer of the Guernica, often taking any chance to clean, repair, and polish any weapon that isn't nailed down (and often some that are). She also is never one to shy away from putting on impromptu performances - to the joy or sorrow of her crewmates. Maxima is relatively new to the crew, only being aboard for less than a year.</s> <|message|>Echo - 'Devil' Kelan & Echo --- "I am insisting that this is a terrible idea," an electronic voice spoke from a hulking, mechanical exo-suit as it stomped down the halls of the Guernica, following the man known as Kelan. "It's a great idea!" Kelan insisted. It was so rare for things to get to this point. Normally they got away before anyone could begin boarding maneuvers. He proceeded to open a comm-channel to Kian. "Hey, boss. How much you reckon one o' these salvage ships would fetch on the used market?" "Excuse me," Echo spoke, joining in on the call. "Whatever idea Kelan is about to propose, please reject it summarily." Echo then stepped in front of Kelan to halt him. "The enemy ships may have relatively weak weapons, but this suit is not rated for them." "Sure it is!" "Correction. This suit is no longer rated for them." "Aw, relax. They'll never see us coming to begin with. 'Sides, their ships aren't rated for us either." Kelan once more opened the comms. "Just say the word and I'll bring us back a shiny, new toy. Well, less shiny when I'm through with it, but you get the idea." With that, Kelan ignored Echo's continued protests and cracked open the exo-suit so he could climb in. Now assuming control of the suit, Echo could no longer stop Kelan from heading to the nearest exit. He waited by the exit for Kian's response. Kelan could instead just clear the enemy off the hull, but then they'd know he was there and those little attack ships might actually just bullseye him if he tried anything too foolhardy. However, he wasn't the only warrior on board. He was confident the others could deal with the boarders while he went and... returned the favor. "Up to you, boss-man. Tell me where you want me," he said, his hand hovering over the door-control.</s> <|message|>Sohsa'no'wyaer "Sawyer" Halycon-Sub-Prime, 24th in line for High Emperor Sawyer hunched over the desk in their quarters, pince-nez glasses clinging to dear life on the end of their nose. On top of the flat surface sat their hololight pad. They waved their hand over it, flipping forward a few images. They then referenced something written on actual paper in a—what was it called—leather-bound book. They hated touching it. It felt disgusting under their digits. Every time they pressed down on the pages to flatten them, they gagged a bit. They swallowed down the bile in the back of their throat as they went back to hololight pad. They compared it to a glass-tech board that they'd hung on the wall. It was pretty much the equivalent of a space-age markerboard except it took their scribbles and turned it into legible words. It also translated it, if that needed to happen as well. They pulled out their pulsing multi-light pen and tapped the end until they got to a fluorescent purple. They stood and drew a line between two articles. "Well, Barty, touching that paper was worth it. I finally found a solid correlation between an old Imperial Law and the current ban on certain 'fair trade' music." The robot cat, despite being made entirely of metal, paused in the licking of her stomach to eye Sawyer. She let out a pixelated yowl before returning to bathing her non-existent fur. The lawyer didn't care, though. They instead turned back to the desk, took a seat again, and gingerly closed the book. It shut with a trembling grunt. "This thing is as old as Imperial rhetoric. One hard sneeze and it'll lose its shit." They chuckled at their joke, the scraping of Bartholomew's metal tongue on her metal body filled the room. It was about that time the ship shifted hard, and Sawyer fell face-first into their desk. The hololight pad shot off in a different direction, pinging against the wall and sliding across the floor. The glass-tech board was fine, having weathered Sawyer banging it across every archway to get it in their quarters. Bartholomew engaged her magnetic feet to stay in place like real cats did—Sawyer assumed. Most everything could be salvaged and rearranged, even the book. It slid off the table before thudding heavily on the ground. It was entirely intact. Sawyer exhaled, leaning down to grab it. Another twist of the ship, and it collided with Sawyer's face, erupting into thousands of sheets of loose leaf paper—covering them in that horrid sensation. Sawyer held back the vomit in their throat but knew it would be only a matter of time until their last dinner released itself from one of their stomachs. So, they bolted into the hallway, pages of the book coming after them like a trail of dust. They ran a hand over their shoulders and down their front, their long tail whipping to and fro, shaking the papers around with even more ferocity. They gritted their sharp teeth and oriented themselves toward the helm of the Guernica. Bartholomew trailed after them, having used her magnetic feet to scale the walls and follow them on the ceiling. They burst into the helm of the ship, not knowing if their pilot was there or not but not caring. If they were yelling at no one, they could just repeat it later. For now, they had to let something out. "I swear to the space dust and the moons abound that you cannot pilot this damn rust bucket." They threw their hands up, their perfectly tailored gold and black suit catching the light and scattering it around in a prismatic fashion. Why they were wearing that to research a case would baffle anyone. They looked more like they were about to attend a business meeting or a very corporate ball. "Are you driving it with your ass?" 𝙏𝘼𝙂(𝙎) @TGM (If Ellisia is there) 𝙇𝙊𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 The Helm</s>

<|message|>Maxima Synthetic fingers carried a finely polished leaf spring, gently guiding it home amidst a beautifully oiled piece of machinery. It was the last part to replace for the restoration of an old but still reliable pistol - Old enough to be more of a collector piece than actually used for its original purpose, but it could still get the job done, obviously. Until something rocked the ship, forcing Maxima's hand forward. The spring was bent from the force, and the finish marred by Maxima's armored nails. Her eyes narrowed in frustration. She gently set down the disassembled pistol, her expression the only thing betraying her anger. "Unforgivable." Maxima only grabbed two things from her room: Her beloved machine gun and a recent acquisition as a sidearm. Truth be told, the sidearm had no place being used by any normal person: It was designed as an attempt to have the power of a shotgun in the small package of a pistol... With catastrophic results in regard to human wrists. Needless to say, Maxima had wanted an excuse to use it, and scattering little holes in spacesuits seemed like a good use case. She wasted no time in directing herself to the nearest airlock. Maxima had a bit of a disdain for the vacuum of space - without sound, there was no music, and what was the point? She would simply have to captivate her audience through choreography, instead. Luckily for everyone else, she could still transmit her lovely voice through local communications channels. "There's never a bad time for a guerilla live show, right? Luckily you've-" Maxima shouldered her automatic rifle. "Got." She depressurized the airlock. "Me~!" She vaulted into the fray as she delivered her last line, her entire body glowing as her shield emitters projected a bright yellow shield of hard light. A textbook start to a performance: The arrival of the star. Perhaps literally, in this case, as Maxima was a glowing ball of yellow light peeking out from the hull of the ship - she could be mistaken for a sunrise, in her opinion. Maxima's eyes narrowed as she snapped her aim to the nearest pirate, her expression of cheer twisting somewhat with the sudden focus of aiming. Then, of course, the music started. To Maxima, it was music - Her machine gun was intimately linked to her, as a purpose-designed peripheral. If anything, it was just as much a part of her as a limb. Each time it fired, she received information from her link - weapon temperature, remaining ammo, trajectory estimations... It all came to her as a sixth sense. It was the gun's music - there was no other way she could manage to describe it. Perhaps the artistry was lost on the enemy she had in her sight: They of course could not hear the music, just feel the hail of bullets that rained upon them. After what they did to her most recent restoration project... That was the least they deserved. It was a simple fact that a star like Maxima would have pushy fans, but luckily she knew how to deal with them. She tracked to the next pirate, but kept aware of the others in case she needed to move. Her shields would likely hold against anything they had, but what was music without dance? She had an image to uphold. "The performance for these pushy fans who ruined my pistol restoration project is on! Any aboard the Guernica who want to watch the lights are welcome~!" Maxima kept this comm chatter to the crew only.</s>

<|description|>Miguel Trejo AGE: 38 WEAPON(s): Trench Knife, Crowbar BACKGROUND: Miguel had a pretty troubled childhood, living with his alcoholic father and drug addicted mother. Being abused mentally, psychically, and emotionally by his parents. Quickly finding comfort in his criminal friends. Soon committing various crimes that got him into juvie. But this didn't deter him from continuing his criminal life. Finding himself imprisoned for armed robbery, and assault with a deadly weapon. During his time in prison, he found god and tried to turn a new leaf. Being released from prison for good behaviour, he started his training in becoming a priest. Living in an apartment, the only memento of his family was his grandfather's trench knife. Miguel started a relationship with a woman named Janet Karris. Although this relationship soon ended because Miguel could not further his relationship with the woman. Miguel tried his best to help the sick and dying at the start of the disaster. Escaping from the hospital once the sick had overrun the building. Currently living his life by helping people as best he could. Teaching the lessons of the bible, to those who want salvation.</s> <|message|>Hazuki Ishiwata --- For a place once filled with laughter and joy, the boardwalk had been eerily silent throughout the morning. No screeching birds nor the moans of a walking corpse dared break the silence that befell the beachside properties. Were it any other day, Hazuki would've been unerved by the deafening quiet in the streets a few floors down from the apartments the group she was with had sheltered in. But now, she simply just appreciated the breather; to not hear the groans of the dead eager to rip her apart. Hazuki leaned against a balcony railing, watching the sun rise from the eastern coast beyond the boardwalk—something she rarely was able to do these days. A part of her yearned for a hot cup of coffee, but it seemed such a luxury had become hard to come by in the apocalypse. A shame, she thought. It would've added the perfect touch to her rare peaceful morning. Perhaps there was still some in the nearby hotel lobbies, or maybe somewhere in the businesses or offices they had yet to check for supplies. Staying energized when the dead are trying their damnedest to eat you was important, after all. BANG! BANG BANG! Seemingly on queue, however, the calm stillness suddenly broke, shattering her carefree sunrise dreams and shocking Hazuki back into real life. The thunderous sound of gunfire erupted throughout the beachside streets, only to be quickly followed by shouting and pained screams for help. Someone had foolishly riled up the dead from their slumber, and by the sound of it, was paying the price for their actions. "Please, stop..." Hazuki mumbled, begging the dead to stop their murderous rampage as she slid down against the balcony wall. She knew full well that her prayers would fall on the deaf ears of the dead, yet even then Hazuki yearned to not be a witness to another person being cannibalized by the undead. "Just stop..."</s> <|message|>Miguel Trejo Miguel Trejo Miguel was crouching and moving between the aisle of the grocery store. He was there to try and salvage some canned food. There was not a lot of fresh food that was being produced ever since the start of the infection. Although he had seen small communities that have been starting to farm produce and animal products. There were a few shamblers walking around the grocery store. So Miguel was keeping low towards the ground so he would not be spotted. Stopped at the canned food and soup aisle. Grabbing as many cans as he could and stuffed them into his backpack. His focus was broken when he heard a noise down the aisle. His head turned to his left to see a zombie at the end. It didn't seem to notice him initially, but it slowly started coming toward Miguel. Letting out a low rumbling groan from its mouth. Quickly stood up on his feet and started running towards the entrance. Not noticing the shambler that was standing a few feet from where he was running. He could feel it gripping his shoulder. He had to act quickly or he would get bitten. Using one hand to hold push the zombie away, while reaching for his trench knife. The zombie kept trying to bite him, but Miguel quickly stabbed the creature in the head with his knife. The undead fell to the side with a soft thud. Miguel pulled out the trench knife, looking saddened that he had taken another life. Even though they are undead and want to kill him, he felt no pleasure in killing them. Saying a quick prayer for the fallen person before heading out. The next location he plans on going to is the hardware store. He needed to pick up some more tools and weapons. There was more of the undead outside, so he would have to be careful when heading towards the hardware store. But Miguel was more than prepared for the hardships of the apocalypse.</s> <|message|>Issac bin Kamaal Issac bin Kamaal "Poor guy," Issac said out of pity for the dead body that was in front of him on a messy bed. This guy had a good setup, a room on the third floor of a hotel, and for the most part, the hotel was clear of undead. Lucky for this guy and Issac did notice what looked like a makeshift firepit with some bodies in it near the entrance to the hotel. Must have been this guy's work and a good feat to last this long. But unlucky for this man, as Issac can clearly see, what looked like a bite mark on the man's arm and a bullet hole in his head. He could not find a gun some he figured that he was with someone and they must have done it after the man got bitten. Or someone had already looted this place after the fact. It must have been some time ago since Issac could not find any sign of another person in this hotel, so they must have left a while ago. Either way, there might still be something here, even if he felt bad about looting fellow survivors. Even if they are dead but, he needs to survive, and maybe there is something here that these people missed or left behind. So Issac went about searching the room for anything of value, and after some time. He found something good, food. In the bottom of a box of opened cans, there were still two unopened cans, and Issac checked if they were still good, just in case. They were, so he put them in his backpack and continued his search. In the end, he found nothing else but some coffee packets. Whoever lived here or been here picked the place clean and apparently did not like coffee. At least they missed the two cans. So after one last search, Issac called it quits and went about leaving the hotel. He did not find much, but he did find something to keep the group going. Now Issac carefully made his way out of the hotel and to the city proper. Though the hotel was clear of undead, the city was not. Luck was both on and not on his side, especially for that dead man he found. Time to see if his second stop will bear fruit, and Issac went out into the city. He has lasted this long, and he is keen on keeping it that way. More so now, after finding this new group and time to see if this trip is worth it or not.</s>

<|message|>Miguel Trejo Miguel carefully made his way toward the hardware store a few blocks away. It was going to be quite a track to get there. And there was a change it would be overrun with zombies like with the grocery store. While travelling towards the hardware store he noticed a car driving in the other direction. He had quickly hidden behind some trees, not wanting to be seen. He had a few issues in the past couple of weeks when it came to other survivors. Most of them would rather spend time trying to kill him than work together. Although there have been times were he has met a good natured survivor. But really that was a rare occurrence. The priest was quite opportunistic despite the fact that most people he met were trying to kill him. The trip to the hardware store was quite uneventful, he always had to be careful travelling to and from somewhere. He did not want to be seen and chased by the undead. Entering through the back where trucks would unload the store's product. While moving from the lights and appliances, he made his way toward the tool aisle. But before he could do that he noticed some other survivors walking around. Or perhaps they could be shamblers. But they seemed ot notice him before Miguel could realize what was going on. "Hi boys, I found another one. Go get 'em." One of them yelled out which made the others run after him. Miguel started running from the tool aisle toward the paint aisle.</s>

<|description|>Issac bin Kamaal AGE: 23 WEAPON(s): Crowbar, Steak knife BACKGROUND: The son of Malaysian immigrants, Issac was always the child his parents did not expect. While they wanted their son to be well of and have a good job like a lawyer or doctor. Issac had other plans, for his interests did not in knowing laws or fixing people. But something he is good at cooking. A talent he discovered in his teens and developed a passion for. His parents were mixed about at first but slowly came around. However, it took some convincing on his part for years before they saw his talent. Things were looking good for Issac, and he managed to get into Drexel University in Pennsylvania. Doing well and earning some on-site experience and by the time he graduated. He was able to get a cooking job at a major restaurant. But before he would start there, Issac went on a much-needed vacation while visiting a friend in Virginia Beach and was relaxing when zombies appeared and caused the end of the world. Up up to a month ago, Issac survived with his friend until said friend got bitten while they were trapped by a horde. Knowing he would turn into a zombie, Issac's friend elected to stay behind and cause a distraction that while it would get him killed. He was already dead, and it would mean that Issac could escape. So after a final goodbye, the two partnered ways, and he tried not to hear his friend's final screams of pain as the zombies got to him. Now, on his own. Issac just tries to survive and is hoping to find a safe place to live in and maybe find someone that is not dead or hostile.</s> <|message|>Hazuki Ishiwata --- For a place once filled with laughter and joy, the boardwalk had been eerily silent throughout the morning. No screeching birds nor the moans of a walking corpse dared break the silence that befell the beachside properties. Were it any other day, Hazuki would've been unerved by the deafening quiet in the streets a few floors down from the apartments the group she was with had sheltered in. But now, she simply just appreciated the breather; to not hear the groans of the dead eager to rip her apart. Hazuki leaned against a balcony railing, watching the sun rise from the eastern coast beyond the boardwalk—something she rarely was able to do these days. A part of her yearned for a hot cup of coffee, but it seemed such a luxury had become hard to come by in the apocalypse. A shame, she thought. It would've added the perfect touch to her rare peaceful morning. Perhaps there was still some in the nearby hotel lobbies, or maybe somewhere in the businesses or offices they had yet to check for supplies. Staying energized when the dead are trying their damnedest to eat you was important, after all. BANG! BANG BANG! Seemingly on queue, however, the calm stillness suddenly broke, shattering her carefree sunrise dreams and shocking Hazuki back into real life. The thunderous sound of gunfire erupted throughout the beachside streets, only to be quickly followed by shouting and pained screams for help. Someone had foolishly riled up the dead from their slumber, and by the sound of it, was paying the price for their actions. "Please, stop..." Hazuki mumbled, begging the dead to stop their murderous rampage as she slid down against the balcony wall. She knew full well that her prayers would fall on the deaf ears of the dead, yet even then Hazuki yearned to not be a witness to another person being cannibalized by the undead. "Just stop..."</s> <|message|>Miguel Trejo Miguel Trejo Miguel was crouching and moving between the aisle of the grocery store. He was there to try and salvage some canned food. There was not a lot of fresh food that was being produced ever since the start of the infection. Although he had seen small communities that have been starting to farm produce and animal products. There were a few shamblers walking around the grocery store. So Miguel was keeping low towards the ground so he would not be spotted. Stopped at the canned food and soup aisle. Grabbing as many cans as he could and stuffed them into his backpack. His focus was broken when he heard a noise down the aisle. His head turned to his left to see a zombie at the end. It didn't seem to notice him initially, but it slowly started coming toward Miguel. Letting out a low rumbling groan from its mouth. Quickly stood up on his feet and started running towards the entrance. Not noticing the shambler that was standing a few feet from where he was running. He could feel it gripping his shoulder. He had to act quickly or he would get bitten. Using one hand to hold push the zombie away, while reaching for his trench knife. The zombie kept trying to bite him, but Miguel quickly stabbed the creature in the head with his knife. The undead fell to the side with a soft thud. Miguel pulled out the trench knife, looking saddened that he had taken another life. Even though they are undead and want to kill him, he felt no pleasure in killing them. Saying a quick prayer for the fallen person before heading out. The next location he plans on going to is the hardware store. He needed to pick up some more tools and weapons. There was more of the undead outside, so he would have to be careful when heading towards the hardware store. But Miguel was more than prepared for the hardships of the apocalypse.</s>

<|message|>Issac bin Kamaal "Poor guy," Issac said out of pity for the dead body that was in front of him on a messy bed. This guy had a good setup, a room on the third floor of a hotel, and for the most part, the hotel was clear of undead. Lucky for this guy and Issac did notice what looked like a makeshift firepit with some bodies in it near the entrance to the hotel. Must have been this guy's work and a good feat to last this long. But unlucky for this man, as Issac can clearly see, what looked like a bite mark on the man's arm and a bullet hole in his head. He could not find a gun some he figured that he was with someone and they must have done it after the man got bitten. Or someone had already looted this place after the fact. It must have been some time ago since Issac could not find any sign of another person in this hotel, so they must have left a while ago. Either way, there might still be something here, even if he felt bad about looting fellow survivors. Even if they are dead but, he needs to survive, and maybe there is something here that these people missed or left behind. So Issac went about searching the room for anything of value, and after some time. He found something good, food. In the bottom of a box of opened cans, there were still two unopened cans, and Issac checked if they were still good, just in case. They were, so he put them in his backpack and continued his search. In the end, he found nothing else but some coffee packets. Whoever lived here or been here picked the place clean and apparently did not like coffee. At least they missed the two cans. So after one last search, Issac called it quits and went about leaving the hotel. He did not find much, but he did find something to keep the group going. Now Issac carefully made his way out of the hotel and to the city proper. Though the hotel was clear of undead, the city was not. Luck was both on and not on his side, especially for that dead man he found. Time to see if his second stop will bear fruit, and Issac went out into the city. He has lasted this long, and he is keen on keeping it that way. More so now, after finding this new group and time to see if this trip is worth it or not.</s>

<|description|>Arabella Snow Nickname(s): Ara, Bella/Bell(by family mostly), Snow Age: 30 Appearance/Face Claim: Katheryn Winnick Personality: Doesn't care much for monsters, somewhat enjoys hunting, can be sarcastic, loves music and singing, loyal to those she gets close to. Tattoos/Scars: Anti-possession symbol in white ink on her left wrist. A small heart composed of the bass clef and the treble clef tattoo in black ink on her right wrist. Various small scars over her body. Sexuality: Straight and single Bio: Arabella was born into a family of hunters. They always claimed that it was their one and only job, and that if they didn't keep the innocent safe from the things that went bump in the night, no one would. Later in life, she was taught how to be a hunter, how to take care of the monsters, and found out it was more than just her family that hunted these monsters. It came to the point where she wanted nothing to do with the hunter's life. She found it unfair that she was forced into the hunter's life, and wanted to live her life her own way. As time went on, she found it harder and harder to stay away from what went bump in the night. It was as if that life was drawn to her. No matter where she went to get away from it all, she'd run into a monster or ghost that needed to be dealt with. She'd also get calls from family, especially her uncle, to come and help them on some cases. So, after a while, she gave up on running from the life and fully embraced it. Especially after saving a woman and her two young children from a small nest of Vampires on her own. After that, she saw the life in a different light, and caused her to put her heart into each and every case she came across. Now, she has caught wind of a new case and has gone to investigate. She's about to come in contact with more than just the creature she's hunting. Acquaintances: Bobby Singer, Garth Fitzgerald Weapons: An assortment of firearms and blades. She always has a lighter on hand and plenty of bullets, salt, and lighter fluid. Vehicle: A black and dark purple 2016 Harley-Davidson Softail Deluxe or a dark purple, almost black, 1969 Chevrolet Camaro SS</s> <|message|>Arabella Snow Using her bo staff for support, Arabella took to her feet now that she had the opportunity to. Once on her feet, she rubbed her sore neck as she looked over at the steps as Harper called over to her. "Don't worry about me. I have things covered down here." she called to her in a raspy voice. As soon as Harper disappeared up the stairs, Catherine and Rayden appeared just feet in front of her, Arabella smirked as she stared them down. "Bring it on, Caspers." she taunted. Lifting her staff from the floor, she spun it over her head, then brought it around behind her as she took a fighting stance. Holding out her other arm, palm up, she closed and opened her fingers to get the ghosts to attack her. "You and your friend won't be leaving her alive tonight!" Rayden yelled as he and Catherine attacked in unison. Arabella's smirk grew as she moved from her spot, in almost a dance-like manner, and brought her staff down on both ghosts. "We'll see about that!" she called out. She hoped that she could keep these two distracted to give Harper enough time to locate the items to salt and burn them. Arabella continued to move around the room, fighting off the ghosts with her bo staff with the help of the distorted ghosts, which were beginning to look like a female in their early to mid-teens. As she moved around the room fighting, she was also looking for her gun that had been knocked from her hands, she finally found it and tucked it into her pocket after picking it up. Things were going smoothly until Catherine and Rayden grew enraged and they both went invisible. They double-teamed her and slammed her into a wall, causing her to lose her grip on the staff, then they picked her up and threw her into the stairs with such force they broke under her weight. "Dammit to hell!" she groaned, struggling to get up. Before she could even make it onto her knees, she was lifted into the air by her neck. She lifted her hands to her neck, trying to pry the invisible hands from it. Rayden's face materialized in front of her face with a wicked grin. "We're going to rip you apart!" he laughed in her face. Catherine then materialized just as she took hold of Arabella's arm and began to pull. Before she could even get out a scream of pain, the distorted ghost came to her rescue once again. She attacked Catherine, who cried out as she was held back. That still left Arabella with Rayden squeezing her neck and fighting for air once again. What's taking her so long? she thought to herself. Seconds later, the boy in the corner disappeared in an all too familiar way. Harper had found the cases and was burning the items. She found them. she thought in relief. A few more seconds passed and Catherine went with a scream. Enraged, Rayden squeezed Arabella's throat even tighter, cutting off all her air, and causing her to struggle in his grip. The distorted ghost came to her rescue, hitting Rayden just before Arabella lost consciousness. She fell into the rubble of the broken stairs, coughing and gasping for air. "I'll kill her before she has a chance to burn my things! I'm not leaving this place!" he yelled and disappeared. Struggling to her feet, Arabella grabbed her things, jumped over the broken steps, ran up the rest, and bolted through the door to meet up with Harper. Before she could reach the room, she heard a crash and an exchange of words between the blonde huntress and Rayden. Just as she entered the room, she saw Rayden going up in flames. She'd done it. Arabella dropped her bag and leaned against the doorframe, looking into the room at the smashed cases and burning items. "I see you found them. Are you alright?" she said, bringing a hand up to her sore neck. It was then the last ghost of the place showed up, she looked at both women, the distortion fading from her appearance to reveal a young girl about the age of sixteen. "Thank you for setting them free. I know it wasn't an easy task." she spoke kindly. "If you could do one more thing before leaving, I would be very grateful." Arabella looked from the ghost to Harper, then back. "And what is that?" she asked her. The young ghost smiled kindly to Arabella and turned to fully face her. "Set me free as well. I've only stayed to try and keep the others from harming the people here." she told her. She then turned and walked over to one of the glass cases, looked within it for a moment, and back to Arabella. "These are my things. Please help me move on." she pleaded. Arabella nodded, then retrieved her salt from her bag and walked over to the case, opposite the ghost. Using her staff, she broke the glass and poured salt over the items after popping the top of the container. After pulling her lighter from her pocket she looked back at the ghost. "Thank you for helping us down there." Arabella said kindly. The ghost smiled warmly in return. Flipping open her lighter, she lit it and set the items on fire, looking up to watch the ghost go with a pleasant smile on her face and hear a "Thank you." from her. With a sigh, Arabella walked back over to her bag and put her salt back in it. "Man, this one turned out to be a tough one." she said as she zipped up her bag. Turning back to Harper, she leaned against the doorframe again. "Thanks for your help on this. I know you couldn't have been happy about another hunter showing up on your case."</s> <|message|>Harper Olsen Catching her breath from finally sending the ghosts back to wherever they were destined to be going made Harper feel glad that it was finally over. This was one of those cases that made her feel like it did not need to be this chaotic, but yet it became as such anyway. She didn't even realise that Arabella had made her way upstairs and was leaning in the doorway until her spoke broke the now silence that rang through the room. "Yeah, I'm fine. Worn out but alright" she replied, not even noticing at first the glass shard that was stuck in her right side just above her hip. She was about to place her hands on her hips when the last ghost of the building decided to show up, putting Harper on edge, however it seemed this ghost didn't want to fight, instead wanted to be set free. She kept back as Arabella took over in doing the last one. The fact that this last girl was actually thankful and had done all she could to have helped them and even thanked them for freeing this establishment from the negative energies. With the last spirit taken care of, she gave a nod to Arabella's words. "Likewise, I'm not exactly much of a team player in this business but I gotta say, this night proved it needed to be a two hunter job. It's certainly been one hell of a night that's for sure." she replied seeing the woman lean against the wall. Harper leaned against one of the few glass cases that hadn't been smashed before whelping ever so slightly in a hiss making her look down at her sides. "well shit...." she complained in a huff. "Guess I'll be sorting that out back at the motel" she commented seeing the blood seep into her t-shirt a little and the shard of glass just poking out. Her reaction was one of more annoyance at the now ripped shirt than it was for having glass sticking out of her body. She was used to getting unnatural things lodged into her, but she hadn't long gotten this shirt and now it was already distressed. "I'm staying at The Golding, where you staying at?" she asked her finally as she grabbed her lighter now that the flames had died off.</s>

<|message|>Arabella Snow Arabella gave a slight smile to Harper's response to her words. She had to agree that this case had turned out to be a two-hunter job. Which was a surprise to her. She never thought a case involving a few ghosts would have required two people to get the job done. But being in this line of work for as long as she had, she should have known it was bound to happen. Then again, who could have prepared themselves for ghosts being such a pain in the ass like these? She watched Harper lean against one of the unbroken display cases, her attention being perked as she heard the woman hiss in pain. Her eyes followed Harper's to her side to the shard of glass poking through her shirt. With how much the two of them were thrown around, it wasn't a surprise that one of them would have something lodged into their bodies from it. Arabella almost laughed at how annoyed Harper seemed to be over it. Must be a new shirt. she thought to herself. Her eyes came back up to Harper's face at her question and she gave a light laugh as she brushed some hair from her face. "You know, for the first time in a while, I didn't stop to get a room before coming here. After going through the tour earlier, I ended up going and camping out at the park and going over everything I had gathered." she admitted. "But I had thought about staying at The Golding after the ghosts were taken care of." It was true, she had completely forgotten to go and reserve a room before doing anything involving the case they had just taken care of. This wasn't like her in the slightest, but she also hadn't wanted to lock herself in a room and pour herself over her research while she waited. She had needed the fresh air even if she had arrived on her motorcycle. "If you need help with that, or making sure you don't have any more glass in you. I could lend a hand." she offered. She then tucked her lighter back into her jacket pocket as she looked over at Harper. She then looked around at the mess in the room they were in, it wasn't too bad, mostly glass, which made it look like a robbery happened. She knew the basement looked far worse than this room did, thanks to her being thrown around like a ragdoll by Rayden and Catherine. Arabella began to wonder if it was even worth it to even try to clean up after everything. She took a deep breath to sigh and instantly regretted it, as pain shot through her right side, causing her to wince. Looking down, she moved her jacket to the side and saw a good-sized piece of wood protruding through her shirt. Walking over to a mirror that was in the room, she turned sideways to get a better look to see just how bad it was. The shard of wood had gone through the back of her jacket, pinning it to her body. She reached around and felt around, feeling some of it protruding from her jacket. "Damn….. Looks like those stairs had some bite after all." she complained. "This is my favorite jacket too. At least it feels like it's not life-threatening." she added mostly to herself. She then turned back to Harper as she let her jacket fall back into place. "Looks like we'll both have something to take care of when we get to the motel." she laughed softly.</s>

<|description|>Neve Shadesbough "Your hurts are mine to burden." GENERAL INFORMATION Age: 25 Gender: Female Race: Sollan Origin: Cascona Landing, Drana Asnaeu COMBAT INFORMATION Class: White Mage Weapon: Staff Inventory: Potions [x3] - a set of three small potion flasks. Ethers [x4] - a set of four small flasks of ether. Herb Pouch - a leather pouch filled to the brim with different types of medicinal herbs. Rations - composed of dried fruit and meats. Water Skin - a rather large water skin that hangs on the outside of her satchel. Knife - a simple gardening tool meant to cut stems and peel strips of bark from tree trunks. Materia: None. Limit Breaks: Healing Wind - Neve's prayers restore a significant amount of health and mana to all of her nearby allies. PERSONAL INFORMATION Appearance Details: Standing at 5'6" and weighing in at about 125 lbs, Neve keeps her blonde hair down, where it reaches just below her shoulder blades. She has fair skin that has been slightly tanned by the sun due to her many years of travel and studying in the outdoors. Her eyes are sky-blue and always alight with wonder and curiosity. Not seen in the picture above are her traditional white mage garbs that she wears at all times. Personality: A timid creature, Neve is the type of person to think far too much and say far too little. It's almost as if she's afraid to say the wrong thing or draw someone's ire and frustrations towards her. She despises being the center of attention and would rather avoid large crowds, lest her nerves get the best of her. It is within these environments that Never tends to wilt. Luckily for her, she has come up with an effective (yet somewhat counterintuitive) coping mechanism-- which is to shadow another individual for as long as she needs to or for however long they tolerate her presence. It doesn't matter if they speak to her or decide to ignore her overall; she's more than happy as long as they let her stick around. Despite her nervous tendencies, Neve is quite friendly, cheery, and widely accepting of others. She enjoys spending time with people she knows well and loves listening to tales of faraway lands. Those who are accustomed to her habits state that she's far too friendly, rather oblivious and gullible, and overly patient. Neve dislikes internal conflict and would much rather take the blame for any short-comings than stand up for herself. Though, if there's anything that Neve can't stand, it's injustice-- she is much more likely to stand up for someone else. It is then that one might notice a spark of fire beneath her all-too-placid waters. Biography: The youngest child of the Shadesboughs lived a rather uneventful youth upon the banks of Cascona Landing. Her parents were prominent fishers, and they were quick to impart their skills unto their children. For the most part, they lived in peace and tranquility. There were times where her three brothers squabbled and fought, or when her two sisters bickered over a first choice in men-- but even then, such moments were short-lived and were quickly forgotten about the next morning. The voices started to whisper to her when she was 12. At times, tainted aether would bloom between the forests' groves, and she was the only one who could feel the land squirm with pain. Other times, though much more rarely, something would whisper to her from the depths of the wood. When she told her parents, they quickly grew concerned and asked for the Grovemasters to visit Cascona Landing in order to properly observe her. They hardly spent much time with her before they discovered her supernatural capabilities-- and they told them she would have to depart to Brightlam to engage in her studies, for the good of Ibros. Her parents had little choice but to comply with their demands. Neve spent the next twelve years under the Grovemasters' tutelage. They taught her the ways of a white mage, and over time she learned how to listen to the earth for advice and grant it succor when it suffered. She became an expert in tending to the severely ill and wounded, both by using white magic and the herbs found in Drana Asneau. Neve even traveled into the outskirts of Osprey and Edren in a search for people to aid. Over the years, she became an icon in the eyes of the people of Drana Asneau-- one of the only prominent white mages to ever exist in the history of Ibros. Yet, at the end of the day, she missed her family... and despite her pleas for permission to visit them, the Grovemasters were wont to keep her in Brightlam, stating that there was no time for her to take self-indulgent trips to the west. Then the Blight's onslaught of the continent ensued and Leonhardt's request for aid in defending the continent reached the ears of the Grovemasters. Since they could not leave the wood, they opted to send Neve instead. Her service to the continent was of utmost importance, they claimed, and her duty as a white mage demanded that she go and answer Leonhardt's calls. Reluctantly, Neve left the country and set off to Balmung post-haste. What awaited for her there, she wondered. Traits: - Neve enjoys fishing and knows a great deal about fish in particular. - Dislikes being under an open sky for long-- it makes her feel exposed. - Enjoys humming and singing, though usually does it when she's alone or feeling lonely. - Has a bad habit of staring at people she finds interesting for too long. - Talks to herself often, especially in her sleep. Relationships: To be expanded upon in the future. Shadesboughs - her rather large family living in Cascona Landing. They are composed of her father, Sven Shadesbough [58]; her mother, Mya Shadesbough [52]; her brothers, Thorpe [32], Ansel [27], and Jovan [31]; and her sisters, Leyla [31] and Luna [28]. Grovemasters - though Neve spent most of her life under the command of the Grovemasters, she doesn't talk about them at all. She cares deeply for them, though has come to somewhat disdain them for keeping her away from her family for so long.</s> <|message|>Arton Yule Location: Balmung Castle | Castle GroundsMentions: N/A --- Arton quickly turned to Neve while Galahad spoke, desperately trying to maintain his composure in the face of the growing chaos "Neve, let's see if anyone could you use your help. I'll make sure you don't get..." His gaze briefly flicked to the stand-off "...interrupted.". He placed a hand on her shoulder from behind with a gentle push in case the situation had made her freeze up. If a brawl was to break out, it'd be bad if the healer of their group got caught up in it. At this point, he doubt throwing his own voice and weight around would do any good. It had astonished him how quickly Ranbu had jumped to the aid of Neve. Her methods might have been questionable but there was no denying her instincts and reactions were beyond words. Truth be told, if she hadn't moved first then Arton would have placed himself between Neve and the aggressive man. He didn't agree taking it to the degree she did, but he also respected the quick decision to defend a comrade. It was more of surprise that Zeidgram decided to join her in escalation, going so far as to strike one of the Skaellans and confirmed one of his theories about the man. "I'm sure Galahad can smooth things over...I mean, I hope so." Arton tried to reassure Neve, but he was quite uncertain himself what was about to unfold. It was a chance, perhaps subconsciously, to distance himself from his countrymen. He never felt at ease with them "So, I'm not too bad at first-aid if you need me to help." Arton tried to offer. He was hesitant to help Galahad mediate the situation, not due to his incapability to do so but for the backlash it might incite. He was the humble, stalwart swordsman Arton and that was he had to be.</s> <|message|>Aelphis Vres-Lii Balmung Castle - Courtyard Catching Up --- Specific Mentions: So... much... running... Aelphis had paused for a bit in the middle of the hallway, resting a hand on the wall as he leaned over to recuperate. Gods, if he had to do this much running on the field, he'd probably be dead before he even had a lick of that Gil! Aelphis was regretting not investing into any materia that would increase his physique in any way. That would have been better than the one he was shackled with. Procuring the green orb in his sleeve, Aelphis actually wondered for a bit about its uses. Really, all he used it for was for pest removal, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that toads are pretty fast and light. Maybe turning into one would help him catch up with the rest! Speaking of the rest, Aelphis began to take in his surroundings, specifically the bodies littered around the hallways he was in. Truthfully, the dead never really bothered Aelphis in the past. After all, one of his earliest lessons in alchemy and magic involved processing carcasses to their base materials. What made the Faye a bit on-edge, however, was the fact that he recognized some of these bodies. For instance, the Sollan Vagrant he was leaning over! Wait a minute. That guy spilled wine on Aelphis's shoes when they were making their way to their sleeping quarters. Aelphis gave his body a firm kick to the ribs, flinching backwards at the pain of kicking solid steel. Right, he was wearing a breastplate. Well, between his bruised foot and his aching legs, there was no way Aelphis would catch up to the others in his condition! So instead, he would test his thesis out, procuring the green orb. Thank the Skaelans for their innovation! Thankfully, he didn't even need to come up with some magical mumbo-jumbo like he does with his spells! All he needed to do was focus on the aether held within the orb and... Poof With a puff of purple smoke, Aelphis's very form would change into that of a... toad. Nothing special or fancy, just a toad. On one hand, the shock of your body shifting into something smaller and slimier had induced the Faye into a bit of minor shock, but on the other hand, his feet were in less pain! Well, time to hop on over to the rest! ... By the time Aelphis had reached the courtyard, a few people already had their weapons drawn on each other. At first, Aelphis thought more Valheimans were about, and prepared to recite (think very hard on) the incantations needed to turn back to his natural form. It was only after he realized that it was his team against those from the other group that he second-guessed that decision. Were they fighting each other already? And is that their boss over there? Things are looking pretty tense... ... and Aelphis has decided he is not having none of it, today. Instead of making his grand appearance, he would instead hop back into the hallway he was walking from and shift back, peeking over to see what would come about from this encounter.</s>

<|message|>Neve Shadesbough MENTIONS: Everyone Things escalated far too quickly for her liking. Neve's eyes widened when Izayoi shot forward in the blink of an eye. Before she knew it, the swordswoman held her blade flush against the flesh of a Unicorn's throat. The sight of his face, which quivered in fear, was enough to further sour the taste in her throat. Just when she thought that things couldn't get any worse, they did. An eccentric red-head had approached Izayoi and threatened her with her gunblade. Zeidgram had smashed the tall blonde man in the face, and the other had doubled over in pain as crimson gushed from his nose. By the time he recuperated from the blow, the red mage had the tip of his blade pointed towards his genitals. The man scowled up at him, ruby-red blood dribbling down his chin as he released a slew of curses up at him before his guttural voice hardened into decipherable words. "How dare you strike me? Don't you know who I am?" At this point in time, Neve didn't care about who he was or wasn't. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. Thank Etro Galahad was able to deescalate the situation at hand. She didn't want to know what would have happened next. And, judging from the dangerous glint in the Unicorns' eyes, she was sure they made more than one enemy that night. She nodded at Arton's suggestion. He was another of their number that appeared to be the most calm-headed. Either way, it was best if they moved on. Just as she went to lead the way back into the castle, she eyed the viera male approaching the gathering of knights. A hard lump formed in her throat as she witnessed Leonhart's face scrunch up for a split moment, then grow relaxed once more as he dipped his head toward the frustrated man. Her ears strained for the king's words. "It appears that a number of Valheimian soldiers infiltrated the castle under the guise of wishing to give aid… though I do understand your concerns, fair viera. Know that this is the first time in many years that our foe has been spotted so far inland and the very first instance in which they have attacked the castle. I will take note of their sudden boldness and adjust accordingly– but for now, I thank you for your aid in neutralizing our foes. You have shown me your prowess and talent, and now I am more than certain that I made the correct choice in recruiting you for aid." He stepped out from betwixt his knights as he turned his gaze back towards the rest of them. "I must ask you to not fight amongst one another. I'm afraid that, if more blood is spilled tonight, I will not hesitate in sending my knights to smooth over any transgressions." His features brightened slightly as he turned to Galahad. "It's in everyone's best interest to listen to my dear cousin. I have placed my trust in him many times before. "As for the coming morn, I shall provide you all with fresh, purebred, brave chocobo who long to whisk away through the grasslands and forests of our fine Edren. Wagons shall also be granted to each squadron, along with medical supplies and rations that are certain to last you long into your journeys. For the time being, I ask that you return to your quarters and rest. Worry not– security shall be increased tenfold and guards will be posted in each and every corridor. Please, sheathe your blades and retire to your dormitories." Neve glanced between Kirin, Unicorn, and Leonhart, her heartbeat throbbing in her throat. What stopped everyone from goring each other anyways? To her relief, the leader of the opposite group scoffed, spat a rosy glob of blood and saliva at his feet, and sulked away along with the rest of his party. It was finally over with. At least, she liked to hope so. Neve released a harsh breath and cocked her head up at Arton. "Come," she said, her breath light and tense at the same time. "We have work to do."</s>

<|description|>Bactrie Atchison Gender: Male Race: Human Relevant Abilities: - Some training piloting airships. - Some familiarity with machinery - Not necessarily a strong person, but very durable and can last long hours toiling manual labours - Basic reading and writing ability Personality: Despite the less than ideal childhood, Bactrie leans more on the optimistic and friendlier side of personality. He does not believe he'd one day sit among the echelons of greats and riches, but when faced with hardships, he is hopeful that it shall pass, and he would survive. As a result, he tends to be calm in dangerous situation, sometimes serene even. However, he does not have a lot of patience for dangerous behavior. To the contrary of many of the MILOV flight crew, he is very cautious and will always look twice before doing anything. Otherwise, he is relatively pleasant and willing to strike up conversations if you are willing to open up to him. Bio and background: Born in a relatively poor family of miners from the city of Miraya, known for its advanced technology and thus a high demand for labour, Bactrie is very willing to join his father and two brothers as soon as he is able to work, but the family wants him no coal hand. He deserves a better life than to cough up toxic air. They tries their best to get him some education, but the tumultuous life does not allow him to stay in school for too long. He would eventually join the workforce anyway, though thankfully having enough literacy skills to avoid the mines and instead working as a warehouse worker for a manufacturing company. Labour was very much a thankless job. He endured long hours of hauling, dangerous working conditions under the watchful bossy eyes, who was quick to punish any mistakes he made with pay cut or sometimes even physical punishment. Death has sometimes occurred in the warehouse to the poor souls who could not keep up but knew they had no other choices, which is often covered up and swept under the rug. But Bactrie survived. He was no exemplary worker, but he survived. His meals half-full, his rent barely enough, but he lived and hoped he would rise out of the misery that accompanied him. One day, a demonstration event was held by an airship company. While this was not anything too unusual for the citizens of Miraya, it attracted curious eyes from Bactrie due to the recent contracts between his company and the host of the event. He booked for a fifteen-minute flight in a dirigible. He was seated close to the cockpit, and got to lift off up to at least a few hundred meters off the ground. It was a nerve racking experience seeing the ground from height for the first time in his life, and it costed him a meal for the day, but hope is a meal in enough itself, one eaten quickly. He was mesmerized by the experience, and saw a way forward for himself. For the next few months, he searched and pestered for pilots who would be willing to give him flight trainings. Most refused, due to costs and the fact that who would want to teach this slum-dweller flying. It is a highly respected profession, reserved for the dignified after all. One sympathetic pilot though, Mr. Carlos as Bactrie would know him as, decided to give the young man a chance and gave him private flight lessons at a discount, provided he could keep up. Despite it, he still needed to work a second job as a kitchen helper to afford the fees, but he was able to pay for two months. After the first week learning the ropes by listening, Bactrie was allowed to control the dirigible himself under supervision. He proved to be a fast learner but quite a timid flyer, afraid of breaking the expensive piece of equipment, as he had been drilled into by his warehouse employers. However, Mr. Carlos was more than accommodating with the traits, seeing risk-averse pilots to be more valuable than the usual daredevil students he had. Training went on for the two months he could afford, but before they parted ways, the kindhearted pilot, who had been more than impressed with the young man's skills, offered to refer him to an acquaintance of him: Captain Olivia of the MILOV. Bactrie took the opportunity without much hesitation, seeing the MILOV as a stepping stone to rising out of his poverty. While the captain was willing to accept a trainee relief pilot to contrast with her undesirably dangerous pilot, the watch leader had yet to trust him into the cockpit. Other: He likes checklists</s> <|message|>Mamjir Mamjir gazed upon the gathering crowd of the port. It appeared he hadn't been as early as he intended. He had been in this city for about 2 days, exploring it with great wonder when he had word of the MILOV's short arrival. He eagerly awaited its coming, hopefully, he would be able to join the crew and help them using his immense strength. The built-up sandstone was slowly chipping away from the Shedohr's exterior to reveal the dull steel underneath. His time in the desert city of Karbarah physically and mentally affected him, and even though the physical effect may be wearing off, the mental one was not. He had bathed in the beauty and wonder of the city. The brutal adrenaline of the fighting pits where he had sadly remained unbested, fighting great beasts brought into the area to face him and attempt to demolish him. He had enjoyed the city immensely but had decided to move on after a good while. He traveled westward, to the city he was now standing in. He had found himself at the back of the throng, not wanting yet to barge through and interrupt the locals he waited, looking around. He glanced down at the small woman he had found himself next to. He tried to make his towering stature slightly smaller so as not to intimidate her before he engaged in conversation. Due to his lack of a face, he struggled to convey the good-naturedness of his intentions, so instead, he made do with a small friendly wave. Spreading out his massive oversized palm (nearly the size of the poor woman's face) and rocking it back and forth by her. "Hello my friend, I am Mamjir, Warden of Iron. Pleasure to meet you." He sang out, his voice was melodic and ethereal. So deep you could almost hear the undertones of humming machinery in your bones. "I'm here on business with the MILOV, are you?"</s> <|message|>Bactrie Atchison All the while, a blonde haired man was taking a nap in the small corner of the dock, his head pillowed by his own bag of food, clothes, utensils and other essentials, desperately trying to recover from his sleepiness the previous night due to being kicked out of the park. Thanks a lot loitering laws! But to be fair, he was being a little petty with his money. Upon realizing the MILOV was arriving in Kallokain, Bactrie did not want to miss it, and so he quit his job and departed at the eve of the week and crossed the land, taking in all the traffic and potential hiccups along the way. But everything went a little bit too smoothly. The carriage driver that took him there seemed to have a sudden injection of hustling motivation or something, taking him right to his intended destination way sooner than expected. And thus he was sort of stuck in the city waiting for the airship for a night, which to him was a bit too short to worth an inn room, and so the bench it was. Somehow he didn't get found this time. Bactrie gave out a long yawn before looking around for any time indications. It looked like it was probably about time. Hopefully he was sober enough for his new employment, not only to create good impressions, but also that he was hired probably because he was to help pilot the ship. There's no way a sleepy pilot is a good one. The atmosphere of the docking bay was much busier than in the inner city, surprisingly enough. But it made sense. This was a window to the world, and the world is more interconnected than it used to be centuries ago, so people were just doing things that were natural. But naturally it dynamically partitioned the dock into pretty recognizable groups. Upon swinging around eavesdropping near each group made it clear why they were there, one in particular were two individuals sitting in a wagon nearby. One older gentleman and a goblin girl. He tried to not pay attention to their bantering, but upon hearing that she was getting up there, the blonde man turned around in curiosity. "Hi there you two." Bactrie waved at them with a friendly smile. "Are you here for MILOV, may I ask?"</s> <|message|>Arzhang Deko Arzhang's journey to Kallokian had been a long and grueling one. He had traveled for days on end, battling against the elements, and struggling to keep himself and his caravan alive. The bandits on the road were just the icing on the cake. It was a miracle that he had managed to outsmart them and keep his belongings. He had been fortunate enough to have some tricks up his sleeve, and he was able to convince the bandits that he had nothing of value to offer them. As he arrived in the city, Arzhang was immediately struck by the crowds and the noise. It was all too common and unremarkable. He couldn't help but feel a bit nauseous as he navigated the bustling trade center with its six docking bays. It was a far cry from the exotic, mystical places he had imagined in his dreams. Kallokian was just like any other trade center, with nothing particularly remarkable about it. Arzhang had heard about the Milov airship and thought it might offer some excitement, something he desperately craved in this dreary city. He had grown tired of the mundane, monotonous routine of life on the road, and he longed for something new and exciting. Perhaps the airship was just what he needed to inject some excitement into his life. As he walked towards the docking bays, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. He was eager to see what awaited him on the airship and what adventures he would embark on. The young demon arrived at the docks and noticed a large crowd gathering near the docking bay. He wondered what could be causing such a commotion, but he didn't feel the need to join the crowd and find out. Instead, he leaned against a nearby wall and began to think about his decision to come to Kallokian. He had hoped that joining the Milov airship crew would bring him excitement and adventure, but so far, he had only faced hardship and disappointment. Arzhang knew that the work on the airship would be difficult and demanding, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make a name for himself in this world. As he stood there lost in thought, the noise and bustle of the docks began to fade away. Arzhang was determined to make the most of his opportunity on the Milov airship, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had made the right choice.</s> <|message|>Savva Gregor and Savva turn towards the young man calling them, then Gregor nodded. "I've got a clock for shipment," the clockmaker replied, "Do you know when the Milov will arrive?" "What's that on your head?" The goblin lass asked, pointing. "Why does your hat have glass like that?</s> <|message|>The crew As the grand metal giant's voice boomed, a few of the townsfolk nearest to them subtly took a few steps back. Mechanical constructs were known by some to exist but they were by no means a daily sight. As for Katja, she was stunned, gazing upon the large figure above her. The voice was so foreign to her, but it was soothing in a sense. She thought it had sounded like how her books had described a whale's song. Katja stood up and brushed her robe off before giving a courteous bow. "That is correct!" the woman hastily answered. "In fact, I have come to join the MILOV's crew. I am Katja, Katja Veniro. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Mamjir Warden of Iron." She responded in a friendly manner, trying to hide her feelings of awe and slight unease toward the broken-down machine towering above her. "Would it be reason enough to assume you are here on similar business, Mamjir?" Katja continued as she gazed upon Mamjir. She had never been the brightest when it had come to the more advanced mechanical scriptures in the old library, but she did take an interest in tinkering here and there. That was however nothing compared to what amazing feats of metal were happening inside the being in front of her. Just as she was about to ask Mamjir about himself, the crowds bustling cut her train of thought. The MILOV was landing. The ship eclipsed the light behind it, casting a shadow on the dock. Its hull hissed with steam as if it was exhaling after a long journey. The bay was like one you'd find anywhere at sea, but instead of water, there was a long fall into an abyss. The ship rested upon large metal beams which hung over the edge, letting the ship rest. A long gangway was cast down from the ship, one wide enough for the large cargo that was often delivered. A figure stepped down the archway, momentarily obscured by the light behind the ship. He was a stern-faced elf with a gaze that seemed like it could pierce armor. Watch leader Miriat stepped off the gangway and proceeded to look upon the crowd, almost instantly recognizing who was there for delivery and those who were just there hoping for an easy trade. It was a skill that could only have been learned through years of this kind of work. "People of Kallokian! On the behalf of the MILOV, I hereby request all of you who do not have delivery or some other sort of business with the ship or its crew, disburse. We will NOT be trading wares today." Miriat proclaimed to the crowd, many of which left in a grumbled disappointment. Those who remained received their deliveries as it was carried off with some help from the MILOV's very own orc chef. Left behind was a small hill worth of cargo ready to be shipped off to a new location. Miriat took another glance at the people who remained on the bay before noticing the clockmaker Gregor and his smaller associate, as well as the young Bactrice. "You there, I presume you have wares that need delivery?" @Expendable @Conscripts Katja, who had stood by Mamjir as it all went down, turned to the larger figure and asked "Shall we? " and gestured toward the Watch leader.</s>

<|message|>Bactrie Atchison "Ah, I see, well, I don't have a clock, but should be anytime now." Bactrie replied, as the small goblin lady pointed at the glasses on his hat. He gave a little chuckle and said. "Ah that's my friend. He's a little shy but he likes the view from up here!" He waved his hand. "Just kidding, it's my aviator glasses. I got it from a friend of mine." Not long after, the airship arrived, attracting a significant proportion of the crowd over to. The gigantic airship towering over the crowds below took quite a bit to dock, before a stern-looking elf appeared from within to greatly disappoint those who were around hoping to get some cash out of the visit. As people began to disperse and gradually as the group he was around began to stand out, the elf turned to inquire him and the two acquaintances he just made. The armour-piercing gaze took him aback a little, but Bactrie managed to stand straight and maintained eye contact. "He does." He glanced over to the older gentleman, before looking back at the elf. "For me, umm..." Bactrie reached into his chest pocket and reach out a small letter. "It's for Captain Olivia, from her colleague Captain Carlos. From what I've heard, the captain wants another pilot."</s>

<|description|>Arzhang Deko Gender: Male Race: Demon Appearance: Arzhang is a charismatic demon who takes great pride in his appearance. Standing at a towering 6'2", his well-toned physique is a testament to his strict workout regimen and diet. He boasts pale skin, pink hair, small brown horns, and piercing grey eyes that are framed by long, dark lashes. His hair is styled in a trendy, short cut that highlights his sharp cheekbones and jawline. Arzhang is known for his impeccable fashion sense, and is always dressed in the latest and most stylish clothing. He is fond of luxury brands, and is never seen without a well-tailored suit and a pair of polished dress shoes. His attention to detail extends to his grooming, and he takes great care to ensure that his hair and skin are always flawless. Arzhang's charming and handsome demeanor, combined with his height, make him an imposing figure who is impossible to ignore. He is often seen admiring himself in mirrors and is known to be quite vain. But despite his confident exterior, Arzhang is a natural charmer who has a way of making everyone feel comfortable in his presence. Relevant Abilities: Arzhang is a natural charmer, who has honed his communication skills over the years. He is an excellent bartender and is known for his ability to make delicious drinks that are both aesthetically pleasing and delicious. He is also an experienced waiter and is well-versed in the art of etiquette, making him a valuable asset in high-class social settings. However, he is not physically strong and tends to be quite lazy when it comes to manual labour. Personality: Arzhang is a smooth talker, who has a way of making everyone feel comfortable in his presence. He is confident and outgoing, with a devil-may-care attitude that often endears him to those around him. Despite his carefree personality, Arzhang is also deeply ambitious, driven by his desire to live a life of luxury and excess. He is often seen as a bit of a flirt and is known for his flirtatious advances towards both men and women. However, he is quick to turn on those who he deems to have wronged him, showing a darker, more vindictive side to his personality. Bio and background: Arzhang was born into a world of uncertainty and prejudice. Raised in a city where humans were the dominant species, he often felt like an outsider due to his demonic heritage. Despite his parents' best efforts to provide a loving and supportive environment, Arzhang struggled with his identity and often felt isolated from his peers. He was constantly teased and bullied by other children, and even as he grew older, the prejudice he faced only increased. His parents, both professors, had high hopes for their son and encouraged him to follow in their footsteps. But Arzhang had other aspirations. He was captivated by the luxurious lifestyles of the rich and famous, and dreamed of one day being surrounded by diamonds and gold. He would spend hours daydreaming about the glamorous events he would attend, the elegant clothes he would wear, and the people he would meet. As a teenager, Arzhang landed a job as a waiter at a fancy party, and was blown away by the opulence and extravagance of the event. The guests were dressed in the finest clothes, and the champagne flowed like a river. Arzhang was in awe of the extravagance and luxury that surrounded him, and from that moment on, he was determined to make his dream a reality. He rebelled against his parents' wishes for him to become a professor and instead set his sights on becoming a butler or waiter. However, Arzhang's lack of experience and training made it difficult for him to find work in the industry. He found himself stuck in dead-end jobs, never able to make his way up the ladder. Frustrated with his lack of progress, Arzhang made the bold decision to join the MILOV. He was determined to gain the experience and training he needed to reach his goal. Other: Arzhang's theme song is "Material Girl" by Madonna, which perfectly encapsulates his love for material things and his ambition to one day live a life of luxury. When not working, Arzhang enjoys reading fashion magazines and keeping up with the latest trends. He is a fan of expensive perfumes and is always on the lookout for new fragrances to add to his collection. In his downtime, he also enjoys practicing his bartending skills and experimenting with new drink recipes. Arzhang is a bit of a foodie and has a particular fondness for sweets, particularly chocolates, and pastries. He is a big fan of luxury and excess, and is often seen carrying a silver flask filled with his favorite drink, which he refers to as "the elixir of the gods." Despite his flirtatious nature, Arzhang is fiercely loyal to those he cares about and will stop at nothing to protect those he loves.</s> <|message|>The crew Hurried steps clacked on the cobblestoned road as Katja Veniro rushed through the upper parts of the city. She let out a sigh before catching her breath and realized she was utterly lost. Losing one selfs direction was common when just arriving at a new place, but Katja could swear she had a knack for it anyways. The streets were filled with people going about their day, one of which she approached hurriedly. She had spotted an older man with kind eyes who seemed to know the ins and outs of the city's layout. "Excuse me, Sir, I seem to have taken a wrong turn and am lost. Might you tell me where I can find Docking bay 3?" She asked and bowed slightly. She did not know the customs of this foreign city so she thought it best to act as courteously as possible. The older man simply stared for a moment before bursting out in a wheezing chuckle, "Yer not from around 'ere ey wee lass? I agree that our city be mighty grand, but ye do realize you could walk in any direction an' end up in one of the ports. From there, ye simply follow the edge of the city until ye find it. And no need to be so proper lass!" The man scratched his ear and grinned Katja smiled, slightly flustered as the simple solution was to have just done what the man had suggested from the start, but she figured that she had shed too much time. "I'm afraid I do not have much time to wander and as such, could you be so kind as to point me in the direction of the docking bay?" she asked again swiftly. The older man simply pointed behind him, "Tis' right down the hill over 'ere. Just continue runnin' forward and you'll find it." Katja bowed slightly again and headed off, the hilt rustling against her backpack filled with the essentials. As she ran down the cobbled hill, she could see a single ray of sunlight shining through a newly formed hole in the cloud cover above. It was then she noticed the large airship, the MILOV. She stood still for a moment, feeling her heartbeat as both excitement and a hint of fear filled her. It would seem that many more than her had noticed the arrival of the aerial vessel as streams of townsfolk rushed past her in an attempt to reach docking bay 3. Katja quickly followed the stream down, ending up at the back of the crowd which hindered any further attempt to reach the docking bay. She stood on her toes trying to see ahead as the bustling crowds cheered at the new arrivals. Deciding she had no other choice, she squeezed through the small gaps between people, uttering quiet apologies such as "Excuse me" and "Forgive me but I must pass". Finally coming out at the end of the gathering, she fell onto her knees before looking up in awe at the MILOV which practically shone in the radiant light.</s> <|message|>Mamjir Mamjir gazed upon the gathering crowd of the port. It appeared he hadn't been as early as he intended. He had been in this city for about 2 days, exploring it with great wonder when he had word of the MILOV's short arrival. He eagerly awaited its coming, hopefully, he would be able to join the crew and help them using his immense strength. The built-up sandstone was slowly chipping away from the Shedohr's exterior to reveal the dull steel underneath. His time in the desert city of Karbarah physically and mentally affected him, and even though the physical effect may be wearing off, the mental one was not. He had bathed in the beauty and wonder of the city. The brutal adrenaline of the fighting pits where he had sadly remained unbested, fighting great beasts brought into the area to face him and attempt to demolish him. He had enjoyed the city immensely but had decided to move on after a good while. He traveled westward, to the city he was now standing in. He had found himself at the back of the throng, not wanting yet to barge through and interrupt the locals he waited, looking around. He glanced down at the small woman he had found himself next to. He tried to make his towering stature slightly smaller so as not to intimidate her before he engaged in conversation. Due to his lack of a face, he struggled to convey the good-naturedness of his intentions, so instead, he made do with a small friendly wave. Spreading out his massive oversized palm (nearly the size of the poor woman's face) and rocking it back and forth by her. "Hello my friend, I am Mamjir, Warden of Iron. Pleasure to meet you." He sang out, his voice was melodic and ethereal. So deep you could almost hear the undertones of humming machinery in your bones. "I'm here on business with the MILOV, are you?"</s> <|message|>Bactrie Atchison All the while, a blonde haired man was taking a nap in the small corner of the dock, his head pillowed by his own bag of food, clothes, utensils and other essentials, desperately trying to recover from his sleepiness the previous night due to being kicked out of the park. Thanks a lot loitering laws! But to be fair, he was being a little petty with his money. Upon realizing the MILOV was arriving in Kallokain, Bactrie did not want to miss it, and so he quit his job and departed at the eve of the week and crossed the land, taking in all the traffic and potential hiccups along the way. But everything went a little bit too smoothly. The carriage driver that took him there seemed to have a sudden injection of hustling motivation or something, taking him right to his intended destination way sooner than expected. And thus he was sort of stuck in the city waiting for the airship for a night, which to him was a bit too short to worth an inn room, and so the bench it was. Somehow he didn't get found this time. Bactrie gave out a long yawn before looking around for any time indications. It looked like it was probably about time. Hopefully he was sober enough for his new employment, not only to create good impressions, but also that he was hired probably because he was to help pilot the ship. There's no way a sleepy pilot is a good one. The atmosphere of the docking bay was much busier than in the inner city, surprisingly enough. But it made sense. This was a window to the world, and the world is more interconnected than it used to be centuries ago, so people were just doing things that were natural. But naturally it dynamically partitioned the dock into pretty recognizable groups. Upon swinging around eavesdropping near each group made it clear why they were there, one in particular were two individuals sitting in a wagon nearby. One older gentleman and a goblin girl. He tried to not pay attention to their bantering, but upon hearing that she was getting up there, the blonde man turned around in curiosity. "Hi there you two." Bactrie waved at them with a friendly smile. "Are you here for MILOV, may I ask?"</s>

<|message|>Arzhang Deko Arzhang's journey to Kallokian had been a long and grueling one. He had traveled for days on end, battling against the elements, and struggling to keep himself and his caravan alive. The bandits on the road were just the icing on the cake. It was a miracle that he had managed to outsmart them and keep his belongings. He had been fortunate enough to have some tricks up his sleeve, and he was able to convince the bandits that he had nothing of value to offer them. As he arrived in the city, Arzhang was immediately struck by the crowds and the noise. It was all too common and unremarkable. He couldn't help but feel a bit nauseous as he navigated the bustling trade center with its six docking bays. It was a far cry from the exotic, mystical places he had imagined in his dreams. Kallokian was just like any other trade center, with nothing particularly remarkable about it. Arzhang had heard about the Milov airship and thought it might offer some excitement, something he desperately craved in this dreary city. He had grown tired of the mundane, monotonous routine of life on the road, and he longed for something new and exciting. Perhaps the airship was just what he needed to inject some excitement into his life. As he walked towards the docking bays, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. He was eager to see what awaited him on the airship and what adventures he would embark on. The young demon arrived at the docks and noticed a large crowd gathering near the docking bay. He wondered what could be causing such a commotion, but he didn't feel the need to join the crowd and find out. Instead, he leaned against a nearby wall and began to think about his decision to come to Kallokian. He had hoped that joining the Milov airship crew would bring him excitement and adventure, but so far, he had only faced hardship and disappointment. Arzhang knew that the work on the airship would be difficult and demanding, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make a name for himself in this world. As he stood there lost in thought, the noise and bustle of the docks began to fade away. Arzhang was determined to make the most of his opportunity on the Milov airship, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had made the right choice.</s>

<|description|>長島真人 Awakened: 100 Mind [35] | Body [40] | Spirit [25] Facsimile: N/A --- Nagashima, Masato Identity: Completely average in looks, smarts, and popularity, Masato only manages to score towards the top of the class due to sheer hard work and tons of exam cramming. He always seems to have his nose to the grindstone in order to keep up with his peers, hardly ever letting up on his studies or responsibilities. His reputation at school is mostly a good one, since he makes himself available to help any student in need - as the president of Kuroshio Ogata Junior High's student council, it is his job after all. Though he may have earned the respect of most of his peers (something he's proud of), it was hard to say that Masato is actually well liked by them. It wasn't like he was elected to his position either, he got it simply because no one else wanted it, a win by default. His personality is one that runs both hot and cold as if he's struggling to suppress part of himself - most likely his temper, which caused him trouble in his earlier years. Masato has come to be known as someone that will help you out, even if he'd click his tongue and say he should knock some sense into you while he does it, though he is much harsher with troublemakers and rule-breakers. The sound of his grumbling or shouting isn't that rare a thing in Kuroshio Ogata Junior High's halls. On the flip side, he brushes people off if they don't need anything from him. He's never spotted outside of the junior high, the cram school, or on his way straight home from either. He doesn't open up to others, so he has few if any close friends. Taking everything into account, he has high potential to be chosen for the study abroad program if he can just keep his grades up. He's been trying hard to become a respectable member of society in the future - hopefully one far away from this small town. Although, Masato wasn't always like that. His brother Akito, older by five years, has had a big impact on him and shifted Masato's focus into becoming a "better person," though it wasn't a positive impact. Akito has always caused trouble for others. Currently he's graduated highschool and has become a layabout in the Nagashima home with no plans for the future. With parents that just enable him, the only one he catches flack from is Masato. Fighting between the brothers is a common occurrence, sometimes escalating to physical confrontations. In the past, the two of them were closer - when Akito was running wild in his school years and bringing up his little brother to be just as much of a nuisance as he was. A bully and petty criminal, Akito couldn't have a weak sibling for other delinquents to take advantage of. It looked like Masato was on his way to following in Akito's footsteps, until a certain incident ended up hurting a friend who suffered the consequences. That opened Masato's eyes to how much of a jerk his brother really was, and he started condemning Akito rather than following his orders. Now, Masato is determined not to turn out like that - he doesn't want to cause problems and have other people clean up his messes anymore. The new mindset is the reason he joined the student council when he entered middle school in the first place, has been trying to rein in the bad attitude his youth instilled in him, and is working to earn a spot among those chosen to go overseas. Peculiarity: Masato is extremely dexterous, with superior aim and hand-eye coordination. The school's small baseball team was bitter to lose him to the student council. Besides just pitching or catching, Masato also fields requests from other students to thread needles or help put together model kits. It's not an exaggeration to say he has some of the steadiest hands in school, though its a wonder why when his attitude is anything but. And yes, he is the best at juggling in his class. Besides that he's got a high pain tolerance and a good constitution, recovering from colds in record time.</s> <|message|>Tsutsumi Kogen Clearing, ??? --- Mentions: @Yankee@OwO This was it, huh? Dying beside your peers, against beasts beyond your comprehension. Life was pretty unfair, wasn't it? Being born in a backwater town where your only talent wouldn't get the recognition it deserved, covered in obscurity by a few jealous seniors. You couldn't make your mark in the world, and now this is where life has lead you. Dying in an unknown world, one where only a few will remember you... Kogen's eyes fluttered as he slowly succumbed to his fate, the pain that radiated through his body becoming more unbearable as the bearwolf crushed him. Despite this, he still had some willingness to fight in him, the barest remnants of his instincts flaring from within. Kogen launched an arm up, grasping hard on the bearwolf's arm. Maybe if he allowed himself to get torn up by this beast, if he squirmed just enough, Masato could crawl out from underneath him. It's the least he could do, after all. He was too out of breath to really do anything else. As he squirmed, Kogen noticed a glint in the sky. Was this a... hallucination? Were his delusions becoming real in his death throes? No, it couldn't be... is that Inaba, falling from the sky? Did a branch break, or... no. Her movements, stiff as they may be, seemed deliberate. ... Are you just going to sit and watch, or are you also going to fight? The boy's body moved swifty, though he wasn't sure if it was entirely of his own volition. It's almost as if seeing his classmate's will to fight despite being totally dead filled Kogen with a deep-seated sense of resolve. He continued to grasp on the bearwolf's arm, digging his nails into its flesh as the pain that surged through his body began to disappear. His other hand clutched the hammer tightly, waiting for just the right opportunity to act. Fo fight. The air that escaped his lungs was instead replaced with fire. As soon as Inaba made impact, Kogen swung his hammer into the one of the bearwolf's elbows, throwing all his might into the blow. From its weakened grasp, Kogen used the counteracting momentum of his swing and the bearwolf's movment to throw his own body to the side while still clinging to the monster's arm. Nothing else matters anymore. The only thing you need to do is kill it. And so, Kogen would do so, raising the hooked side of the hammer and jamming it into the bearwolf's neck, before ripping downward.</s> <|message|>Hoshino Asahi --- As if it wasn't obvious enough, Asahi really started to hate this place. All that dogpiling of the toughest guys in the class and all that beating he did on the wolfbear's head, and the freaking monster looked like it wasn't even hurt. To add insult to injury, it seemed that the class was doing more damage to themselves than to these freaks of nature. Duncan's intestines were flopping out of his slashed belly and poor Yuki was out there somewhere, his right shoulder probably broken beyond repair as he was thrown like a ragdoll somewhere. Asahi was now face-to-face with the wolfbear, all its eyes focused on the pink-haired lad. Blood matted on the fur on its head, or was it Asahi's? He wasn't sure anymore but he did believe one thing was a hundred percent certain: he was going to die right then and there. "C'mon, asshole!" Asahi shouted once again, his rage more imminent now than before. Despite the hopelessness of his situation, he was still angry about the animal, about their situation, practically about everything. He gripped what remained of his branch and raised it at eye level so the wolfbear could see it. "I'm not afraid of a disgusting beast like you. You're going to die here and now." He said to the beast, maintaining eye contact with it as he spoke with stone cold conviction. Asahi wasn't sure how he could speak so calmly like that but he had to do anything to keep the wolfbear's attention at him and give the others a chance to escape. He made a quick rundown of his options. While he and Sasuke attended martial arts classes together, Sasuke was the far superior fighter out of the two of them. With his lack of sheer strength, Asahi made up for it with his reflexes and agility. He reckoned if he could, and that's a big 'if', try and outrun the wolfbear, make it so Asahi could have a way to direct it towards the blazing fire from the bus wreckage. It was barely a plan but he was desperate for anything at this point. Just then, he was surprised when Duncan made a beeline straight for the beast. Asahi had no idea where he got the strength to do such a thing as Duncan was now shouting at Asahi to run away just as he struck at the wolfbear, aiming at his neck. "Tch. Stop trying to be a hero, dumbass!" Asahi yelled back. What will running away do for them anyway? Even if he could manage to get away, Asahi wasn't totally sure if the others were still alive or even barely at one piece. The beasts could still chase after them, never stopping until all of them were dead. Asahi ran fast towards the wolfbear, taking the chance that it would be somewhat incapacitated from Duncan's attack. "Why don't you just... He leaned down to quickly pick up a large stone then jammed what's left of the stick at the animal's eye before slamming the stone at it like hammering a nail. "...Die!"</s>

<|message|>長島真人 It was a really weird feeling, almost like an out of body experience. Not that Masato had ever had one of those, but he imagined it might be sort of similar to what was going on. Pain laced up and down his back where the wolfbear was tearing open his skin. Masato could definitely feel the claws sink in and the warmth of his blood well up and out of his body, but as far as fatal injuries went it didn't seem that bad. Was his brain lessening the pain to make the transition to oblivion a little more palatable? Or maybe it was possible that this wasn't a fatal wound. That its claws couldn't get through the back of his rib cage into his more important parts, and that the blood flow wasn't enough to bleed out. Masato chose to hang onto the second option. Fuck you, I can do this, he told the phantom in his memory. He grit his teeth and endured the rake of the monster's claws, keeping a hold of its legs to keep it in place. Just kill it. His thoughts were loud, as if trying to project them to Kogen. Just kill it so this can be over. It was hard to think past the immediate situation, so what had become of the other students and what to do after dealing with this wolfbear were thoughts that didn't even filter into Masato's head anymore. Unfortunately the OHKO he'd been hoping for did not come. A monster's skull was apparently much tougher than a dog's or a human's. From his awkward position it was hard for Masato to see what was going on until Kogen was slammed down on top of him. "Ghk-!" The added pressure on his ripped up back really made it hurt now. He'd finally released his death grip on the monster's back legs in order to try and push himself up or otherwise escape the pin, but it didn't look likely unless the beast ripped the boy on top of him apart first. And was he really going to let that happen? Could he do anything to prevent it? Things would have been looking a lot more grim than they already were if not for Inaba. How she'd managed to survive Masato didn't know, but if Inaba was alive then Suzuki was alive. They could all get out of this with their lives intact. The kids all seemed to move at once, with Kogen putting his plan into action once Inaba made contact, and Masato scrambling out from the pin as soon as Kogen shifted and gave him enough room to escape. He managed to get his feet underneath him and stand up, and though he was breathing heavily he wasn't sapped of his strength just yet. Now freed, he could go check on Suzuki, or he could make a proper escape. But he really wanted to see this thing dealt with now that he'd had a taste of defiance against the death the monsters represented. Kogen had a hold on one of its front legs, so Masato rushed forward to seize the other before its claws could come down and stop what would hopefully be a death blow this time.</s>

<|description|>長島真人 Awakened: 100 Mind [35] | Body [40] | Spirit [25] Facsimile: N/A --- Nagashima, Masato Identity: Completely average in looks, smarts, and popularity, Masato only manages to score towards the top of the class due to sheer hard work and tons of exam cramming. He always seems to have his nose to the grindstone in order to keep up with his peers, hardly ever letting up on his studies or responsibilities. His reputation at school is mostly a good one, since he makes himself available to help any student in need - as the president of Kuroshio Ogata Junior High's student council, it is his job after all. Though he may have earned the respect of most of his peers (something he's proud of), it was hard to say that Masato is actually well liked by them. It wasn't like he was elected to his position either, he got it simply because no one else wanted it, a win by default. His personality is one that runs both hot and cold as if he's struggling to suppress part of himself - most likely his temper, which caused him trouble in his earlier years. Masato has come to be known as someone that will help you out, even if he'd click his tongue and say he should knock some sense into you while he does it, though he is much harsher with troublemakers and rule-breakers. The sound of his grumbling or shouting isn't that rare a thing in Kuroshio Ogata Junior High's halls. On the flip side, he brushes people off if they don't need anything from him. He's never spotted outside of the junior high, the cram school, or on his way straight home from either. He doesn't open up to others, so he has few if any close friends. Taking everything into account, he has high potential to be chosen for the study abroad program if he can just keep his grades up. He's been trying hard to become a respectable member of society in the future - hopefully one far away from this small town. Although, Masato wasn't always like that. His brother Akito, older by five years, has had a big impact on him and shifted Masato's focus into becoming a "better person," though it wasn't a positive impact. Akito has always caused trouble for others. Currently he's graduated highschool and has become a layabout in the Nagashima home with no plans for the future. With parents that just enable him, the only one he catches flack from is Masato. Fighting between the brothers is a common occurrence, sometimes escalating to physical confrontations. In the past, the two of them were closer - when Akito was running wild in his school years and bringing up his little brother to be just as much of a nuisance as he was. A bully and petty criminal, Akito couldn't have a weak sibling for other delinquents to take advantage of. It looked like Masato was on his way to following in Akito's footsteps, until a certain incident ended up hurting a friend who suffered the consequences. That opened Masato's eyes to how much of a jerk his brother really was, and he started condemning Akito rather than following his orders. Now, Masato is determined not to turn out like that - he doesn't want to cause problems and have other people clean up his messes anymore. The new mindset is the reason he joined the student council when he entered middle school in the first place, has been trying to rein in the bad attitude his youth instilled in him, and is working to earn a spot among those chosen to go overseas. Peculiarity: Masato is extremely dexterous, with superior aim and hand-eye coordination. The school's small baseball team was bitter to lose him to the student council. Besides just pitching or catching, Masato also fields requests from other students to thread needles or help put together model kits. It's not an exaggeration to say he has some of the steadiest hands in school, though its a wonder why when his attitude is anything but. And yes, he is the best at juggling in his class. Besides that he's got a high pain tolerance and a good constitution, recovering from colds in record time.</s> <|message|>DUNCAN STEWART"The Dunk" 𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭 __________________________________________________ Duncan went through a lifetime of emotions in what must've been a matter of seconds. First he thought he was going to die, then that he couldn't, and then that he already had. In the struggle that followed his landing, his world shrunk until there was no space for anyone or anything but him and his opponent. First it struggled under him, trashing in his grip, smashing Duncan's guts against his chest so violently he thought they might fly out through his back next. Then he realized he was the one underneath, and that breathing was really fucking difficult. But at least he was still breathing. And he would keep breathing longer than this goddamn bear. That was all that mattered; he just had to hold on longer than it did. That was the final thought going through his mind, before no more thoughts could form. Instinctively, he opened his mouth into a shout, but it had no room to leave his chest. Everything felt like fire. His nose and mouth were filled with the reek of blood. The next he knew, the beast had stopped struggling. Duncan's eyes fluttered open, and all he saw was more blood. His face was covered in it - but so was the monster's, its skull broken and bleeding. Duncan craned his neck, head spinning, eyes unable to focus. He saw Asahi, split into three identical faces somewhere at the end of a quickly collapsing tunnel of light. Even in his hazy state, Duncan realized the other had saved him. But by the time that thought made it to his conscious mind, it had already transformed; Asahi had helped him. And goddamn was Duncan glad he had. The wolfbear was heavy on the athlete's torn torso, but it didn't move. It was dead, and he wasn't. He'd won. Ever so slowly, Duncan raised his hand, a blood-covered thumb extended in Asahi's general direction. His eyes closed and lips parted to reveal a grin, pools of blood collecting between his teeth. And then he stopped moving too.</s> <|message|>Todokawa, Ayana ______________________________________________________________________ The taste of the wolfbears rancid fur filled her mouth as she tried to hold in her disgust.The taste far worse then any medicine or vegetable she had ever been forced to take or eat. Her efforts squishing up her face as she felt the impact of her move on the wolfbear. The sound of twisting and bending metal filling her ears as the wolfbear and herself went tumbling through the bottom of the bus. The impact sending a jolt through her body as it felt like her lungs were about to burst and her back felt like it had been nearly broken in half. The taste of the wolfbear, the smoke of the fire and burning debris not doing much help to her already struggling lungs. Ayana tried to get back up to her feet quickly, only to be caught by surprise when a pipe went whistling right by her face and embedded itself like a javelin into the side of the bus. "Woah! Hold on now! who said anything about these beasts using magic to hurl stuff!" Both the wolfbear and Ayana scrambling in the debris as the wolfbear tried to make its escape once it had burst free from the bus. Ayana willing her legs and body to jump out right after it as she skidded across the ground on her heels. Her eyes and head shifting side to side as she tried to track down where the wolfbear had scampered off. "Hey get back here you coward! You taste horrible! I'll never be able to get this taste out of my mouth!" Ayana complained as she tried to spit the remaining fur out. Bringing up both of her hands to her tongue as she stuck it completely out, trying to use her hands to scrub it clean as best she could. Wanting to get the taste out of her mouth as much as she could as she watched the Wolfbear scamper off. "You bweeter nut com bwack, newxt tiwme iz rouwd twoooo!" Trying to trash talk even while cleansing her tongue. Deciding not to pursue it, after all it had only been thanks to Shun that she had been able to get the jump on the wolfbear. Without Shun around to distract it, Ayana wasn't sure if she would be able to handle it all on her own. The fact that she was also unfamiliar with the surrounding area also seemed like it would be more trouble than it was worth. Not wanting to get lost in a forest likely teeming with more danger. Taking a moment to try to recompose herself and gather her strength back, the effort of slamming the wolfbear had taken quite a bit of her energy. Leaving herself covered in soot and other various bits and pieces of debris, little cuts, burns and bruises covering her arms, legs and her clothing. Wrestling a wolfbear in a burning bus was definitely not the most logical thing to do, but Ayana felt like she had no other choice. Finally catching her breath as she turned her attention to Shun and Yuudai. Seeing that Yuudai seemed to still be alive and conscious as that was a bit of a relief after all that had happened. Letting out a sigh as she wiped sweat from her brow from the heat of the fire as approached the two. "Those things are pretty clever and tough, they have some kind of magic power, first they threw my shoe back at me, then that one hurled a pipe at my head, luckily it missed…." Ayana remarked as she crouched down by the two looking over Yuudai. Completely unaware that Shun had been the one that had actually thrown the pipe. Having a mistaken belief that the wolfbear had some kind of mystical power after the earlier two incidents. "So how are you two doing? Hopefully neither of you two got hurt too badly…." Concern filling her voice as Yuudai looked a bit worse for wear. As her focused had turned towards the well being of her classmates now that the adrenaline had worn off and the coast seemed to be clear for the time being. However, going unnoticed by Ayana, one of her twin tails had caught fire when she had burst out of the bus in pursuit of the wolfbear. Her attention so focused on the wolfbear, then the well being of her classmates that she hadn't even noticed.</s>

<|message|>長島真人 Masato sucked in a deep breath, breathing heavily and purposefully once the monster was dead. It was definitely dead; it wasn't moving, its throat was torn open, and it had bled enough to drench three middle schoolers. We fucking did it, he thought to himself, still somewhat in disbelief. He didn't feel like saying anything out loud in case it jinxed them and brought something even more terrible down upon the class. He glanced at Inaba on his left, Kogen on his right. Masato lifted a hand as through he were going to pat the other boy on the shoulder... ...but then he finally heaved, crawling away from both students to empty the contents of his stomach. It had been bothering him since the bus crash, and the monster's blood absolutely stunk. Once through purging Masato stood up slowly, wiping his mouth. He was tired, sore, and in pain - but he knew he looked much worse than he felt. His appearance was ghastly, soaked in red and black with torn clothes and a haunted look in his eye. Still, he was alive. And now that things were a little less dire, he was kind of pissed off. Why did this have to happen to them? Sucked into a Portal, put through a bus crash, and then attacked by monsters. They'd all almost lost a lot more than phones and school notes. Their lives had been in jeopardy - they still were, for as long as they were still in the Otherside. Across the field, Masato could see that the other kids were no longer under attack, but some were laid out on the ground with voices of concern speaking over them. A lot of them had almost died. Masato sucked in another breath, then drove his foot into the wolfbear's corpse. It was his third year at Kuroshio Junior High and he was so close to keeping his head down and getting one of those scholarships out of that shitty little town. Why the hell did this have to happen? He kicked the beast again, again, once more until the last of his energy started to trickle out of his body. Actually, it felt more like it was evaporating - leaving his limbs cold and his core dense and hot. "Fuck," he sighed to himself. Alright, it was out of his system now. Time to get things back on track. He turned away from Inaba and Kogen and approached the girl on the ground nearby. "Suzuki?" he asked, relieved when the girl lifted a hand to give the student council president a thumbs up. She was banged up but otherwise okay. It would be a real pain to carry her with his back like this, so someone else would have to help. They, the entire class of Kuroshio students, had to regroup and figure out what the hell to do from here.</s>

<|description|>Todokawa, Ayana Awakened: 0 Mind [10] | Body [30] | Spirit [60] Facsimile: N/A Identity: Ayana isn't amongst the tallest individuals, standing at 5'4. However, this has never slowed her down in the past. She doesn't put much thought into the limitations of her size and stature and will still attempt things better suited for those much taller or much stronger than herself. She is always willing to help and do the most that she can whenever someone else needs help. Even if they need help with something she is totally unfamiliar with, she isn't likely to back down from the challenge, even if it is completely impossible for her. Ayana is often well known for all the wrong reasons, though she is good at heart and always intends to do the right thing. Her help usually ends in chaos and more trouble than what it is worth. She is typically outgoing and not shy about meeting new people or trying to make new friends. The biggest issue however is retaining those new friends. As people that often hang out with her end up dragged into her many misfortunes and accidents. Most see her as a walking disaster waiting to happen. Even so, she doesn't feel any kind of loneliness or sadness, instead it is replaced with a determination to find new friends that drives her. What makes matters worse is that she seems to feel much fear before doing something. She often doesn't fully think things through and goes through with it with bold determination. Some may say she is not the brightest because of this fearless tendency. However, when she does give time to think about things or she is going about usual business, her intelligence is just fine. Regardless, she is still prone to moments of throwing herself at something with thoughtless abandon. She comes from a rather humble and small family that has its own restaurant. She often growing up would help her family running it, until eventually her parents learned it was often better to keep her out of the restaurant if they wanted to keep it up and running. Even so, she has a good relationship with her parents and still tries to do what she can to help them out in her free time. Peculiarity: Ayana's peculiarity is her inhuman ability for clumsiness and the destruction that often follows her because of this clumsiness. Despite her unusual level of bad luck, she often comes out of her clumsy accidents rather unharmed. Some like to say it is a result of her body being toughened up and hardened by years of various accidents and misfortunes that have befell her. Others say it is just sheer dumb luck. Regardless others will steer well clear of her as those around Ayana usually end up being dragged into whatever mess that she starts. This has caused her some troubles in the past as she finds it hard to retain friends as often it only takes one or two times of being mixed up in the chaos that is Ayana to make them think twice about having a friendship with her.</s> <|message|>Name Kanamori Shun Shun jerked up at the sudden sound of branches being crushed and the sound of heavy footsteps. The only one who was relatively interacting with the environment was Rin. The middle schooler turned her head around, earning a faint hit of nausea from turning too fast, and saw what was happening. A bear with multiple eyes was attacking Rin. Maki tried to help by throwing a kick at the bear, but Shun had other problems to deal with. Mainly dealing with a bear that was coming both at Yuudai and her. "Higasa!" Shun shouted out in a warning. Her hand grabbed a fist full of dirt and threw it at the menacing beast's eyes. She needed to attract its attention. If anything, she hoped that the beast wasn't dirt immune. Unless the eyes were dirt-repellant, Shun thought that at least she could blind the beast. "Hey, you four-eyed teddy bear! Over here!" She screamed to get its attention. A feeling of catharsis washed over her as she stared at the monstrosity. Now that she had a good look at it, the mutant bear looked incredibly cool. Her classmates might think otherwise, but perhaps this was going to be the time of her life. The chances of her dying were high, but she had already accepted those terms. The world wasn't some sort of manga where they could overcome everything through the usage of an author's pen. If Shun was going to die, then she would make the most of it. Shun took a few steps back from the bear and backed up closer to the flaming car. On the way, she picked up the longest branch she could find and dragged it against the floor. "You want more! I can make a nasty dirt pie, dung face!" She needed the right opportunity. If she had tried hard enough, maybe she could have collided with the bus and attack it with the branch. While it seemed like a stupid idea, Shun was welcoming to such ideas.</s> <|message|>Tsutsumi Kogen Clearing, ??? --- Mentions: @Yankee@OwO Ah shit, ah fuck, I'm going to die, aren't I? Kogen had, in fact, been eerily silent, huddled up as he allowed Tsubaki to do her work. Rocking back and forth, he was almost pissing himself in fear. Almost. For some reason, Kogen felt that if he had pissed himself, he'd be imitating someone else in a similar situation to him. Was it one of his peers? No, it couldn't be... In any case, Kogen was indeed freaking out about the situation at hand. It wasn't because of the fact they could be in a portal of all things, but that his eye was still bleeding! Of course, if Kogen knew any better, he'd be aware that the cut on his brow was merely a superficial one, and it only appeared to bleed heavily due to all the little blood vessels in the face. To Hitotsumi-kun, however, it really did feel like he was going to die or, at least, bleed to death. "A-an infection?" Kogen scoffed, his voice clearly breaking. "Oh please. I've held our collective misfortunes back in this eye for so long! A mere 'infection' would mean lit- Ow! That stings! "... My eye's not going to fall out or anything, right?" Kogen did his best to stay still, but he couldn't help but shake ever so slightly at the thought. Ironically enough, however, Akechi's comments, while adding more to the gravity of the situation, helped Kogen steel himself a bit more. The sooner he'd look vulnerable to that rat, the sooner he'd sink another knife into his back once more. And besides, if Kogen gave that rat anything else to work with, he'd be more of a pain in the ass to him. He knew it was better off to ignore him until he got bored. It seemed that Ayana had it from there, anyway... probably? When Tsubaki was done stitching his eye up and moved to work on Ayana, the blond-haired boy simply walked over to the edge of the gathering, away from everyone else, and laid down on his back, his arms spread out as he let out a pained sigh. Some music would be nice. Kogen reached to his pockets, and- "I left my AirPods on the bus, didn't I?" He asked himself, before the smell of smoke filled his nostrils. Damn it. Ah well. C'est la vie. ... Before Kogen could truly relax, however, the sound of ruffling leaves followed by... a scream? A yelp, was it? Damn, did infighting start already? Probably all Akechi's fault, the bastard that he is. Well, not his problem once more. He already saved someone today. If the only danger to their lives was each other, Kogen couldn't care less. After all, those damned normies would all throw him to the wolves again if he butted in. Better off conserving his energy and resting for the time being. A fight could be fun to watch, though... Kogen sat up to see what was going on, before truly beholding the horrors of the situation they had found themselves in. Two large, gray-furred shapes came charging towards them in the horizon, with a third one a bit farther away. It seemed to have cornered one of the mechanic weirdos (Kogen's one to talk) while the self-righteous karate kid attempted to help, to no avail. There was another, much more recognizable shape standing there, too. Was that... no. No. He was just bossing everyone around! How could he... before Kogen even could... He shook his head, springing up onto his knee as he took account of the situation. The two bear-sized wolves... bearwolves? That sounds catchy, much catchier than any other denotation. Kogen took count of the bearwolves. It seems that two of them were charging the group, but a few his his classmates already seem to be dealing with them in one way or another. Meanwhile, the three that separated from everyone else looks like they need some help. Kogen inquired as he stood up and began his sprint, taking advantage of his disparate position from the rest of the group. Still, even as he ran, he could see how disorganized they were. You asshole, running off like that... guess I gotta do your job, too, then! "Cheese Pizza-kun!" Kogen shouted towards Fujita, a new nickname Kogen had given his disciple both out of disdain for his normiehood and pride for his glow-up, "Get everyone else together and look out for any more of those things! Strength in numbers!" Strength in numbers indeed, especially if this pack of bearwolves was only the tip of the spear. Having eyes in all directions would help, and remaining in this clearing would be wise until the immediate threats were dealt with. Probably. Kogen wasn't too sure about all this. What he was sure about, however, was his ability to run wide circles, his sprint continuing through the perimeter of the clearing they had found themselves in. Of course, there was one thing Kogen was shockingly good at, one he didn't take too much pride in for fear of it overshadowing his steadily growing rock career. It was his talent with baseball. Hitting the dirt with a slide, Kogen had found himself a perfect eighteen-or-so meters away from the trio and the bearwolf that stood atop one of them. While on the ground, he would find himself conveniently next to a couple of nice, somewhat rigid rocks. It wasn't ideal, but it will do. Kogen grabbed a handful of them, before tossing one at one right for the bearwolf's eye. "Ibar!" Standing up and dusting himself off, Kogen scoffed as he looked upon the bear, tossing another one of the rocks playfully into the air. "Oho, what have we here? A mongrel who would dare lay their claim to the Devil Hitotsumi's subjects?" He spoke, his voice sinking into a deeper tone as he had allowed his demonic person to take the reins. He would then look to Masato, briefly. "Get these two and run back to the rest. I've got it." He stated, his pubescent voice nearly squeaking in terror as he faced the bear once more. And with that, another rock thrown at it. And another. Really, this would go on until the bearwolf's attention was pointed to him instead of Inaba. Kogen was primed to run as soon as that monster had its attentions set on him, prepared to dash deeper into the woods if need be. Maybe he'll eventually run out of stamina, or maybe he'll trip on the branch. It didn't matter, as Kogen was never one to think too far into the future. All that mattered was that everyone else was relatively safe. Safe from the horrors of this world. Safe from pain. From torment. From certain death. It wasn't the first time Kogen had thrown himself to the wolves, after all.</s>

<|message|>Todokawa, Ayana "The Otherside? You mean that place that gets sung about by that one lady who wants to always tell people hello from it?....well now, I'm not quite sure what to think about that" reaching her hand up to rub her chin as she thought about it. Not minding that Tsubaki continued to tend to her head and look after her. The bruise being rather tender to the touch, Ayana was starting to feel much better as the initial shock of it all started to wear off. Her eyes drifting towards the black smoke rising into the clear blue sky as she pondered it for a moment. Turning her attention to the rest of her classmates as she saw Masato run off to go after Rin, while the others seemed to be going about their own various tasks. "Everyone seems so lively, who knew it took crashing a bus to get everyone energized" remarking on the situation as she didn't have very long to ponder it. Being interrupted by the sound of screams coming from various classmates and the roars of the onrushing Wolfbear's. The situation turning chaotic without any warning her ears being filled with the crashing of brush and shrubby, the panic settling in as many started to move much more frantically. The two Wolfbears that had split off to come after the main group in a hungry bloodthirsty rush. Ayana watched as they emerged from the brush as she got up to her feet immediately and considered running for it initially. It's extra eyes giving her the creeps as it reminded her of some kind of spider. But suddenly a thought came to her mind, if she ran, then surely, they would either just run her down, or go after someone else. There was no way she could let that happen to one of her fellow classmates. She had no weapon, or way to defend herself or anyone else, but she had to find something to do. Suddenly an idea sprung into her head, wait... she had two weapons directly attached to her feet. She didn't know quite why this idea had come into her head, but surely it was better than doing nothing. It had been like a voice inside of her head causing discord amongst her thoughts. Reaching down and yanking off the shoe from her left foot. Taking aim at one of the two beasts. She turned her body sideways like a major league pitcher. Putting all the strength into her leg as her adrenaline built within her. Her muscles tensing up as she gripped the shoe in her right hand. Rearing back with all her might, all of her power. She drove her body forward with her right foot. Her body twisting as she brought her right hand forward like a slingshot. Her pushing off her right leg with every fiber in her body. "Take this you WolfBearSpider!" with a final shout she released the shoe from her hand…. As it immediately flew straight up into the air above her slipping out of her hand at the last moment. Ayana not realizing this as she expected to see the shoe careening towards one of the two Wolfbear. Only for the shoe to come tumbling down from the sky above, whacking her in the top of the head with a thud which immediately startled her. Standing there for a moment blinking her eyes as she didn't know what had happened at first. Coming to a quick conclusion without any real reasoning "It threw the shoe back faster then I could see it! This beast is more dangerous than I thought!" Quickly gathering up her shoe from the ground and slipping it back onto her foot. Deciding to try to group up with the biggest group of students she could nearby and figuring they would have a better plan after her attempt had failed.</s>

<|description|>Todokawa, Ayana Awakened: 0 Mind [10] | Body [30] | Spirit [60] Facsimile: N/A Identity: Ayana isn't amongst the tallest individuals, standing at 5'4. However, this has never slowed her down in the past. She doesn't put much thought into the limitations of her size and stature and will still attempt things better suited for those much taller or much stronger than herself. She is always willing to help and do the most that she can whenever someone else needs help. Even if they need help with something she is totally unfamiliar with, she isn't likely to back down from the challenge, even if it is completely impossible for her. Ayana is often well known for all the wrong reasons, though she is good at heart and always intends to do the right thing. Her help usually ends in chaos and more trouble than what it is worth. She is typically outgoing and not shy about meeting new people or trying to make new friends. The biggest issue however is retaining those new friends. As people that often hang out with her end up dragged into her many misfortunes and accidents. Most see her as a walking disaster waiting to happen. Even so, she doesn't feel any kind of loneliness or sadness, instead it is replaced with a determination to find new friends that drives her. What makes matters worse is that she seems to feel much fear before doing something. She often doesn't fully think things through and goes through with it with bold determination. Some may say she is not the brightest because of this fearless tendency. However, when she does give time to think about things or she is going about usual business, her intelligence is just fine. Regardless, she is still prone to moments of throwing herself at something with thoughtless abandon. She comes from a rather humble and small family that has its own restaurant. She often growing up would help her family running it, until eventually her parents learned it was often better to keep her out of the restaurant if they wanted to keep it up and running. Even so, she has a good relationship with her parents and still tries to do what she can to help them out in her free time. Peculiarity: Ayana's peculiarity is her inhuman ability for clumsiness and the destruction that often follows her because of this clumsiness. Despite her unusual level of bad luck, she often comes out of her clumsy accidents rather unharmed. Some like to say it is a result of her body being toughened up and hardened by years of various accidents and misfortunes that have befell her. Others say it is just sheer dumb luck. Regardless others will steer well clear of her as those around Ayana usually end up being dragged into whatever mess that she starts. This has caused her some troubles in the past as she finds it hard to retain friends as often it only takes one or two times of being mixed up in the chaos that is Ayana to make them think twice about having a friendship with her.</s> <|message|>Name Kanamori Shun Shun stumbled out of the bus as it slowly started to break apart. Her butt fell onto the hard dirt ground. Unfortunately, it didn't go down in a blaze of glory, but thinking about dramatic exits would be the last of her worries. "Ayana! Get the bastard and get out!" Shun yelled at the top of her lungs. If she provided any more help, Shun was sure she could only hinder Ayana more than help. Her little pipe-throw attack nearly skewered her classmate's head. Ayana could handle herself. If she was crazy to bite a monster from another world, then she was crazy enough to kill it with sheer willpower. Right now, someone else needed her urgent attention. Yuudai. Shun immediately got up and ran over to the unconscious young man. Kneeling down to the young man, Shun began to check on the upcoming poet. "Yuudai! Yuudai! Wake up! Can you hear me!" Shun yelled at the unconscious man. Turning him over, she winced as she realized how much of a poor choice it was to throw the heavily injured student out of the bus to help Ayana. Shun had to pray that she didn't cause any more damage than earlier. Upon checking, there were a variety of injuries and blood from Yuudai's battered body. A wave of relief washed over her as she felt something. "He still has a pulse!" Relief washed over Shun as she felt for it. It was faint, but that meant that Yuudai was still alive. All she had to do was perform first aid. However, there was a problem with this. The first was that Shun wasn't sure how to perform first aid. The school taught her the bare basic, but she wasn't entirely familiar with the procedures. After all, what were the chances of applying first aid in a real-life situation? The second problem. First aid implied that the patient, Yuudai, would get immediate medical attention and be rushed to a hospital. Hospitals didn't exist in a portal, and even if there were, Shun didn't have the reception to call them. Masato might know what to do, but judging by the screamings in some distance away from the bus, he seemed preoccupied with the wolfbear. "I should get you away from the bus at least..." Shun muttered to herself. While fearful of causing more damage by moving around, she didn't have much of a choice with an aflame bus right next to them. That didn't include the other potential monsters around. She picked up Yuudai and moved him further away from the fighting. Somewhere out of the way of the fighting and hiding Yuudai's body. From there, she tried the best she could to tend to his wounds. There were burn marks and other injuries that she didn't know how to tend, but there were some wounds that she was able to treat. Ripping up her sleeves, she bandaged Yuudai as best as she could. Hopefully, they weren't infected. Shun had to pray that things couldn't get any worse for her classmates and herself. "Ugh..." The sound of Yuudai stirring startled Shun. Immediately, she stopped working on bandaging and leaned over. "Higasa! Are you alright?" Her shouting probably didn't help as Yuudai immediately winced at coming to a loud sound immediately after awakening. Though his eyes focused on her. "Shun? You're okay? That's a relief." A rough cough erupted from Yuudai, which Shun immediately reacted too. "Yes, I'm okay, don't talk anymore!" With that her brain focused on taking care of her injured classmate." Where does it hurt?" "Everywhere." His eye lit up but before he could recite a poem, Shun covered his mouth with her palm. The last thing she needed to hear for her psyche was the raspy, coughing voice of Higasa trying to make a poem on the spot.</s> <|message|>DUNCAN STEWART"The Dunk" 𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭 __________________________________________________ Duncan went through a lifetime of emotions in what must've been a matter of seconds. First he thought he was going to die, then that he couldn't, and then that he already had. In the struggle that followed his landing, his world shrunk until there was no space for anyone or anything but him and his opponent. First it struggled under him, trashing in his grip, smashing Duncan's guts against his chest so violently he thought they might fly out through his back next. Then he realized he was the one underneath, and that breathing was really fucking difficult. But at least he was still breathing. And he would keep breathing longer than this goddamn bear. That was all that mattered; he just had to hold on longer than it did. That was the final thought going through his mind, before no more thoughts could form. Instinctively, he opened his mouth into a shout, but it had no room to leave his chest. Everything felt like fire. His nose and mouth were filled with the reek of blood. The next he knew, the beast had stopped struggling. Duncan's eyes fluttered open, and all he saw was more blood. His face was covered in it - but so was the monster's, its skull broken and bleeding. Duncan craned his neck, head spinning, eyes unable to focus. He saw Asahi, split into three identical faces somewhere at the end of a quickly collapsing tunnel of light. Even in his hazy state, Duncan realized the other had saved him. But by the time that thought made it to his conscious mind, it had already transformed; Asahi had helped him. And goddamn was Duncan glad he had. The wolfbear was heavy on the athlete's torn torso, but it didn't move. It was dead, and he wasn't. He'd won. Ever so slowly, Duncan raised his hand, a blood-covered thumb extended in Asahi's general direction. His eyes closed and lips parted to reveal a grin, pools of blood collecting between his teeth. And then he stopped moving too.</s>

<|message|>Todokawa, Ayana The taste of the wolfbears rancid fur filled her mouth as she tried to hold in her disgust.The taste far worse then any medicine or vegetable she had ever been forced to take or eat. Her efforts squishing up her face as she felt the impact of her move on the wolfbear. The sound of twisting and bending metal filling her ears as the wolfbear and herself went tumbling through the bottom of the bus. The impact sending a jolt through her body as it felt like her lungs were about to burst and her back felt like it had been nearly broken in half. The taste of the wolfbear, the smoke of the fire and burning debris not doing much help to her already struggling lungs. Ayana tried to get back up to her feet quickly, only to be caught by surprise when a pipe went whistling right by her face and embedded itself like a javelin into the side of the bus. "Woah! Hold on now! who said anything about these beasts using magic to hurl stuff!" Both the wolfbear and Ayana scrambling in the debris as the wolfbear tried to make its escape once it had burst free from the bus. Ayana willing her legs and body to jump out right after it as she skidded across the ground on her heels. Her eyes and head shifting side to side as she tried to track down where the wolfbear had scampered off. "Hey get back here you coward! You taste horrible! I'll never be able to get this taste out of my mouth!" Ayana complained as she tried to spit the remaining fur out. Bringing up both of her hands to her tongue as she stuck it completely out, trying to use her hands to scrub it clean as best she could. Wanting to get the taste out of her mouth as much as she could as she watched the Wolfbear scamper off. "You bweeter nut com bwack, newxt tiwme iz rouwd twoooo!" Trying to trash talk even while cleansing her tongue. Deciding not to pursue it, after all it had only been thanks to Shun that she had been able to get the jump on the wolfbear. Without Shun around to distract it, Ayana wasn't sure if she would be able to handle it all on her own. The fact that she was also unfamiliar with the surrounding area also seemed like it would be more trouble than it was worth. Not wanting to get lost in a forest likely teeming with more danger. Taking a moment to try to recompose herself and gather her strength back, the effort of slamming the wolfbear had taken quite a bit of her energy. Leaving herself covered in soot and other various bits and pieces of debris, little cuts, burns and bruises covering her arms, legs and her clothing. Wrestling a wolfbear in a burning bus was definitely not the most logical thing to do, but Ayana felt like she had no other choice. Finally catching her breath as she turned her attention to Shun and Yuudai. Seeing that Yuudai seemed to still be alive and conscious as that was a bit of a relief after all that had happened. Letting out a sigh as she wiped sweat from her brow from the heat of the fire as approached the two. "Those things are pretty clever and tough, they have some kind of magic power, first they threw my shoe back at me, then that one hurled a pipe at my head, luckily it missed…." Ayana remarked as she crouched down by the two looking over Yuudai. Completely unaware that Shun had been the one that had actually thrown the pipe. Having a mistaken belief that the wolfbear had some kind of mystical power after the earlier two incidents. "So how are you two doing? Hopefully neither of you two got hurt too badly…." Concern filling her voice as Yuudai looked a bit worse for wear. As her focused had turned towards the well being of her classmates now that the adrenaline had worn off and the coast seemed to be clear for the time being. However, going unnoticed by Ayana, one of her twin tails had caught fire when she had burst out of the bus in pursuit of the wolfbear. Her attention so focused on the wolfbear, then the well being of her classmates that she hadn't even noticed.</s>

<|description|>Name Kanamori Shun Identity: If energy were personified, then Kanamori would fit the bill. She's unable to sit still and doesn't hesitate to make decisions on the fly. The only thing restraining her is the law, but she pushes it to its limits. She lives for the thrill and doesn't let anything ruin that moment. Her parents have relentlessly tried to mellow her down, but their efforts were in vain. Though this stems from their rightly placed worry that fear, that Kanamori would hurt herself in the future. Kanamori had accidentally gotten herself hurt multiple times, as well as being a part of a police showdown when a criminal stole her parent's car while she was still inside it. Outside of this, she's a perfectly regular girl. Besides the fact that she drives to school on her moped, she's considered a nice girl, if a little wild. In the eyes of her peers, Kanamori is obedient to her teachers and friendly to her classmates. She'd initiate conversations with her classmates, study when the teacher was giving a lecture, and laugh with her classmates. However, halfway through, she'd quickly lose interest in them. Kanamori also has a distinct interest in vehicles, mainly motorcycles. During lunch, she could be seen reading magazines or books about various vehicles. Rumor has it that she's been skipping lunch to save up for her car. Even more, rumors are that she's been seen driving her parent's car in the dead of night and zooming down the streets. No one knows if this is true, but she has been seen driving up to the speed limit on her moped. A lot of people have grown either frustrated or Kanamori because of this behavior. For starters, whenever she drives, she somehow leaves a trail of dust behind and sprays over pedestrians. The second is that she treats her moped as if it were her baby and even gives it a name. The middle schooler treats her moped very well. Washing it every day, refilling its gas, and spending quality time with her moped, Kanamori is incredibly attached to it. If something were bad to happen to it, Kanamori would need to be restrained before something bad would happen. While Kanamori is carefree, she does feel a slight resentment toward her peers, parents, and teachers. Even if she has a small, petite build that doesn't fit her personality, it doesn't mean she can't decide what she can and cannot do. Her thought process only incentivizes her to do more and become riskier and try to prove them wrong. Undergoing the phrase, "I can live my life how I see fit." As long as she doesn't get into trouble, Kanamori sees no reason why to stop. Peculiarity: She has a license for her moped and is often seen driving around in it. Kanamori cannot swim. Doesn't like people who are younger than her, especially kids. Often goes on fishing trips with her father. She has a pet chicken in her house named "Ferza." Prior to her recent acquirement of her moped, Kanamori mainly biked her way to school. Her Moped's name is "Satoshi-chan." Awakened: 100 Mind [20] | Body [40] | Spirit [40] Facsimile: N/A</s> <|message|>DUNCAN STEWART"The Dunk" 𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭 __________________________________________________ "Ready to lose? Alright. On three, rock, paper--- the fuck?!" One moment Duncan was about to drop a figurative rock on Maki and saddle her with getting a hold of alcohol this weekend, the next he was stumbling out of a bus wreck with a busted lip and the worst headache in his life. He was only vaguely aware of what was happening around him, of students pouring past and Daisuke shoving bags into his arms. Everything reeked of gasoline, and his ears rung so loud he couldn't hear a word - but he knew there was shouting. There was always shouting at accident sites, he'd seen enough videos to know. Various bags flung over his shoulders, stuffed under his arms and even haphazardly balanced on his head, Duncan stepped out into the open summer air, and realized they weren't in Kuroshio anymore. "Dude," he whispered to Daisuke, or hoped he did. Duncan still couldn't hear his own voice, and as he leaned one shoulder into his cheek to wipe away sweat, the fabric came back red. Was his ear bleeding?! Holy shit, that couldn't be good, right? Man... By the time they had settled down into a clearing and partook in the collective activity of watching their bus catch on fire (but not explode, too bad) the incessant ringing in Duncan's ears had started to gradually quiet into a buzz. He still felt lightheaded though, and could swear he swerved to the left when he walked, like his dad's old car. That one had exploded. As his hearing slowly returned, it turned out Duncan hadn't missed much during his bout of deafness. No one around them had any idea what to do, and coming up with a plan of action had taken second seat to arguing and... poetry? At least the class prez was trying, sort of, but tuning the student council members out had become so second nature to Duncan that he didn't catch half of it. From what he gathered though, his grand plan was basically to... wait. Great. Duncan was more and more convinced the dude would have been better off shooting hoops with the rest of the team. Well, whatever. He, for one, was definitely not gonna just wait around for rescue. Besides, if they'd really gone through a portal, this was basically once in a lifetime experience. The kind of shit you could recount at parties years later and never fail to make an impression. "Oi, Daisuke, Yuki," he called out, louder this time, as he looked over the sea of heads to find the two. "We're inside a portal, dude. Inside a portal, can you believe it? Bro. We might get to find out if the monsters are real. My old man's convinced they're fake news. Altered footage, you know? But if they ain't... Maki and I had a bet, she thinks she could take one on. I told her I might, but she's like half the size of a carrot, how's she gonna-- huh? Wait... speaking of, where is she?" Duncan looked around for a tiny brunette dot of a head somewhere among the students. He didn't have to look long; there she was now, dashing into the bushes, launching herself into the air to drop kick a hulking monster. ... Wait, she what. Duncan spun around so fast he nearly fell over from another bout of vertigo. Either he hit his head real bad, or there were some kind of wolfbear hybrids with an unacceptable amount of eyes running straight at them. Holy. Shit. Quickly, Duncan took mental inventory of what he had. Shoes, sure, bottle of water, yeah, but that wasn't-- wait. He dropped his bag and squatted down after it, fumbling with the zipper with fingers that were way too big and way too shaky for the job. "Come on, come on..." Duncan rummaged through the bag and pulled out a basketball with both hands, taking a few steps back as he straightened back up. Good enough, right? He'd gotten hit in the face with these suckers so many times before, and they freaking hurt. Here's hoping they hurt wolfbears just as much. "Pass!" Duncan shouted as he twisted his body and pulled backwards, throwing the ball towards the monster's head with a motion that went against everything he'd learned at basketball practice. But then, new world, new rules. "Come on, guys!" he shouted at everyone within earshot, so loud he hoped it would drown out his heartbeat. It was beating in his throat so vehemently he was afraid others might hear it too. He picked up his bag, ready to swing if he had to. "There's like a shitton of us, stop standing around and do somethin'!" Like run. Honestly, running worked. Duncan really wanted to run, but if he was the first to do it, others might think he was a coward or something, and that'd be worse than getting bitten by a bear. Probably. Goddamn, he needed a cig right about now.</s> <|message|>Hoshino Asahi --- Asahi was one of those that kept to themselves in the bus. He wasn't much of a morning person even in his younger years and he was definitely not going to become one now. He would need just a couple of moments that he could get all to himself first thing in the morning, or else he would be socially tired for the rest of the day. That didn't mean he wouldn't appreciate small conversations here and there, but it seemed that his classmates had their own thing going on either with themselves or with other people. He was just scrolling through his phone, admiring a few handsome content creators his age on social media when he got distracted by the noise the bus driver just uttered out. "What the-" He barely had time to process what had happened when the light surrounded everyone. He was kind of used to the feeling of carrying heavy objects when he was a kid while helping his dad and grandpa hoist a large fishing net over the sea to catch fish, but this was definitely nothing compared to that experience. Asahi felt like the sky just fell down on him. He had a massive vertigo like he had a hurricane in his head. He lost his hearing for a bit and his sight was blacking out so much he thought he could never see again. He tried to move but groaned in pain when his arm was pinned down by one of his classmates. "M-Move..." He uttered weakly as he also would weakly try to push the person away with no avail. He then heard a familiar voice giving orders, and Asahi never thought he would feel so elated to hear Masato's annoyingly righteous voice again. Asahi managed to get himself out of the piled mess of bodies though he would groan weakly in pain all over his body. He couldn't see anyone properly because his eyesight still dimmed but he could see the general silhouette of things. He knelt down over what he hoped was his classmate and not a hunk of metal debris. "H-Hey... Hey, get up..." He said as he shook them. 'Good god, don't tell me they're all dead...' He thought, his heart filling up with dread. He heard Masato giving out orders again, this time to tell anyone who was conscious enough to help Kondo open the door. Asahi would only go and shake others to wake them up before the door finally opened. "C'mon!" He shouted in support of Masato and the others that shouted as Asahi got out of the bus along with the others, helping them as much as he could through his intense headache. The heat of the outside didn't help Asahi's dizziness, but it was better to be out in the open air than to be stuck in a crumpled mess of metals that used to be the bus. One thing led to the other and eventually everything within the vehicle caught in flames, filling the air with the sickly smell of smoke and burning gasoline mixed with what Kumi had for breakfast while she was vomiting. Once everyone managed to get their bearings and somewhat recovered a bit, it was time to regroup and take stock of what happened. Mayumi's right: it seemed that their merry class was unlucky enough to go through a Portal and end up at the Otherside. Asahi heard about it a lot online of course, but he'd never thought he would actually experience it himself. He rolled his eyes when Masato suggested to stay still and call the authorities, as if that really helped a lot of people before. It seemed that everyone was slowly starting to realize where they were too while there were a couple of them that were already on the move. Rin was already out and about breaking branches off the weird trees either for campfire, for making shelter, or probably both, as Tsubaki was making rounds to make sure everyone was in one piece. Asahi was massaging his temples now that his headache was gradually disappearing when he heard a commotion. All the color drained from his face as he saw an abomination of an animal, snapping at the branch Rin was trying to get. Maki delivered a mighty dropkick to the devilish beast, but it did absolutely nothing to it. The smell of the burning bus still filled the air, but it was now mixed with the musky scent of one-no, three monsters, all snarling, all eyes focused on their class. Asahi lowered himself on the ground behind his classmates as he made his way towards the bus. He grabbed a thick, long branch nearby and stuck it at the fire, holding it there until the tip was on fire. He didn't know if this will work but he needed to at least try and do something. "Oy!" Asahi shouted at the top of his lungs, running towards the front of the group facing the wolfbears. "Get away, you filthy animals! Get away!" He continued to yell as he waved his burning stick towards the creatures hoping it was enough to drive them away.</s>

<|message|>Name Kanamori Shun Shun jerked up at the sudden sound of branches being crushed and the sound of heavy footsteps. The only one who was relatively interacting with the environment was Rin. The middle schooler turned her head around, earning a faint hit of nausea from turning too fast, and saw what was happening. A bear with multiple eyes was attacking Rin. Maki tried to help by throwing a kick at the bear, but Shun had other problems to deal with. Mainly dealing with a bear that was coming both at Yuudai and her. "Higasa!" Shun shouted out in a warning. Her hand grabbed a fist full of dirt and threw it at the menacing beast's eyes. She needed to attract its attention. If anything, she hoped that the beast wasn't dirt immune. Unless the eyes were dirt-repellant, Shun thought that at least she could blind the beast. "Hey, you four-eyed teddy bear! Over here!" She screamed to get its attention. A feeling of catharsis washed over her as she stared at the monstrosity. Now that she had a good look at it, the mutant bear looked incredibly cool. Her classmates might think otherwise, but perhaps this was going to be the time of her life. The chances of her dying were high, but she had already accepted those terms. The world wasn't some sort of manga where they could overcome everything through the usage of an author's pen. If Shun was going to die, then she would make the most of it. Shun took a few steps back from the bear and backed up closer to the flaming car. On the way, she picked up the longest branch she could find and dragged it against the floor. "You want more! I can make a nasty dirt pie, dung face!" She needed the right opportunity. If she had tried hard enough, maybe she could have collided with the bus and attack it with the branch. While it seemed like a stupid idea, Shun was welcoming to such ideas.</s>

<|description|>Kaito Aster "A gentle heart and a gentle touch is all it takes." Appearance Height: 6'2 Weight: 132 lbs Body Type: Tall and slender Eyes: Crimson red Hair: White Distinct body markings: Kaito's body is heavily freakled, his feathers are some combination of white, cream, grey, brown, black, and cobolt blue. Fasion(?): Kaito often opts to wear either very loose fiting clothing or very long ponchos. He presonally doesn't enjoy conventional clothing however, and can often be seen with nothing but perhaps a loin cloth simply to make other less uncomfortable around him. Though he has been known to wear the occational Kilt or skirt seeing as his legs, feet and tail tend to make pants a challenge. Basic Info Species: Harpy Gender: Male Pronouns and Sexual orientation: He/Him Demi-Sexual (Pan-Romantic) Age and date of birth: 22 November 20th Course of Study: Magical and Mythical Beast Zoology and care. Personal Information Personality: Kaito is a very friendly and outgoing individual, he has a gentle disposition and generally gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, chosing to see the best in even some of the worst people. He is often described as a soft spoken person with a big heart and plenty of patience and compassion. His patience seems to know no bounds when it comes to other people, but do not mistake this as him being a pushover. At least not when it comes to people causing trouble for those he cares about. He can take all kinds of abuse when it is directed at him but the moment it's turned on others around him his demenor changes to a much more protective one. Kill them with kindness is Kaito's mantra and he is capable of sticking to this to an almost scary perfection. History: Kaito was born and raised in GloomMinister. The eldest child to a Shipwright father and a vetrenarian mother, he and his 10 younger siblings never really wanted for anything. Kaito grew up taking a great interest in his mother's line of work though he was much more interested in the magical beasts than the everyday dog or cat. Despite his household being rather crowded Kaito was always trying to bring home this beast or that, only to be turned down by his parents every time. As he got older he would begin spending much of his time in the wilderness trying to observe whatever creature he might be able to find even if it was simply some slightly unusual frogs. It was how he managed to escape the chaos that was his family home and it only solidified his decisions later in life. After taking some time to help some of his younger siblings finsh their home studies he finally decided to attend GloomMinister University. He soon realized that if he was going to be doing so he would need a place free of his siblings to focus on his studies, so he decided to find a reletivly cheap place in town to live. An adult needs their space from the parents after all.</s> <|message|>Areya Pierre (left) & Phynnia Pierre (Right) Phynnia, finally awake, sits up from her slumber. She has a night mask on, always wearing one no matter what she does. She yawns and looks beside her, Areya sitting on the bedside table. "Hello, Areya. How are you this morning?" she says while fixing a bit of her hair. Areya Smiles and nods, saying nothing but what's on her mind. "That's good, I'm glad you're doing well this morning.". Phynnia understands, using her weak but effective magic to communicate. She looks at the clock beside Areya and nods slightly. "My my, almost 8 hours of sleep. Just a little bit more would've been nice," she stretches mid sentence, making a noise and a sigh, "but that's not happening now. We have to get up and get ready for our new day at this new place." Areya jumps off the bedside table and follows Phynnia to the bathroom. She has to assist her in making sure she remembers everything Phynnia walks in, thinking of her daily morning routine. She never goes off track, it could end up horribly if she does. "Alright, so first we need a shower. We must stay nice and clean." She turns on the faucet, waiting for it to get lukewarm. The showers here are not the best, but at least it's something. Areya is not fond of showers because it gets in between her joints and cracks, but she washes herself anyway for Phynnia's sake. After they had an...okay shower, the go to the sink. Phynnia's toothbrush looked untouched, even though she used it everyday and night. Areya doesn't really have anything to brush, but she does anyway. Her toothbrush looks a little more worn than Phynnia's, but it's not a bother. After a few more steps, including hair being brushed, They get dressed up. They only have a few spare clothes, but they are washed regularly. They get dressed and smile at each other. "Are you ready, Areya?" Phynnia ask while tying her last boot lace. She wore a white tattered shirt, black overall shorts, and black boots. Areya nodded, sporting her greenish dress and a shoulder cape. She wore brown slippers as well, as it's the only thing she could retrieve from home. Phynnia stood up and opened the door. She looked back and motioned Areya to go first. She does, and walks lightly out the door. Phynnia follows, her walk a little more heavier. Their favourite first place to hang out in the morning is a small little cafe nearby their little stay-in. They don't have much, but this cafe is wonders to them. It's mostly for Phynnia, but Areya likes to look and smell all the food and drinks. They walk in and sit down for a while. The smell of coffee and bread fills their senses and makes them relax. They sit down at their usual spot, somewhere near the food so that Areya can look and watch the cafe workers do their thing. They indulge themselves, slipping off into what they're going to do at the University, and what adventures they'd find themselves in. During the conversation, they thought that it would be best to go to the bookstore on the first day. It might not be the best impression, but they don't mind what others think as long as they have each other.</s> <|message|>Minerva "Min" Yoon --- --- Spry footsteps skipped across the cobble roads, followed by the heavy clunks of much heavier marching behind. Every now and then, the lighter footsteps would stop as the woman paused to admire a shop, monument, or particularly interesting-looking stranger. The young woman with white hair tied in a ponytail, wide eyes framed by wider round glasses, a devilish grin, and a slender frame wandered through the crowds, carrying a leather satchel. Behind her were two animate statues carrying several rather hefty-looking boxes labeled "STUFF" and "MORE STUFF". One statue was made of marble, with a tall, knight-like frame, its sculpted grooves mimicking the plates of armor. The other was some sort of terracotta-like brute, built with a wide bulky frame. And each had a simple face etched into their material, two dots, and a curve—smiley faces. This trio was none other than Minerva Yoon and two of her magically animated creations. And she had just arrived in the city. "By the gods, this really is Gloomminister! It's just as I imagined. What do you two think? Should be a magnificent place for you two to run around, ay?" The two statues nodded their heads and made grunting noises that sounded like grinding stone, and Min laughed, clapping her hands together. Min (it was just much quicker to say than Minerrrrrvaa Yoon~) was full of excitement, taking in the new landscape. Growing up in Linkhaven, she was accustomed to the bustle of merchants and tourists, but something here just felt different. Gloomminister felt brighter, more magical, imbued with the glow of progress as the university of her dreams towered on the horizon. But she couldn't head to class just yet, she needed a place to stay. After hours of aimless meandering, Min remembered that she could, in fact, use navigational tools. Activating a directional charm on her mobile Orbuculum, a few sparkly arrows pointed her toward a charming storefront. Cunningham's Bookstore. Min burst through the door with a smile and held it open for her creations to step in after her. They were a bit big but lowered their heads to fit under the door. Min glanced around, putting her hand on a dusty tome sitting on a shelf, then tracing a little star in the dust. She took a deep breath of that old book odor and smiled even more. "Excellent! It smells authentically ancient in here! Must have some real magic, book magic! Hahaha, wonderful." She peeked around, spotting a woman with a beautiful mess of iron-colored hair at the counter helping a tall, thin customer. The woman must be Bonnie Cunningham. Min took a deep breath as she was about to meet her… landlord? Possible friend? Fellow Gloomminister denizen? She had to make a good impression! With that thought Minerva Yoon confidently began to walk toward the counter, and promptly stubbed her toe on a shelf, stumbled, and toppled into a pile of books. With a yelp for help, her two statues slowly placed the boxes on the floor and trundled over to help their creator to her feet. Min frantically took their help, then began to stack the books back in the order they were before being toppled. "So, so, SO sorry about that! I am incredibly sorry about that." She looked bashfully in the direction of the shopkeep, hoping that she was possibly too occupied with the customer to notice Min's dreadful entrance. Her first day in Gloomminister was off to a wonderful start.</s>

<|message|>Kaito Aster To say Kaito's morning started off chaotic would be an understatement. He woke up to his youngest sibling jumping onto his bed practically begging him not to leave today. Kaito, being the oldest of 11, had quite a big age gap between himself and his youngest sister. Fourteen years to be exact, and she had spent the last week trying to rally the rest of her siblings behind her to convince Kaito that he didn't need to move out. That they would all respect his privacy and quiet time while he was going to the University. Kaito had to practically pry the young female harpy off of him, something that was just as painful as it sounded seeing as she had decided to latch on with her talons. "You know I can't live at home forever, plus I will still be in town, it's not like you won't see me ever again." He attempted to reason with her as he finally got her to release her talons from his leg. She seemed to only pout and storm off leaving Kaito to make sure she didn't scratch his leg too badly. After examining his leg he headed down the stairs off his home where his mother had already finished preparing breakfast. Most of it had already been inhaled by the rest of the family but his mother had been sure to save some for him. "Thanks Ma." He said, kissing her on the cheek and taking the plate from her. "I have to head out soon to go meet with my Landlord." He seemed to get excited at the thought of having a place of his own no matter how small. It would be the first time in his life, he would be totally on his own. He was excited to enjoy the silence of it all, though even more so to meet the others who were also moving in. His mother seemed to pick up on this. "Just don't forget that we are close by, make sure you come visit." Kaito nodded to her with food in his mouth. After practically shoveling his food in his mouth he moved to head out the front door but stopped when his hand touched the handle, looking down at himself he sighed. "I should probably show up in actual cloths. First impressions and all that." He mumbled to himself and headed back to his room, which was mostly packed, to dig out a simple black kilt. He had no intentions of putting on a shirt. They were a separate issue, even with the proper extra holes they restricted his wings and he hated them. At least the kilt would cover his lower half while providing enough space for his tail to be comfortable. Despite the fact that there were ways to make clothing that was...more comfortable for his kind than conventional clothing, the options still paled in comparison to his current choice. From here he decided that rather than going back down the stairs he would simply yell his goodbyes from his room and opt to use the window as his point of exit. He intended to fly to Cunningham's Bookstore anyway and it was easier to start flying from a height anyway. It was a short flight from his family home to the bookstore and he managed to find himself a clear area to land nearby. Upon landing Kaito made sure to smooth everything down, kilt, windblown hair, feathers and all. After which he walked up to the door of the shop and entered just in time to witness a stack of books go toppling to the floor. Kaito was quick to head in the direction of the books and assist the person who was already in the process of picking them up, a decently tall human woman flanked by statue like beings? Were they Gargoyles? No they couldn't be. Shaking the thought out of his head to look at the female with a gentle smile. "Hey it happens, sometimes with these wings if things are too crowded I am like a bull in a china shop." He shoved his thumb in the direction of a wing that despite being tucked rather tightly to his body still jutted out enough that one could see how they might become an issue. "Let me help you, the more hands the faster things get done." He hoped she didn't think his offer to help was rude.</s>

<|description|>Ornager Species: Castoridae Subspecies (Giant Beavers) Age: 21 Sex/gender: Male Height: 6'4 Weight: 190 lbs Fashion: Ornager is a country man (or beaver) at heart. He likes to wear plaid or very plain collared shirts in public, accompanied with a dark colored gilet, mostly brown, and jeans or work pants. In the wilderness, he tends to dress more lightly up top, often just a t-shirt or a tank top. Personality: Despite the seemingly intimidating look, Ornager is actually quite easygoing and relaxed, often seen making jokes and puns with people. He is a devoted beaver of nature, respecting their beauty, revels in its bounties and gives back many. Naturally, that good-natured sentiments extends to those friendly and respectful to him. It is not hard to be buddy-buddy with the beaves, he will be a kind and loyal partner to you as long as you don't have any bad motives. Nevertheless, Ornager lives up to the solid and industrious nature of the Castoridaes. He may be easygoing, but it is a result of his exceptional self-discipline and organization, allowing him to both work hard but also rest easy. The fruits of labour, as he would describe it, is to be enjoyed. However, Ornager can be quite territorial, and if one does not show respect for his boundaries, his temperament can change really easily. Skills: - Woodcrafts - Engineering and physics, especially hydraulics - Physically strong as well as high endurance - Cold-resistant Field of Studies: - Hydro and Druidic Magic - Artifice - Environmental Magic-Engineering (Magineering) History: Ornager came from a beaver town called Pine Glen Grove in a wetland to the north of Gloomminster. It is small compared to other cities, but very green, sustainable and surprisingly advanced in technology, completely powered by wind, solar or hydro energy. Magic while a common thing in this world, was not something the beavers thought to be important. It was more of a recreational thing in their culture, good for a campfire night, but nothing fancy. However, while the town had weathered the effects of climate change a lot better than other cities, mother nature is catching up to them. Droughts were becoming harsher and more frequent, storms getting stronger, and crop losses slowly creeping towards the town's livelihood. Ornager grew up a diligent kid, knowing both the hardships and rewards of living in harmony with the trees and soils. His parents were loggers and carpenters/builders, and Ornager shared his parent's responsibilities diligently even while he was still in schools. He was a smart but not atypical kid, having strong carpentry skills and engineering, able to build himself toys and later tools that he would use for his work. He's also naturally gifted in physics, and in high schools he would be allowed to participate in national competitions in that subject. Life was modest, but the changes to Pine Glen Grove was not something he did not feel... As crops and trees were struggling to survive in the wetlands that were once capable of thriving, his family work was also suffering, and in its place were new interests in radical solutions, and among them were magics. By the time he was in high school, Ornager's first real contact with magic was through books and videos. He managed to recreate them to some extent, but saw the need to go to an actual magic schools if he were to master it. He applied to Gloomminster University, as it was the closest one and also the only few decently cheap options he could find. Miscellaneous: Ornager is a strict vegan whose diet only includes plant-based food like carrots, potatoes or tree barks. He really likes swimming and would not be seen in a swimming pool less than two times a week. Being a rodent species, his teeth is very strong but grows really fast and needs to be grinded every now and then</s> <|message|>Minerva "Min" Yoon --- --- Spry footsteps skipped across the cobble roads, followed by the heavy clunks of much heavier marching behind. Every now and then, the lighter footsteps would stop as the woman paused to admire a shop, monument, or particularly interesting-looking stranger. The young woman with white hair tied in a ponytail, wide eyes framed by wider round glasses, a devilish grin, and a slender frame wandered through the crowds, carrying a leather satchel. Behind her were two animate statues carrying several rather hefty-looking boxes labeled "STUFF" and "MORE STUFF". One statue was made of marble, with a tall, knight-like frame, its sculpted grooves mimicking the plates of armor. The other was some sort of terracotta-like brute, built with a wide bulky frame. And each had a simple face etched into their material, two dots, and a curve—smiley faces. This trio was none other than Minerva Yoon and two of her magically animated creations. And she had just arrived in the city. "By the gods, this really is Gloomminister! It's just as I imagined. What do you two think? Should be a magnificent place for you two to run around, ay?" The two statues nodded their heads and made grunting noises that sounded like grinding stone, and Min laughed, clapping her hands together. Min (it was just much quicker to say than Minerrrrrvaa Yoon~) was full of excitement, taking in the new landscape. Growing up in Linkhaven, she was accustomed to the bustle of merchants and tourists, but something here just felt different. Gloomminister felt brighter, more magical, imbued with the glow of progress as the university of her dreams towered on the horizon. But she couldn't head to class just yet, she needed a place to stay. After hours of aimless meandering, Min remembered that she could, in fact, use navigational tools. Activating a directional charm on her mobile Orbuculum, a few sparkly arrows pointed her toward a charming storefront. Cunningham's Bookstore. Min burst through the door with a smile and held it open for her creations to step in after her. They were a bit big but lowered their heads to fit under the door. Min glanced around, putting her hand on a dusty tome sitting on a shelf, then tracing a little star in the dust. She took a deep breath of that old book odor and smiled even more. "Excellent! It smells authentically ancient in here! Must have some real magic, book magic! Hahaha, wonderful." She peeked around, spotting a woman with a beautiful mess of iron-colored hair at the counter helping a tall, thin customer. The woman must be Bonnie Cunningham. Min took a deep breath as she was about to meet her… landlord? Possible friend? Fellow Gloomminister denizen? She had to make a good impression! With that thought Minerva Yoon confidently began to walk toward the counter, and promptly stubbed her toe on a shelf, stumbled, and toppled into a pile of books. With a yelp for help, her two statues slowly placed the boxes on the floor and trundled over to help their creator to her feet. Min frantically took their help, then began to stack the books back in the order they were before being toppled. "So, so, SO sorry about that! I am incredibly sorry about that." She looked bashfully in the direction of the shopkeep, hoping that she was possibly too occupied with the customer to notice Min's dreadful entrance. Her first day in Gloomminister was off to a wonderful start.</s> <|message|>Kaito Aster --- --- To say Kaito's morning started off chaotic would be an understatement. He woke up to his youngest sibling jumping onto his bed practically begging him not to leave today. Kaito, being the oldest of 11, had quite a big age gap between himself and his youngest sister. Fourteen years to be exact, and she had spent the last week trying to rally the rest of her siblings behind her to convince Kaito that he didn't need to move out. That they would all respect his privacy and quiet time while he was going to the University. Kaito had to practically pry the young female harpy off of him, something that was just as painful as it sounded seeing as she had decided to latch on with her talons. "You know I can't live at home forever, plus I will still be in town, it's not like you won't see me ever again." He attempted to reason with her as he finally got her to release her talons from his leg. She seemed to only pout and storm off leaving Kaito to make sure she didn't scratch his leg too badly. After examining his leg he headed down the stairs off his home where his mother had already finished preparing breakfast. Most of it had already been inhaled by the rest of the family but his mother had been sure to save some for him. "Thanks Ma." He said, kissing her on the cheek and taking the plate from her. "I have to head out soon to go meet with my Landlord." He seemed to get excited at the thought of having a place of his own no matter how small. It would be the first time in his life, he would be totally on his own. He was excited to enjoy the silence of it all, though even more so to meet the others who were also moving in. His mother seemed to pick up on this. "Just don't forget that we are close by, make sure you come visit." Kaito nodded to her with food in his mouth. After practically shoveling his food in his mouth he moved to head out the front door but stopped when his hand touched the handle, looking down at himself he sighed. "I should probably show up in actual cloths. First impressions and all that." He mumbled to himself and headed back to his room, which was mostly packed, to dig out a simple black kilt. He had no intentions of putting on a shirt. They were a separate issue, even with the proper extra holes they restricted his wings and he hated them. At least the kilt would cover his lower half while providing enough space for his tail to be comfortable. Despite the fact that there were ways to make clothing that was...more comfortable for his kind than conventional clothing, the options still paled in comparison to his current choice. From here he decided that rather than going back down the stairs he would simply yell his goodbyes from his room and opt to use the window as his point of exit. He intended to fly to Cunningham's Bookstore anyway and it was easier to start flying from a height anyway. It was a short flight from his family home to the bookstore and he managed to find himself a clear area to land nearby. Upon landing Kaito made sure to smooth everything down, kilt, windblown hair, feathers and all. After which he walked up to the door of the shop and entered just in time to witness a stack of books go toppling to the floor. Kaito was quick to head in the direction of the books and assist the person who was already in the process of picking them up, a decently tall human woman flanked by statue like beings? Were they Gargoyles? No they couldn't be. Shaking the thought out of his head to look at the female with a gentle smile. "Hey it happens, sometimes with these wings if things are too crowded I am like a bull in a china shop." He shoved his thumb in the direction of a wing that despite being tucked rather tightly to his body still jutted out enough that one could see how they might become an issue. "Let me help you, the more hands the faster things get done." He hoped she didn't think his offer to help was rude.</s>

<|message|>Ornager The travel from his hometown and here was at least a few hours of biking, and thus he would need to already be up before sunrise. And Ornager would be up before sunrise, to the minute. He took his time taking a nice shower, grinding and cleaning his teeth, putting on the best set of orange plaid shirt, khaki pants and brown gilet that he set out the day before, double checking the suitcase he had prepared, along with a small treated wooden box on top of it, compact with mechanical tools that he could not live without. With a brief goodbye said to his parents, the large beaver slugged the two items he had out of the house and marched towards a tricycle, and indeed it is a tricycle. Sturdily handcrafted almost entirely out of wood except for the chains, tires and wires, with a large basket in front suitable for any bulky personal cargo he had, which would be the two baggage, along with a pump he just casually yanked from the back of the house. His parents already had a spare. With it, the beaver embarked on his journey. It was quite long, but he was well-built for long journeys. As long as he had his bottle of water with him, a song to hum down the country road, time flew quite fast. Soon, Gloomminster came into sight, neared and finally engulfed the beaver as he strolled along the road, passing by the shops and houses. He saw the lodge he was supposed to stay in, but passed by that to head into a cafe parking lot instead. After making sure that his preciously built tricycle was securely fastened, he slugged his baggage out of the cargo basket and headed inside. The door opened to a ring of a bell, and emerged a large furry silhouette, a large flat tail slightly skidding off the floor. His lips opened to reveal four long teeth in the middle, as he raised a finger to catch the attention of a cafe worker. "Fur' one please." He spoke, having quite a distinct accent. One cafe worker approached the beaver slightly nervously, which towered over the small lad, who asked if he shook his head, to which Ornager shook his head with a firm "Nai." The cafe worker looked over it a bit and directed the beaver to sit down at a table nearby. He dragged the luggage over before plopping down on the seat, the tail tucked between his legs, seeing as the chair could not fit putting it behind him. "A gulp of water fur' me. Thank ya." He ordered from a waitress, before inclining back on his chair, having a look at everyone around him. There's a certain lot of personality around, of different kind. The beaver saw two elves sitting close by him. He did log the peculiarity of their physical appearances, as one had what looked like sews on her lips, and the other had eye-covers, but Ornager greeted them the same as he would any other. "Heyo, how's yur mornin' been?" He said, a friendly smile that let the two long upper teeth jutting out, looking a little goofy, as he waved at both of them with a two-fingered salute.</s>

<|description|>Lirrah Matayannah Age:22 Gender: Female Race: Nem Appearance: (As above, but with rounder ears! Though her hair is naturally black, she dyes it pink to stand out. A merchant's most powerful weapon is being remembered. In addition, on the occasion she needs to go outside during the day, she wears a cute, floral, wide-brimmed hat) Personality: Sweet, caring, and good-natured on the outside. Calculating and selfish on the inside. Lirrah does what she can for the people she likes, and everyone else is scarcely a concern of hers. She has no particular investment in Velt or Ithillin aside from the knowledge that brewing hostilities are a good business venture. It would be easy to label her as another amoral war profiteer, but it's hard to make the title stick when she's personally serving hot meals to the folks on the borderlands (for a fee, of course). In any case, she is outgoing, personable, and really lays on the cute. Cute is good for business. Brief Backstory: Born into a humble family of sweets-makers with three older brothers and three older sisters, it would be no exaggeration to say that Lirrah was the baby of the family. If she wanted acknowledgement, she had to work for it. Whether she had to lie or exaggerate or even shout, she was always yapping in order to get attention. From a young age, this served her well, though it got on her siblings' nerves. She learned how to cook, and was quite talented, but her gift of gab often had her strutting the sand to entice customers instead. She and her family's trade became so well-known through her raw, extroverted moxie that she was considered by many to be the unofficial mascot of the store. She and her family's brand of sweets soon became inseparable. For most attention-seekers, this amount of notoriety would be enough to live a lifetime, but Lirrah wanted more. Her cries yearned to reach more ears. She wanted to say something that the entire known world would one day need to listen to. On her sixteenth birthday, people came from settlements all around to celebrate her. It was at this moment that she decided to cash in all the affection and goodwill she had earned from a lifetime of honeyed words as sweet as the ripest melon juice. She wanted to leave the village, and travel north. For that purpose, she collected many investors and partners who would fund and stock her caravan, with no proof of success other than the borderline disgusting amount of aplomb with which she conducted herself. Everyone likes sweets. Her network was enormous. The affection that everyone had for her was overflowing. And flow it did, into coins and goods and equipment that would enable her desire to reach north. As far northward as she could go… so far, and so high, that even she could look down at the world despite her people's relatively short stature. It took a while, of course, to get everything ready. But within a few years, funds and equipment in hand, she reached Velt. This was only going to be her first stop, but it would be a profitable one. She had weapons to feed into the growing fires of hostility, and Nem glasswork and art pieces to appeal to nobles who wanted to show off how world-wise they were and who had more money than sense. With her charms, and the situation to her advantage, it was almost impossible to fail. She made a killing when she finally arrived and, happy with the numbers, decided to move onto Ithillin. What happened when everything boiled over wasn't important. What was important was making her money off both sides and getting out, continuing to reach ever northward. The situation was not exactly as it was described to her. The conflict was practically already happening, and the borderlands were almost a war zone, with skirmishes and bandits and monsters out in force. Lirrah learned this when she picked the most reasonably under-staffed point on the border to make her trip, and found her caravan surrounded by marauders. Though she could shoot a bow (her home village was small enough that everyone needed to learn), she was not a real fighter. Her hired muscle fell quickly to the deluge of bandits, and she was soon surrounded. She didn't want her ambition to end there, but what could she do? Then, the Lions roared. Routed efficiently to the last, the bandits went from an overwhelming bellow to a simpering swan song within moments. Lirrah explained the situation to the Lions, embellishing to make herself seem less opportunistic, and she soon learned that things were more dire between the two nations than she had imagined. A caravan cannot move north through a river of blood. Even avoiding everything else, the upcoming conflict could capture her supply chain and leave her stranded. There was nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she talked her way into a mutually beneficial exclusivity contract with Velt during wartime. Her supply chain would be useful, and she could set up shop personally among the group that had helped her. Until the war was over, she would need to hold out. She didn't want to pick sides initially, but as it turned out, a side picked her. Equipment: A diverse array of highly saleable wares! Within reason, of course. The art objects get sold far before they reach Lirrah, because warriors on the frontline have little need for such things. If there's something specific a soldier wants, however, she can usually get it in a week or so depending on rarity. She stocks generic weapons, along with some more interesting exotic weapons from her homeland. Nem bows, especially, are in high demand. With the ever-present threat of skirmishes, she stocks a ridiculous amount of healing potions. More high-end wares include enchanted rings and brooches, with a variety of protective effects, and even magical weapons. Nem alcohol is, to most, a novelty, but she gets enough requests from those who have taken to it to keep it in stock (and to drink herself). When out and about, she carries a bow and a good supply of potions, as well as a few explosive flasks and acid bombs. She has an enchanted hat that cools her and gives her a lot of shade, though seeing beyond the immediate bound of that shade is still difficult as a Nem. Mostly it makes travel during daytime much more comfortable. Skills: Diplomancer: Lirrah is very good at talking to people, and even getting them to agree to things they normally wouldn't. She's that charming! She's a natural in any environment, from swanky party to seedy bar. She can lie as naturally as she breathes, and can make herself the center of attention with little effort. Conversely, during a combat encounter, she can turn up her cute and helpless act such that most reasonable enemies wouldn't target her unless they had no other choice. Very helpful as a merchant! Swift: Lirrah is dexterous, agile, and quick on her feet. On the rare occasion she can't talk or act her way out of danger, she can usually escape it. Her sight, mainly in the dark, is immensely keen. She's good with a bow, though aiming far away is difficult for her during the day. She's practiced enough with the sling to fling dangerous flasks many feet away. Fast hands are useful in the kitchen, and she's also quite good at sewing and knitting. Gourmand: Lirrah is an excellent cook. She's best at dishes from her home country, but picks up new cuisine quickly as well. Sometimes, the difference between a dead soldier and a living one is a happily-fed belly. She's especially gifted at desserts, which she can make at the level of a genius patissier. She can only make so many to her exacting standards day to day, that they run out quickly. People have gotten into fistfights over the strawberry shortcake!</s> <|message|>Urden Antiac "What do we do with a drunken soldier..." The mercenary Urden was currently half humming, half singing an old working song his previous mercenary company favored when doing menial work like weapon's maintenance, setting up camp, packing up camp and other such idle behavior mostly spent just passing time. Sure enough, having spent the morning counting and verifying that his coin was both good, and in the proper amounts, for this pay cycle, he had turned to preparing for the upcoming conflict. In time with the hummed, occasionally sung, working tune, he ran a whetstone along the main blade of his two handed axe, honing its edge to as keen as he could given the circumstances. It was no blacksmith's work or anything of the sort, but it wasn't like they could expect a forge to follow this warband around so readily. The merchant who had seen fit to attach herself to the band was hawking goods, food with a voucher for pastries after words. He'd already eaten, or the offer might have been more tmepting. "...Dock his pay with extra duty, dock his pay with extra duty..." Urden appeared to be in a pleasant mood as he worked away, hefting the axe with practiced ease, examining the main cutting edge of the blade. Setting aside the sharpening stone, he tugged a loose hair out and let it fall on the axe blade, splitting neatly with little resistance. Nodding in approval, mostly to himself, he turned the axe over and started working on the opposite end, the spike that would be far more suited to punching through armor than it was for hacking away like the main axe head would be. So he would work, the sound of the whetstone running over well used, but well kept, steel. Nothing about the weapon was for show, the haft sturdy enough to catch incoming strikes, both ends of the axe head having their own uses. Even the other end had a sturdy steel cap on it to make for a nasty surprise for anyone who thought they were safe from a surprise strike while the obviously dangerous end was away from them. Just one of many different tricks he kept in mind when dealing with your average trouble. "...Twenty strokes of the captains whip, twenty strokes of the captain's whip..." Nothing about what Urden had heard so far sounded like bandits to him. They struck fast, sure, but looked for coin and valuables, maybe some living hostages to sell back later or to prevent immediate attacks on them for fear of losing even more innocent lives. Near as he'd heard from around camp, it was anything that wasn't nailed down. If you could pry it up, it didn't count either, apparently. That...that was odd. Corpses weren't worth a lick on their own, and most bounties per head only needed proof. Ears, fingers, things like that, grim as it was to some. Whole bodies though, that was a lot of dead weight, pun intended, to be lugging about. Something was amiss, though end of the day Urden got paid the same. Didn't matter what kind of out of their head bandits, soldiers, whatever was waiting out there for them. Nothing good steel backed by good pay couldn't sort out. "...Early in the morning..."</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela With the camp bustling around her, Gisela felt that there was very little for her to do on a day-to-day basis. Any injuries that a small-sized force such as this might sustain outside of combat were a matter of minutes to address, and once that was done... well, she was a mage, and that meant a level of respected treatment, despite the lack of nobility in her treatment. Powerful mages were in high enough demand to receive consistent payment and be spared the indignities of manual labour, so long as they continued to fulfil the obligations that nobody else could. Soldiering was seemingly boring enough even with monotonous tasks. Without... well, she couldn't even indulge in games of chance or similar. Nobody wanted to play with the odd suspicious mage, who knew what cheating might happen? None, really, since Gisela couldn't do subtle, but even she couldn't completely discount that something might go wrong. All the sides on dice might come up six... even the ones face down. So, instead, she had summoned Krysia to have someone to talk to... and also so that the others could at least become accustomed to the towering demon, rather than thinking it was an enemy in the middle of battle. Not that over eight feet of armoured inhuman muscle was doing her reputation much of a favour. Who had taken an interest in the goods on sale. Which Gisela would be obliged to pay for, of course, and she gave a sigh as the demon tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But what if I only want the sweet pastry? The rest doesn't interest me," the red-skinned demon wondered allowed, voice surprisingly melodious--deep, for a woman, but a lot less raspy than someone with a rather loud approach to battle.</s>

<|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah looked up, wide-eyed, at her newest customer. Her first instinct was to run and hide, but she was stuck to the spot. As her brain processed the fact that there was, indeed, a gigantic demon woman standing in front of her, a few extra pieces of information clicked into place. No one seemed to be panicking, at least not any more than one would panic before a confrontation. Some were maybe uncomfortable, but they weren't drawing their weapons. Searching her memory, Lirrah alighted upon a tidbit she once heard about a demon that she might see around one day. Apparently, one of their finger-wigglers could summon one, and she usually did this on the front lines. Since Lirrah tended to stay at base camp, it figured that she wouldn't have seen this woman before. Lirrah had honestly thought it might have been a joke. But even so, they didn't mention how damn big she was supposed to be. Ila-Nem, this demon was as tall as three of Lirrah standing on each other's shoulders! And so red! After standing dumbfounded for almost a minute, she managed to drag herself back to reality. If she was going to go near the front lines to help, she couldn't let things like this freak her out. But she was so big- "Puh-puh-pweased tomeechu!" she found herself stammering like an ignoramus. She looked around in a panic, and bolted back into her tent, quickly bringing out a few fruity pastries in her tiny, trembling arms. She was good with diplomacy, but not with bravery. She wanted to tell the woman [on the house], but there wasn't a single bone in her body that would allow her to string those words together in that configuration. As if on instinct alone, she blurted out the inflated price she charges everyone. "S-s-six hundred each! D-don't tell anypody I let you have some! I m-mean, i-if that's OK with you!"</s>

<|description|>Lirrah Matayannah Age:22 Gender: Female Race: Nem Appearance: (As above, but with rounder ears! Though her hair is naturally black, she dyes it pink to stand out. A merchant's most powerful weapon is being remembered. In addition, on the occasion she needs to go outside during the day, she wears a cute, floral, wide-brimmed hat) Personality: Sweet, caring, and good-natured on the outside. Calculating and selfish on the inside. Lirrah does what she can for the people she likes, and everyone else is scarcely a concern of hers. She has no particular investment in Velt or Ithillin aside from the knowledge that brewing hostilities are a good business venture. It would be easy to label her as another amoral war profiteer, but it's hard to make the title stick when she's personally serving hot meals to the folks on the borderlands (for a fee, of course). In any case, she is outgoing, personable, and really lays on the cute. Cute is good for business. Brief Backstory: Born into a humble family of sweets-makers with three older brothers and three older sisters, it would be no exaggeration to say that Lirrah was the baby of the family. If she wanted acknowledgement, she had to work for it. Whether she had to lie or exaggerate or even shout, she was always yapping in order to get attention. From a young age, this served her well, though it got on her siblings' nerves. She learned how to cook, and was quite talented, but her gift of gab often had her strutting the sand to entice customers instead. She and her family's trade became so well-known through her raw, extroverted moxie that she was considered by many to be the unofficial mascot of the store. She and her family's brand of sweets soon became inseparable. For most attention-seekers, this amount of notoriety would be enough to live a lifetime, but Lirrah wanted more. Her cries yearned to reach more ears. She wanted to say something that the entire known world would one day need to listen to. On her sixteenth birthday, people came from settlements all around to celebrate her. It was at this moment that she decided to cash in all the affection and goodwill she had earned from a lifetime of honeyed words as sweet as the ripest melon juice. She wanted to leave the village, and travel north. For that purpose, she collected many investors and partners who would fund and stock her caravan, with no proof of success other than the borderline disgusting amount of aplomb with which she conducted herself. Everyone likes sweets. Her network was enormous. The affection that everyone had for her was overflowing. And flow it did, into coins and goods and equipment that would enable her desire to reach north. As far northward as she could go… so far, and so high, that even she could look down at the world despite her people's relatively short stature. It took a while, of course, to get everything ready. But within a few years, funds and equipment in hand, she reached Velt. This was only going to be her first stop, but it would be a profitable one. She had weapons to feed into the growing fires of hostility, and Nem glasswork and art pieces to appeal to nobles who wanted to show off how world-wise they were and who had more money than sense. With her charms, and the situation to her advantage, it was almost impossible to fail. She made a killing when she finally arrived and, happy with the numbers, decided to move onto Ithillin. What happened when everything boiled over wasn't important. What was important was making her money off both sides and getting out, continuing to reach ever northward. The situation was not exactly as it was described to her. The conflict was practically already happening, and the borderlands were almost a war zone, with skirmishes and bandits and monsters out in force. Lirrah learned this when she picked the most reasonably under-staffed point on the border to make her trip, and found her caravan surrounded by marauders. Though she could shoot a bow (her home village was small enough that everyone needed to learn), she was not a real fighter. Her hired muscle fell quickly to the deluge of bandits, and she was soon surrounded. She didn't want her ambition to end there, but what could she do? Then, the Lions roared. Routed efficiently to the last, the bandits went from an overwhelming bellow to a simpering swan song within moments. Lirrah explained the situation to the Lions, embellishing to make herself seem less opportunistic, and she soon learned that things were more dire between the two nations than she had imagined. A caravan cannot move north through a river of blood. Even avoiding everything else, the upcoming conflict could capture her supply chain and leave her stranded. There was nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she talked her way into a mutually beneficial exclusivity contract with Velt during wartime. Her supply chain would be useful, and she could set up shop personally among the group that had helped her. Until the war was over, she would need to hold out. She didn't want to pick sides initially, but as it turned out, a side picked her. Equipment: A diverse array of highly saleable wares! Within reason, of course. The art objects get sold far before they reach Lirrah, because warriors on the frontline have little need for such things. If there's something specific a soldier wants, however, she can usually get it in a week or so depending on rarity. She stocks generic weapons, along with some more interesting exotic weapons from her homeland. Nem bows, especially, are in high demand. With the ever-present threat of skirmishes, she stocks a ridiculous amount of healing potions. More high-end wares include enchanted rings and brooches, with a variety of protective effects, and even magical weapons. Nem alcohol is, to most, a novelty, but she gets enough requests from those who have taken to it to keep it in stock (and to drink herself). When out and about, she carries a bow and a good supply of potions, as well as a few explosive flasks and acid bombs. She has an enchanted hat that cools her and gives her a lot of shade, though seeing beyond the immediate bound of that shade is still difficult as a Nem. Mostly it makes travel during daytime much more comfortable. Skills: Diplomancer: Lirrah is very good at talking to people, and even getting them to agree to things they normally wouldn't. She's that charming! She's a natural in any environment, from swanky party to seedy bar. She can lie as naturally as she breathes, and can make herself the center of attention with little effort. Conversely, during a combat encounter, she can turn up her cute and helpless act such that most reasonable enemies wouldn't target her unless they had no other choice. Very helpful as a merchant! Swift: Lirrah is dexterous, agile, and quick on her feet. On the rare occasion she can't talk or act her way out of danger, she can usually escape it. Her sight, mainly in the dark, is immensely keen. She's good with a bow, though aiming far away is difficult for her during the day. She's practiced enough with the sling to fling dangerous flasks many feet away. Fast hands are useful in the kitchen, and she's also quite good at sewing and knitting. Gourmand: Lirrah is an excellent cook. She's best at dishes from her home country, but picks up new cuisine quickly as well. Sometimes, the difference between a dead soldier and a living one is a happily-fed belly. She's especially gifted at desserts, which she can make at the level of a genius patissier. She can only make so many to her exacting standards day to day, that they run out quickly. People have gotten into fistfights over the strawberry shortcake!</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- Landshark --- The effort needed to resist rolling his eyes was nearly herculean. What was needed to keep his jaw shut for a moment was even greater. No, no, I just thought I'd take a romantic stroll around the war camp with my favourite assassin. As much as he wanted to say something sarcastic like that, it would be pointless. Antagonizing her would be no help at all with what they were soon to face; beyond that, he had little doubt of his low likelihood of waking up in the morning if she decided she disliked him enough. Not that she seemed inclined to harm an ally, certainly not in that way, but he only trusted an assassin as far as he could throw them. Given that Kayliss was a somewhat tall human woman rather than a Nem, that wasn't very far at all. "With any luck," he said after a moment. No true confirmation for her question, yet, but he was hoping. "Assuming they didn't meet with an unfortunate fate, our scouts are due to make their reports to Lady Velvetica today. If they bring back something useful, I'm hoping that we could make use of your talents."</s> <|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw There's is something strange about the ground down there. From above, Roger could see splotches of terrain taking on a different color as they got closer to the bandits' hideout. They had been flying low to avoid detection, but it was still high enough to see a stark difference from the surrounding land. It wasn't unusual to see land of different colors whenever they flew over farmland, but this was no freshly tilled field, ready for planting, and it was far too extensive to be the work of small burrowing animals. This was...well, he had no idea what it was. Even stranger, he glimpsed a few objects on the ground that looked a little like scarecrows. Surely the bandits couldn't actually be trying to work the land down there, especially in this rocky area, right? It was a curious enough matter that Roger opted to take a closer look. He circled around, then signaled his mount to descend and land. The griffin slowed its flight and touched down on the suffiently large clearing of disturbed earth, bounding off the ground once before coming to a stop, causing Roger to bounce in his saddle. The first thing the rider did was take a few moments to glance around the area to ensure there was no trouble awaiting them.. He hadn't seen anyone when flying overhead, but it paid to be cautious. Shortclaw turned his head around as well, also on the lookout for trouble. If he doesn't see anything, we should be clear. His eyes are keener than mine. As he looked around, he noticed one of the "scarecrows" he had thought he spotted. That's no scarecrow, he thought to himself, uneasy at what he beheld. It was a crude, macabre effigy of some sort, crafted with bones and topped with a humanoid skull, creaking eerily as it rocked in the strong wind. Just what were these bandits doing out here, and why would they create such twisted totems? He already knew that these bandits were doing some strange and unsettling things, and the fact that they'd construct these things raised some questions as to just what they were up to. In contrast to his increasingly uneasy rider, Shortclaw seemed completely unfazed and uninterested in the effigy, probably because there was no meat on the bones. "Let's get back to the camp," Roger spoke, signaling the griffin to take flight. Shortclaw began to run forward and flap his wings, leapt into the air against the wind, and began gaining altitude. There wasn't much else to do here, so once they climbed above the treetops, Roger directed his mount back to the camp. He wasn't entirely sure what these strange effigies meant, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. Perhaps the Steel Princess or one of the Lions' more learned members, or one of the other scouts, would have a better idea.</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela At the price, the demon turned expectantly to look down at the hundi, who only sighed before rifling through her pockets for payment. To be so easily overcharged was galling, especially when she wasn't even the one who was going to be eating it. But the coins were passed over nonetheless, and the massive demon warrior took the pastry and thoughtfully started eating it. "You don't have to be so afraid. A merchant like you could hardly put up a good fight, so why would I want to bother?" the demon said between bites, offering reassurance in the least reassuring way she could. "This pie's good." "Oh, good evening, Guillaume," Gisela said, giving a slight curtsy. A mage she might be, but she was still a commoner... and far too many of even the lesser nobility got annoyed if not shown the proper respect. Guillaume seemed to be above that, but why take the chance? "No new injuries to report?"</s>

<|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah practically jumped when she was addressed by a newcomer, her nerves already agitated by the presence of the world's tallest demon. When she looked up, however, she was greeted by the sight of the sort of person that might be described in a heroic storybook. Tall, golden-haired, with a sort of reassuring joviality. Lirrah had read one or two of the more popular Veltan stories to get a sense of what does well over there, though she had not grown up with them. She was neither starry-eyed nor enthralled, but his presence was nevertheless a comfort. She forced a smile up on her face, which was almost indistinguishable from her genuine one. "A-ah, yes, this is our first meeting," she replied, producing a mutton pie and indicating a price of 1200. As she leaned over to give the man a ticket for a pastry later, she added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I certainly would have called for help myself if my voice hadn't gotten stuck in my throat... ahaha..." She quickly turned her attention back to the demon woman (not that she had left Lirrah's vision since she showed up) as she took the Hundi's money. Perhaps the demon's summoner? Either way, the Hundi quickly busied herself with the knight. They seemed to be on good terms. Lirrah had yet to clock all the dynamics in this location, so it was good information to have. Lirrah gave the demon woman a big smile, still forced, and still almost indistinguishable. "T-thank you. I, ah, make all the food myself. C-cooking and selling! My skillset is hardly suited to compat. I'm just a weak little Nem~" Lirrah didn't mention that she wasn't bad with a bow or a sling. She doubted that would be enough for the woman to take an interest in her, but the further beneath notice she was on that front, the better. If this was a woman who only enjoyed a fight against those with combat ability, Lirrah should be safe with her... probably. "Ah... and if you like the pie so much, please do stop py the Matayannah Trading Company tent at home camp, and tell your friends. I am sure to put my nerves aside if we get more acquainted~ I really do appreciate your custom!"</s>

<|description|>Lirrah Matayannah Age:22 Gender: Female Race: Nem Appearance: (As above, but with rounder ears! Though her hair is naturally black, she dyes it pink to stand out. A merchant's most powerful weapon is being remembered. In addition, on the occasion she needs to go outside during the day, she wears a cute, floral, wide-brimmed hat) Personality: Sweet, caring, and good-natured on the outside. Calculating and selfish on the inside. Lirrah does what she can for the people she likes, and everyone else is scarcely a concern of hers. She has no particular investment in Velt or Ithillin aside from the knowledge that brewing hostilities are a good business venture. It would be easy to label her as another amoral war profiteer, but it's hard to make the title stick when she's personally serving hot meals to the folks on the borderlands (for a fee, of course). In any case, she is outgoing, personable, and really lays on the cute. Cute is good for business. Brief Backstory: Born into a humble family of sweets-makers with three older brothers and three older sisters, it would be no exaggeration to say that Lirrah was the baby of the family. If she wanted acknowledgement, she had to work for it. Whether she had to lie or exaggerate or even shout, she was always yapping in order to get attention. From a young age, this served her well, though it got on her siblings' nerves. She learned how to cook, and was quite talented, but her gift of gab often had her strutting the sand to entice customers instead. She and her family's trade became so well-known through her raw, extroverted moxie that she was considered by many to be the unofficial mascot of the store. She and her family's brand of sweets soon became inseparable. For most attention-seekers, this amount of notoriety would be enough to live a lifetime, but Lirrah wanted more. Her cries yearned to reach more ears. She wanted to say something that the entire known world would one day need to listen to. On her sixteenth birthday, people came from settlements all around to celebrate her. It was at this moment that she decided to cash in all the affection and goodwill she had earned from a lifetime of honeyed words as sweet as the ripest melon juice. She wanted to leave the village, and travel north. For that purpose, she collected many investors and partners who would fund and stock her caravan, with no proof of success other than the borderline disgusting amount of aplomb with which she conducted herself. Everyone likes sweets. Her network was enormous. The affection that everyone had for her was overflowing. And flow it did, into coins and goods and equipment that would enable her desire to reach north. As far northward as she could go… so far, and so high, that even she could look down at the world despite her people's relatively short stature. It took a while, of course, to get everything ready. But within a few years, funds and equipment in hand, she reached Velt. This was only going to be her first stop, but it would be a profitable one. She had weapons to feed into the growing fires of hostility, and Nem glasswork and art pieces to appeal to nobles who wanted to show off how world-wise they were and who had more money than sense. With her charms, and the situation to her advantage, it was almost impossible to fail. She made a killing when she finally arrived and, happy with the numbers, decided to move onto Ithillin. What happened when everything boiled over wasn't important. What was important was making her money off both sides and getting out, continuing to reach ever northward. The situation was not exactly as it was described to her. The conflict was practically already happening, and the borderlands were almost a war zone, with skirmishes and bandits and monsters out in force. Lirrah learned this when she picked the most reasonably under-staffed point on the border to make her trip, and found her caravan surrounded by marauders. Though she could shoot a bow (her home village was small enough that everyone needed to learn), she was not a real fighter. Her hired muscle fell quickly to the deluge of bandits, and she was soon surrounded. She didn't want her ambition to end there, but what could she do? Then, the Lions roared. Routed efficiently to the last, the bandits went from an overwhelming bellow to a simpering swan song within moments. Lirrah explained the situation to the Lions, embellishing to make herself seem less opportunistic, and she soon learned that things were more dire between the two nations than she had imagined. A caravan cannot move north through a river of blood. Even avoiding everything else, the upcoming conflict could capture her supply chain and leave her stranded. There was nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she talked her way into a mutually beneficial exclusivity contract with Velt during wartime. Her supply chain would be useful, and she could set up shop personally among the group that had helped her. Until the war was over, she would need to hold out. She didn't want to pick sides initially, but as it turned out, a side picked her. Equipment: A diverse array of highly saleable wares! Within reason, of course. The art objects get sold far before they reach Lirrah, because warriors on the frontline have little need for such things. If there's something specific a soldier wants, however, she can usually get it in a week or so depending on rarity. She stocks generic weapons, along with some more interesting exotic weapons from her homeland. Nem bows, especially, are in high demand. With the ever-present threat of skirmishes, she stocks a ridiculous amount of healing potions. More high-end wares include enchanted rings and brooches, with a variety of protective effects, and even magical weapons. Nem alcohol is, to most, a novelty, but she gets enough requests from those who have taken to it to keep it in stock (and to drink herself). When out and about, she carries a bow and a good supply of potions, as well as a few explosive flasks and acid bombs. She has an enchanted hat that cools her and gives her a lot of shade, though seeing beyond the immediate bound of that shade is still difficult as a Nem. Mostly it makes travel during daytime much more comfortable. Skills: Diplomancer: Lirrah is very good at talking to people, and even getting them to agree to things they normally wouldn't. She's that charming! She's a natural in any environment, from swanky party to seedy bar. She can lie as naturally as she breathes, and can make herself the center of attention with little effort. Conversely, during a combat encounter, she can turn up her cute and helpless act such that most reasonable enemies wouldn't target her unless they had no other choice. Very helpful as a merchant! Swift: Lirrah is dexterous, agile, and quick on her feet. On the rare occasion she can't talk or act her way out of danger, she can usually escape it. Her sight, mainly in the dark, is immensely keen. She's good with a bow, though aiming far away is difficult for her during the day. She's practiced enough with the sling to fling dangerous flasks many feet away. Fast hands are useful in the kitchen, and she's also quite good at sewing and knitting. Gourmand: Lirrah is an excellent cook. She's best at dishes from her home country, but picks up new cuisine quickly as well. Sometimes, the difference between a dead soldier and a living one is a happily-fed belly. She's especially gifted at desserts, which she can make at the level of a genius patissier. She can only make so many to her exacting standards day to day, that they run out quickly. People have gotten into fistfights over the strawberry shortcake!</s> <|message|>Velvetica Hraesleg, the Steel Princess Velvetica's tent was the largest in the camp, the same crimson trimmed with red that adorned the Lion's Banner. It was from here that she planned strategy, consulted with her advisors, and conducted official business. It was also quite comfortable, but that was secondary. Within, a large mat had been placed over the short, spikey grass, and atop it sat a table. Beyond that was where Velvetica slept, and kept most of her supplies, current concealed behind a draping set of curtains. It was rumored that anyone who set foot inside Velvetica's personal quarters without permission would be subjected to a prompt and intense punishment. Velvetica herself saw no need to say anything else on the matter. The map spread over the table was of the local area, the rocky plains of the borderlands, and she was examining it closely at the moment, icy blue eyes scanning each of the known mounds and rocky outcrops claimed(and sometimes proven) to house ancient tombs. Certainly, a group of bandits could select such a place to use its reputation to conceal themselves. However... The tent opened before Velvetica could continue her train of though. The figure that entered was one of her personal retinue, a pretty woman several years her senior with her dark hair tied in a tight bun, wearing light clothing signifying her position as a noncombatant. "Lady Hraesleg," she began, with a bow, "Your scouts have returned." The blonde nodded, rising to her feet. "Excellent, I'll meet them now." Within a few moments, Velvetica had exited her tent. The first of her scouts to arrive was no surprise, given his speedy form of transportation. "Sir Roger," she addressed the knight first, before her gaze shifted to the griffin, "Shortclaw." Addressing the griffin as well was simply part of dealing with such creatures. Only an idiot would be unaware of the pride that a griffin felt in itself. To Velvetica, it was not dissimilar to the Hraesleg's pride, albeit that of a beast rather then a human's. Therefore, it was important to pay them mind when possible. "As you have returned, I trust you and the other scouts have information for me?" It was time to see if her suspicions could be confirmed. Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela The Hundi shrugged, "She's a demon, her nature isn't going to change so easily. If it did, I expect that our contract would be terminated in short order as she aligned herself to newer goals. But the odds of that happening in the next thousand years is vanishingly low." Although, whether she would still be around a thousand years hence to take advantage of such a thing? That was hard to say. It was quite possible, but at the same time, her specialities could always lead to even more serious trouble if the sentiment against mages turned even more dire for whatever reason. Like a resurgence of the Witch-Queen, as vanishingly unlikely as she was to return from being dead. Rumour had it that the majority of her pupils had escaped unscathed, and were more than capable of causing havoc if the mood so took them. "Hmm, I don't think you'd like to see any of my friends coming in unannounced. They're not all so friendly as I, and might be quite upset if the food didn't come with a good brawl," the demon laughed, rubbing her chin. And then she bent down to pat the nem's head... which would probably have been more humiliating if not for the gulf in size that meant she could do that to just about anybody here, "But you've got spirit."</s>

<|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah's cheeks reddened slightly as the knight loudly exclaimed his love for her pie. Of course, Lirrah knew it was the best. She had made it. However, the sheer robust earnestness with which the man conducted himself was almost an embarrassment. She had heard, around camp, of one who went by the epithet 'The Sincere'. She didn't have near enough knowledge to say for certain, but if the title was not ironic, she could guess that it applied to this man. But he was definitely hiding something. Lirrah knew that the more outwardly honest someone seemed, the more likely they were to have a skeleton in their closet or two. Or maybe it was a manipulation tactic? Well, it didn't matter for now. Lirrah could not be confounded so easily, anyways, and it probably had nothing to do with her besides. Whether he accidentally shoplifted once or routinely killed people in his basement, he liked her cooking and his money was good. Lirrah put a bright, cutesy expression on her face. "Thank you so much, mister knight! I'm so glad you like it! Please come pack to the Matayannah Trading Company at pase camp for home cooking at its finest! I love having customers as enthusiastic as you!" Lirrah noted, during her exchange, that Velvetica was meeting with some of the people who had been sent to scout. An announcement would likely be made soon, so it was probably time to start packing up her goods. She smiled sweetly as the Demon woman, with a strange joviality, explained how dire it would be if her friends were to show up for food. Lirrah swallowed. And the woman patted her head. Lirrah figured that many Nem would be borderline offended by the gesture, as infantilizing as it was. Then again, many Nem did not purposely put on a cute act to sell more. In truth, Lirrah had been patted so many times that she had considered selling them if she could word it in a way that didn't make her seem scummy. It was a part of building rapport, it was a tool in her kit, and she really didn't mind being fawned over. Adorability was a weapon, in its own way, and it was likely the reason she was here at all. Lirrah wondered, briefly, what the Demon woman would think of her ambitions. The lengths she would go to stand at the top of the- Ila-Nem, it was like being trapped under the massive paw of some great beast, and she was but a mouse. Lirrah's cheeks reddened a bit more, and she shivered. "W-well, thank you so much for saying so~" Lirrah tweeted, turning her cute up a few notches, "I have spirit in apundance! I think you and I are speaking of different friends, though. I more meant comrades in the immediate area. Perhaps your Hundi friend, if the occasion takes her!" Lirrah beamed up at the woman, punctuating her request with the world's most honey-soaked giggle.</s>

<|description|>Lirrah Matayannah Age:22 Gender: Female Race: Nem Appearance: (As above, but with rounder ears! Though her hair is naturally black, she dyes it pink to stand out. A merchant's most powerful weapon is being remembered. In addition, on the occasion she needs to go outside during the day, she wears a cute, floral, wide-brimmed hat) Personality: Sweet, caring, and good-natured on the outside. Calculating and selfish on the inside. Lirrah does what she can for the people she likes, and everyone else is scarcely a concern of hers. She has no particular investment in Velt or Ithillin aside from the knowledge that brewing hostilities are a good business venture. It would be easy to label her as another amoral war profiteer, but it's hard to make the title stick when she's personally serving hot meals to the folks on the borderlands (for a fee, of course). In any case, she is outgoing, personable, and really lays on the cute. Cute is good for business. Brief Backstory: Born into a humble family of sweets-makers with three older brothers and three older sisters, it would be no exaggeration to say that Lirrah was the baby of the family. If she wanted acknowledgement, she had to work for it. Whether she had to lie or exaggerate or even shout, she was always yapping in order to get attention. From a young age, this served her well, though it got on her siblings' nerves. She learned how to cook, and was quite talented, but her gift of gab often had her strutting the sand to entice customers instead. She and her family's trade became so well-known through her raw, extroverted moxie that she was considered by many to be the unofficial mascot of the store. She and her family's brand of sweets soon became inseparable. For most attention-seekers, this amount of notoriety would be enough to live a lifetime, but Lirrah wanted more. Her cries yearned to reach more ears. She wanted to say something that the entire known world would one day need to listen to. On her sixteenth birthday, people came from settlements all around to celebrate her. It was at this moment that she decided to cash in all the affection and goodwill she had earned from a lifetime of honeyed words as sweet as the ripest melon juice. She wanted to leave the village, and travel north. For that purpose, she collected many investors and partners who would fund and stock her caravan, with no proof of success other than the borderline disgusting amount of aplomb with which she conducted herself. Everyone likes sweets. Her network was enormous. The affection that everyone had for her was overflowing. And flow it did, into coins and goods and equipment that would enable her desire to reach north. As far northward as she could go… so far, and so high, that even she could look down at the world despite her people's relatively short stature. It took a while, of course, to get everything ready. But within a few years, funds and equipment in hand, she reached Velt. This was only going to be her first stop, but it would be a profitable one. She had weapons to feed into the growing fires of hostility, and Nem glasswork and art pieces to appeal to nobles who wanted to show off how world-wise they were and who had more money than sense. With her charms, and the situation to her advantage, it was almost impossible to fail. She made a killing when she finally arrived and, happy with the numbers, decided to move onto Ithillin. What happened when everything boiled over wasn't important. What was important was making her money off both sides and getting out, continuing to reach ever northward. The situation was not exactly as it was described to her. The conflict was practically already happening, and the borderlands were almost a war zone, with skirmishes and bandits and monsters out in force. Lirrah learned this when she picked the most reasonably under-staffed point on the border to make her trip, and found her caravan surrounded by marauders. Though she could shoot a bow (her home village was small enough that everyone needed to learn), she was not a real fighter. Her hired muscle fell quickly to the deluge of bandits, and she was soon surrounded. She didn't want her ambition to end there, but what could she do? Then, the Lions roared. Routed efficiently to the last, the bandits went from an overwhelming bellow to a simpering swan song within moments. Lirrah explained the situation to the Lions, embellishing to make herself seem less opportunistic, and she soon learned that things were more dire between the two nations than she had imagined. A caravan cannot move north through a river of blood. Even avoiding everything else, the upcoming conflict could capture her supply chain and leave her stranded. There was nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she talked her way into a mutually beneficial exclusivity contract with Velt during wartime. Her supply chain would be useful, and she could set up shop personally among the group that had helped her. Until the war was over, she would need to hold out. She didn't want to pick sides initially, but as it turned out, a side picked her. Equipment: A diverse array of highly saleable wares! Within reason, of course. The art objects get sold far before they reach Lirrah, because warriors on the frontline have little need for such things. If there's something specific a soldier wants, however, she can usually get it in a week or so depending on rarity. She stocks generic weapons, along with some more interesting exotic weapons from her homeland. Nem bows, especially, are in high demand. With the ever-present threat of skirmishes, she stocks a ridiculous amount of healing potions. More high-end wares include enchanted rings and brooches, with a variety of protective effects, and even magical weapons. Nem alcohol is, to most, a novelty, but she gets enough requests from those who have taken to it to keep it in stock (and to drink herself). When out and about, she carries a bow and a good supply of potions, as well as a few explosive flasks and acid bombs. She has an enchanted hat that cools her and gives her a lot of shade, though seeing beyond the immediate bound of that shade is still difficult as a Nem. Mostly it makes travel during daytime much more comfortable. Skills: Diplomancer: Lirrah is very good at talking to people, and even getting them to agree to things they normally wouldn't. She's that charming! She's a natural in any environment, from swanky party to seedy bar. She can lie as naturally as she breathes, and can make herself the center of attention with little effort. Conversely, during a combat encounter, she can turn up her cute and helpless act such that most reasonable enemies wouldn't target her unless they had no other choice. Very helpful as a merchant! Swift: Lirrah is dexterous, agile, and quick on her feet. On the rare occasion she can't talk or act her way out of danger, she can usually escape it. Her sight, mainly in the dark, is immensely keen. She's good with a bow, though aiming far away is difficult for her during the day. She's practiced enough with the sling to fling dangerous flasks many feet away. Fast hands are useful in the kitchen, and she's also quite good at sewing and knitting. Gourmand: Lirrah is an excellent cook. She's best at dishes from her home country, but picks up new cuisine quickly as well. Sometimes, the difference between a dead soldier and a living one is a happily-fed belly. She's especially gifted at desserts, which she can make at the level of a genius patissier. She can only make so many to her exacting standards day to day, that they run out quickly. People have gotten into fistfights over the strawberry shortcake!</s> <|message|>Valmyra Audron @Crimson Paladin --- Hraesleg Lions Base Camp --- Val had make her way back to the base camp, not too far behind Hector. Though he had a flying mount and should logically have faster maneuverability, she was quite confident in her own agility in slithering among the tree branches. Arriving back, she looked toward the largest tent in the camp. Velvetica would soon call for her subordinates to regroup there and report their findings. She quickly made her way there, seeing her other allies following suit. She honestly was still a bit nervous in working with so many people from different backgrounds, but Vel would push those thoughts to the side for now. Convening in her tent, Valmyra had looked intently at their leader. She had already met Velvetica once before, when she personally came to her rebuilt village and recruited her. She was smaller in stature than most, and even more so compared to a lamia like Val. Despite this, her presence came with an undeniable authority and reliability that a seasoned leader would naturally give off. Besides, Val was not one to give assumptions based on another's appearance. As a lamia, she could tower over everyone in the room, depending on how she coiled her lower body. In this case, she did just that, but only because she didn't want to take up too much standing room. She blushed with a bit of bashfulness, not wanting to have drawn too much attention to herself. She listened as the griffon rider gave his report. "While I was there to observe as well, my near-sightedness prevented me from being able to properly see the effigies" She said. "Thankfully, Hector and his steed didn't have that problem." It didn't even occur to her that she could be getting the man's name wrong. Apparently, the signs they saw indicate several different things. The leader didn't think that it was the work of bandits, or due to Ithillin criminals. Val's eyes narrowed with a predatory rage at the mention of that nation. She won't be forgetting what an attack from their warriors took from her. Velvetica told the group that the perpetrators were likely cultists, those who worshiped fell spirits. The thought of such people caused a sick feeling to well up inside Valmyra's stomach. She'd never understand what could lead a person to follow such a wretched faith. "Just give word, and my lance will be at your ready."</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela "A briefing? Sounds boring, call me if a fight starts," the demon announced when everyone started gathering, turning to look at the merchant, "Or if you can get another one of those pastries." With that, she turned around and... well, seemingly just stepped forward. But, as if passing through an invisible doorway, she disappeared without any trace of having been there in the first place. It was always quite an odd sight to see, for the Hundi, because it didn't work anything like the teleportation magic she knew existed. There, you either had to move yourself via magic, or establish a stable connection first... both of which were highly visible. Demons didn't really obey the same rules as mortals did, so it was only to be expected. At the briefing, the mage did her best to stay small and out of the way, especially once the actual threat was described. No, she had nothing to do with the raising of the dead... but she was a necromancer in practice, even if it was the legal, healing-oriented side of it. Better to not get the attention of so many armed and armoured soldiers whilst everyone was consumed by outrage. She might need to talk to Velvetica afterwards, though-- --She might not be able to raise undead, but when it came to putting them down again, there were few people who had more options available.</s>

<|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah parted with her customers, having sold a relatively good amount, and packed up before heading over to the briefing. The Demon woman, notably, seemed to be able to vanish rather quickly for one so big. If a Demon could truly just come and go as they pleased, it was perhaps a little bit alarming, but more in a cosmic sense than an immediate one. Well, as long as her pastries were well-liked, she probably wouldn't be killed. Lirrah heard Velvetica out, knowing that having her finger on the pulse of the latest goings-on was a great tool for a merchant, and also a fantastic way to not die. Lirrah didn't get get the Juyuem vitriol against necromancy. Though Ila-Nem also warned against their evils, it wasn't quite so ingrained in her people. Hadriyu were the more pressing concern, but perhaps one's scorpion men were another's necromancers. Hadriyu were, by nature, monsterous Nem-killers. Was there something in the nature of necromancy that ensured a particularly monsterous person? If not for the mindless undead craving for flesh, eternal unskilled labor seemed a good business prospect. Though if that's what a necromancer wanted, they could just learn to make golems. It was probably that innate viciousness that could be pointed to in any civilized discussion about the subject: mindless undead were killing machines, and if a necromancer were to lose control, they would continue plaguing the world until dismantled. Like a Hadrid. Lirrah felt some degree of disgust well after anyone who actually despised necromancy, but she got there. Only, she looked as if she hated necromancers the entire time she was debating whether or not there might be any business viability. She knew her clientele. All the people around her hated it, so she hated it too. She looked just as disgusted by the mention of the dark arts as anyone else. An easily-changing value system was yet another magnificent tool for a merchant. Once she was finished speaking, Lirrah timidly approached her. Velvetica was yet another person who was kind of scary, though by no means tall. Lirrah knew, however, that she was good-hearted. Even if everyone told her not to spend time on bandits, she could not ignore those in front of her. Lirrah understood this value firsthand. "San'yashu, lady Hraesleg," Lirrah greeted her softly. It wasn't really something she wanted a lot of other people to hear. She looked up at the woman, eyes glistening innocently, and briefly wondered if the fact that Lirrah had to look up at her when they spoke made Velvetica feel tall. Lirrah hoped this was the case. "I would not dare ask you to leave anyone pehind on my account, nor ask for anyone to escort me to home camp. You need as many people as you can get to deal with these awful necromancers, so... I was actually thinking I would like to help you more! To do my part for Velt," she lied as naturally as she breathed, "I wanted to pring some items along, and maybe help keep an eye out. My eyes are very good in the gloom, and I am an expert at avoiding danger! Only... I do still get scared. May I count on you, again, to see me through the night? E-even though I am weak... I would like to do something." Lirrah turned her meek and cute act up to maximum. If this didn't make Velvetica want to protect her with everything she could, Lirrah didn't know what would.</s>

<|description|>Lirrah Matayannah Age:22 Gender: Female Race: Nem Appearance: (As above, but with rounder ears! Though her hair is naturally black, she dyes it pink to stand out. A merchant's most powerful weapon is being remembered. In addition, on the occasion she needs to go outside during the day, she wears a cute, floral, wide-brimmed hat) Personality: Sweet, caring, and good-natured on the outside. Calculating and selfish on the inside. Lirrah does what she can for the people she likes, and everyone else is scarcely a concern of hers. She has no particular investment in Velt or Ithillin aside from the knowledge that brewing hostilities are a good business venture. It would be easy to label her as another amoral war profiteer, but it's hard to make the title stick when she's personally serving hot meals to the folks on the borderlands (for a fee, of course). In any case, she is outgoing, personable, and really lays on the cute. Cute is good for business. Brief Backstory: Born into a humble family of sweets-makers with three older brothers and three older sisters, it would be no exaggeration to say that Lirrah was the baby of the family. If she wanted acknowledgement, she had to work for it. Whether she had to lie or exaggerate or even shout, she was always yapping in order to get attention. From a young age, this served her well, though it got on her siblings' nerves. She learned how to cook, and was quite talented, but her gift of gab often had her strutting the sand to entice customers instead. She and her family's trade became so well-known through her raw, extroverted moxie that she was considered by many to be the unofficial mascot of the store. She and her family's brand of sweets soon became inseparable. For most attention-seekers, this amount of notoriety would be enough to live a lifetime, but Lirrah wanted more. Her cries yearned to reach more ears. She wanted to say something that the entire known world would one day need to listen to. On her sixteenth birthday, people came from settlements all around to celebrate her. It was at this moment that she decided to cash in all the affection and goodwill she had earned from a lifetime of honeyed words as sweet as the ripest melon juice. She wanted to leave the village, and travel north. For that purpose, she collected many investors and partners who would fund and stock her caravan, with no proof of success other than the borderline disgusting amount of aplomb with which she conducted herself. Everyone likes sweets. Her network was enormous. The affection that everyone had for her was overflowing. And flow it did, into coins and goods and equipment that would enable her desire to reach north. As far northward as she could go… so far, and so high, that even she could look down at the world despite her people's relatively short stature. It took a while, of course, to get everything ready. But within a few years, funds and equipment in hand, she reached Velt. This was only going to be her first stop, but it would be a profitable one. She had weapons to feed into the growing fires of hostility, and Nem glasswork and art pieces to appeal to nobles who wanted to show off how world-wise they were and who had more money than sense. With her charms, and the situation to her advantage, it was almost impossible to fail. She made a killing when she finally arrived and, happy with the numbers, decided to move onto Ithillin. What happened when everything boiled over wasn't important. What was important was making her money off both sides and getting out, continuing to reach ever northward. The situation was not exactly as it was described to her. The conflict was practically already happening, and the borderlands were almost a war zone, with skirmishes and bandits and monsters out in force. Lirrah learned this when she picked the most reasonably under-staffed point on the border to make her trip, and found her caravan surrounded by marauders. Though she could shoot a bow (her home village was small enough that everyone needed to learn), she was not a real fighter. Her hired muscle fell quickly to the deluge of bandits, and she was soon surrounded. She didn't want her ambition to end there, but what could she do? Then, the Lions roared. Routed efficiently to the last, the bandits went from an overwhelming bellow to a simpering swan song within moments. Lirrah explained the situation to the Lions, embellishing to make herself seem less opportunistic, and she soon learned that things were more dire between the two nations than she had imagined. A caravan cannot move north through a river of blood. Even avoiding everything else, the upcoming conflict could capture her supply chain and leave her stranded. There was nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she talked her way into a mutually beneficial exclusivity contract with Velt during wartime. Her supply chain would be useful, and she could set up shop personally among the group that had helped her. Until the war was over, she would need to hold out. She didn't want to pick sides initially, but as it turned out, a side picked her. Equipment: A diverse array of highly saleable wares! Within reason, of course. The art objects get sold far before they reach Lirrah, because warriors on the frontline have little need for such things. If there's something specific a soldier wants, however, she can usually get it in a week or so depending on rarity. She stocks generic weapons, along with some more interesting exotic weapons from her homeland. Nem bows, especially, are in high demand. With the ever-present threat of skirmishes, she stocks a ridiculous amount of healing potions. More high-end wares include enchanted rings and brooches, with a variety of protective effects, and even magical weapons. Nem alcohol is, to most, a novelty, but she gets enough requests from those who have taken to it to keep it in stock (and to drink herself). When out and about, she carries a bow and a good supply of potions, as well as a few explosive flasks and acid bombs. She has an enchanted hat that cools her and gives her a lot of shade, though seeing beyond the immediate bound of that shade is still difficult as a Nem. Mostly it makes travel during daytime much more comfortable. Skills: Diplomancer: Lirrah is very good at talking to people, and even getting them to agree to things they normally wouldn't. She's that charming! She's a natural in any environment, from swanky party to seedy bar. She can lie as naturally as she breathes, and can make herself the center of attention with little effort. Conversely, during a combat encounter, she can turn up her cute and helpless act such that most reasonable enemies wouldn't target her unless they had no other choice. Very helpful as a merchant! Swift: Lirrah is dexterous, agile, and quick on her feet. On the rare occasion she can't talk or act her way out of danger, she can usually escape it. Her sight, mainly in the dark, is immensely keen. She's good with a bow, though aiming far away is difficult for her during the day. She's practiced enough with the sling to fling dangerous flasks many feet away. Fast hands are useful in the kitchen, and she's also quite good at sewing and knitting. Gourmand: Lirrah is an excellent cook. She's best at dishes from her home country, but picks up new cuisine quickly as well. Sometimes, the difference between a dead soldier and a living one is a happily-fed belly. She's especially gifted at desserts, which she can make at the level of a genius patissier. She can only make so many to her exacting standards day to day, that they run out quickly. People have gotten into fistfights over the strawberry shortcake!</s> <|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw Roger said nothing as the others debated tactics for this battle. Shortclaw, meanwhile, was watching the exchange between Cadmon and Gisela, seemingly interested in their debate. It didn't matter much to the knight- Velvetica was the one who had the final say on the orders and plans. True, battles rarely went according to plan, but there was a big difference between going into battle intending to do something completely different than what you were ordered to do, and adapting to the changing battlefield even if it meant going against the letter of your orders. Still, there was no harm in discussing tactics, so long as everyone could be depended upon to do as they were ordered. Roger saw two merits in laying a trap for their raiders. First, it'd thin their numbers, robbing them of precious bodies to defend the camp. Second, it would provide Kayliss with disguises for her infiltration mission once their raiders are wiped out. He was unsure, however, how quickly the necromancers would react, both to the initial sighting of an ambush target, and to the subsequent failure of their attack. As far as his own role went, Roger guessed that he'd be placed with the ambush team. His griffin wasn't exactly able to pose as a mundane caravan beast or lowly patrol mount, and the sight of them it flying overhead would alert the necromancers that something was amiss. There was a good chance that they'd be walking for much of this mission.</s> <|message|>Velvetica Hraesleg, the Steel Princess "Exactly what part of this sounds like standard tactics to you, Sir Guillame?" commented Velvetica, with one eyebrow raised, "If this is standard to you, you must have been in some interesting engagements prior to entering my service. I should truly love to hear about them, Sir Guillame." She cocked her head, before clearing her throat. "In any case, it's certainly worth noting there's no doubt they're at least somewhat aware of our presence, and perhaps the idea of spreading our bait a little wider and a little more aggressively isn't a poor one." Seating herself, the Steel Princess steepled her fingers. "But that will work excellently with the other part of our strategy. Our bait isn't merely bodies and supplies, with deadly warriors hidden within and an ambush awaiting out of sight. The effigies, those blasphemous artifices to whatever deranged faith they follow. Why, they're quite noticeable, aren't they? And we are dealing with fanatics." A smirk crossed her lips. "How do you think they'd respond to their destruction? Not merely supplies and people, but people who are directly insulting their madness? Tearing down what they have worked for?" She let her question hang for a few moments before continuing to speak. "It's not merely provocation," she added, "But a practical approach as well. If those effigies are ritual components, it's possible destroying them is not only an insult to whatever thing they're treating as a god, but also a direct disruption to whatever foul magic they have at play. Besides, they're a token of their gleeful defilement of the dead. Anyone should see it as their duty to destroy them." Velvetica placed her hands down on the table. "I shall tentatively allow you to arrange yourselves as best you see fit, to select either the bait and raiders or the ambush. If I disagree with your choice, I'll simply correct it myself." Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora</s>

<|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah smiled sweetly as Irian extended his hand. His words implied, perhaps, that she would be expected to do more work than her own words suggested. Well, it wasn't as if she was planning on doing nothing, and it wasn't like the Elf would have the luxury of watching her the whole time, but it was significantly more expectation than she was used to. Still, when a soldier offers a hand, you shake. This could not be refused, she imagined, as soldiers were a tight-knit group. Spurn one, spurn many. Befriend one, befriend many. That, and he threw in a nickname. Nicknames were excellent for business relations. Trading some small degree of combat expectation for this much social clout had Lirrah coming out like a bandit. Lirrah reached out to daintily take his hand, and suddenly found her arm clasped in the bond of battle siblings. She trembled a little, but gripped the man's arm with as much force as her tiny body could muster. This was more than she had bargained for, but if she was gonna do it, she had to do it properly. "Iri, then," she snatched up the offered nickname like a wolf to a steak, "it's a pleasure~ I am Lirrah Matayannah! As someone new to these lands, it is always good to meet new friends~" 'New friends' was, perhaps, a little presumptuous, but if she was taking the arm-clasp, she was taking everything she could. And her smile was nectar while- OH ILA-NEM- Lirrah practically jumped out of her boots when yet another scary person accosted her, this one brandishing an order in her face. With her pale face made even paler, she awkwardly broke the handshake to snatch up the list, giving Iri an apologetic smile. As this went on, the discussion about the plan continued, including Cadmon's talking about using her as bait. If Lirrah was capable of shooting a terse death glare that would make someone fear for their safety, then Cadmon would feel it. She was, thankfully, not capable of this. Cadmon was fantastic as a potential customer, so she would just have to remember to overcharge him. As Lirrah looked over the list, she was able to connect it with the sorts of requests she'd get from certain shady individuals. She was no apothecary, and she didn't particularly ask questions, but she could recognize ingredients for a poison when she saw them now. Velvetica-sanctioned poison. Very interesting. Lirrah smiled up at the woman who, after the initial shock, actually wasn't so scary. She had dealt with customers that had gazes like hers before. They were typically the dour sort. Maybe a little sad. "Oh, dear me, no," Lirrah apologized without apologizing, "the 10% off is for her personal use. If it was for anything the Lions needed, I'd be selling everything lower. I'd put myself out of a jop!!" Lirrah pouted cutely. "Although... I'll tell you what: I wouldn't like to leave a pretty woman like you disappointed. How apout we make it 15% off if you commit to a reoccurring order? Say... once a month, for three months at least? We can do more if you need, though. Some of this stuff I have, yet a few things here are hard to get hold of. The more you order in advance, the more likely you'll have it on hand if you need more than you thought. Isn't that a great deal? It's propably something you'd order anyways, put at 15% off! I'm gonna ruin myself at that rate~" She gave the woman a honey-sweet wink as the battle discussion was wrapping up. To no one's surprise, Lirrah wouldn't be bait. They did get to vandalize evil effigies, though. She guessed that would be a big hit for most of the soldiers. They'd probably use the chance to flex their creativity. How productive!</s>

<|description|>Lirrah Matayannah Age:22 Gender: Female Race: Nem Appearance: (As above, but with rounder ears! Though her hair is naturally black, she dyes it pink to stand out. A merchant's most powerful weapon is being remembered. In addition, on the occasion she needs to go outside during the day, she wears a cute, floral, wide-brimmed hat) Personality: Sweet, caring, and good-natured on the outside. Calculating and selfish on the inside. Lirrah does what she can for the people she likes, and everyone else is scarcely a concern of hers. She has no particular investment in Velt or Ithillin aside from the knowledge that brewing hostilities are a good business venture. It would be easy to label her as another amoral war profiteer, but it's hard to make the title stick when she's personally serving hot meals to the folks on the borderlands (for a fee, of course). In any case, she is outgoing, personable, and really lays on the cute. Cute is good for business. Brief Backstory: Born into a humble family of sweets-makers with three older brothers and three older sisters, it would be no exaggeration to say that Lirrah was the baby of the family. If she wanted acknowledgement, she had to work for it. Whether she had to lie or exaggerate or even shout, she was always yapping in order to get attention. From a young age, this served her well, though it got on her siblings' nerves. She learned how to cook, and was quite talented, but her gift of gab often had her strutting the sand to entice customers instead. She and her family's trade became so well-known through her raw, extroverted moxie that she was considered by many to be the unofficial mascot of the store. She and her family's brand of sweets soon became inseparable. For most attention-seekers, this amount of notoriety would be enough to live a lifetime, but Lirrah wanted more. Her cries yearned to reach more ears. She wanted to say something that the entire known world would one day need to listen to. On her sixteenth birthday, people came from settlements all around to celebrate her. It was at this moment that she decided to cash in all the affection and goodwill she had earned from a lifetime of honeyed words as sweet as the ripest melon juice. She wanted to leave the village, and travel north. For that purpose, she collected many investors and partners who would fund and stock her caravan, with no proof of success other than the borderline disgusting amount of aplomb with which she conducted herself. Everyone likes sweets. Her network was enormous. The affection that everyone had for her was overflowing. And flow it did, into coins and goods and equipment that would enable her desire to reach north. As far northward as she could go… so far, and so high, that even she could look down at the world despite her people's relatively short stature. It took a while, of course, to get everything ready. But within a few years, funds and equipment in hand, she reached Velt. This was only going to be her first stop, but it would be a profitable one. She had weapons to feed into the growing fires of hostility, and Nem glasswork and art pieces to appeal to nobles who wanted to show off how world-wise they were and who had more money than sense. With her charms, and the situation to her advantage, it was almost impossible to fail. She made a killing when she finally arrived and, happy with the numbers, decided to move onto Ithillin. What happened when everything boiled over wasn't important. What was important was making her money off both sides and getting out, continuing to reach ever northward. The situation was not exactly as it was described to her. The conflict was practically already happening, and the borderlands were almost a war zone, with skirmishes and bandits and monsters out in force. Lirrah learned this when she picked the most reasonably under-staffed point on the border to make her trip, and found her caravan surrounded by marauders. Though she could shoot a bow (her home village was small enough that everyone needed to learn), she was not a real fighter. Her hired muscle fell quickly to the deluge of bandits, and she was soon surrounded. She didn't want her ambition to end there, but what could she do? Then, the Lions roared. Routed efficiently to the last, the bandits went from an overwhelming bellow to a simpering swan song within moments. Lirrah explained the situation to the Lions, embellishing to make herself seem less opportunistic, and she soon learned that things were more dire between the two nations than she had imagined. A caravan cannot move north through a river of blood. Even avoiding everything else, the upcoming conflict could capture her supply chain and leave her stranded. There was nothing else for it. Thinking quickly, she talked her way into a mutually beneficial exclusivity contract with Velt during wartime. Her supply chain would be useful, and she could set up shop personally among the group that had helped her. Until the war was over, she would need to hold out. She didn't want to pick sides initially, but as it turned out, a side picked her. Equipment: A diverse array of highly saleable wares! Within reason, of course. The art objects get sold far before they reach Lirrah, because warriors on the frontline have little need for such things. If there's something specific a soldier wants, however, she can usually get it in a week or so depending on rarity. She stocks generic weapons, along with some more interesting exotic weapons from her homeland. Nem bows, especially, are in high demand. With the ever-present threat of skirmishes, she stocks a ridiculous amount of healing potions. More high-end wares include enchanted rings and brooches, with a variety of protective effects, and even magical weapons. Nem alcohol is, to most, a novelty, but she gets enough requests from those who have taken to it to keep it in stock (and to drink herself). When out and about, she carries a bow and a good supply of potions, as well as a few explosive flasks and acid bombs. She has an enchanted hat that cools her and gives her a lot of shade, though seeing beyond the immediate bound of that shade is still difficult as a Nem. Mostly it makes travel during daytime much more comfortable. Skills: Diplomancer: Lirrah is very good at talking to people, and even getting them to agree to things they normally wouldn't. She's that charming! She's a natural in any environment, from swanky party to seedy bar. She can lie as naturally as she breathes, and can make herself the center of attention with little effort. Conversely, during a combat encounter, she can turn up her cute and helpless act such that most reasonable enemies wouldn't target her unless they had no other choice. Very helpful as a merchant! Swift: Lirrah is dexterous, agile, and quick on her feet. On the rare occasion she can't talk or act her way out of danger, she can usually escape it. Her sight, mainly in the dark, is immensely keen. She's good with a bow, though aiming far away is difficult for her during the day. She's practiced enough with the sling to fling dangerous flasks many feet away. Fast hands are useful in the kitchen, and she's also quite good at sewing and knitting. Gourmand: Lirrah is an excellent cook. She's best at dishes from her home country, but picks up new cuisine quickly as well. Sometimes, the difference between a dead soldier and a living one is a happily-fed belly. She's especially gifted at desserts, which she can make at the level of a genius patissier. She can only make so many to her exacting standards day to day, that they run out quickly. People have gotten into fistfights over the strawberry shortcake!</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela "I shall remain in reserve," Gisela stated... not that it was ever much in question. If an enemy had even an inkling of caution, blatantly putting a mage into a group would throw out all considerations of bait. There was no way to easily gauge how advantageous it would be to attack in such a situation--did you really have the superiority that you expected? Or could this all be reversed with a single spell? Not that the Hundi would be of such use in an ambush scenario, making it even more important that she come in with the reinforcements. Hers was not the ability to swiftly change the fate of small-scale engagements, she would be much more useful once the enemy was there in force and separated from the fighting.</s> <|message|>Velvetica Hraesleg, the Steel Princess Seeing little issue with the choice of assignment her soldiers had given themselves, Velvetica did not choose to intervene. It was best to prepare as quickly as possible, for tonight was when they'd strike. On one hand, it was possible to deny the fact that the cultists preferred to raid at night, for the element of surprise. But at the same time, that same tactic could be turned against them. If they were distracted by the bait, and the destruction of their blasphemous idols, then they would be far less prepared in the darkness. And the night could work as a cloak for the Lions just as well as it had for the cult. --- It was a moonless, cloudy night. Not a star could be glimpsed through the thick veil of clouds, though there did not appear to be a storm incoming. To put it simply, it was an ideal night for an ambush. The ambush point was not too far from the location of the cult's operations, near the disturbed earth and the greatest concentration of effigies, using the natural landscape as a barrier from which they could attack. The bait had been embedded with skilled warriors, but in truth it was only intended to gain the cult's attention. It was the destruction of their effigies that would lure them into taking direct action. It was true. There was no way the cultists were unaware of their presence. But that wouldn't matter in the face of fanaticism. Velvetica had positioned herself with the ambush team. Now it was simply a matter of time. They had their attention, certainly, so drawing them out was the next step. Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora</s>

<|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah's eyes widened as Kayliss began speaking. She seemed much more talkative now, and had relaxed her threatening glare. Well, things like that didn't much scare Lirrah in the first place. It was very big people that scared her, possibly because they reminded her of Hadriyu in some ancient corner of her mind. Even then, however, none of them were safe from her hunger for favorable business transactions. Lirrah smiled from ear to ear as she looked up at the woman. So, that was an act. A face she put on to try and force Lirrah into the deal she wanted. Lirrah wondered, briefly, how many faces the woman had. Not that it mattered, of course. Business was business, but noting it now might be useful later. "Oh, fantastic," Lirrah chirped happily, clasping her own hands together and resting them against her cheek in a cutesy, almost prayer-like invite for affection, "that sounds like a wonderful deal~ of course, we'll have to set an order minimum or it won't be worth it for either of us..." Lirrah beckoned the woman to her tent to look at some of the herbs she did have in stock. "...Put we can chat about that nasty money stuff later," Lirrah added in a half-pout, as if the librans involved somehow despoiled the simple joy of making a transaction (they didn't), "for now, let's get you what you need and head out~" Lirrah's supply certainly contained herbs for cooking and for medicine, some of which might be used as poison reagents depending on the concentration and dose, and probably contained a few of the rarer subjects in small quantities that she had gotten hold of but hadn't sold yet. Desiccated, perhaps, but very usable. In addition, she also kept herbs of Nemish origin that weren't often seen in these lands. Things for folk remedies and home cooking (mostly for herself, as it hadn't quite caught on among the Veltans yet). Despite not being an apothecary, she had a somewhat favorable selection on hand. "You know, sometimes it's hard to get all the herbs you need in one place. People ask questions when you need certain compinations... it's so confusing," Lirrah pondered aloud, innocent as the day she was born, "and the people who don't ask a lot of questions charge so much more! Well, not your good pal Lirrah! Eheehee, I don't know much about these plants, so I just tend to assume it's cooking~" Lirrah winked and stuck her tongue out like a particularly dumb and charming orange cat. "So whatever you want to order, I'll get it all, and at amazingly reasonable prices~" The messaging, of course, was clear. No other merchants were needed. Lirrah could take the full list, and nary an inquiry would be made. As long as Kayliss understood this, Lirrah had no doubt that they would start a long and beneficial business relationship. ------------------ Lirrah felt almost like a real Lion, camped out with the others on the ambush team. The social clout and increased rapport from the mission would doubtless come in handy when dealing with the other soldiers, and maybe one or two would finally want to try some traditional Nemish cuisine. The Veltans had no idea how much time or money went into those dishes, so she could probably charge a lot once it got more popular. She'd blame a supply shortage for the price increase. Lirrah smiled as she kept watch, knowing that it would be borderline impossible for the stupid necromancers to ever see her before she saw them. Nem had fantastic night vision, and Lirrah's was exceptional even among them. For a first job, keeping watch was a fantastic position for her to have. ... Well, maybe she wouldn't overcharge for the Nemish food. Even Lirrah had empathy. Love. The prospect of sharing food from her homeland and seeing the Veltans eat it happily was something she could take genuine joy in. Enough that it would be worth selling... at market price. "Ila-nem," Lirrah thought, her eyes sharply scanning the distance, "I am so benevolent. Perhaps I should be a goddess~"</s>

<|description|>Urden Antiac * Age: 29 * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Stands at just about 6'1". * Personality: On the surface of it, Urden is as quick to laugh and hoke as he is to breath. Quick to crack jokes and make offhand remarks on current circumstances, the chatty man is certainly lacking in the respect department, at least overtly. It is honest enough for who he is at a passing meeting or glance, however it is a façade to hide the mercenary beneath the smile who's out to make ends meet and nothing more, something that never quite reaches the dull amber of his eyes, no matter how much he laughs or shows mirth. Under the surface is a viciously pragmatic fighter, employing any and all manner of tricks, underhanded methods, and anything else that comes to hand to survive long enough to collect his pay. Still, he has a sort of mercenaries honor, as once he takes a job he'll see it done, as long as he got paid to do so, and if he's dumb enough to sign on for the long haul, that's on him. Beyond that, he enjoys a good drink, a good fight, and most importantly, a nice and fat sack of coin after a hard day's work, and really couldn't care less who he ends up working alongside. * Brief Backstory: Urden was born into a small band of mercenaries, who typically committed to activities and jobs that were mostly dealing with small bandit groups and providing muscle and security for caravans and other odd jobs that didn't pay well but needed done. The young man, growing up, chaffed under this lack of variety and, becoming quickly apparent, pay, something he found a quick and fond love for. Still, before he split off from the group he learned to fight and carry himself, training with a two handed axe that had belonged to his mother, who had taken off shortly after he was born. He was also given a short blade, a 'proper weapon for a scrawny kid like him', and a parting farewell gift as the eighteen year old split off from the small band, convinced they would just wallow in obscurity for the rest of their days. He had bolder and grander plans in place, though to call 'Strike out and get rich' a plan was fairly bold of him. Being a freelance mercenary had its pros and cons, something that Urden would become incredibly aware of over the next decade of earning his keep through violence. Starting small, signing on with villages for fairly meagre sums to help scare off thugs, put the odd bandit in the ground, and generally began making a name for himself as a problem solver. He learned how to solve problems through any means necessary, given he rarely had the luxury of being on the side with the luxury of numbers. During this time he settled into a style of fighting that relied on speed and aggression to overwhelm most opponents, his two handed axe suited to the aggressive approach. He earned his fair share of scars this way, learning not just how to fight, but how to survive along the way. Though, word eventually reached him that his old outfit had turned to banditry, and for once he felt a call beyond just making coin, and that was quite a bit of anger that they gave up on earning their keep through honest, albeit bloody, work. This is how he would end up crossing paths with the Hraesleg Lions, a detachment of them crossing paths with Urden as he was planning how to assault the camp where his old outfit was. They struck a deal, he would lead them down and help clear out the mercenaries turned bandits, and he would get paid for his services as both warrior and informant. Picking out where the old blind spots still were in camp, especially since the bandits had gotten lax and fat in their relative safety, and the sudden lightning assault just after dusk didn't give much of a chance for the former mercenaries to fight back. Urden made sure he personally put his former commander, and father, to the axe, though he conveniently failed to mention the blood relation to the Lions after the job was said and done. Prepared to simply move on, it was suggested that he come back and strike up a more permanent contract with the rapidly rising star of the Hraesleg Lions, the Steel Princess herself. Seeing a chance at not just a rapidly fattening coin purse, but also the fame and prestige to be able to charge more, it wasn't much effort to convince him to join the detachment and meet the Steel Princess first hand. Urden has been earning his keep ever since, maintaining a position as a mercenary first and foremost, but with a provable track record of loyalty once paid, he would find himself in quite the peculiar bunch. Didn't matter to him, granted, he was getting paid to do whatever the Princess told him to do, So if that meant working with a mostly figurative gallery of oddities, well, the coin was good all the same so Urden was staying a happy man. * Equipment: Urden travels light, and doesn't bring much with him typically speaking. He has his mercenary uniform, a patchwork of mended clothes and a few pieces of token armor that are mostly there for show, though if a blow happened to strike there the worn steel would still do its job well enough. His pride and joy is his two handed axe, large to the point of almost being a poleaxe thanks to the length of its shaft, which he wields with heavy swings aimed to crash through defenses and lighter armor, the spike pointing opposite of the axe head providing an option against heavier armor. In a pinch he also still has the small arming sword in case he gets caught in a position too confined for his preferred weapon. He also has a small chest, where he keeps his coin, contracts, and journal, with the best lock he could possibly afford on it. The key being kept on a string hanging around his neck and often tucked under his shirt. * Skills: Axe Combat - Urden has dedicated the majority of his life fighting with axes, both his personal axe of choice and others such as hatchets and other throwing axes, and has developed a fighting style of his own that revolves around battering down and wearing through defenses of an opponent before they have a chance to outlast him. It has gotten him this far, and he is continuing to refine his efforts every time he ends up in a fight, convinced that, while it'll never be perfect, there's nothing saying he can't get good enough to convince the world otherwise. Black Market Savvy - From negotiating contracts, acquiring supplies, extracting payment, or securing quick and discreet means to move from place to place, Urden has learned where to look not just for the best deals, but the kind of goods that would be frowned upon by polite society. Knowing what to ask and, more importantly, what not to ask is key in these sort of negotiations and dealings, but really Urden would have it no other way. It's where he does business most of the time, so it pays well to know how it works. Thug - Sometimes being a mercenary means more than just killing, and Urden knows that all too well. Often times, a veiled threat, shift of the body, or twitch of the hand does more to dissuade trouble than anything else, especially if the client wants to keep bloodshed to a minimum. He has learned a variety of ways to intimidate and make his presence known as not only a threat, but one you really do not want to trifle with, and the more his standing grows? The more effective it'll get, which suits Urden fine. Means he can charge a higher fee.</s> <|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) "A-ah, yes, this is our first meeting," Lirrah stumbled in her words initially, but recovered herself well with pie in hand. Guillaume took note of the price indicated of 1200 librans and reached into a small sack he had prepared for payment. It was always difficult to discern the face of a vendor when they're doing their line of work; making a sale. Their expressions never betray their true emotion of the situation at hand. He watches Lirrah's face with her eyebrows rose to an arched bloom... Eyes as round as the full moon... Pupils contracting at the sight of librans in his hands. Her lips curl a smile that soothes the eyes and her dimples light the heart with a warmth of a friend's embrace. This is a genuine smile as a result of a successful sale. He gently handed librans to the Nem and accepting the mutton pie happily on his left hand, the free pastry ticket in the other. Lirrah then leaned in with a hand covering the side of her mouth and whispered secretively, "I certainly would have called for help myself if my voice hadn't gotten stuck in my throat... Ahaha..." Guillaume chuckled in return at her remark. Perhaps he and she are birds of a feather. "Thank you Lirrah." He examined the golden brown pastry before his eyes. The skin is perfectly molded and the hot mutton filling inside was at the right temperature-- he can tell this from a simple touch. He took the pie into his mouth and ate a part... And the flaky crust crumbles into his tongue and brought homey warmth. Cold night winds have indeed not been kind to the body. What followed after was a rush of rich flavours with the aroma of its contents zealously bursting to fill the nasal cavity. The bits of pie travelled down into his stomach well and spread its warmth to his belly. It was excellence in the palm of a hand. "This pie is an experience of its own, and is indeed delicious!" He roared, but not too loudly to the merchant. For a moment there he had forgotten about Gisela and Krysia. Stuck in a world where only two existed; Guillaume and his mutton pie. Daze "Oh, good evening, Guillaume," The mage returned his greeting with a half-curtsy. "No new injuries to report?" He lowered his pie and placed his gaze on Gisela with a gentle nod in acknowledgement to her gesture. "You're too kind, there's no need. What you did for me deserves much more in comparison." He of course is mentioning the one time he had suffered a grievous injury that almost cost him his life a few years ago, saved only by Gisela who happened to be around. "No new injuries to report. I made full recovery after that incident. Not even a scar was left." He raised his pie again for another bite. "How goes Krysia? Still looking for a fight every chance she gets?"</s> <|message|>Kayliss Lambert Kayliss Lambert Cadmon's words revealed that there wasn't anything of substance for her. Not yet, at least. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. It was at least refreshing to hear that someone wanted to make good use of a valuable asset for once. Not to disparage her actual superior here, but the thought still lingered in her brain. Still, she couldn't exactly fault Lady Hraesleg for that. The line of reasoning was obvious enough. "Perhaps. But I doubt I'll be given the honor of cutting the head off the snake. Our objective here will always be at least partially political until the Lions are foremost in the realm. Sending an assassin to take care of matters quickly and quietly is counterproductive to that regard. At best, I might be used to soften them up somewhat. A lieutenant or two would serve, to say nothing of their supplies." Kayliss shrugged, seeming unbothered at that. While the lack of opportunity for her personally wasn't very exciting, there was still the big picture to consider for the nation as a whole. As it stood, the Steel Princess had her support given that she was one of the few forces in the realm taking proactive measures against dangers to it as a whole. Not that Kayliss would be fickle or disloyal enough to betray the girl unless she did something treasonous. A Crownsblade had better convictions than that. But she still had a conversation to continue. Or what passed of one with a surly tactician barely into his manhood, at least. "In any case, where is that massive brute that advises you? I'd have thought he'd be at your side."</s>

<|message|>Urden Antiac Urden raised a hand in return greeting to the gambeson clad István. Now there was a man that the mercenary could respect, he'd heard stories of the Shilage family well before ever having crossed paths with the lineage themselves. Soldiers who rose up to nobility, and had been making moves to establish themselves. All that wouldn't have meant a lick if it had turned out the man had proven to not be an effective fighter. Fortunately, any concerns had been wasted considerations, István was skilled with both shield and flail. Notoriously tricky choice of weapon, and proved to be the kind of implacable pillar in a battle crush that could stand out in the finest shock company, and could charge such a fee as well if it had suited. Of course, not everyone had the mercenary outlook, not something Urden particularly blamed anyone for of course. End of the day, if all he looked for in life was a good fight alone, he could do far worse than seeing where the scion of Shilage went. Still, a question posed deserved an answer, and he gave his weapon a once over before setting the whetstone back in its place. "The good Earl, I do think I saw him a bit ago, as well as one of his servants looking rather busy with a message no doubt paramount to deliver. Looked like he was heading for the Boss' tent, least that was the direction he was wandering while giving the troops a good once over. Tell you what though, I won't get much else done preparing so I'll help track the lad down." Urden hopped to his feet, already practically dressed for the no doubt battle filled evening. Compared to some in the camp, the mercenary fought and travelled light, a single shoulder guard providing protection for his non dominant side. The heavier armor got, the slower he moved and, more importantly, the more expensive upkeep got. Full plate was all fine and well for nobility and knights who had a nation footing the bill for them, but it took an exceedingly successful mercenary to be able to afford the upkeep and time spent conditioning and training for how to move and fight in armor. Wearing it was just one aspect, one had to be comfortable in armor, know where it could take hits and where it couldn't. Tightening the strap on his one piece of armor, and shouldering his axe, he casually addressed the low bass that had complimented his own tune nicely. "Been quite sometime since someone knew that old work ditty, call it a pleasant surprise. Anyways, shall we?" Urden's mind wandered briefly while getting underway to make the search happen. He suspected a night raid on whoever was up to no good this time, it was a clever idea with soldiers who could pull it off. Night raids were tricky affairs though, it was too easy to mix up friend and foe in the gloom, even if the night sky was kind enough to not obscure what light it provided. However, that was a matter for the briefing to come as he focused his attention once more. At the leisure of the Shilage, Urden would take the lead strolling the last known path he had seen the moody lad wandering off on. It reminded him of just how....varied a band this group had become. From merchants and mercenaries to lords and noble heirs, you could find near anyone in this merry group. Urden chatted with soldiers and camp staff in passing, playing that seeming pleasant demeanor to glean where the Earl had gone. A bit of luck they'd find him in no time at this rate.</s>

<|description|>Urden Antiac * Age: 29 * Gender: Male * Race: Human * Appearance: Stands at just about 6'1". * Personality: On the surface of it, Urden is as quick to laugh and hoke as he is to breath. Quick to crack jokes and make offhand remarks on current circumstances, the chatty man is certainly lacking in the respect department, at least overtly. It is honest enough for who he is at a passing meeting or glance, however it is a façade to hide the mercenary beneath the smile who's out to make ends meet and nothing more, something that never quite reaches the dull amber of his eyes, no matter how much he laughs or shows mirth. Under the surface is a viciously pragmatic fighter, employing any and all manner of tricks, underhanded methods, and anything else that comes to hand to survive long enough to collect his pay. Still, he has a sort of mercenaries honor, as once he takes a job he'll see it done, as long as he got paid to do so, and if he's dumb enough to sign on for the long haul, that's on him. Beyond that, he enjoys a good drink, a good fight, and most importantly, a nice and fat sack of coin after a hard day's work, and really couldn't care less who he ends up working alongside. * Brief Backstory: Urden was born into a small band of mercenaries, who typically committed to activities and jobs that were mostly dealing with small bandit groups and providing muscle and security for caravans and other odd jobs that didn't pay well but needed done. The young man, growing up, chaffed under this lack of variety and, becoming quickly apparent, pay, something he found a quick and fond love for. Still, before he split off from the group he learned to fight and carry himself, training with a two handed axe that had belonged to his mother, who had taken off shortly after he was born. He was also given a short blade, a 'proper weapon for a scrawny kid like him', and a parting farewell gift as the eighteen year old split off from the small band, convinced they would just wallow in obscurity for the rest of their days. He had bolder and grander plans in place, though to call 'Strike out and get rich' a plan was fairly bold of him. Being a freelance mercenary had its pros and cons, something that Urden would become incredibly aware of over the next decade of earning his keep through violence. Starting small, signing on with villages for fairly meagre sums to help scare off thugs, put the odd bandit in the ground, and generally began making a name for himself as a problem solver. He learned how to solve problems through any means necessary, given he rarely had the luxury of being on the side with the luxury of numbers. During this time he settled into a style of fighting that relied on speed and aggression to overwhelm most opponents, his two handed axe suited to the aggressive approach. He earned his fair share of scars this way, learning not just how to fight, but how to survive along the way. Though, word eventually reached him that his old outfit had turned to banditry, and for once he felt a call beyond just making coin, and that was quite a bit of anger that they gave up on earning their keep through honest, albeit bloody, work. This is how he would end up crossing paths with the Hraesleg Lions, a detachment of them crossing paths with Urden as he was planning how to assault the camp where his old outfit was. They struck a deal, he would lead them down and help clear out the mercenaries turned bandits, and he would get paid for his services as both warrior and informant. Picking out where the old blind spots still were in camp, especially since the bandits had gotten lax and fat in their relative safety, and the sudden lightning assault just after dusk didn't give much of a chance for the former mercenaries to fight back. Urden made sure he personally put his former commander, and father, to the axe, though he conveniently failed to mention the blood relation to the Lions after the job was said and done. Prepared to simply move on, it was suggested that he come back and strike up a more permanent contract with the rapidly rising star of the Hraesleg Lions, the Steel Princess herself. Seeing a chance at not just a rapidly fattening coin purse, but also the fame and prestige to be able to charge more, it wasn't much effort to convince him to join the detachment and meet the Steel Princess first hand. Urden has been earning his keep ever since, maintaining a position as a mercenary first and foremost, but with a provable track record of loyalty once paid, he would find himself in quite the peculiar bunch. Didn't matter to him, granted, he was getting paid to do whatever the Princess told him to do, So if that meant working with a mostly figurative gallery of oddities, well, the coin was good all the same so Urden was staying a happy man. * Equipment: Urden travels light, and doesn't bring much with him typically speaking. He has his mercenary uniform, a patchwork of mended clothes and a few pieces of token armor that are mostly there for show, though if a blow happened to strike there the worn steel would still do its job well enough. His pride and joy is his two handed axe, large to the point of almost being a poleaxe thanks to the length of its shaft, which he wields with heavy swings aimed to crash through defenses and lighter armor, the spike pointing opposite of the axe head providing an option against heavier armor. In a pinch he also still has the small arming sword in case he gets caught in a position too confined for his preferred weapon. He also has a small chest, where he keeps his coin, contracts, and journal, with the best lock he could possibly afford on it. The key being kept on a string hanging around his neck and often tucked under his shirt. * Skills: Axe Combat - Urden has dedicated the majority of his life fighting with axes, both his personal axe of choice and others such as hatchets and other throwing axes, and has developed a fighting style of his own that revolves around battering down and wearing through defenses of an opponent before they have a chance to outlast him. It has gotten him this far, and he is continuing to refine his efforts every time he ends up in a fight, convinced that, while it'll never be perfect, there's nothing saying he can't get good enough to convince the world otherwise. Black Market Savvy - From negotiating contracts, acquiring supplies, extracting payment, or securing quick and discreet means to move from place to place, Urden has learned where to look not just for the best deals, but the kind of goods that would be frowned upon by polite society. Knowing what to ask and, more importantly, what not to ask is key in these sort of negotiations and dealings, but really Urden would have it no other way. It's where he does business most of the time, so it pays well to know how it works. Thug - Sometimes being a mercenary means more than just killing, and Urden knows that all too well. Often times, a veiled threat, shift of the body, or twitch of the hand does more to dissuade trouble than anything else, especially if the client wants to keep bloodshed to a minimum. He has learned a variety of ways to intimidate and make his presence known as not only a threat, but one you really do not want to trifle with, and the more his standing grows? The more effective it'll get, which suits Urden fine. Means he can charge a higher fee.</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah parted with her customers, having sold a relatively good amount, and packed up before heading over to the briefing. The Demon woman, notably, seemed to be able to vanish rather quickly for one so big. If a Demon could truly just come and go as they pleased, it was perhaps a little bit alarming, but more in a cosmic sense than an immediate one. Well, as long as her pastries were well-liked, she probably wouldn't be killed. Lirrah heard Velvetica out, knowing that having her finger on the pulse of the latest goings-on was a great tool for a merchant, and also a fantastic way to not die. Lirrah didn't get get the Juyuem vitriol against necromancy. Though Ila-Nem also warned against their evils, it wasn't quite so ingrained in her people. Hadriyu were the more pressing concern, but perhaps one's scorpion men were another's necromancers. Hadriyu were, by nature, monsterous Nem-killers. Was there something in the nature of necromancy that ensured a particularly monsterous person? If not for the mindless undead craving for flesh, eternal unskilled labor seemed a good business prospect. Though if that's what a necromancer wanted, they could just learn to make golems. It was probably that innate viciousness that could be pointed to in any civilized discussion about the subject: mindless undead were killing machines, and if a necromancer were to lose control, they would continue plaguing the world until dismantled. Like a Hadrid. Lirrah felt some degree of disgust well after anyone who actually despised necromancy, but she got there. Only, she looked as if she hated necromancers the entire time she was debating whether or not there might be any business viability. She knew her clientele. All the people around her hated it, so she hated it too. She looked just as disgusted by the mention of the dark arts as anyone else. An easily-changing value system was yet another magnificent tool for a merchant. Once she was finished speaking, Lirrah timidly approached her. Velvetica was yet another person who was kind of scary, though by no means tall. Lirrah knew, however, that she was good-hearted. Even if everyone told her not to spend time on bandits, she could not ignore those in front of her. Lirrah understood this value firsthand. "San'yashu, lady Hraesleg," Lirrah greeted her softly. It wasn't really something she wanted a lot of other people to hear. She looked up at the woman, eyes glistening innocently, and briefly wondered if the fact that Lirrah had to look up at her when they spoke made Velvetica feel tall. Lirrah hoped this was the case. "I would not dare ask you to leave anyone pehind on my account, nor ask for anyone to escort me to home camp. You need as many people as you can get to deal with these awful necromancers, so... I was actually thinking I would like to help you more! To do my part for Velt," she lied as naturally as she breathed, "I wanted to pring some items along, and maybe help keep an eye out. My eyes are very good in the gloom, and I am an expert at avoiding danger! Only... I do still get scared. May I count on you, again, to see me through the night? E-even though I am weak... I would like to do something." Lirrah turned her meek and cute act up to maximum. If this didn't make Velvetica want to protect her with everything she could, Lirrah didn't know what would.</s> <|message|>Kayliss Lambert Kayliss Lambert As the briefing finished, Kayliss folded her arms in front of her from her position in the back corner of the gathering, her brow furrowed in thought. Necromancers. A vexing enemy for her, all told. Certainly, the mages themselves were but mere men if they were taken off guard, her skillset and tools didn't quite work for dealing with actual undead. Blades and poison designed to cut to a living target's vitals weren't exactly effective when dealing with deadened veins and shambling bones. Fortunate that the Lions had so many heavier fighters better suited to dealing with undead chaff. Of course, that didn't preclude the option of their superior officer already having an idea of what to do with her. So with that in mind, Kayliss silently wove her way through the gathered crowd and to the front, waiting patiently some distance away from the camp's nem merchant while she made her appeal. The Crownsblade briefly narrowed her eyes down at the side of Lirrah's head. A walking equipment caddy, and requiring an escort? Kayliss had her own opinion on that, though she wouldn't give it unless asked. A waste of resources and men that could be utilized more efficiently. If the merchant thought her stock would be useful, then she could at least be bothered to hand it out to those who would actually be getting their hands dirty. Regardless, as the...girl? Woman? Nem of an age Kayliss couldn't quite distinguish finished her appeal, the assassin simply appeared in Velvetica's peripheral vision, bowing her head to the Steel Princess. "Any specific orders, my lady? Otherwise, I assume I've your permission to embed myself within another unit?" While she'd prefer Cadmon and Istvan's aid thanks to familiarity and the fact that they would know how to properly utilize her, it wasn't exactly Kayliss's choice.</s>

<|message|>Urden Antiac "Good thing spreading nasty rumors like that is bad for business then, ain't it Ms. Lambert?" Urden had no intention of spreading gossip or rumors, they didn't pay well first off, not the kind he could source at least. Secondly he liked his ribs and kidney where it was without being perforated, and if he was lucky it'd only happen in his sleep. Of course, the Lad himself chimed in that, no, she was lovely company and not all daggers and glaring them. All a bit above his paygrade, really, he wasn't an infiltrator or assassin. He earned his coin the hard way, one axe swing at a time. Granted that frame of time might be incredibly short depending on his efforts, but that was neither here nor there. Before he could chime in the meeting for select soldiers was finally called and he was among them for the briefing. Time to see what the scouts had come reporting back on, and what Boss had in mind for them to go and clean up tonight. Corpse defilers seemed to be the order of the day, which meant tangling with reanimated carcasses. Urden wouldn't lie and say that he was looking forward to this. Bandits, thugs, and the like could be intimidated into surrendering or otherwise routed. Reanimated bodies though, that was grim work near as he understood it. Not like it was his specialty either, but hell, he wasn't paid to have misgivings or concerns. One of the bluebloods or magic folks would probably get into some drawn out duel with the head of this band of corpse stealers, while folks like him were cleaning up the real mess. He got paid the same either way, and since this wasn't going to be particularly glamorous or career building he could settle for just hacking through anything unfortunate enough to be shambling in front of him. That being said, he didn't exactly have much of value to chime in with, so he found himself a place to sit down and rest a bit before the impending violence, mostly talking to himself. "Seems like this'll be my good deed for the week, putting the defiled back in the ground where they belong."</s>

<|description|>Gisela * Age: 70's * Gender: Female * Race: Hundi * Appearance: Just shy of 5' in height. * Personality: Remarkably sombre for a Hundi--partly by inclination, partly by age, and largely by having (although she wouldn't phrase it as such) having spent decades on the run from persecution--but nevertheless maintaining their much-vaunted honesty. Something that no doubt contributes to all the problems she tends to have in her day-to-day life. Gisela would much rather be healing people than harming them, but the world isn't exactly keen to accommodate this. She tends to creep people out, but that's just be the faint distorting feeling of constantly released mana. Conversely, demons tend to be more at ease--and she much prefers dealing with them (even if it's to get rid of them on someone else's behalf), as they have no issue with mages of any stripe. * Brief Backstory: As a child born to farmers, Gisela's parents had very little idea of what to do with their prodigious daughter. Well-off yeomen they might have been, especially for Hundi just this side of the Veldt-Ithillin border, but they were completely unequipped for dealing with a child with high magical potential to start with. One that had Gisela's particular malady to boot turned it from interesting to vitally important that she actually get a proper education. And so, the future mage was sent off to Meridan at a young age to learn the ways of magic, with only the firmest cultural pillars in place. The political situation was scarcely any more stable and the desire for mages that could influence a battlefield remained high... so, given her enormous reserves, it was natural that she was pushed into learning as many destructive spells as possible. Something that turned out to be quite the bad idea, when she was prompted to go on the traditional Coming of Age journey and go home, meet some less cosmopolitan Hundi. When she got back still unmarried, with substantially more burn scars and even more esoteric marks, the considerably more subdued girl opted to look into less violent magic. Healing. Keeping people alive long enough to heal them. And, generally, staying out of the way and uninvolved in minor border skirmishes or the like. But the city was growing markedly less friendly. A mage that wouldn't use her powers for the defence of the kingdom? Healers were widely admired, but the common folk were more interested in fast cures for illness or smaller injuries, not nearly so many were after the sort of healing she was best at--or, when they were, could scarcely get in contact with someone so academic. It was this souring mood that lead her to investigate alternate means of self-protection... and then get on the move. Having drifted through the country's major cities over the years, as well as ventured briefly through the other countries when circumstances have allowed, Gisela has rather reluctantly come to the conclusion that she needs to find someone who wants to make use of her abilities. With Erhan Lyn's fall and destruction, the attitude towards potential witches has almost dropped back to its 200-year-old nadir, and she does not want to deal with people trying to burn her at the stake. * Equipment: Gisela's equipment consists mostly of the usual paraphernalia of a mage with a thing for doing rituals: chalk, candles, reams of parchment, and more ink than would be practical to carry around if you couldn't just force clothing to be clean in one go. She also has her staff, which doesn't perform most of the normal functions of a magical catalyst: it doesn't make spells more efficient to cast, it doesn't condense the casting of any particular brand of magic by dint of its assistance. It helps her aim when that's a concern, but what it actually does is act as a vast repository for mana--on any day where she doesn't do much casting, she can just divert mana into it, and cast from that when needed. It's also integrated with her one persistent contract... not enough that losing it would break it, but its loss as an anchor would make the summoning much slower. * Skills: As her dress sense and staff attest, Gisela is a mage. And, like the majority of Hundi with sufficient mana to focus on their magical abilities, she's an absolute powerhouse in terms of mana capacity and absolute output--complete with a rather pleasing silvery colour to any illumination or magical effects produced. Unlike the majority of mages, Hundi or otherwise, she's congenitally unable to restrain all this mana, and even at her most drained there's some leaking out, let alone when fully rested or when she stops holding back to cast. In someone without much magical ability, this tends to just mean odd things happen around them on occasion. In this case... well, the risk that if it built up it could be severely damaging to her own health is high, any external manifestations would be big and, most unfortunately for any mage, it completely nullifies the ability to do small spells. Those reliant on fine control of small amounts of mana simply fizzle, while any with scaling properties come out as big spells. Not that this has stopped her from amassing an impressive breadth of skills down the decades. Firstly, Gisela knows a vast amount of healing magic, and is able to--one way or another--heal just about any injury or ailment, given time. Healing magic doesn't tend to have any downsides if it's overpowered and this is virtually flaw-free for addressing injuries. With illnesses, however... well, most healers are able to address the illness directly. She's much more liable to either just force the body through it with magical support, or excise the damaged region entirely and regenerate it from scratch. Relatedly, she's also well versed in the legal sides of necromancy; able to support a body missing vital organs on nothing more than spellcraft alone. This also goes for the preservation of body parts (although, admittedly, it's generally quite hard to find someone alive if their arm has been cut off and you need to go get it back to them) and entire bodies for later burial. Less well looked-on but not quite illegal is communing with the dead directly. If there's some sort of conduit, or they're actually at rest, and they want to answer, in any case. And if it's not blocked by divine fiat... really, the list of downsides if you're not evil enough to bind the soul directly is quite long. With these two skills combined, it's perhaps not surprising that her youth has been maintained as well as it has, even for a mage, despite no direct investigation of longevity. Is it risky? Perhaps, but Gisela has been able to pull it off. Of course, as any self-respecting Hundi, Gisela learned how to fight. Unfortunately, none of her magical options for that are on the practical side. What should be a small barrier to block attacks without inconveniencing her own magical retaliation instead manifests as a blatantly impermeable wall--great if you need to block artillery, potentially just cornering yourself if attacked by bandits. Similarly, her offensive magic is more useful for taking out an organised block of soldiers in one go; if there's anyone friendly in the target area, she has no viable choices. When it comes to defending herself, Gisela's primary defence is to fall back on a branch of magic that's often even more poorly regarded than the legal side of necromancy: summoning. No summon can be arranged on the spot, there's always some sort of ritual involved and methods to narrow down what answers the call, but the vast overcharge of mana means that calling for more powerful entities won't be ignored... and everyone else gets one hell of a notification. Most summoners only traffic in fey, who are generally quite easy to pay and willing to take a very active role. Gisela? Gisela hates working with them when it's not required; the flightiness and habitual deception without ever lying makes her skin crawl. But people really don't like it when you summon demons. Of the 108 Demonic Houses, there are many where the mere act of addressing them would get you charged with witchcraft. There are a scant handful where the summoning is itself a capital crime. But there are others with more favourable priorities, where it's more the nature of trafficking with entities that aren't properly of the world and just can't stay dead that's offensive, where you can just about get away with it. If you know what you're doing. There's one long-standing arrangement that Gisela has, with a demon by the name of Krysia, which allows for a bypass of the normal negotiation rules. If Gisela needs protection, then she'll fight. If there's a need to attack... well, that's where she'll size up whether it's a worthy opponent and her chances, first. For all her House values strength of arms and pride in their word, rushing into battle and getting discorporated is quite painful, and demanding a special payment is always an option. The demonic knight appears to have an endless selection of weapons, never showing up with the same thing twice.</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- Landshark --- The effort needed to resist rolling his eyes was nearly herculean. What was needed to keep his jaw shut for a moment was even greater. No, no, I just thought I'd take a romantic stroll around the war camp with my favourite assassin. As much as he wanted to say something sarcastic like that, it would be pointless. Antagonizing her would be no help at all with what they were soon to face; beyond that, he had little doubt of his low likelihood of waking up in the morning if she decided she disliked him enough. Not that she seemed inclined to harm an ally, certainly not in that way, but he only trusted an assassin as far as he could throw them. Given that Kayliss was a somewhat tall human woman rather than a Nem, that wasn't very far at all. "With any luck," he said after a moment. No true confirmation for her question, yet, but he was hoping. "Assuming they didn't meet with an unfortunate fate, our scouts are due to make their reports to Lady Velvetica today. If they bring back something useful, I'm hoping that we could make use of your talents."</s> <|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw There's is something strange about the ground down there. From above, Roger could see splotches of terrain taking on a different color as they got closer to the bandits' hideout. They had been flying low to avoid detection, but it was still high enough to see a stark difference from the surrounding land. It wasn't unusual to see land of different colors whenever they flew over farmland, but this was no freshly tilled field, ready for planting, and it was far too extensive to be the work of small burrowing animals. This was...well, he had no idea what it was. Even stranger, he glimpsed a few objects on the ground that looked a little like scarecrows. Surely the bandits couldn't actually be trying to work the land down there, especially in this rocky area, right? It was a curious enough matter that Roger opted to take a closer look. He circled around, then signaled his mount to descend and land. The griffin slowed its flight and touched down on the suffiently large clearing of disturbed earth, bounding off the ground once before coming to a stop, causing Roger to bounce in his saddle. The first thing the rider did was take a few moments to glance around the area to ensure there was no trouble awaiting them.. He hadn't seen anyone when flying overhead, but it paid to be cautious. Shortclaw turned his head around as well, also on the lookout for trouble. If he doesn't see anything, we should be clear. His eyes are keener than mine. As he looked around, he noticed one of the "scarecrows" he had thought he spotted. That's no scarecrow, he thought to himself, uneasy at what he beheld. It was a crude, macabre effigy of some sort, crafted with bones and topped with a humanoid skull, creaking eerily as it rocked in the strong wind. Just what were these bandits doing out here, and why would they create such twisted totems? He already knew that these bandits were doing some strange and unsettling things, and the fact that they'd construct these things raised some questions as to just what they were up to. In contrast to his increasingly uneasy rider, Shortclaw seemed completely unfazed and uninterested in the effigy, probably because there was no meat on the bones. "Let's get back to the camp," Roger spoke, signaling the griffin to take flight. Shortclaw began to run forward and flap his wings, leapt into the air against the wind, and began gaining altitude. There wasn't much else to do here, so once they climbed above the treetops, Roger directed his mount back to the camp. He wasn't entirely sure what these strange effigies meant, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. Perhaps the Steel Princess or one of the Lions' more learned members, or one of the other scouts, would have a better idea.</s>

<|message|>Gisela At the price, the demon turned expectantly to look down at the hundi, who only sighed before rifling through her pockets for payment. To be so easily overcharged was galling, especially when she wasn't even the one who was going to be eating it. But the coins were passed over nonetheless, and the massive demon warrior took the pastry and thoughtfully started eating it. "You don't have to be so afraid. A merchant like you could hardly put up a good fight, so why would I want to bother?" the demon said between bites, offering reassurance in the least reassuring way she could. "This pie's good." "Oh, good evening, Guillaume," Gisela said, giving a slight curtsy. A mage she might be, but she was still a commoner... and far too many of even the lesser nobility got annoyed if not shown the proper respect. Guillaume seemed to be above that, but why take the chance? "No new injuries to report?"</s>

<|description|>Gisela * Age: 70's * Gender: Female * Race: Hundi * Appearance: Just shy of 5' in height. * Personality: Remarkably sombre for a Hundi--partly by inclination, partly by age, and largely by having (although she wouldn't phrase it as such) having spent decades on the run from persecution--but nevertheless maintaining their much-vaunted honesty. Something that no doubt contributes to all the problems she tends to have in her day-to-day life. Gisela would much rather be healing people than harming them, but the world isn't exactly keen to accommodate this. She tends to creep people out, but that's just be the faint distorting feeling of constantly released mana. Conversely, demons tend to be more at ease--and she much prefers dealing with them (even if it's to get rid of them on someone else's behalf), as they have no issue with mages of any stripe. * Brief Backstory: As a child born to farmers, Gisela's parents had very little idea of what to do with their prodigious daughter. Well-off yeomen they might have been, especially for Hundi just this side of the Veldt-Ithillin border, but they were completely unequipped for dealing with a child with high magical potential to start with. One that had Gisela's particular malady to boot turned it from interesting to vitally important that she actually get a proper education. And so, the future mage was sent off to Meridan at a young age to learn the ways of magic, with only the firmest cultural pillars in place. The political situation was scarcely any more stable and the desire for mages that could influence a battlefield remained high... so, given her enormous reserves, it was natural that she was pushed into learning as many destructive spells as possible. Something that turned out to be quite the bad idea, when she was prompted to go on the traditional Coming of Age journey and go home, meet some less cosmopolitan Hundi. When she got back still unmarried, with substantially more burn scars and even more esoteric marks, the considerably more subdued girl opted to look into less violent magic. Healing. Keeping people alive long enough to heal them. And, generally, staying out of the way and uninvolved in minor border skirmishes or the like. But the city was growing markedly less friendly. A mage that wouldn't use her powers for the defence of the kingdom? Healers were widely admired, but the common folk were more interested in fast cures for illness or smaller injuries, not nearly so many were after the sort of healing she was best at--or, when they were, could scarcely get in contact with someone so academic. It was this souring mood that lead her to investigate alternate means of self-protection... and then get on the move. Having drifted through the country's major cities over the years, as well as ventured briefly through the other countries when circumstances have allowed, Gisela has rather reluctantly come to the conclusion that she needs to find someone who wants to make use of her abilities. With Erhan Lyn's fall and destruction, the attitude towards potential witches has almost dropped back to its 200-year-old nadir, and she does not want to deal with people trying to burn her at the stake. * Equipment: Gisela's equipment consists mostly of the usual paraphernalia of a mage with a thing for doing rituals: chalk, candles, reams of parchment, and more ink than would be practical to carry around if you couldn't just force clothing to be clean in one go. She also has her staff, which doesn't perform most of the normal functions of a magical catalyst: it doesn't make spells more efficient to cast, it doesn't condense the casting of any particular brand of magic by dint of its assistance. It helps her aim when that's a concern, but what it actually does is act as a vast repository for mana--on any day where she doesn't do much casting, she can just divert mana into it, and cast from that when needed. It's also integrated with her one persistent contract... not enough that losing it would break it, but its loss as an anchor would make the summoning much slower. * Skills: As her dress sense and staff attest, Gisela is a mage. And, like the majority of Hundi with sufficient mana to focus on their magical abilities, she's an absolute powerhouse in terms of mana capacity and absolute output--complete with a rather pleasing silvery colour to any illumination or magical effects produced. Unlike the majority of mages, Hundi or otherwise, she's congenitally unable to restrain all this mana, and even at her most drained there's some leaking out, let alone when fully rested or when she stops holding back to cast. In someone without much magical ability, this tends to just mean odd things happen around them on occasion. In this case... well, the risk that if it built up it could be severely damaging to her own health is high, any external manifestations would be big and, most unfortunately for any mage, it completely nullifies the ability to do small spells. Those reliant on fine control of small amounts of mana simply fizzle, while any with scaling properties come out as big spells. Not that this has stopped her from amassing an impressive breadth of skills down the decades. Firstly, Gisela knows a vast amount of healing magic, and is able to--one way or another--heal just about any injury or ailment, given time. Healing magic doesn't tend to have any downsides if it's overpowered and this is virtually flaw-free for addressing injuries. With illnesses, however... well, most healers are able to address the illness directly. She's much more liable to either just force the body through it with magical support, or excise the damaged region entirely and regenerate it from scratch. Relatedly, she's also well versed in the legal sides of necromancy; able to support a body missing vital organs on nothing more than spellcraft alone. This also goes for the preservation of body parts (although, admittedly, it's generally quite hard to find someone alive if their arm has been cut off and you need to go get it back to them) and entire bodies for later burial. Less well looked-on but not quite illegal is communing with the dead directly. If there's some sort of conduit, or they're actually at rest, and they want to answer, in any case. And if it's not blocked by divine fiat... really, the list of downsides if you're not evil enough to bind the soul directly is quite long. With these two skills combined, it's perhaps not surprising that her youth has been maintained as well as it has, even for a mage, despite no direct investigation of longevity. Is it risky? Perhaps, but Gisela has been able to pull it off. Of course, as any self-respecting Hundi, Gisela learned how to fight. Unfortunately, none of her magical options for that are on the practical side. What should be a small barrier to block attacks without inconveniencing her own magical retaliation instead manifests as a blatantly impermeable wall--great if you need to block artillery, potentially just cornering yourself if attacked by bandits. Similarly, her offensive magic is more useful for taking out an organised block of soldiers in one go; if there's anyone friendly in the target area, she has no viable choices. When it comes to defending herself, Gisela's primary defence is to fall back on a branch of magic that's often even more poorly regarded than the legal side of necromancy: summoning. No summon can be arranged on the spot, there's always some sort of ritual involved and methods to narrow down what answers the call, but the vast overcharge of mana means that calling for more powerful entities won't be ignored... and everyone else gets one hell of a notification. Most summoners only traffic in fey, who are generally quite easy to pay and willing to take a very active role. Gisela? Gisela hates working with them when it's not required; the flightiness and habitual deception without ever lying makes her skin crawl. But people really don't like it when you summon demons. Of the 108 Demonic Houses, there are many where the mere act of addressing them would get you charged with witchcraft. There are a scant handful where the summoning is itself a capital crime. But there are others with more favourable priorities, where it's more the nature of trafficking with entities that aren't properly of the world and just can't stay dead that's offensive, where you can just about get away with it. If you know what you're doing. There's one long-standing arrangement that Gisela has, with a demon by the name of Krysia, which allows for a bypass of the normal negotiation rules. If Gisela needs protection, then she'll fight. If there's a need to attack... well, that's where she'll size up whether it's a worthy opponent and her chances, first. For all her House values strength of arms and pride in their word, rushing into battle and getting discorporated is quite painful, and demanding a special payment is always an option. The demonic knight appears to have an endless selection of weapons, never showing up with the same thing twice.</s> <|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw As they returned to the base camp, Roger spotted something at the top of an approaching tree. It took him a moment to realize that it was Valmyra, a Lamia member of the Lions. It made sense that her serpentine lower body made her a good climber. As they passed her, she shouted a question, asking what those strange shapes in the disturbed ground were. The griffin rider couldn't blame her for wanting to know- after all, he had been curious about them, too. Unfortunately, she'd have to wait a few seconds for an answer while Shortclaw was making his landing. Once his mount was firmly on the ground, Roger took off his helmet and turned the snake woman. "They look like effigies or totems made of skulls and bones," he answered her question. "I have no idea what they mean, though. Maybe the others will know." She was a curious sort. Her chimerical half-human-half snake body reminded him a little of the half-avian, half-leonine bodies of griffins. Roger knew little of her, other than that she was formerly with the patrol corps and that her primary weapon was a fine-looking spear. As a user of spears himself, Roger wondered if the lamia be willing to share weapon techniques some time. Roger dismounted the griffin and began to walk back to the main camp where the Steel Princess would be found. Shortclaw followed closely behind, holding its head low. Roger knew that this behavior wasn't a sign of submission or subservience- griffins were, after all, very proud creatures. On the contrary, this was a sign that the beast wanted its partner to preen his head feathers. "Later," he softly spoke to Shortclaw. Even if Velvetica planned to not give them any rest, he could always do it while they were on the move.</s> <|message|>Velvetica Hraesleg, the Steel Princess Velvetica's tent was the largest in the camp, the same crimson trimmed with red that adorned the Lion's Banner. It was from here that she planned strategy, consulted with her advisors, and conducted official business. It was also quite comfortable, but that was secondary. Within, a large mat had been placed over the short, spikey grass, and atop it sat a table. Beyond that was where Velvetica slept, and kept most of her supplies, current concealed behind a draping set of curtains. It was rumored that anyone who set foot inside Velvetica's personal quarters without permission would be subjected to a prompt and intense punishment. Velvetica herself saw no need to say anything else on the matter. The map spread over the table was of the local area, the rocky plains of the borderlands, and she was examining it closely at the moment, icy blue eyes scanning each of the known mounds and rocky outcrops claimed(and sometimes proven) to house ancient tombs. Certainly, a group of bandits could select such a place to use its reputation to conceal themselves. However... The tent opened before Velvetica could continue her train of though. The figure that entered was one of her personal retinue, a pretty woman several years her senior with her dark hair tied in a tight bun, wearing light clothing signifying her position as a noncombatant. "Lady Hraesleg," she began, with a bow, "Your scouts have returned." The blonde nodded, rising to her feet. "Excellent, I'll meet them now." Within a few moments, Velvetica had exited her tent. The first of her scouts to arrive was no surprise, given his speedy form of transportation. "Sir Roger," she addressed the knight first, before her gaze shifted to the griffin, "Shortclaw." Addressing the griffin as well was simply part of dealing with such creatures. Only an idiot would be unaware of the pride that a griffin felt in itself. To Velvetica, it was not dissimilar to the Hraesleg's pride, albeit that of a beast rather then a human's. Therefore, it was important to pay them mind when possible. "As you have returned, I trust you and the other scouts have information for me?" It was time to see if her suspicions could be confirmed. Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora</s>

<|message|>Gisela The Hundi shrugged, "She's a demon, her nature isn't going to change so easily. If it did, I expect that our contract would be terminated in short order as she aligned herself to newer goals. But the odds of that happening in the next thousand years is vanishingly low." Although, whether she would still be around a thousand years hence to take advantage of such a thing? That was hard to say. It was quite possible, but at the same time, her specialities could always lead to even more serious trouble if the sentiment against mages turned even more dire for whatever reason. Like a resurgence of the Witch-Queen, as vanishingly unlikely as she was to return from being dead. Rumour had it that the majority of her pupils had escaped unscathed, and were more than capable of causing havoc if the mood so took them. "Hmm, I don't think you'd like to see any of my friends coming in unannounced. They're not all so friendly as I, and might be quite upset if the food didn't come with a good brawl," the demon laughed, rubbing her chin. And then she bent down to pat the nem's head... which would probably have been more humiliating if not for the gulf in size that meant she could do that to just about anybody here, "But you've got spirit."</s>

<|description|>Gisela * Age: 70's * Gender: Female * Race: Hundi * Appearance: Just shy of 5' in height. * Personality: Remarkably sombre for a Hundi--partly by inclination, partly by age, and largely by having (although she wouldn't phrase it as such) having spent decades on the run from persecution--but nevertheless maintaining their much-vaunted honesty. Something that no doubt contributes to all the problems she tends to have in her day-to-day life. Gisela would much rather be healing people than harming them, but the world isn't exactly keen to accommodate this. She tends to creep people out, but that's just be the faint distorting feeling of constantly released mana. Conversely, demons tend to be more at ease--and she much prefers dealing with them (even if it's to get rid of them on someone else's behalf), as they have no issue with mages of any stripe. * Brief Backstory: As a child born to farmers, Gisela's parents had very little idea of what to do with their prodigious daughter. Well-off yeomen they might have been, especially for Hundi just this side of the Veldt-Ithillin border, but they were completely unequipped for dealing with a child with high magical potential to start with. One that had Gisela's particular malady to boot turned it from interesting to vitally important that she actually get a proper education. And so, the future mage was sent off to Meridan at a young age to learn the ways of magic, with only the firmest cultural pillars in place. The political situation was scarcely any more stable and the desire for mages that could influence a battlefield remained high... so, given her enormous reserves, it was natural that she was pushed into learning as many destructive spells as possible. Something that turned out to be quite the bad idea, when she was prompted to go on the traditional Coming of Age journey and go home, meet some less cosmopolitan Hundi. When she got back still unmarried, with substantially more burn scars and even more esoteric marks, the considerably more subdued girl opted to look into less violent magic. Healing. Keeping people alive long enough to heal them. And, generally, staying out of the way and uninvolved in minor border skirmishes or the like. But the city was growing markedly less friendly. A mage that wouldn't use her powers for the defence of the kingdom? Healers were widely admired, but the common folk were more interested in fast cures for illness or smaller injuries, not nearly so many were after the sort of healing she was best at--or, when they were, could scarcely get in contact with someone so academic. It was this souring mood that lead her to investigate alternate means of self-protection... and then get on the move. Having drifted through the country's major cities over the years, as well as ventured briefly through the other countries when circumstances have allowed, Gisela has rather reluctantly come to the conclusion that she needs to find someone who wants to make use of her abilities. With Erhan Lyn's fall and destruction, the attitude towards potential witches has almost dropped back to its 200-year-old nadir, and she does not want to deal with people trying to burn her at the stake. * Equipment: Gisela's equipment consists mostly of the usual paraphernalia of a mage with a thing for doing rituals: chalk, candles, reams of parchment, and more ink than would be practical to carry around if you couldn't just force clothing to be clean in one go. She also has her staff, which doesn't perform most of the normal functions of a magical catalyst: it doesn't make spells more efficient to cast, it doesn't condense the casting of any particular brand of magic by dint of its assistance. It helps her aim when that's a concern, but what it actually does is act as a vast repository for mana--on any day where she doesn't do much casting, she can just divert mana into it, and cast from that when needed. It's also integrated with her one persistent contract... not enough that losing it would break it, but its loss as an anchor would make the summoning much slower. * Skills: As her dress sense and staff attest, Gisela is a mage. And, like the majority of Hundi with sufficient mana to focus on their magical abilities, she's an absolute powerhouse in terms of mana capacity and absolute output--complete with a rather pleasing silvery colour to any illumination or magical effects produced. Unlike the majority of mages, Hundi or otherwise, she's congenitally unable to restrain all this mana, and even at her most drained there's some leaking out, let alone when fully rested or when she stops holding back to cast. In someone without much magical ability, this tends to just mean odd things happen around them on occasion. In this case... well, the risk that if it built up it could be severely damaging to her own health is high, any external manifestations would be big and, most unfortunately for any mage, it completely nullifies the ability to do small spells. Those reliant on fine control of small amounts of mana simply fizzle, while any with scaling properties come out as big spells. Not that this has stopped her from amassing an impressive breadth of skills down the decades. Firstly, Gisela knows a vast amount of healing magic, and is able to--one way or another--heal just about any injury or ailment, given time. Healing magic doesn't tend to have any downsides if it's overpowered and this is virtually flaw-free for addressing injuries. With illnesses, however... well, most healers are able to address the illness directly. She's much more liable to either just force the body through it with magical support, or excise the damaged region entirely and regenerate it from scratch. Relatedly, she's also well versed in the legal sides of necromancy; able to support a body missing vital organs on nothing more than spellcraft alone. This also goes for the preservation of body parts (although, admittedly, it's generally quite hard to find someone alive if their arm has been cut off and you need to go get it back to them) and entire bodies for later burial. Less well looked-on but not quite illegal is communing with the dead directly. If there's some sort of conduit, or they're actually at rest, and they want to answer, in any case. And if it's not blocked by divine fiat... really, the list of downsides if you're not evil enough to bind the soul directly is quite long. With these two skills combined, it's perhaps not surprising that her youth has been maintained as well as it has, even for a mage, despite no direct investigation of longevity. Is it risky? Perhaps, but Gisela has been able to pull it off. Of course, as any self-respecting Hundi, Gisela learned how to fight. Unfortunately, none of her magical options for that are on the practical side. What should be a small barrier to block attacks without inconveniencing her own magical retaliation instead manifests as a blatantly impermeable wall--great if you need to block artillery, potentially just cornering yourself if attacked by bandits. Similarly, her offensive magic is more useful for taking out an organised block of soldiers in one go; if there's anyone friendly in the target area, she has no viable choices. When it comes to defending herself, Gisela's primary defence is to fall back on a branch of magic that's often even more poorly regarded than the legal side of necromancy: summoning. No summon can be arranged on the spot, there's always some sort of ritual involved and methods to narrow down what answers the call, but the vast overcharge of mana means that calling for more powerful entities won't be ignored... and everyone else gets one hell of a notification. Most summoners only traffic in fey, who are generally quite easy to pay and willing to take a very active role. Gisela? Gisela hates working with them when it's not required; the flightiness and habitual deception without ever lying makes her skin crawl. But people really don't like it when you summon demons. Of the 108 Demonic Houses, there are many where the mere act of addressing them would get you charged with witchcraft. There are a scant handful where the summoning is itself a capital crime. But there are others with more favourable priorities, where it's more the nature of trafficking with entities that aren't properly of the world and just can't stay dead that's offensive, where you can just about get away with it. If you know what you're doing. There's one long-standing arrangement that Gisela has, with a demon by the name of Krysia, which allows for a bypass of the normal negotiation rules. If Gisela needs protection, then she'll fight. If there's a need to attack... well, that's where she'll size up whether it's a worthy opponent and her chances, first. For all her House values strength of arms and pride in their word, rushing into battle and getting discorporated is quite painful, and demanding a special payment is always an option. The demonic knight appears to have an endless selection of weapons, never showing up with the same thing twice.</s> <|message|>Kayliss Lambert Kayliss Lambert "Understood." Kayliss saluted in acknowledgement of her orders given, her mind already going over the best methods to deal with spellcasters. Unknown territory and speed being of the essence narrowed her options considerably. Unfortunate that she wouldn't have as much preparation time as she would have liked, but that was the nature of military operations. Not exactly an unfamiliar situation for herself at this point. As much as Kayliss would have preferred to go for the kill straight away with her tactics, the lethal poisons she used were more effective when ingested rather than when coated on a weapon. That left paralytics and mana inhibitors. Of the two, the latter would be more useful in this situation. It was more likely that a caster had a countermeasure to paralysis than temporarily slowing the flow of their mana. A quick mental review of her stores told Kayliss that she did have a vial of it, but only the one. More would be preferable so that she wasn't relying on a single weapon to deliver the toxin. Fortunate that the camp merchant was so readily available, then. And offering a discount. While Cadmon suggested an altered plan to Velvetica, Kayliss quickly located some spare parchment on her employer's desk and took it. She reached for the ink and quill and quickly scribbled out a list of the necessary herbs to brew more of the mana inhibitor, blowing on the ink to dry it faster. With that done, she stalked over towards the Nem, silent as can be, and practically shoved her impromptu shopping list into the diminutive woman's face from the side. "I'll be needing these for the operation. Given that I'm under direct orders from the Lady, I trust that the discount you just mentioned applies, yes?" Kayliss murmured tonelessly down to Lirrah, her blank stare potentially intimidating to some. The herbs weren't rare, but not common either. Given that, they would cost a decent sum. Considering Velvetica did pay her, Kayliss could certainly afford it. But not taking advantage of a lowered price when it was available would be idiotic.</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela Listening quietly, the mage couldn't help but frown as Cadmon outlined his plan. Maybe it would work from a tactical perspective--she was hardly trained in military planning--but from a magical one, it struck her as crucially flawed. Unfortunately, that meant that she had to give up on her preferred anonymity and speak up. "Against a necromancer of unknown quantity, I would encourage everyone to avoid splitting into small groups. It would be too easy for any loss to be turned against us; if a single party is surprised beyond what it can handle, then not only would we be down half a dozen men, it would be as if they had turned traitor and now stand against us," the mage answered, "In the heat of battle, it would be an unlikely foe that could raise a host as the battle progresses, but only moderate skill would be needed with minutes to spare." There was even the other risk--if their foes included necromancers, could it not be that they had other mages? The ability to maintain groups prepared for any eventuality would diminish the more they shrunk. The prospect of being able to lose one group to a surprise show of concentrated force, then have that group turned against them... diluting their strengths would only benefit the ones who could grow in power as there were more fights. Otter</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- @Raineh Daze --- Cadmon quickly turned his gaze to Gisela, a deeper frown than her own on his face. "Then I suppose you'd like to dispense with the initial plan as well?" he asked, with a short nod to Velvetica. "Both entail us splitting apart our forces, after all, and I doubt that any of us are so lacking in sensibility that we'd leave whoever we send out as bait, in whichever manner, so wanting for aid so long—nor, assuming we pick who goes into my suggestion carefully, would they be so foolish as to strand each other. "In either scenario, the rest of us will be close enough to step in when the time is right. Miss Lambert will be ready as soon as their defences are opened enough to go and remove the threat of their necromancer or necromancers. Otherwise, we may as well commit to a direct assault rather than play around with any attempted subterfuge and ambush."</s>

<|message|>Gisela "One large group and bait is far less risky. Making a single group that can hold out until reinforcements has much less splitting, does it not? There is no need to supplement the most skilled with the average, or reliance that this cult doesn't have a surprise that can overwhelm a small group by numbers or magic alone." "Are standard tactics not standard for a reason? If they err on the side of caution, then we can leverage our other offensive skills to force them out."</s>

<|description|>Gisela * Age: 70's * Gender: Female * Race: Hundi * Appearance: Just shy of 5' in height. * Personality: Remarkably sombre for a Hundi--partly by inclination, partly by age, and largely by having (although she wouldn't phrase it as such) having spent decades on the run from persecution--but nevertheless maintaining their much-vaunted honesty. Something that no doubt contributes to all the problems she tends to have in her day-to-day life. Gisela would much rather be healing people than harming them, but the world isn't exactly keen to accommodate this. She tends to creep people out, but that's just be the faint distorting feeling of constantly released mana. Conversely, demons tend to be more at ease--and she much prefers dealing with them (even if it's to get rid of them on someone else's behalf), as they have no issue with mages of any stripe. * Brief Backstory: As a child born to farmers, Gisela's parents had very little idea of what to do with their prodigious daughter. Well-off yeomen they might have been, especially for Hundi just this side of the Veldt-Ithillin border, but they were completely unequipped for dealing with a child with high magical potential to start with. One that had Gisela's particular malady to boot turned it from interesting to vitally important that she actually get a proper education. And so, the future mage was sent off to Meridan at a young age to learn the ways of magic, with only the firmest cultural pillars in place. The political situation was scarcely any more stable and the desire for mages that could influence a battlefield remained high... so, given her enormous reserves, it was natural that she was pushed into learning as many destructive spells as possible. Something that turned out to be quite the bad idea, when she was prompted to go on the traditional Coming of Age journey and go home, meet some less cosmopolitan Hundi. When she got back still unmarried, with substantially more burn scars and even more esoteric marks, the considerably more subdued girl opted to look into less violent magic. Healing. Keeping people alive long enough to heal them. And, generally, staying out of the way and uninvolved in minor border skirmishes or the like. But the city was growing markedly less friendly. A mage that wouldn't use her powers for the defence of the kingdom? Healers were widely admired, but the common folk were more interested in fast cures for illness or smaller injuries, not nearly so many were after the sort of healing she was best at--or, when they were, could scarcely get in contact with someone so academic. It was this souring mood that lead her to investigate alternate means of self-protection... and then get on the move. Having drifted through the country's major cities over the years, as well as ventured briefly through the other countries when circumstances have allowed, Gisela has rather reluctantly come to the conclusion that she needs to find someone who wants to make use of her abilities. With Erhan Lyn's fall and destruction, the attitude towards potential witches has almost dropped back to its 200-year-old nadir, and she does not want to deal with people trying to burn her at the stake. * Equipment: Gisela's equipment consists mostly of the usual paraphernalia of a mage with a thing for doing rituals: chalk, candles, reams of parchment, and more ink than would be practical to carry around if you couldn't just force clothing to be clean in one go. She also has her staff, which doesn't perform most of the normal functions of a magical catalyst: it doesn't make spells more efficient to cast, it doesn't condense the casting of any particular brand of magic by dint of its assistance. It helps her aim when that's a concern, but what it actually does is act as a vast repository for mana--on any day where she doesn't do much casting, she can just divert mana into it, and cast from that when needed. It's also integrated with her one persistent contract... not enough that losing it would break it, but its loss as an anchor would make the summoning much slower. * Skills: As her dress sense and staff attest, Gisela is a mage. And, like the majority of Hundi with sufficient mana to focus on their magical abilities, she's an absolute powerhouse in terms of mana capacity and absolute output--complete with a rather pleasing silvery colour to any illumination or magical effects produced. Unlike the majority of mages, Hundi or otherwise, she's congenitally unable to restrain all this mana, and even at her most drained there's some leaking out, let alone when fully rested or when she stops holding back to cast. In someone without much magical ability, this tends to just mean odd things happen around them on occasion. In this case... well, the risk that if it built up it could be severely damaging to her own health is high, any external manifestations would be big and, most unfortunately for any mage, it completely nullifies the ability to do small spells. Those reliant on fine control of small amounts of mana simply fizzle, while any with scaling properties come out as big spells. Not that this has stopped her from amassing an impressive breadth of skills down the decades. Firstly, Gisela knows a vast amount of healing magic, and is able to--one way or another--heal just about any injury or ailment, given time. Healing magic doesn't tend to have any downsides if it's overpowered and this is virtually flaw-free for addressing injuries. With illnesses, however... well, most healers are able to address the illness directly. She's much more liable to either just force the body through it with magical support, or excise the damaged region entirely and regenerate it from scratch. Relatedly, she's also well versed in the legal sides of necromancy; able to support a body missing vital organs on nothing more than spellcraft alone. This also goes for the preservation of body parts (although, admittedly, it's generally quite hard to find someone alive if their arm has been cut off and you need to go get it back to them) and entire bodies for later burial. Less well looked-on but not quite illegal is communing with the dead directly. If there's some sort of conduit, or they're actually at rest, and they want to answer, in any case. And if it's not blocked by divine fiat... really, the list of downsides if you're not evil enough to bind the soul directly is quite long. With these two skills combined, it's perhaps not surprising that her youth has been maintained as well as it has, even for a mage, despite no direct investigation of longevity. Is it risky? Perhaps, but Gisela has been able to pull it off. Of course, as any self-respecting Hundi, Gisela learned how to fight. Unfortunately, none of her magical options for that are on the practical side. What should be a small barrier to block attacks without inconveniencing her own magical retaliation instead manifests as a blatantly impermeable wall--great if you need to block artillery, potentially just cornering yourself if attacked by bandits. Similarly, her offensive magic is more useful for taking out an organised block of soldiers in one go; if there's anyone friendly in the target area, she has no viable choices. When it comes to defending herself, Gisela's primary defence is to fall back on a branch of magic that's often even more poorly regarded than the legal side of necromancy: summoning. No summon can be arranged on the spot, there's always some sort of ritual involved and methods to narrow down what answers the call, but the vast overcharge of mana means that calling for more powerful entities won't be ignored... and everyone else gets one hell of a notification. Most summoners only traffic in fey, who are generally quite easy to pay and willing to take a very active role. Gisela? Gisela hates working with them when it's not required; the flightiness and habitual deception without ever lying makes her skin crawl. But people really don't like it when you summon demons. Of the 108 Demonic Houses, there are many where the mere act of addressing them would get you charged with witchcraft. There are a scant handful where the summoning is itself a capital crime. But there are others with more favourable priorities, where it's more the nature of trafficking with entities that aren't properly of the world and just can't stay dead that's offensive, where you can just about get away with it. If you know what you're doing. There's one long-standing arrangement that Gisela has, with a demon by the name of Krysia, which allows for a bypass of the normal negotiation rules. If Gisela needs protection, then she'll fight. If there's a need to attack... well, that's where she'll size up whether it's a worthy opponent and her chances, first. For all her House values strength of arms and pride in their word, rushing into battle and getting discorporated is quite painful, and demanding a special payment is always an option. The demonic knight appears to have an endless selection of weapons, never showing up with the same thing twice.</s> <|message|>Valmyra Audron @Crimson Paladin@Eisenhorn --- Hraesleg Lions Base Camp --- At Roger's correction of his name, Valmyra's face tunred a cherry red as her eyes widened. The mission hasn't even started, and she's already getting names wrong... "Apologises..." She said in a weak, defeated tone. She would elect to remain silent for the time being, until she was addressed directly or had concerns with a given plan. Until that point, she would slump into a depressive state, attempting to avoid drawing further attention to herself. She would still take note of her other allies, however. The humans (and one Nem) gathered around were quite the motley crew. All of them from different backgrounds and walks of life. The little Nem began discussing poisons with the clocked blonde on the team. The little one seemed to be a merchant by trade, and it showed in her speech... Val was reminded of some of the human merchants she gave patronage to during her town visits. They spoke convincingly and with much enthusiasm - anything to make a sale. Lirrah, was it? She thought to herself. Gods, she hoped she got that name right. She felt there was more to her than meets the eye. The clocked woman, on the other hand, gave off the air of an assassin. Probably no stranger to the subject matter then. Her thoughts were broken as Urden, another fellow teammate, leaned over to her. She began to pout as she glared at the gruff mercenary. "Oh stop. He's probably annoyed enough as it is!" She said, her face full of exasperation. Turning to their captain, she informed them all that their targets were likely fell worshipers. Val had to keep herself from bearing her fangs at the mention. She thankfuly never had a run in with their ilk before, but their sacrilegious actions showed they had no respect for nature. That disgusted her more than anything. "Captain, I will echo Urden and say I am fine with wherever you feel my skills would work best in. I will say that I am at home in forested terrain and can move nimbly amongst the trees.</s> <|message|>István Shilage István Shilage Otter@VitaVitaAR@Conscripts@AzureKnight "Please," Shilage replied, voice carrying all the humor of a rockslide. "If it's this that ends me, I deserve it." In a slow roll along the assembled troops, primarily composed of those whose stars were surest to rise within the Lions (and a merchant), the burly Southron let his gaze fall upon each candidate. In truth, it was few that would serve best within the confines of the first strategy outlined— If he had to sell the lie of lightly guarded caravan... Guillaume, obviously. A knight polished for parade, bereft of the many underlings that lied behind the title. An attention-grabber, but appearing tantalizingly vulnerable for what he was. An irresistable opportunity to take off the board. With him Melanie— a scribe brought along to etch his noble deeds to the page, perhaps moonlighting as taking inventory of supplies. She carried few weapons upon her person and would thus appear scholarly, civilian. Urden next— hired help. There was little hiding what he was, even if the man ever had a change of heart and cared to— but his presence would indicate both thin and disconnected defenses, a separate party within the wider faction. He'd imply a potential lack of coordination to exploit— as well as signal that the caravaners were uncomfortable with the dearth of force to muster. Finally, he'd pluck Matthias— an all-rounder from the tactician's schools, he could play quite a few prospective roles. Squire. Guild Adventurer. Expedition leader. Magical counsel. Whatever the situation would incline him towards, he would serve a dual purpose of being able to rally enough coordination out of them in the thick of things to minimize loss. Presumably. Those four he would avoid, for that reasoning. It would remain to be seen if their little Princess would agree— but it would give him a preliminary framework to make his choices. As each of the retinue, eager to prove their talents or versatility, came forth, Istvan kept open ears. In undertone, however, he laid out certainties with Cadmon. "I'll have Gaston take the smarter ones of my group and feed them into the other division. Make sure things retain some structure. He'll answer to you for that time. Rest of them can run wild and really piss them off with me and..." "I'll ambush." "...I will say that I am at home in forested terrain and can move nimbly amongst the trees." That'd work. Old classic. "Irian, Valmyra. Do the pair of you fancy an easy night?" he raised his voice to be audible and stepped forward, meeting the Lamia and Elven ranger's eyes with a flinty smile. On another person's face, it likely would have been approachable. "I've a fairly persuasive bunch of assholes under my command, experienced raiders— We'll feign a rout after poking their flank and pull the response behind the treeline, into your waiting fangs."</s>

<|message|>Gisela "I shall remain in reserve," Gisela stated... not that it was ever much in question. If an enemy had even an inkling of caution, blatantly putting a mage into a group would throw out all considerations of bait. There was no way to easily gauge how advantageous it would be to attack in such a situation--did you really have the superiority that you expected? Or could this all be reversed with a single spell? Not that the Hundi would be of such use in an ambush scenario, making it even more important that she come in with the reinforcements. Hers was not the ability to swiftly change the fate of small-scale engagements, she would be much more useful once the enemy was there in force and separated from the fighting.</s>

<|description|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) * Age: 30 * Gender: Male * Race: Human (5 foot 11 inches) * Personality: As a member of the Hraesleg Lions, Guillaume is a soldier who embodies their values of bravery, loyalty, and honor. Guillaume is a sincere and honest individual, always striving to do what is right, both on and off the battlefield. He is deeply committed to his fellow soldiers, and will go to great lengths to protect them and ensure their safety. Despite his seriousness and dedication to his role as a soldier, Guillaume is also a compassionate and empathetic person, always willing to lend an ear or a helping hand to those in need. * Brief Backstory: Guillaume was born into a family of knights, and from a young age, he was trained in the art of combat and chivalry. He quickly developed a reputation for his sincerity, honesty, and unwavering commitment to doing what is right. As he grew older, Guillaume's skills as a warrior began to blossom. He is known for his bravery on the battlefield and his deep loyalty to his comrades in arms. When he was first knighted, he went on a journey to uphold his knightly code to the land and went out to help others whom he believes has a good cause. He crossed paths with Earl Edric Demet, his son Cadmon and István Shilage in the North during one of their skirmishes to offer his blade and honour in repelling the enemy forces for a total of 8 months. He would keep contact with the Earl and István from time to time after he departed Earl Edric Demet's service. While fighting in a crucial battle, Guillaume's actions saved the lives of several of his fellow soldiers, earning him the respect and admiration of all who witnessed his bravery. From that moment on, Guillaume became known as "the Sincere," a nickname that would follow him throughout his military career. * Equipment: Guillaume has access to a suit of armour and shield fit for a Hraesleg Lions knight. * Skills: Guillaume is highly skilled in various forms of combat. While Sincerity is his preferred weapon of choice, he has not shied away from other types of weapons. He is capable of defending himself with hand-to-hand combat. As a knight, he is also trained in expert horse riding. He can navigate through difficult terrain and engage in mounted combat. When survival is key, he is able to hunt and forage for supplies as well as finding shelter.</s> <|message|>Urden Antiac "What do we do with a drunken soldier..." The mercenary Urden was currently half humming, half singing an old working song his previous mercenary company favored when doing menial work like weapon's maintenance, setting up camp, packing up camp and other such idle behavior mostly spent just passing time. Sure enough, having spent the morning counting and verifying that his coin was both good, and in the proper amounts, for this pay cycle, he had turned to preparing for the upcoming conflict. In time with the hummed, occasionally sung, working tune, he ran a whetstone along the main blade of his two handed axe, honing its edge to as keen as he could given the circumstances. It was no blacksmith's work or anything of the sort, but it wasn't like they could expect a forge to follow this warband around so readily. The merchant who had seen fit to attach herself to the band was hawking goods, food with a voucher for pastries after words. He'd already eaten, or the offer might have been more tmepting. "...Dock his pay with extra duty, dock his pay with extra duty..." Urden appeared to be in a pleasant mood as he worked away, hefting the axe with practiced ease, examining the main cutting edge of the blade. Setting aside the sharpening stone, he tugged a loose hair out and let it fall on the axe blade, splitting neatly with little resistance. Nodding in approval, mostly to himself, he turned the axe over and started working on the opposite end, the spike that would be far more suited to punching through armor than it was for hacking away like the main axe head would be. So he would work, the sound of the whetstone running over well used, but well kept, steel. Nothing about the weapon was for show, the haft sturdy enough to catch incoming strikes, both ends of the axe head having their own uses. Even the other end had a sturdy steel cap on it to make for a nasty surprise for anyone who thought they were safe from a surprise strike while the obviously dangerous end was away from them. Just one of many different tricks he kept in mind when dealing with your average trouble. "...Twenty strokes of the captains whip, twenty strokes of the captain's whip..." Nothing about what Urden had heard so far sounded like bandits to him. They struck fast, sure, but looked for coin and valuables, maybe some living hostages to sell back later or to prevent immediate attacks on them for fear of losing even more innocent lives. Near as he'd heard from around camp, it was anything that wasn't nailed down. If you could pry it up, it didn't count either, apparently. That...that was odd. Corpses weren't worth a lick on their own, and most bounties per head only needed proof. Ears, fingers, things like that, grim as it was to some. Whole bodies though, that was a lot of dead weight, pun intended, to be lugging about. Something was amiss, though end of the day Urden got paid the same. Didn't matter what kind of out of their head bandits, soldiers, whatever was waiting out there for them. Nothing good steel backed by good pay couldn't sort out. "...Early in the morning..."</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela With the camp bustling around her, Gisela felt that there was very little for her to do on a day-to-day basis. Any injuries that a small-sized force such as this might sustain outside of combat were a matter of minutes to address, and once that was done... well, she was a mage, and that meant a level of respected treatment, despite the lack of nobility in her treatment. Powerful mages were in high enough demand to receive consistent payment and be spared the indignities of manual labour, so long as they continued to fulfil the obligations that nobody else could. Soldiering was seemingly boring enough even with monotonous tasks. Without... well, she couldn't even indulge in games of chance or similar. Nobody wanted to play with the odd suspicious mage, who knew what cheating might happen? None, really, since Gisela couldn't do subtle, but even she couldn't completely discount that something might go wrong. All the sides on dice might come up six... even the ones face down. So, instead, she had summoned Krysia to have someone to talk to... and also so that the others could at least become accustomed to the towering demon, rather than thinking it was an enemy in the middle of battle. Not that over eight feet of armoured inhuman muscle was doing her reputation much of a favour. Who had taken an interest in the goods on sale. Which Gisela would be obliged to pay for, of course, and she gave a sigh as the demon tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But what if I only want the sweet pastry? The rest doesn't interest me," the red-skinned demon wondered allowed, voice surprisingly melodious--deep, for a woman, but a lot less raspy than someone with a rather loud approach to battle.</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah looked up, wide-eyed, at her newest customer. Her first instinct was to run and hide, but she was stuck to the spot. As her brain processed the fact that there was, indeed, a gigantic demon woman standing in front of her, a few extra pieces of information clicked into place. No one seemed to be panicking, at least not any more than one would panic before a confrontation. Some were maybe uncomfortable, but they weren't drawing their weapons. Searching her memory, Lirrah alighted upon a tidbit she once heard about a demon that she might see around one day. Apparently, one of their finger-wigglers could summon one, and she usually did this on the front lines. Since Lirrah tended to stay at base camp, it figured that she wouldn't have seen this woman before. Lirrah had honestly thought it might have been a joke. But even so, they didn't mention how damn big she was supposed to be. Ila-Nem, this demon was as tall as three of Lirrah standing on each other's shoulders! And so red! After standing dumbfounded for almost a minute, she managed to drag herself back to reality. If she was going to go near the front lines to help, she couldn't let things like this freak her out. But she was so big- "Puh-puh-pweased tomeechu!" she found herself stammering like an ignoramus. She looked around in a panic, and bolted back into her tent, quickly bringing out a few fruity pastries in her tiny, trembling arms. She was good with diplomacy, but not with bravery. She wanted to tell the woman [on the house], but there wasn't a single bone in her body that would allow her to string those words together in that configuration. As if on instinct alone, she blurted out the inflated price she charges everyone. "S-s-six hundred each! D-don't tell anypody I let you have some! I m-mean, i-if that's OK with you!"</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- Landshark@HereComesTheSnow --- The constant influx of information—useful or not—that came with his position was starting to grow tiresome. Subordinates constantly coming to report to him, day in and day out, and rarely was it on any topic more important than the weather. It was grating, even more than the armour he was currently being aided in donning. His sigh, though, was cut short with a wince as the strap of one pauldron was yanked tight around his upper arm. The second soon after. Thank the goddesses for padding. "That is quite enough, thank you," he interjected, cutting off one of the sergeants of the force he'd brought with him to the Lions. "You haven't told me anything new in the time since we first made camp here. Go join the guards around the perimeter and keep an eye out for those scouts—I want to be sure they get to Lady Velvetica as quickly as possible once they arrive. Don't let them be distracted." He wasn't even entirely sure who was out scouting; if the griffin-rider was one of them, at least there was one person who could be trusted to follow through properly. Cadmon tugged at the belt around his waist uncomfortably, though he knew it was better that than to have all the weight of his brigandine resting upon his shoulders. "If any of you should happen to find István, tell him to meet me at the Lady's pavilion." Though whether or not the warrior would listen was another matter; Cadmon doubted he'd ever be able to command the man who half-raised him. "Have my horse, weapons, and helmet waiting for me there. I'm not wandering around the camp with them all at once." With his own cadre of servants and aides so dismissed, Cadmon gathered up his gauntlets and made his way out of his tent into the wider camp. Silently ruing the fact that he hadn't left his bevor off for them to take alongside his other gear, he kept his head on a swivel as he took a meandering path towards the Steel Princess's center of command. Ostensibly, he could be said to be inspecting the forces; in truth, he had his eye out for one person in particular, hoping she wasn't deciding to practice her own skills at the current moment. A quick flash of blonde hair catching his eye between a pair of tents gave him all the notice he needed that she wasn't trying not to be found. "Miss Lambert?" he called in the direction he'd seen the assassin woman going. "Care to join me?"</s>

<|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) Darkness falls. The night clouds shroud the camp and whipping the burning torches with a cold breeze. Flames flicker in defiance; keeping its warmth and light from snuffing out. The onslaught of the night wind is relentless but the fire roars alive. The fire's light scatters as a helmetless knight emerges from a tent. As the knight approached the Hraesleg Lion's banner, he could feel the eyes of his fellow peers upon him. He took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. The sound of his own breath echoed in his ears as he continued to fasten the straps on his armour. His movements were deliberate and purposeful, a sign of his years of training and discipline. He could feel the weight of his mission bearing down upon him. He knew that he was about to face an unknown and strange enemy, one who would not hesitate to take everything, including the dead. But despite the gravity of the situation, he remained calm and focused, his thoughts centered on the task ahead. The men near his tent were raucous, their laughter and banter filling the air. But as the knight approached, they fell silent, their attention drawn to the imposing figure before them. "Excuse me, coming through," he nodded briefly while speaking in a gentle yet sincere tone, urging them to make way for him before carefully squeezing past. It was a rather narrow walkway. "Watch it Guillaume," they warn, "We don't want to miss seeing your blonde arse take on those bandits with your sincere strikes." Guillaume ignored the jibe, knowing that the men were just trying to lighten the mood before the battle. He continued on his way, his eyes forward and fixed on the towering figure in the distance with two noticeable horns on their head. He quickly recognised her as the demon attached to the healer mage Gisela. The presence of a demon would normally alarm an entire holy crusade in the area-- but the existence of Krysia is a strangely welcome and reassuring presence. A merchant from the Matayannah Trading Company had set up a stall at the camp, offering a wide range of savoury goods to help satisfy the hunger needs of the people for the coming battle. It stood there unguarded... Perfect for any thieves to try to steal from. Where was the merchant? Daze "But what if I only want the sweet pastry? The rest doesn't interest me," The demon's deep and melodious voice could be heard as Guillaume arrives at the stall. A feeling of dread and terror washes over the knight. Not from the presence of a demon, but rather from Gisela. It's a feeling that Guillaume hasn't gotten used to. He held firmly and adjusted his emotions. "Good evening Gisela and Krysia." He greeted the two and calmly browsed the savoury snacks before him. Only now that Guillaume was able to see a pink-haired Nem shopkeeper behind the table, terrified of the demon while holding a tray of sweet pastries. "S-s-six hundred each! D-don't tell anypody I let you have some! I m-mean, i-if that's OK with you!" "First time meeting Krysia?" Guillaume's jovial voice resonated. "The first time I met Krysia, I nearly summoned the local paladin. One mutton pie please!"</s>

<|description|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) * Age: 30 * Gender: Male * Race: Human (5 foot 11 inches) * Personality: As a member of the Hraesleg Lions, Guillaume is a soldier who embodies their values of bravery, loyalty, and honor. Guillaume is a sincere and honest individual, always striving to do what is right, both on and off the battlefield. He is deeply committed to his fellow soldiers, and will go to great lengths to protect them and ensure their safety. Despite his seriousness and dedication to his role as a soldier, Guillaume is also a compassionate and empathetic person, always willing to lend an ear or a helping hand to those in need. * Brief Backstory: Guillaume was born into a family of knights, and from a young age, he was trained in the art of combat and chivalry. He quickly developed a reputation for his sincerity, honesty, and unwavering commitment to doing what is right. As he grew older, Guillaume's skills as a warrior began to blossom. He is known for his bravery on the battlefield and his deep loyalty to his comrades in arms. When he was first knighted, he went on a journey to uphold his knightly code to the land and went out to help others whom he believes has a good cause. He crossed paths with Earl Edric Demet, his son Cadmon and István Shilage in the North during one of their skirmishes to offer his blade and honour in repelling the enemy forces for a total of 8 months. He would keep contact with the Earl and István from time to time after he departed Earl Edric Demet's service. While fighting in a crucial battle, Guillaume's actions saved the lives of several of his fellow soldiers, earning him the respect and admiration of all who witnessed his bravery. From that moment on, Guillaume became known as "the Sincere," a nickname that would follow him throughout his military career. * Equipment: Guillaume has access to a suit of armour and shield fit for a Hraesleg Lions knight. * Skills: Guillaume is highly skilled in various forms of combat. While Sincerity is his preferred weapon of choice, he has not shied away from other types of weapons. He is capable of defending himself with hand-to-hand combat. As a knight, he is also trained in expert horse riding. He can navigate through difficult terrain and engage in mounted combat. When survival is key, he is able to hunt and forage for supplies as well as finding shelter.</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah practically jumped when she was addressed by a newcomer, her nerves already agitated by the presence of the world's tallest demon. When she looked up, however, she was greeted by the sight of the sort of person that might be described in a heroic storybook. Tall, golden-haired, with a sort of reassuring joviality. Lirrah had read one or two of the more popular Veltan stories to get a sense of what does well over there, though she had not grown up with them. She was neither starry-eyed nor enthralled, but his presence was nevertheless a comfort. She forced a smile up on her face, which was almost indistinguishable from her genuine one. "A-ah, yes, this is our first meeting," she replied, producing a mutton pie and indicating a price of 1200. As she leaned over to give the man a ticket for a pastry later, she added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I certainly would have called for help myself if my voice hadn't gotten stuck in my throat... ahaha..." She quickly turned her attention back to the demon woman (not that she had left Lirrah's vision since she showed up) as she took the Hundi's money. Perhaps the demon's summoner? Either way, the Hundi quickly busied herself with the knight. They seemed to be on good terms. Lirrah had yet to clock all the dynamics in this location, so it was good information to have. Lirrah gave the demon woman a big smile, still forced, and still almost indistinguishable. "T-thank you. I, ah, make all the food myself. C-cooking and selling! My skillset is hardly suited to compat. I'm just a weak little Nem~" Lirrah didn't mention that she wasn't bad with a bow or a sling. She doubted that would be enough for the woman to take an interest in her, but the further beneath notice she was on that front, the better. If this was a woman who only enjoyed a fight against those with combat ability, Lirrah should be safe with her... probably. "Ah... and if you like the pie so much, please do stop py the Matayannah Trading Company tent at home camp, and tell your friends. I am sure to put my nerves aside if we get more acquainted~ I really do appreciate your custom!"</s> <|message|>István Shilage István Shilage Otter@Eisenhorn Hm. Above one of the many fires set in the Lions' camp beneath those crimson banners, burly hands navigated a task far more delicate than they'd ever been built for. Though pale in a manner diagnostic of reduced sunlight, suggesting time spent in the range of years to the heights of Velt's colder north, they'd been quick to regain their old color closer to home— and had never once lacked in the gnarled, robust structure, all callused palms, thick fingers, and overdeveloped knuckles, that so encased the horn-carved spoon in their grip. Made to grip things firmly, take the shock of impact, a soldier's mitts— not those of an alchemist. If you looked at them, you would think them lost for subtlety. We've had that merchant bandying her wares about for a while now. Loud as ever tonight— if this proves the goods aren't worth the racket, then I'll have to kick her over to the western flank— to say nothing of the librans. Regardless, looks were oft deceiving, and the man's movements carried within themselves the tightly corralled precision and dexterity that so belied the broad and strong physique he carried— clear and exacting in cadence and force. One, two, three spoonfuls, each the same mass, fell into the long-handled pot balanced upon his knee, cast from copper. His eyes could read the structure of each mound, his fingers could feel the weight, and his body remembered the motion almost as well as his mind could recall his own name. Three, and no more. He needed sharpness when battle approached, not jitters, not a half-cocked buzz. Three would serve best, having ground the beans so fine in his pestle beforehand. A gust of wind broke upon his broad back, carrying with it the smoke of fires like his own and the odor of roasting meat. Some of their liked to enter battles like the one they'd soon undertake with a full stomach, citing it gave them strength. In István's mind, it made him sluggish— he always preferred coffee to stave off the rest digestion desired. Any loss in physical capability would be overcome by the mental gain. Additionally, he did like that it made him a touch meaner. Good for war. In circling back to their mercantile accoutrement, he did in fairness have high hopes— the smell of the grounds was right once he added a pinch of grated cardamom, carefully retrieved by his cook from a heavy iron spicebox, and shook. This was a Nemish method of preparation, and so Nemish beans were preferable— Lirrah's sources were wide enough to feasibly have exchanged something authentic for his coin. Having swung down here, to the southern end of Velt's territory, the Lions had brought Istvan far closer to home than he'd been in the years prior— Demet territory was on the other side of the nation from the small holdings of the recently-risen Shilage. Apple orchards, Thalnic river salmon, properly roasted coffee— this assignment had in some respects spoilt István with the tastes of his childhood. Of that which his heritage sung within the heart. Even here, in his battleground ritual, he was following a grandfather's, then father's teachings. He would too teach it to his son— as he had a little brother, or perhaps cousin. He'd need to find the boy soon, whatever he might call him. A gooseneck drew the swirl of endlessness into the pot as he poured the water, all that ever was and ever would be in the details. Reon's light was found within them, embossing flaw, strength, method, madness. Attention paid meant result earned, simply put. He poured slow, and deliberate, saturating the savory dust with ninefold its weight in water. Then, upon the opposite axis, he repeated the motion with the spoon, never exceeding twelve rings drawn. Less would make it weak. More would ruin its balance. Finally satisfied, his eyes at last turned up to gaze upon the fire he was seated aside, beholding a heavy pot of cast iron filled with, of all things, sand. This was the method that turned a wild flame into a smooth, gentle blanket of heat that the Nem had taught his ancestors. The trick to allow the contents of the shining copper pot to foam and simmer, instead of boil over and scald, scattering bitterness about a drink that was to be robust and rich. Two minutes. The simmer rising up the sides would tell him it was done. His gaze remained affixed to the pots through the time, stony mask unchanging even as a familiar subordinate (Jakob, if memory served) appeared in his peripheral. "Sir Shilage." the man began, disciplined yet quite overeager to carry out his task. This must be a summons, then— István'd noticed the young man pounding a footpath directly through camp to his tent. "The Earl wishes you to meet him at the Lady's pavilion—" "The boy isn't the only Earl Lady Hraesleg has caught up in the storm of her rise." He preached in reply, unwavering in gaze or expression. "You're lucky I recognize you as one of ours. Next time, a name." Done. The servant, in spite of himself, flinched as the older man suddenly burst into motion, reaching forward to quickly pry his cezve free from the sandpot, spooning the foam into the pair of waiting mugs that lied upon a cloth rag before deliberately pouring the contents in, a dark brown liquid akin to melted chocolate. "He asked for me, then. Where was he last?" Accompanying the query, the rightward mug was thrust into the servant's hands, insistent and accompanied by a smirk that, in Jakob's mind, might have been a welcoming and pleasant smile on another face. Obviously the man wished him to drink the fresh brew... but to what end? What was it he clearly meant to gain? He was known to the Demet troops and underlings of almost every stripe as serious and harsh, not one to freely share his precious potions. Was Shilage giving him thanks for the relayed message, or about to test him? Suppressing a shiver from the breeze, he brought the warm ceramic to his lips... --- Satisfied that Lirrah's beans wouldn't be poisoning the only real heir of his honored mentor, István would shortly douse the flame and order the men under his command to prepare themselves after packing out camp. He was already halfway suited himself, gambeson on his body shielding his torso from the cooling breezes that raced through the grounds. it wouldn't be long before the operation kicked off, so apropos of nothing, he intended to ensure the Earl enough awareness that he'd survive the eve. He made his walk beneath the banners, mug held level and rigid in either hand. Another skill borne of long, long practice. As his long strides carried him through the sights and cacophony of a wartime encampment, every bit chaotic as it was regimented, his ears picked upon a jaunty, familiar tune wafting through the air. Urden, a mercenary, was also in preparation, as the high rasp of whetstone on honed steel laced itself between the verses of his voice. Jovial and underhanded in equal measure, the dark-haired man was as archetypal of his profession as it got— the free spirit of a man whose vice had been leveraged into a trade, with it freedom. Loyalty to coin was quite fluid compared to that of blood, and István made no pretensions that he didn't consider it of equal value— but by the same token, each libran that had bought his services had been earned back double in bloodshed. That, any man could respect. A fellow soldier from a martial lineage, all the more so. As he passed, István raised one mug in greeting, a bassy rumble of hummed rhythm settling beneath that of the mercenary's lyrics. "Any chance you've seen Earl Demet wandering off somewhere?" He'd been hoping to intercept him, but found his tent barren. From the sound of it, the boy didn't intend to meet until the moment of briefing.</s>

<|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) "A-ah, yes, this is our first meeting," Lirrah stumbled in her words initially, but recovered herself well with pie in hand. Guillaume took note of the price indicated of 1200 librans and reached into a small sack he had prepared for payment. It was always difficult to discern the face of a vendor when they're doing their line of work; making a sale. Their expressions never betray their true emotion of the situation at hand. He watches Lirrah's face with her eyebrows rose to an arched bloom... Eyes as round as the full moon... Pupils contracting at the sight of librans in his hands. Her lips curl a smile that soothes the eyes and her dimples light the heart with a warmth of a friend's embrace. This is a genuine smile as a result of a successful sale. He gently handed librans to the Nem and accepting the mutton pie happily on his left hand, the free pastry ticket in the other. Lirrah then leaned in with a hand covering the side of her mouth and whispered secretively, "I certainly would have called for help myself if my voice hadn't gotten stuck in my throat... Ahaha..." Guillaume chuckled in return at her remark. Perhaps he and she are birds of a feather. "Thank you Lirrah." He examined the golden brown pastry before his eyes. The skin is perfectly molded and the hot mutton filling inside was at the right temperature-- he can tell this from a simple touch. He took the pie into his mouth and ate a part... And the flaky crust crumbles into his tongue and brought homey warmth. Cold night winds have indeed not been kind to the body. What followed after was a rush of rich flavours with the aroma of its contents zealously bursting to fill the nasal cavity. The bits of pie travelled down into his stomach well and spread its warmth to his belly. It was excellence in the palm of a hand. "This pie is an experience of its own, and is indeed delicious!" He roared, but not too loudly to the merchant. For a moment there he had forgotten about Gisela and Krysia. Stuck in a world where only two existed; Guillaume and his mutton pie. Daze "Oh, good evening, Guillaume," The mage returned his greeting with a half-curtsy. "No new injuries to report?" He lowered his pie and placed his gaze on Gisela with a gentle nod in acknowledgement to her gesture. "You're too kind, there's no need. What you did for me deserves much more in comparison." He of course is mentioning the one time he had suffered a grievous injury that almost cost him his life a few years ago, saved only by Gisela who happened to be around. "No new injuries to report. I made full recovery after that incident. Not even a scar was left." He raised his pie again for another bite. "How goes Krysia? Still looking for a fight every chance she gets?"</s>

<|description|>Kayliss Lambert Age: 24 Gender: Female Race: Human Appearance: Stands at about 5'8". Lithe build, with some toned muscle in the arms and legs. Tends to wear typical adventuring gear that doesn't stand out, favoring hooded cloaks with light armor underneath. Hair falls down below her shoulders naturally, but she ties it up in a ponytail most of the time. Personality: Distant, pragmatic, and calm. At least, that's the image Kayliss tries to give off. She's successful at it most of the time too. But underneath that lies a streak of pride and patriotism. Kayliss defines herself by her role as a royal blade, taking pride in her skills and being firmly behind whatever cause the Veltian throne dictates. Being an assassin for the crown is all she had from the moment she was recruited for training, and that purpose gives her surety. She has adapted this mentality to her service with the Lions, viewing it as an extension of her previous work and overseer. Of course, if she needs to, Kayliss can fake whatever personality she thinks will suit her purposes. Part of infiltration is social stealth, after all, and she is familiar enough with most aspects of Veltian society to pass off as either a commoner or a noble, able to move in whatever circles she needs to. However, as of late, Kayliss's motivation has taken a new direction: the search for truth, and vengeance after that. She seeks to find out exactly who was responsible for the destruction of the royal assassins, and why. Her life and purpose had been upended, and she would have satisfaction over it, one way or another. Brief Backstory: Born in the slums of Meridian, Kayliss was a parentless urchin for much of her childhood, quickly learning basic thievery simply to survive. That was, until she'd picked the wrong target. Or the right one, depending on the point of view. The man in question she'd tried to pickpocket turned out to be a handler for Velt's royal assassins. An orphan child from the slums with decent stealth skills for someone with no training whatsoever was exactly the right kind of person for him to mold into another sneak for the good of the kingdom, and over the next few years, he did so, taking her on in the unit as a new recruit and putting her through hellish training. Over the years, Kayliss learned the work of an assassin, training in stealth, combat, and infiltration. Despite the difficulty of the curriculum, she stayed regardless. For one, it was a roof over her head and constant hot meals. Plus, the training gave her something she never felt like she'd had before: a purpose. Doing something for a cause instead of just to survive just felt...right. After years of training, Kayliss began her work in earnest before she'd even become an adult. The career of a royal blade in the field didn't tend to last long, but she beat the odds and served with distinction for years. That was, until it all came crashing down. Some time ago, she returned from a mission on the country's border only to find the assassins' compound burnt to the ground, with every assassin within slaughtered. Only those who had been on deployment at the time of the attack survived, and there had been very few of those. The survivors of the massacre scattered to the four winds, with some fleeing to other countries and others disappearing into the criminal underworld. As for Kayliss, she simply changed employers. The Hraesleg Lions had begun their policy of aggressive recruitment, and she signed on, pledging her service to the Steel Princess after explaining her skillset, her service record, and her circumstances. Now, Kayliss stands as a "problem solver" of sorts for the Lions, though she wishes her skills were used more often for their intended purpose. Equipment: Aside from her short sword and dagger, Kayliss also bears a brace of throwing knives as well as a crossbow and bolts strapped to her back. She wears lightweight armor with a mix of metal pieces and leather for stealth. She bears a kit of various equipment for rogue's work, including lockpicks, poison, and smoke bombs. Skills: * Assassin's Work: Sneaking, lockpicking, poison, and actually being a blade in the dark. If it involves infiltration or stealth, Kayliss has likely been trained in it. * Blades: Adept with both the short sword and dagger, Kayliss prefers to use the two in a twin-blade fencing style, though she's also capable of using either weapon solo, whether it be in straight combat or in less honorable work. Her swordsmanship is above average and certainly better than the usual adventurer or soldier, but she doesn't quite match up to famed knights and other combat monsters in direct battle without the aid of a dishonorable advantage or two. Of course, this presumes that she would fight someone head-on to begin with. * Marksmanship: While not exactly adept with an actual bow, her aim with a crossbow is more than adequate. She is capable of using the entire range of crossbow types, from a hand crossbow to a heavier, two-handed one for long-range shots. Extra: Voice claim: Cristina Vee</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah looked up, wide-eyed, at her newest customer. Her first instinct was to run and hide, but she was stuck to the spot. As her brain processed the fact that there was, indeed, a gigantic demon woman standing in front of her, a few extra pieces of information clicked into place. No one seemed to be panicking, at least not any more than one would panic before a confrontation. Some were maybe uncomfortable, but they weren't drawing their weapons. Searching her memory, Lirrah alighted upon a tidbit she once heard about a demon that she might see around one day. Apparently, one of their finger-wigglers could summon one, and she usually did this on the front lines. Since Lirrah tended to stay at base camp, it figured that she wouldn't have seen this woman before. Lirrah had honestly thought it might have been a joke. But even so, they didn't mention how damn big she was supposed to be. Ila-Nem, this demon was as tall as three of Lirrah standing on each other's shoulders! And so red! After standing dumbfounded for almost a minute, she managed to drag herself back to reality. If she was going to go near the front lines to help, she couldn't let things like this freak her out. But she was so big- "Puh-puh-pweased tomeechu!" she found herself stammering like an ignoramus. She looked around in a panic, and bolted back into her tent, quickly bringing out a few fruity pastries in her tiny, trembling arms. She was good with diplomacy, but not with bravery. She wanted to tell the woman [on the house], but there wasn't a single bone in her body that would allow her to string those words together in that configuration. As if on instinct alone, she blurted out the inflated price she charges everyone. "S-s-six hundred each! D-don't tell anypody I let you have some! I m-mean, i-if that's OK with you!"</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- Landshark@HereComesTheSnow --- The constant influx of information—useful or not—that came with his position was starting to grow tiresome. Subordinates constantly coming to report to him, day in and day out, and rarely was it on any topic more important than the weather. It was grating, even more than the armour he was currently being aided in donning. His sigh, though, was cut short with a wince as the strap of one pauldron was yanked tight around his upper arm. The second soon after. Thank the goddesses for padding. "That is quite enough, thank you," he interjected, cutting off one of the sergeants of the force he'd brought with him to the Lions. "You haven't told me anything new in the time since we first made camp here. Go join the guards around the perimeter and keep an eye out for those scouts—I want to be sure they get to Lady Velvetica as quickly as possible once they arrive. Don't let them be distracted." He wasn't even entirely sure who was out scouting; if the griffin-rider was one of them, at least there was one person who could be trusted to follow through properly. Cadmon tugged at the belt around his waist uncomfortably, though he knew it was better that than to have all the weight of his brigandine resting upon his shoulders. "If any of you should happen to find István, tell him to meet me at the Lady's pavilion." Though whether or not the warrior would listen was another matter; Cadmon doubted he'd ever be able to command the man who half-raised him. "Have my horse, weapons, and helmet waiting for me there. I'm not wandering around the camp with them all at once." With his own cadre of servants and aides so dismissed, Cadmon gathered up his gauntlets and made his way out of his tent into the wider camp. Silently ruing the fact that he hadn't left his bevor off for them to take alongside his other gear, he kept his head on a swivel as he took a meandering path towards the Steel Princess's center of command. Ostensibly, he could be said to be inspecting the forces; in truth, he had his eye out for one person in particular, hoping she wasn't deciding to practice her own skills at the current moment. A quick flash of blonde hair catching his eye between a pair of tents gave him all the notice he needed that she wasn't trying not to be found. "Miss Lambert?" he called in the direction he'd seen the assassin woman going. "Care to join me?"</s> <|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) Darkness falls. The night clouds shroud the camp and whipping the burning torches with a cold breeze. Flames flicker in defiance; keeping its warmth and light from snuffing out. The onslaught of the night wind is relentless but the fire roars alive. The fire's light scatters as a helmetless knight emerges from a tent. As the knight approached the Hraesleg Lion's banner, he could feel the eyes of his fellow peers upon him. He took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. The sound of his own breath echoed in his ears as he continued to fasten the straps on his armour. His movements were deliberate and purposeful, a sign of his years of training and discipline. He could feel the weight of his mission bearing down upon him. He knew that he was about to face an unknown and strange enemy, one who would not hesitate to take everything, including the dead. But despite the gravity of the situation, he remained calm and focused, his thoughts centered on the task ahead. The men near his tent were raucous, their laughter and banter filling the air. But as the knight approached, they fell silent, their attention drawn to the imposing figure before them. "Excuse me, coming through," he nodded briefly while speaking in a gentle yet sincere tone, urging them to make way for him before carefully squeezing past. It was a rather narrow walkway. "Watch it Guillaume," they warn, "We don't want to miss seeing your blonde arse take on those bandits with your sincere strikes." Guillaume ignored the jibe, knowing that the men were just trying to lighten the mood before the battle. He continued on his way, his eyes forward and fixed on the towering figure in the distance with two noticeable horns on their head. He quickly recognised her as the demon attached to the healer mage Gisela. The presence of a demon would normally alarm an entire holy crusade in the area-- but the existence of Krysia is a strangely welcome and reassuring presence. A merchant from the Matayannah Trading Company had set up a stall at the camp, offering a wide range of savoury goods to help satisfy the hunger needs of the people for the coming battle. It stood there unguarded... Perfect for any thieves to try to steal from. Where was the merchant? Daze "But what if I only want the sweet pastry? The rest doesn't interest me," The demon's deep and melodious voice could be heard as Guillaume arrives at the stall. A feeling of dread and terror washes over the knight. Not from the presence of a demon, but rather from Gisela. It's a feeling that Guillaume hasn't gotten used to. He held firmly and adjusted his emotions. "Good evening Gisela and Krysia." He greeted the two and calmly browsed the savoury snacks before him. Only now that Guillaume was able to see a pink-haired Nem shopkeeper behind the table, terrified of the demon while holding a tray of sweet pastries. "S-s-six hundred each! D-don't tell anypody I let you have some! I m-mean, i-if that's OK with you!" "First time meeting Krysia?" Guillaume's jovial voice resonated. "The first time I met Krysia, I nearly summoned the local paladin. One mutton pie please!"</s>

<|message|>Kayliss Lambert Strangely enough, life as a Lion had been far less eventful than life as a Crownsblade in her months of service thus far, even with the border tensions. Then again, Kayliss had overheard some of the veterans saying war was at least half waiting. Kayliss could wait, certainly. But even having patience didn't stop the waiting from being monotonous. She'd not been tapped to be a scout this time, so she was simply waiting around camp, taking a seat as she did another check on her weaponry. Her crossbow, knives, shortsword, and dagger all proved themselves to be in good condition, just as they had been the last time she made this check but mere hours ago. Social activity wasn't much of an option, either. Certainly, Kayliss was familiar with at least a few members of their force. Some even rather high up. But word had gotten around that she was an assassin of some sort, and thus the common soldiery was rather leery of interacting with her. Fortunately, whoever had been responsible for that information leak didn't bring up the Crownsblades at all, or there would be far more cause for concern. Her working theory was that Lady Velvetica, who was one of the very few that knew all the details of her story, mentioned her status as an assassin off-hand at some point, and it had spread. At least she knew not to mention the fact that the throne of Velt had an otherwise secret organization of shadowy killers. An organization that was shattered now. A frown marred her face at the thought, and how she was no closer to an answer after several months. Just then, she was interrupted by one of the aforementioned acquaintances she knew. Cadmon Demet. A decent sort for a lord, even if he was barely a man. Still, from what Kayliss had gathered on the moody earl, well, she had good reason to believe he had rather poor reasons to be so sullen all the time. Regardless, it wouldn't quite do to antagonize him without reason. "Earl Demet." Kayliss nodded back, her ponytail waving behind her as a slight breeze kicked up. "Am I to receive orders, then? Is there a target?" At least, she hoped it was a chance to get back out into the field. Goddesses help both her dwindling patience and Cadmon should this turn out to be something especially foolish.</s>

<|description|>Kayliss Lambert Age: 24 Gender: Female Race: Human Appearance: Stands at about 5'8". Lithe build, with some toned muscle in the arms and legs. Tends to wear typical adventuring gear that doesn't stand out, favoring hooded cloaks with light armor underneath. Hair falls down below her shoulders naturally, but she ties it up in a ponytail most of the time. Personality: Distant, pragmatic, and calm. At least, that's the image Kayliss tries to give off. She's successful at it most of the time too. But underneath that lies a streak of pride and patriotism. Kayliss defines herself by her role as a royal blade, taking pride in her skills and being firmly behind whatever cause the Veltian throne dictates. Being an assassin for the crown is all she had from the moment she was recruited for training, and that purpose gives her surety. She has adapted this mentality to her service with the Lions, viewing it as an extension of her previous work and overseer. Of course, if she needs to, Kayliss can fake whatever personality she thinks will suit her purposes. Part of infiltration is social stealth, after all, and she is familiar enough with most aspects of Veltian society to pass off as either a commoner or a noble, able to move in whatever circles she needs to. However, as of late, Kayliss's motivation has taken a new direction: the search for truth, and vengeance after that. She seeks to find out exactly who was responsible for the destruction of the royal assassins, and why. Her life and purpose had been upended, and she would have satisfaction over it, one way or another. Brief Backstory: Born in the slums of Meridian, Kayliss was a parentless urchin for much of her childhood, quickly learning basic thievery simply to survive. That was, until she'd picked the wrong target. Or the right one, depending on the point of view. The man in question she'd tried to pickpocket turned out to be a handler for Velt's royal assassins. An orphan child from the slums with decent stealth skills for someone with no training whatsoever was exactly the right kind of person for him to mold into another sneak for the good of the kingdom, and over the next few years, he did so, taking her on in the unit as a new recruit and putting her through hellish training. Over the years, Kayliss learned the work of an assassin, training in stealth, combat, and infiltration. Despite the difficulty of the curriculum, she stayed regardless. For one, it was a roof over her head and constant hot meals. Plus, the training gave her something she never felt like she'd had before: a purpose. Doing something for a cause instead of just to survive just felt...right. After years of training, Kayliss began her work in earnest before she'd even become an adult. The career of a royal blade in the field didn't tend to last long, but she beat the odds and served with distinction for years. That was, until it all came crashing down. Some time ago, she returned from a mission on the country's border only to find the assassins' compound burnt to the ground, with every assassin within slaughtered. Only those who had been on deployment at the time of the attack survived, and there had been very few of those. The survivors of the massacre scattered to the four winds, with some fleeing to other countries and others disappearing into the criminal underworld. As for Kayliss, she simply changed employers. The Hraesleg Lions had begun their policy of aggressive recruitment, and she signed on, pledging her service to the Steel Princess after explaining her skillset, her service record, and her circumstances. Now, Kayliss stands as a "problem solver" of sorts for the Lions, though she wishes her skills were used more often for their intended purpose. Equipment: Aside from her short sword and dagger, Kayliss also bears a brace of throwing knives as well as a crossbow and bolts strapped to her back. She wears lightweight armor with a mix of metal pieces and leather for stealth. She bears a kit of various equipment for rogue's work, including lockpicks, poison, and smoke bombs. Skills: * Assassin's Work: Sneaking, lockpicking, poison, and actually being a blade in the dark. If it involves infiltration or stealth, Kayliss has likely been trained in it. * Blades: Adept with both the short sword and dagger, Kayliss prefers to use the two in a twin-blade fencing style, though she's also capable of using either weapon solo, whether it be in straight combat or in less honorable work. Her swordsmanship is above average and certainly better than the usual adventurer or soldier, but she doesn't quite match up to famed knights and other combat monsters in direct battle without the aid of a dishonorable advantage or two. Of course, this presumes that she would fight someone head-on to begin with. * Marksmanship: While not exactly adept with an actual bow, her aim with a crossbow is more than adequate. She is capable of using the entire range of crossbow types, from a hand crossbow to a heavier, two-handed one for long-range shots. Extra: Voice claim: Cristina Vee</s> <|message|>Valmyra Audron @Crimson Paladin --- Hraesleg Lions Base Camp --- Val had make her way back to the base camp, not too far behind Hector. Though he had a flying mount and should logically have faster maneuverability, she was quite confident in her own agility in slithering among the tree branches. Arriving back, she looked toward the largest tent in the camp. Velvetica would soon call for her subordinates to regroup there and report their findings. She quickly made her way there, seeing her other allies following suit. She honestly was still a bit nervous in working with so many people from different backgrounds, but Vel would push those thoughts to the side for now. Convening in her tent, Valmyra had looked intently at their leader. She had already met Velvetica once before, when she personally came to her rebuilt village and recruited her. She was smaller in stature than most, and even more so compared to a lamia like Val. Despite this, her presence came with an undeniable authority and reliability that a seasoned leader would naturally give off. Besides, Val was not one to give assumptions based on another's appearance. As a lamia, she could tower over everyone in the room, depending on how she coiled her lower body. In this case, she did just that, but only because she didn't want to take up too much standing room. She blushed with a bit of bashfulness, not wanting to have drawn too much attention to herself. She listened as the griffon rider gave his report. "While I was there to observe as well, my near-sightedness prevented me from being able to properly see the effigies" She said. "Thankfully, Hector and his steed didn't have that problem." It didn't even occur to her that she could be getting the man's name wrong. Apparently, the signs they saw indicate several different things. The leader didn't think that it was the work of bandits, or due to Ithillin criminals. Val's eyes narrowed with a predatory rage at the mention of that nation. She won't be forgetting what an attack from their warriors took from her. Velvetica told the group that the perpetrators were likely cultists, those who worshiped fell spirits. The thought of such people caused a sick feeling to well up inside Valmyra's stomach. She'd never understand what could lead a person to follow such a wretched faith. "Just give word, and my lance will be at your ready."</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela "A briefing? Sounds boring, call me if a fight starts," the demon announced when everyone started gathering, turning to look at the merchant, "Or if you can get another one of those pastries." With that, she turned around and... well, seemingly just stepped forward. But, as if passing through an invisible doorway, she disappeared without any trace of having been there in the first place. It was always quite an odd sight to see, for the Hundi, because it didn't work anything like the teleportation magic she knew existed. There, you either had to move yourself via magic, or establish a stable connection first... both of which were highly visible. Demons didn't really obey the same rules as mortals did, so it was only to be expected. At the briefing, the mage did her best to stay small and out of the way, especially once the actual threat was described. No, she had nothing to do with the raising of the dead... but she was a necromancer in practice, even if it was the legal, healing-oriented side of it. Better to not get the attention of so many armed and armoured soldiers whilst everyone was consumed by outrage. She might need to talk to Velvetica afterwards, though-- --She might not be able to raise undead, but when it came to putting them down again, there were few people who had more options available.</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah parted with her customers, having sold a relatively good amount, and packed up before heading over to the briefing. The Demon woman, notably, seemed to be able to vanish rather quickly for one so big. If a Demon could truly just come and go as they pleased, it was perhaps a little bit alarming, but more in a cosmic sense than an immediate one. Well, as long as her pastries were well-liked, she probably wouldn't be killed. Lirrah heard Velvetica out, knowing that having her finger on the pulse of the latest goings-on was a great tool for a merchant, and also a fantastic way to not die. Lirrah didn't get get the Juyuem vitriol against necromancy. Though Ila-Nem also warned against their evils, it wasn't quite so ingrained in her people. Hadriyu were the more pressing concern, but perhaps one's scorpion men were another's necromancers. Hadriyu were, by nature, monsterous Nem-killers. Was there something in the nature of necromancy that ensured a particularly monsterous person? If not for the mindless undead craving for flesh, eternal unskilled labor seemed a good business prospect. Though if that's what a necromancer wanted, they could just learn to make golems. It was probably that innate viciousness that could be pointed to in any civilized discussion about the subject: mindless undead were killing machines, and if a necromancer were to lose control, they would continue plaguing the world until dismantled. Like a Hadrid. Lirrah felt some degree of disgust well after anyone who actually despised necromancy, but she got there. Only, she looked as if she hated necromancers the entire time she was debating whether or not there might be any business viability. She knew her clientele. All the people around her hated it, so she hated it too. She looked just as disgusted by the mention of the dark arts as anyone else. An easily-changing value system was yet another magnificent tool for a merchant. Once she was finished speaking, Lirrah timidly approached her. Velvetica was yet another person who was kind of scary, though by no means tall. Lirrah knew, however, that she was good-hearted. Even if everyone told her not to spend time on bandits, she could not ignore those in front of her. Lirrah understood this value firsthand. "San'yashu, lady Hraesleg," Lirrah greeted her softly. It wasn't really something she wanted a lot of other people to hear. She looked up at the woman, eyes glistening innocently, and briefly wondered if the fact that Lirrah had to look up at her when they spoke made Velvetica feel tall. Lirrah hoped this was the case. "I would not dare ask you to leave anyone pehind on my account, nor ask for anyone to escort me to home camp. You need as many people as you can get to deal with these awful necromancers, so... I was actually thinking I would like to help you more! To do my part for Velt," she lied as naturally as she breathed, "I wanted to pring some items along, and maybe help keep an eye out. My eyes are very good in the gloom, and I am an expert at avoiding danger! Only... I do still get scared. May I count on you, again, to see me through the night? E-even though I am weak... I would like to do something." Lirrah turned her meek and cute act up to maximum. If this didn't make Velvetica want to protect her with everything she could, Lirrah didn't know what would.</s>

<|message|>Kayliss Lambert As the briefing finished, Kayliss folded her arms in front of her from her position in the back corner of the gathering, her brow furrowed in thought. Necromancers. A vexing enemy for her, all told. Certainly, the mages themselves were but mere men if they were taken off guard, her skillset and tools didn't quite work for dealing with actual undead. Blades and poison designed to cut to a living target's vitals weren't exactly effective when dealing with deadened veins and shambling bones. Fortunate that the Lions had so many heavier fighters better suited to dealing with undead chaff. Of course, that didn't preclude the option of their superior officer already having an idea of what to do with her. So with that in mind, Kayliss silently wove her way through the gathered crowd and to the front, waiting patiently some distance away from the camp's nem merchant while she made her appeal. The Crownsblade briefly narrowed her eyes down at the side of Lirrah's head. A walking equipment caddy, and requiring an escort? Kayliss had her own opinion on that, though she wouldn't give it unless asked. A waste of resources and men that could be utilized more efficiently. If the merchant thought her stock would be useful, then she could at least be bothered to hand it out to those who would actually be getting their hands dirty. Regardless, as the...girl? Woman? Nem of an age Kayliss couldn't quite distinguish finished her appeal, the assassin simply appeared in Velvetica's peripheral vision, bowing her head to the Steel Princess. "Any specific orders, my lady? Otherwise, I assume I've your permission to embed myself within another unit?" While she'd prefer Cadmon and Istvan's aid thanks to familiarity and the fact that they would know how to properly utilize her, it wasn't exactly Kayliss's choice.</s>

<|description|>Kayliss Lambert Age: 24 Gender: Female Race: Human Appearance: Stands at about 5'8". Lithe build, with some toned muscle in the arms and legs. Tends to wear typical adventuring gear that doesn't stand out, favoring hooded cloaks with light armor underneath. Hair falls down below her shoulders naturally, but she ties it up in a ponytail most of the time. Personality: Distant, pragmatic, and calm. At least, that's the image Kayliss tries to give off. She's successful at it most of the time too. But underneath that lies a streak of pride and patriotism. Kayliss defines herself by her role as a royal blade, taking pride in her skills and being firmly behind whatever cause the Veltian throne dictates. Being an assassin for the crown is all she had from the moment she was recruited for training, and that purpose gives her surety. She has adapted this mentality to her service with the Lions, viewing it as an extension of her previous work and overseer. Of course, if she needs to, Kayliss can fake whatever personality she thinks will suit her purposes. Part of infiltration is social stealth, after all, and she is familiar enough with most aspects of Veltian society to pass off as either a commoner or a noble, able to move in whatever circles she needs to. However, as of late, Kayliss's motivation has taken a new direction: the search for truth, and vengeance after that. She seeks to find out exactly who was responsible for the destruction of the royal assassins, and why. Her life and purpose had been upended, and she would have satisfaction over it, one way or another. Brief Backstory: Born in the slums of Meridian, Kayliss was a parentless urchin for much of her childhood, quickly learning basic thievery simply to survive. That was, until she'd picked the wrong target. Or the right one, depending on the point of view. The man in question she'd tried to pickpocket turned out to be a handler for Velt's royal assassins. An orphan child from the slums with decent stealth skills for someone with no training whatsoever was exactly the right kind of person for him to mold into another sneak for the good of the kingdom, and over the next few years, he did so, taking her on in the unit as a new recruit and putting her through hellish training. Over the years, Kayliss learned the work of an assassin, training in stealth, combat, and infiltration. Despite the difficulty of the curriculum, she stayed regardless. For one, it was a roof over her head and constant hot meals. Plus, the training gave her something she never felt like she'd had before: a purpose. Doing something for a cause instead of just to survive just felt...right. After years of training, Kayliss began her work in earnest before she'd even become an adult. The career of a royal blade in the field didn't tend to last long, but she beat the odds and served with distinction for years. That was, until it all came crashing down. Some time ago, she returned from a mission on the country's border only to find the assassins' compound burnt to the ground, with every assassin within slaughtered. Only those who had been on deployment at the time of the attack survived, and there had been very few of those. The survivors of the massacre scattered to the four winds, with some fleeing to other countries and others disappearing into the criminal underworld. As for Kayliss, she simply changed employers. The Hraesleg Lions had begun their policy of aggressive recruitment, and she signed on, pledging her service to the Steel Princess after explaining her skillset, her service record, and her circumstances. Now, Kayliss stands as a "problem solver" of sorts for the Lions, though she wishes her skills were used more often for their intended purpose. Equipment: Aside from her short sword and dagger, Kayliss also bears a brace of throwing knives as well as a crossbow and bolts strapped to her back. She wears lightweight armor with a mix of metal pieces and leather for stealth. She bears a kit of various equipment for rogue's work, including lockpicks, poison, and smoke bombs. Skills: * Assassin's Work: Sneaking, lockpicking, poison, and actually being a blade in the dark. If it involves infiltration or stealth, Kayliss has likely been trained in it. * Blades: Adept with both the short sword and dagger, Kayliss prefers to use the two in a twin-blade fencing style, though she's also capable of using either weapon solo, whether it be in straight combat or in less honorable work. Her swordsmanship is above average and certainly better than the usual adventurer or soldier, but she doesn't quite match up to famed knights and other combat monsters in direct battle without the aid of a dishonorable advantage or two. Of course, this presumes that she would fight someone head-on to begin with. * Marksmanship: While not exactly adept with an actual bow, her aim with a crossbow is more than adequate. She is capable of using the entire range of crossbow types, from a hand crossbow to a heavier, two-handed one for long-range shots. Extra: Voice claim: Cristina Vee</s> <|message|>Urden Antiac "So they aren't using the corpses in raids. If I was a betting man, I'd wager they are throwing bodies at whatever they are looking for. Dead don't get tired, far as I assume." Urden was considering the brief so far, and the plan was quite the simple one, which left little to go wrong. Bait an ambush from the necromancer's minions, slaughter enough of them to route, and pursue them into whatever camp and holes they hid in. From there? Butcher them all, ideally with the necromancer long dead to an assassin's blade. Sounded like a good night's work to him, regardless of the damn fool nature of bringing a merchant along. It would end up selling the illusion of not being a trap, after all, who would bring a merchant along for an intended assault? Still, back with the archers was safe, plenty of time to run if things went truly sideways. Well, least as far as those short legs could manage. Reasonable enough plan, hell, if it all went smoothly he'd get his pay today without having to hack apart the too many corpses, into enough pieces they stopped fighting back. He knew he would be in the frontline crush of the fight, which suited him just fine. No hazard pay would be present, not with work like this, but it was the best place to find it all the same. "So, any chance we'll have a rough idea where their attack will come from Boss? I figure we'll want the vanguard folks like me ready and waiting to meet the raid with extreme violence." Odds were they would have a fair spread of the best of the best throughout the lead elements, to hold the line against the raid as it came in on the bait convoy, but Urden had a feeling there would be need for his special brand of axe work. Holding long enough for the ambush to play out proper was what would be needed. The mercenary had gotten back on his feet to look over the map and plan, speaking to the princess in a fairly cavalier manner compared to some, though he always addressed his employers as Boss, it was just the nature of things. At the moment he hadn't much else to say to the others present so far, fortunately the merchant wasn't going to need an escort. That would have been an easy job though, stand back and hack down anything lucky enough to get close to the archers and merchant. Wouldn't have gotten him anywhere quick though, all the more reason to stay at the front where he worked best. Still, that all depended on what the Princess had to say.</s> <|message|>Irian Sinewell Irian Sinewell --- It's not a big surprise that he was to be the backline fighters and picking his targets from range, unless Velvetica had better ideas to put him on stealth duty like Kayliss, but he had a bit of doubt about that idea. Velt's battle plans and doctrine were a lot more symmetrical. Armies come and fight mostly in the open field of honor, locked in battles of wits and tenacity, and the superior army would emerge victorious. Woof Elves, however, tend to be a lot more 'dishonorable' if some were to judge, but it was effective nonetheless. Irian is a flexible person though; long range one-shot one-kill type of engagement was exactly his forte. The Nem he was observing earlier made quite the charm on introduction. The elf would have been easily manipulated by the sweetness if he had more shred of vanity in him, but it was a difficult trait to live with. It was already hard enough living in nature, as much as it might seem otherwise. And his family always took the earliest chance possible to knock him down a peg every time he had any idea of personal aggrandizement. "Well, I'm glad to hear. I'm certain you will perform in battle just as well." He said, his tone quite a bit more flattering, but he tried to keep it as grounded as possible. Knowing Nem traditions of combat, as well as Lirrah being good enough to be around in the Lions, there was a certain amount of trust placed in there. "Can't help each other though if we don't know our names." He gave a smile and extended an arm for the Nem to shake, and if she were to accept it, it wouldn't be a traditional handshake, but Irian would grip onto her lower arm instead, expecting the same gesture. It was not just an equal partnership but more comradeship and trust involved. "Irian Sinewell. Or just Iri. No formality needed within our ranks."</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- --- "Perhaps I'm expecting too much intelligence from our target," Cadmon started slowly, turning from Guillaume back to the wider discussion. "But this seems a bit too transparent, unless we intend to put our helpful merchant in harm's way. If they're even remotely competent—and given the success they've been having, we've no reason to assume they aren't—they'll have some clue that they've been watched. Tracked. Some clue that we're here." It would be utterly ridiculous if this cult thought otherwise, given that Velvetica's band was not exactly small. If they somehow weren't aware, he'd execute their leader himself given the chance for the sheer stupidity of it. "For a strategy like that, we'd be better off waiting for an actual supply train to use as unwitting bait. Let them lull themselves into a false sense of security, thinking that we're giving them time to work, prepare, or simply remove themselves. Otherwise, I imagine they're expecting us to commit full force like a band of holy warriors seeking to...I don't know, stamp out their blight from the land or some such. "I suggest we do something they wouldn't expect, but would put their trust in, and treat them as a genuine military target." He sweeped his hand to encompass the two next to him, his knuckles rapping against István's breastplate at the end of the gesture as he pointed to Urden with the other. "Send out our own smaller raiding parties. Skirmishers from the vanguard, testing their defences. Lighter groups, but still tantalizing targets. They'll think they can fairly safely hunt down and kill these raiders we send to test their mettle, add their corpses and any of their own fallen to their forces, and that we'll be waiting for the return of any survivors and their word—giving these cultists time to fortify, or perhaps to achieve their goal and vacate the area." All standard, by the book tactics, up to that point. Send out the expendables to determine the strength of the enemy force, wait and draw up a new plan if they turn out to be stronger than initially estimated. "Instead, against common practice, we'll populate these raiding parties with some of our best, who can make sure to draw these brigands out, make them commit more than they otherwise might have. Not expecting that we'll be far closer than they expect, and after they've spread their lines thin we can mount our full assault: Our main can envelop their extended parties sent chasing our raiders, cleaning them up quickly as we all recombine and push into them. Accelerating the course of the battle, rather than attempting a deception which seems—to me—too likely to be caught on."</s>

<|message|>Kayliss Lambert "Understood." Kayliss saluted in acknowledgement of her orders given, her mind already going over the best methods to deal with spellcasters. Unknown territory and speed being of the essence narrowed her options considerably. Unfortunate that she wouldn't have as much preparation time as she would have liked, but that was the nature of military operations. Not exactly an unfamiliar situation for herself at this point. As much as Kayliss would have preferred to go for the kill straight away with her tactics, the lethal poisons she used were more effective when ingested rather than when coated on a weapon. That left paralytics and mana inhibitors. Of the two, the latter would be more useful in this situation. It was more likely that a caster had a countermeasure to paralysis than temporarily slowing the flow of their mana. A quick mental review of her stores told Kayliss that she did have a vial of it, but only the one. More would be preferable so that she wasn't relying on a single weapon to deliver the toxin. Fortunate that the camp merchant was so readily available, then. And offering a discount. While Cadmon suggested an altered plan to Velvetica, Kayliss quickly located some spare parchment on her employer's desk and took it. She reached for the ink and quill and quickly scribbled out a list of the necessary herbs to brew more of the mana inhibitor, blowing on the ink to dry it faster. With that done, she stalked over towards the Nem, silent as can be, and practically shoved her impromptu shopping list into the diminutive woman's face from the side. "I'll be needing these for the operation. Given that I'm under direct orders from the Lady, I trust that the discount you just mentioned applies, yes?" Kayliss murmured tonelessly down to Lirrah, her blank stare potentially intimidating to some. The herbs weren't rare, but not common either. Given that, they would cost a decent sum. Considering Velvetica did pay her, Kayliss could certainly afford it. But not taking advantage of a lowered price when it was available would be idiotic.</s>

<|description|>Kayliss Lambert Age: 24 Gender: Female Race: Human Appearance: Stands at about 5'8". Lithe build, with some toned muscle in the arms and legs. Tends to wear typical adventuring gear that doesn't stand out, favoring hooded cloaks with light armor underneath. Hair falls down below her shoulders naturally, but she ties it up in a ponytail most of the time. Personality: Distant, pragmatic, and calm. At least, that's the image Kayliss tries to give off. She's successful at it most of the time too. But underneath that lies a streak of pride and patriotism. Kayliss defines herself by her role as a royal blade, taking pride in her skills and being firmly behind whatever cause the Veltian throne dictates. Being an assassin for the crown is all she had from the moment she was recruited for training, and that purpose gives her surety. She has adapted this mentality to her service with the Lions, viewing it as an extension of her previous work and overseer. Of course, if she needs to, Kayliss can fake whatever personality she thinks will suit her purposes. Part of infiltration is social stealth, after all, and she is familiar enough with most aspects of Veltian society to pass off as either a commoner or a noble, able to move in whatever circles she needs to. However, as of late, Kayliss's motivation has taken a new direction: the search for truth, and vengeance after that. She seeks to find out exactly who was responsible for the destruction of the royal assassins, and why. Her life and purpose had been upended, and she would have satisfaction over it, one way or another. Brief Backstory: Born in the slums of Meridian, Kayliss was a parentless urchin for much of her childhood, quickly learning basic thievery simply to survive. That was, until she'd picked the wrong target. Or the right one, depending on the point of view. The man in question she'd tried to pickpocket turned out to be a handler for Velt's royal assassins. An orphan child from the slums with decent stealth skills for someone with no training whatsoever was exactly the right kind of person for him to mold into another sneak for the good of the kingdom, and over the next few years, he did so, taking her on in the unit as a new recruit and putting her through hellish training. Over the years, Kayliss learned the work of an assassin, training in stealth, combat, and infiltration. Despite the difficulty of the curriculum, she stayed regardless. For one, it was a roof over her head and constant hot meals. Plus, the training gave her something she never felt like she'd had before: a purpose. Doing something for a cause instead of just to survive just felt...right. After years of training, Kayliss began her work in earnest before she'd even become an adult. The career of a royal blade in the field didn't tend to last long, but she beat the odds and served with distinction for years. That was, until it all came crashing down. Some time ago, she returned from a mission on the country's border only to find the assassins' compound burnt to the ground, with every assassin within slaughtered. Only those who had been on deployment at the time of the attack survived, and there had been very few of those. The survivors of the massacre scattered to the four winds, with some fleeing to other countries and others disappearing into the criminal underworld. As for Kayliss, she simply changed employers. The Hraesleg Lions had begun their policy of aggressive recruitment, and she signed on, pledging her service to the Steel Princess after explaining her skillset, her service record, and her circumstances. Now, Kayliss stands as a "problem solver" of sorts for the Lions, though she wishes her skills were used more often for their intended purpose. Equipment: Aside from her short sword and dagger, Kayliss also bears a brace of throwing knives as well as a crossbow and bolts strapped to her back. She wears lightweight armor with a mix of metal pieces and leather for stealth. She bears a kit of various equipment for rogue's work, including lockpicks, poison, and smoke bombs. Skills: * Assassin's Work: Sneaking, lockpicking, poison, and actually being a blade in the dark. If it involves infiltration or stealth, Kayliss has likely been trained in it. * Blades: Adept with both the short sword and dagger, Kayliss prefers to use the two in a twin-blade fencing style, though she's also capable of using either weapon solo, whether it be in straight combat or in less honorable work. Her swordsmanship is above average and certainly better than the usual adventurer or soldier, but she doesn't quite match up to famed knights and other combat monsters in direct battle without the aid of a dishonorable advantage or two. Of course, this presumes that she would fight someone head-on to begin with. * Marksmanship: While not exactly adept with an actual bow, her aim with a crossbow is more than adequate. She is capable of using the entire range of crossbow types, from a hand crossbow to a heavier, two-handed one for long-range shots. Extra: Voice claim: Cristina Vee</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- @HereComesTheSnow --- Cadmon stood still as Velvetica spoke up, issuing forth her commands to the group. It seemed her reputation as a genius and prodigy was well earned; her quick adjustment spoke to an agile mind. 'The other part of our strategy,' indeed. Sometimes, genius wasn't just in the ability to think outside of the box, the ability to rapidly take in changing information and account for it, the amount of knowledge gained over a time of study—sometimes the ability to save face and preserve a reputation was just as important. As Velvetica looked over the group within her tent, he met her gaze with a level, blank stare, murmuring "Nice save." Likely quiet enough that István wouldn't even hear it, sharp as his ears were, though Cadmon expected that his hulking retainer was thinking something along the same lines. He maintained his own stare a moment more as Velvetica's gaze passed on, before turning towards the large knight and raising his voice slightly so that his man could hear. "István, pick who you see fit and lead one of the raiding parties. Harass their defenses and smash their effigies, like Lady Velvetica said. Aside from that, the particulars of how you draw them out are up to you." At least he couldn't find fault with how Velvetica had seen fit to mollify the competing factions in the discussion; even if the supply caravan likely wouldn't make good bait compared to the supposed skirmishers, it could at least serve to distract the necromantic cult long enough to let the rest of the bait strategy come to fruition. "I'll stay in my usual ward, unless she should request otherwise. Do take care not to get killed."</s> <|message|>Irian Sinewell Irian Sinewell --- "Lirrah." Irian nodded. "New friends are indeed worth the effort." Lirrah would be continuing what she does best if it hadn't been for Kayliss, which caused the Nem's attention span to shift straight to trying out discounts on her. Truly a merchant indeed. He decided to listen to the ongoing discussion around the strategies they were going to employ. Baiting out enemies were more in the minds of the soldiers around here than he expected. The only disagreement that the group was having was more of the methodology of doing it, which Irian found a little amusing that it was more of how much they could trick a suspicious opponent. To him, if the opponent was suspicious enough to not take the bait on the caravan strategy, then luring out their entire group with a raiding party would just be biting on rocks a little harder. The difference there would just be the degree of the cultist's arrogance. If anything, what would concern him more would be how devastating the Lions can inflict on the enemy and to that Irian believed more on Velvetica's initial strategy. Caravan ambush is a lot easier to envelope and completely decimate the cultists rather than relying on good warriors to lure enemies out through fighting capabilities. What the Steel Princess decided on was more trying to offend the cultists instead to actually lure them out into a fight, which made sense too. Pretty much an element from both of their strategies combined, without the need to risk the Nem merchant and their supplies. If they took the bait and walked directly into an ambush, then perfect, one less enemy for Velts. And if they were competent enough, well now they knew. The elf simply followed along with his arms crossed, his silence conveying his agreements. "I'll ambush." Irian said tersely. "It's better, and I'm certain the princess wants archers at the backline anyway."</s> <|message|>Urden Antiac "And here I thought this evening was going to be boring..." Urden wasn't much of one to comment on tactics and grand strategy, mostly since he wasn't paid to in this case, but the disagreements and discussion seemed to have led to a new plan. New plan was simple enough. One group, smash the idols and bait the corpse defilers into coming out to play a game of catch the vandal. Then the other group would come down on them like the wrath of the gods, if one put sufficient gravitas into such things. Figure they cared so much, they could have intervened already, but he wasn't about to spark a religious debate before heading off to battle. No, seemed like the Lions were being given a chance to pick their roles with final discretion to the Boss herself. Not a bad way to pick out companion's dispositions in regards to conflict, which gave him plenty to consider since others had chimed in so far before him. Merchant was haggling with Ms. Daggers over poisons and such. Not much use for those in his line of work, if an axe to the torso didn't kill, you kept on trying. Still, can't fault the planning ahead. A mortal stab wound is already hard enough to focus past, add in something nasty chewing through you and its even worse. He hadn't done much shopping as of yet, he didn't need supplies and was frugal with his coin, not frittering it away on niceties and luxuries beyond boozing in taverns and alehouses. Every man had his vice, though on the war path he was cautious to drink, never knew when trouble would come knocking. Or tearing through a tent flap, screaming bloody murder. Since the Merchant was intent on coming along, well, that made the bait team that much more appetizing, and that was before the smashing of ritual idols was factored in. Whoever was on the bait and raid team would have a real good time, he might just wager. 'Hector', as the Lamia had so keenly gotten wrong, was next to chime in. Volunteered for ambush duty, figured. Cavalry types were all the same, regardless of the mount. Had the coin for arms, armor, and supplies to maintain that much of a standing, they always went for the glorious charge, the route and shattering of groups. Paid better too, but he couldn't ride a donkey to save his life, let alone the bloody big bird. No leave the whole 'noble art' of riding to those who could afford to armor both themselves and their steeds, replacing those had to get expensive quickly. Still, having bird man and his pet pigeon in the wings, pun intended, wasn't going to be unwelcome. Especially if something unexpectedly nasty decides to come barreling down on them. Still, he leaned over to the Lamia who had gotten Roger's name wrong, metaphorically ribbing her over the misstep. "Y'know, since you mentioned it, Roger really does look like a 'Hector', doesn't he? Maybe you should go suggest it as a permanent change? Might just make his week." The Boy Wonder tasked Istvan with gathering who he wanted for a raiding party, and then deferred to staying in his usual 'ward'. Typical, sending out the competent ones to do the heavy lifting, and then sitting back. Well, not quite sitting back, no one had that luxury, but tasking others before they had a chance to chime in, just rude really. At least pay the poor sod before barking orders. As for Sharp Ears, well, what a surprise the wood elf chose the ambush party. Terse and to the point though, credit where credit was due there. That he could work with, and long as he didn't offend ol' Sharpy there too much he'd be fine. Might want to see how he shoots first though, but they'd have plenty of time for that in the coming battle. He spoke up finally, as casual and relaxed as ever. "Put me where you want me Boss, I ain't got a preference. No sense mucking up that grand strategy you got brewing in that head of yours, eh?" @VitaVitaAR</s>

<|message|>Kayliss Lambert Ugh. Merchants. A small part of Kayliss couldn't help but admire how quickly the Nem got over her shock and started trying to make a deal with ruthless aggression. The much larger, more sane part of Kayliss's mind was just exasperated. The deal sounded good, certainly. That was, if she actually needed to brew mana-inhibiting poisons on a regular basis. She didn't run through enough of it to necessitate paying for herbs at the constant monthly rate the woman was suggesting. There were, however, other poisons she had more use for constantly. Ones that were versatile enough for most situations. In that context...well, the deal wasn't too awful. It wasn't as if she had much use for money while her room and board were taken care of by the Lions. Once upon a time, perhaps. But a decade and a half of working for the nation in some capacity meant that the former urchin girl didn't quite have a much of a need for the coin she once pilfered constantly. "I propose an alteration to the deal. I can be a recurring customer, but for supplies such as these in general. Extend the discount to more herbs of this nature, and I'll consent to making at least one order a month for six months." Kayliss told the merchant flatly, not bothering with the stare now that it seemed an opportunity for business overrode any fear Lirrah had. "Now, show me what you have on hand. Time is of the essence, and I'd prefer to get to...crafting as soon as possible."</s>

<|description|>Irian Sinewell Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: Wood Elf Appearance: Irian stands at an average 5'7 (175cm), with a reasonably yet decently well-built body. His blonde hair extends shoulder-length, to contrast with his green eyes. His attire is generally green as befitting his Wood Elf origin, but he has also incorporated purple as the other shade in his clothes. Personality: From the looks of it, Irian is quite a serious individual, rather straightforward, duty driven and concentrated, and is quite professional even when it comes to small talks, but if you were to try to go out of their way to strike up a conversation with him, he wouldn't mind it, but don't expect any lengthy talks. He's also a decently open person when it comes to knowledge, whether it is his fighting capabilities, his past, his roots as an Veltian elf, etc, as long as there are nothing taboo, or a person is coming to him in good honest faith, he's willing to reciprocate the feeling. Irian is fueled by a desire to learn and understand the world around him, not out of an altruistic and abstract vision that 'Knowledge is power'. Knowledge IS power, but that power is used to survive close by to Ithillin. There is a concrete and material gain from absorbing knowledge about the world, and he's all for it. He is very observant and reads others well, and naturally he is quite good when it comes to politics and diplomacy. Brief Backstory: Irian was born in one of the few forest settlements by the Wood Elves lying somewhere in the Velt's eastern borders. As the middle sibling, as his parents grew older, Irian was given a lot of privilege when it comes to social standings. He was not groomed into being head of family, nor was he living in the shadows of any siblings. He was his own person, and that allowed him to pursue his career as a forest watcher as soon as he matured. Being forest watchers, his role was to keep eyes on any unwanted visitors, whether that be Veltians or Ithilianes, or even other creatures who wandered their ways into the elve's sights. Being a distinct and integral position for an elf to be in, Irian was taught pretty much everything an elf was supposed to be taught: hunting, survival skills and archery. And he surely did prove himself to be both an accurate shot and a fast one, though it's not always both. While it was important work, the remote position of his settlement did make jobs quite simple for the first few years. However, that was about to change. The brewing cold war between Velt and Ithillin were slowly creeping up to the elves, who were caught in between both sides. Border skirmishes became more common, and forest watchers like Irians found themselves in incredibly tenuous position of possibly starting conflicts between the elves and the kingdoms, which they stood no chance against, or between those two kingdoms with each other, which would still result in the elves getting roped in nonetheless. The tension could no longer be ignored when a particularly aggressive Ithillin patrols open fired on the forest watchers, which led to a firefight that lasted for hours between the soldiers. The superior archery and home terrain of the elves drove the Ithilianes back, but this victory would not mean much, as the elf leaders feared retaliations from the Ithilianes. Seeing that playing both sides in the conflict would lead the elves nowhere but misery and destruction, they decided to cooperate with the Veltian, who were friendlier to them to begin with. Irian, also having understood the current climate his city found themselves in, volunteered to join the Hraesleg Lions, a growing authority in the borderlands, hoping they would be willing to protect the elves if war breaks out. Equipment: Being a forest ranger, Irian possesses and is very familiar with his bow, in which he takes very rigorous care of to make sure his every shot still rings true. Aside from that, he is also equipped with a short sword for any melee combat situations. His relatively standard armor is received more recently due to his employment in the Hraesleg Lions, having a more all-rounded combat role rather than forest watchers. Skills: Irian is a highly skilled bow users, well-trained in elfen archery, with shots so accurate it could be measured with a gold coin. In need of a target disposed from afar, Irian is the right person for that task. Despite that, being more open to other forms of archery, Irian is also trained in a more high-speed, medium-ranged styled archery that seeks to loose as many arrows as possible onto the enemy. Irian is also adequately trained on anemo magic, mostly to be chanted into his equipment, increasing the power, range or piercing capabilities of his bow/arrow, or in some niche cases allowing him to bend the trajectory of his projectiles slightly, albeit it would need to be premeditated. He is also able to hold his own in melee, but don't expect any miracles from it.</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- Landshark@HereComesTheSnow --- The constant influx of information—useful or not—that came with his position was starting to grow tiresome. Subordinates constantly coming to report to him, day in and day out, and rarely was it on any topic more important than the weather. It was grating, even more than the armour he was currently being aided in donning. His sigh, though, was cut short with a wince as the strap of one pauldron was yanked tight around his upper arm. The second soon after. Thank the goddesses for padding. "That is quite enough, thank you," he interjected, cutting off one of the sergeants of the force he'd brought with him to the Lions. "You haven't told me anything new in the time since we first made camp here. Go join the guards around the perimeter and keep an eye out for those scouts—I want to be sure they get to Lady Velvetica as quickly as possible once they arrive. Don't let them be distracted." He wasn't even entirely sure who was out scouting; if the griffin-rider was one of them, at least there was one person who could be trusted to follow through properly. Cadmon tugged at the belt around his waist uncomfortably, though he knew it was better that than to have all the weight of his brigandine resting upon his shoulders. "If any of you should happen to find István, tell him to meet me at the Lady's pavilion." Though whether or not the warrior would listen was another matter; Cadmon doubted he'd ever be able to command the man who half-raised him. "Have my horse, weapons, and helmet waiting for me there. I'm not wandering around the camp with them all at once." With his own cadre of servants and aides so dismissed, Cadmon gathered up his gauntlets and made his way out of his tent into the wider camp. Silently ruing the fact that he hadn't left his bevor off for them to take alongside his other gear, he kept his head on a swivel as he took a meandering path towards the Steel Princess's center of command. Ostensibly, he could be said to be inspecting the forces; in truth, he had his eye out for one person in particular, hoping she wasn't deciding to practice her own skills at the current moment. A quick flash of blonde hair catching his eye between a pair of tents gave him all the notice he needed that she wasn't trying not to be found. "Miss Lambert?" he called in the direction he'd seen the assassin woman going. "Care to join me?"</s> <|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) Darkness falls. The night clouds shroud the camp and whipping the burning torches with a cold breeze. Flames flicker in defiance; keeping its warmth and light from snuffing out. The onslaught of the night wind is relentless but the fire roars alive. The fire's light scatters as a helmetless knight emerges from a tent. As the knight approached the Hraesleg Lion's banner, he could feel the eyes of his fellow peers upon him. He took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. The sound of his own breath echoed in his ears as he continued to fasten the straps on his armour. His movements were deliberate and purposeful, a sign of his years of training and discipline. He could feel the weight of his mission bearing down upon him. He knew that he was about to face an unknown and strange enemy, one who would not hesitate to take everything, including the dead. But despite the gravity of the situation, he remained calm and focused, his thoughts centered on the task ahead. The men near his tent were raucous, their laughter and banter filling the air. But as the knight approached, they fell silent, their attention drawn to the imposing figure before them. "Excuse me, coming through," he nodded briefly while speaking in a gentle yet sincere tone, urging them to make way for him before carefully squeezing past. It was a rather narrow walkway. "Watch it Guillaume," they warn, "We don't want to miss seeing your blonde arse take on those bandits with your sincere strikes." Guillaume ignored the jibe, knowing that the men were just trying to lighten the mood before the battle. He continued on his way, his eyes forward and fixed on the towering figure in the distance with two noticeable horns on their head. He quickly recognised her as the demon attached to the healer mage Gisela. The presence of a demon would normally alarm an entire holy crusade in the area-- but the existence of Krysia is a strangely welcome and reassuring presence. A merchant from the Matayannah Trading Company had set up a stall at the camp, offering a wide range of savoury goods to help satisfy the hunger needs of the people for the coming battle. It stood there unguarded... Perfect for any thieves to try to steal from. Where was the merchant? Daze "But what if I only want the sweet pastry? The rest doesn't interest me," The demon's deep and melodious voice could be heard as Guillaume arrives at the stall. A feeling of dread and terror washes over the knight. Not from the presence of a demon, but rather from Gisela. It's a feeling that Guillaume hasn't gotten used to. He held firmly and adjusted his emotions. "Good evening Gisela and Krysia." He greeted the two and calmly browsed the savoury snacks before him. Only now that Guillaume was able to see a pink-haired Nem shopkeeper behind the table, terrified of the demon while holding a tray of sweet pastries. "S-s-six hundred each! D-don't tell anypody I let you have some! I m-mean, i-if that's OK with you!" "First time meeting Krysia?" Guillaume's jovial voice resonated. "The first time I met Krysia, I nearly summoned the local paladin. One mutton pie please!"</s> <|message|>Kayliss Lambert Kayliss Lambert Strangely enough, life as a Lion had been far less eventful than life as a Crownsblade in her months of service thus far, even with the border tensions. Then again, Kayliss had overheard some of the veterans saying war was at least half waiting. Kayliss could wait, certainly. But even having patience didn't stop the waiting from being monotonous. She'd not been tapped to be a scout this time, so she was simply waiting around camp, taking a seat as she did another check on her weaponry. Her crossbow, knives, shortsword, and dagger all proved themselves to be in good condition, just as they had been the last time she made this check but mere hours ago. Social activity wasn't much of an option, either. Certainly, Kayliss was familiar with at least a few members of their force. Some even rather high up. But word had gotten around that she was an assassin of some sort, and thus the common soldiery was rather leery of interacting with her. Fortunately, whoever had been responsible for that information leak didn't bring up the Crownsblades at all, or there would be far more cause for concern. Her working theory was that Lady Velvetica, who was one of the very few that knew all the details of her story, mentioned her status as an assassin off-hand at some point, and it had spread. At least she knew not to mention the fact that the throne of Velt had an otherwise secret organization of shadowy killers. An organization that was shattered now. A frown marred her face at the thought, and how she was no closer to an answer after several months. Just then, she was interrupted by one of the aforementioned acquaintances she knew. Cadmon Demet. A decent sort for a lord, even if he was barely a man. Still, from what Kayliss had gathered on the moody earl, well, she had good reason to believe he had rather poor reasons to be so sullen all the time. Regardless, it wouldn't quite do to antagonize him without reason. "Earl Demet." Kayliss nodded back, her ponytail waving behind her as a slight breeze kicked up. "Am I to receive orders, then? Is there a target?" At least, she hoped it was a chance to get back out into the field. Goddesses help both her dwindling patience and Cadmon should this turn out to be something especially foolish.</s>

<|message|>Irian Sinewell In this desolate, barren rocky lands, the sight of dark brown soil was definitely worth a look at. No creatures, even faes or the dreaded Midnight Hunt were to cause the earth to be this disturbed. And it wasn't nice and easy either, so much of these were either intentionally upturned or something else big had caused this phenomena. Increasingly, the notion that regular bandits were behind these raids grew twisted. From the beginning, the wood elf could somewhat entertain the idea. After all, bandits could be just as organized as any professional assassin attacks if they were led well. However, this felt a little off to him. According to reports, they were also stealing the deceased as well as the living. He wouldn't discount unrelated freaks and crazies involved, but for his often alarmist and cautious mind, he had to be prepared that it wasn't what he or they wanted. The elf silently moved inbetween the jagged white rocks, each step simply eased into the earth softly, bow in hand, an arrow in another. While many of these rocks looked natural, shaped by the unforgiving river of time, there were some rocks with sharp edges that were clearly broken by force. 'More unnatural activities.' Irian grazed the rock as he neared. It was beginning to feel a little bit unpleasant. A couple more steps forward and a rather disturbing sight came into view. A skull of some unfortunate souls atop a stick. From a distance, the elf could not really discern if the skull was real or not, and he did not even want to touch the possibility that the skull was just a disturbed creature robbed from its grave, or was someone tortured and beheaded on a stick. The thought of someone being put through that kind of atrocity, it disgusted him. Either way, he needed to head back to the Princess. He had seen enough. Their settlement would likely not be that far off from there.</s>

<|description|>Irian Sinewell Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: Wood Elf Appearance: Irian stands at an average 5'7 (175cm), with a reasonably yet decently well-built body. His blonde hair extends shoulder-length, to contrast with his green eyes. His attire is generally green as befitting his Wood Elf origin, but he has also incorporated purple as the other shade in his clothes. Personality: From the looks of it, Irian is quite a serious individual, rather straightforward, duty driven and concentrated, and is quite professional even when it comes to small talks, but if you were to try to go out of their way to strike up a conversation with him, he wouldn't mind it, but don't expect any lengthy talks. He's also a decently open person when it comes to knowledge, whether it is his fighting capabilities, his past, his roots as an Veltian elf, etc, as long as there are nothing taboo, or a person is coming to him in good honest faith, he's willing to reciprocate the feeling. Irian is fueled by a desire to learn and understand the world around him, not out of an altruistic and abstract vision that 'Knowledge is power'. Knowledge IS power, but that power is used to survive close by to Ithillin. There is a concrete and material gain from absorbing knowledge about the world, and he's all for it. He is very observant and reads others well, and naturally he is quite good when it comes to politics and diplomacy. Brief Backstory: Irian was born in one of the few forest settlements by the Wood Elves lying somewhere in the Velt's eastern borders. As the middle sibling, as his parents grew older, Irian was given a lot of privilege when it comes to social standings. He was not groomed into being head of family, nor was he living in the shadows of any siblings. He was his own person, and that allowed him to pursue his career as a forest watcher as soon as he matured. Being forest watchers, his role was to keep eyes on any unwanted visitors, whether that be Veltians or Ithilianes, or even other creatures who wandered their ways into the elve's sights. Being a distinct and integral position for an elf to be in, Irian was taught pretty much everything an elf was supposed to be taught: hunting, survival skills and archery. And he surely did prove himself to be both an accurate shot and a fast one, though it's not always both. While it was important work, the remote position of his settlement did make jobs quite simple for the first few years. However, that was about to change. The brewing cold war between Velt and Ithillin were slowly creeping up to the elves, who were caught in between both sides. Border skirmishes became more common, and forest watchers like Irians found themselves in incredibly tenuous position of possibly starting conflicts between the elves and the kingdoms, which they stood no chance against, or between those two kingdoms with each other, which would still result in the elves getting roped in nonetheless. The tension could no longer be ignored when a particularly aggressive Ithillin patrols open fired on the forest watchers, which led to a firefight that lasted for hours between the soldiers. The superior archery and home terrain of the elves drove the Ithilianes back, but this victory would not mean much, as the elf leaders feared retaliations from the Ithilianes. Seeing that playing both sides in the conflict would lead the elves nowhere but misery and destruction, they decided to cooperate with the Veltian, who were friendlier to them to begin with. Irian, also having understood the current climate his city found themselves in, volunteered to join the Hraesleg Lions, a growing authority in the borderlands, hoping they would be willing to protect the elves if war breaks out. Equipment: Being a forest ranger, Irian possesses and is very familiar with his bow, in which he takes very rigorous care of to make sure his every shot still rings true. Aside from that, he is also equipped with a short sword for any melee combat situations. His relatively standard armor is received more recently due to his employment in the Hraesleg Lions, having a more all-rounded combat role rather than forest watchers. Skills: Irian is a highly skilled bow users, well-trained in elfen archery, with shots so accurate it could be measured with a gold coin. In need of a target disposed from afar, Irian is the right person for that task. Despite that, being more open to other forms of archery, Irian is also trained in a more high-speed, medium-ranged styled archery that seeks to loose as many arrows as possible onto the enemy. Irian is also adequately trained on anemo magic, mostly to be chanted into his equipment, increasing the power, range or piercing capabilities of his bow/arrow, or in some niche cases allowing him to bend the trajectory of his projectiles slightly, albeit it would need to be premeditated. He is also able to hold his own in melee, but don't expect any miracles from it.</s> <|message|>Urden Antiac "Good thing spreading nasty rumors like that is bad for business then, ain't it Ms. Lambert?" Urden had no intention of spreading gossip or rumors, they didn't pay well first off, not the kind he could source at least. Secondly he liked his ribs and kidney where it was without being perforated, and if he was lucky it'd only happen in his sleep. Of course, the Lad himself chimed in that, no, she was lovely company and not all daggers and glaring them. All a bit above his paygrade, really, he wasn't an infiltrator or assassin. He earned his coin the hard way, one axe swing at a time. Granted that frame of time might be incredibly short depending on his efforts, but that was neither here nor there. Before he could chime in the meeting for select soldiers was finally called and he was among them for the briefing. Time to see what the scouts had come reporting back on, and what Boss had in mind for them to go and clean up tonight. Corpse defilers seemed to be the order of the day, which meant tangling with reanimated carcasses. Urden wouldn't lie and say that he was looking forward to this. Bandits, thugs, and the like could be intimidated into surrendering or otherwise routed. Reanimated bodies though, that was grim work near as he understood it. Not like it was his specialty either, but hell, he wasn't paid to have misgivings or concerns. One of the bluebloods or magic folks would probably get into some drawn out duel with the head of this band of corpse stealers, while folks like him were cleaning up the real mess. He got paid the same either way, and since this wasn't going to be particularly glamorous or career building he could settle for just hacking through anything unfortunate enough to be shambling in front of him. That being said, he didn't exactly have much of value to chime in with, so he found himself a place to sit down and rest a bit before the impending violence, mostly talking to himself. "Seems like this'll be my good deed for the week, putting the defiled back in the ground where they belong."</s> <|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw So, they would be facing necromancers. Roger was unsure what sort of magic they'd be facing. Obviously they'd be facing the horrors of necromancy, but surely these evil mages would have other arcane tricks. In any case, they needed to be stopped. If the Steel Princess was correct, if these necromancers were searching for a specific tomb, then they couldn't be given any more opportunity to uncover it. Additionally, if there were living prisoners still among them, it was all the more pressing that that their captors be swiftly struck down. The Griffin Knight wasn't sure what sort of tactics the enemy would use. Just how precise of orders could a necromancer command an undead minion? Would it tax or divert the puppeteer's attention, to issue commands to their rotted puppets? It went without saying that walking corpses would feel no fear and exhibit no hesitation, thus any attempts to rattle them would have no effect. Against a foe that would not- or more accurately, could not- yield, they'd have to go through, around, or over the undead to get to their vile masters. When the Lamia gave her account, it took Roger a split second to realize that she was referring to him, misnamed as he had been. "I am ready to go," he assured Velvetica, as he glanced at his mount, "And it looks like Shortclaw is, too." The griffin still had plenty of energy after their scouting flight. "Oh, and my name is Roger," he added, addressing the Lamia. @VitaVitaAR</s> <|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) Guillaume --- Once the mutton pie was eaten by the knight, he looked on to Gisela with a sincere gaze upon the mentioning of Krysia's contract with her. A contract requiring the reaping of souls in exchange for what? His finger found its way up to his chin, clutching onto it with curiosity. It certainly is a thought that Guillaume did not want to ponder for long. However, if it meant that Krysia is assisting the Lions in their advance, he is able to set his feelings aside for the common good. He'd wager even Krysia had a thing or two to teach him while she's aligned with the Lions. Would demonic wisdom transpose well to human wisdom? "At least you'd have a companion who's always by your side." His voice is steady, as to not betray his skepticism. The night sky was disturbed by the flapping of wings. The flames stirred unnaturally as a winged beast and a rider prepared their descent near Lady Hraesleg's tent. Guillaume had forgotten that the Lions had a griffin rider in its ranks. Its arrival had certainly meant that the group was about to be assembled for the fight ahead. "Looks like Roger's back. I'll see you at the briefing." He dismissed himself from Gisela and made his way calmly towards the largest tent. --- Soon, Guillaume found himself standing and inspecting the map laid over an ornate wooden table. A shorter, young adolescent-looking girl in Hraesleg's armour was on the opposite side leaning over the map with a black mark was inscribed upon it. The mark highlighted the likely location of what it is that we're looking for-- a bandit camp of sorts. She was the famed Steel Princess in Velt; one so young to have captured the knight's chivalrous spirit and gladly lent his aid to see through her crusade. Rumours about the bandits hauling away corpses had him suspect that it was the work of necromancers and their undead servants. It was a mission that called for immediate action, one that required sheer blunt force rather than a carefully placed cut. Those who conduct dark arts deserves to be reprimanded for their disrespect of the dead. Guillaume wouldn't be able to bear seeing the rested bones of his ancestor being used for slave labour. On top of that, they too are despicably be grave robbing fortunes held by the dead. The group of people around him, his comrade-in-arms, were uniquely varied. Some he recognised, some were strangers. It brought familiar comfort to see István and Cadmon among Lady Hraesleg's ranks. At least the skirmishes they'll be facing will be under István's careful guidance-- the same expertise that allowed Earl Demet to squash the rebel and bandit proliferation in the northern region. The young Demet was for the most part a mystery. To live up to Edric was a role that's difficult to fill. Speaking of, how has the Earl been? Guillaume approached the towering figure with a casual stride. @HereComesTheSnow"It's good to see you again after all these years István. How is the Earl Demet and his Lady?" <If Cadmon is near to István> He too looked on to the young Demet. @The Otter"You've grown much taller since the last time I saw you. How are the vassals in your care?"</s>

<|message|>Irian Sinewell Irian lifted his chin a little staring at the map silently as Velvetica explained her logic and reasoning behind her suspicion, and that it was neither bandits nor Ithillanes, but rather cultists, likely using necromancy and/or slave labours for their operations. All abhorrent behavior, all of them, but this was not at all surprising to Irian. He had heard somewhat of the cultists that Velvetica referred to, but it was more hearsay than anything, as he hadn't really have to deal with people like these in the past. Or it's equally possible that they indistinguishably belong to the same shallow graves of the bandits who dared to intrude Wood Elf territory. He never really knew proper, but reprehensible behavior like this wasn't actually too hard to understand, or at least conceive what could drive people to such a thing. Irian glanced around the room as a sense of disgust towards the perpetrators and a resolve to bring down this group of individuals emerged, seeing some rather interesting but mostly unknown faces. A truly unique and diverse band of warriors, which made it rather more interesting to read the responses of. While most individuals simply reaffirm their readiness to fight, a common response typical of a soldier and eager recruits, the ones raising his eyebrows more was the Nem merchant, who seemed to be asking the princess to escort her, but also wanting to help the princess dealing with the necromancers. It's a rather awkward statement to make of for the elf who was just silently crossing his arms, keeping eyes on her as she spoke, but the sentimentalism felt a little bit sly to him. Either way that the princess replied, Irian, still with his hands crossed in front, looked at Velvetica for the most part but also glancing around to those who were paying attention to the briefing if they had any inputs as well. "It's good we are in agreement. But how do we want to approach these suspected cultists?" He asked, the one question that he had all the hopes that she was ready to answer. "By stealth or by force?"</s>

<|description|>Irian Sinewell Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: Wood Elf Appearance: Irian stands at an average 5'7 (175cm), with a reasonably yet decently well-built body. His blonde hair extends shoulder-length, to contrast with his green eyes. His attire is generally green as befitting his Wood Elf origin, but he has also incorporated purple as the other shade in his clothes. Personality: From the looks of it, Irian is quite a serious individual, rather straightforward, duty driven and concentrated, and is quite professional even when it comes to small talks, but if you were to try to go out of their way to strike up a conversation with him, he wouldn't mind it, but don't expect any lengthy talks. He's also a decently open person when it comes to knowledge, whether it is his fighting capabilities, his past, his roots as an Veltian elf, etc, as long as there are nothing taboo, or a person is coming to him in good honest faith, he's willing to reciprocate the feeling. Irian is fueled by a desire to learn and understand the world around him, not out of an altruistic and abstract vision that 'Knowledge is power'. Knowledge IS power, but that power is used to survive close by to Ithillin. There is a concrete and material gain from absorbing knowledge about the world, and he's all for it. He is very observant and reads others well, and naturally he is quite good when it comes to politics and diplomacy. Brief Backstory: Irian was born in one of the few forest settlements by the Wood Elves lying somewhere in the Velt's eastern borders. As the middle sibling, as his parents grew older, Irian was given a lot of privilege when it comes to social standings. He was not groomed into being head of family, nor was he living in the shadows of any siblings. He was his own person, and that allowed him to pursue his career as a forest watcher as soon as he matured. Being forest watchers, his role was to keep eyes on any unwanted visitors, whether that be Veltians or Ithilianes, or even other creatures who wandered their ways into the elve's sights. Being a distinct and integral position for an elf to be in, Irian was taught pretty much everything an elf was supposed to be taught: hunting, survival skills and archery. And he surely did prove himself to be both an accurate shot and a fast one, though it's not always both. While it was important work, the remote position of his settlement did make jobs quite simple for the first few years. However, that was about to change. The brewing cold war between Velt and Ithillin were slowly creeping up to the elves, who were caught in between both sides. Border skirmishes became more common, and forest watchers like Irians found themselves in incredibly tenuous position of possibly starting conflicts between the elves and the kingdoms, which they stood no chance against, or between those two kingdoms with each other, which would still result in the elves getting roped in nonetheless. The tension could no longer be ignored when a particularly aggressive Ithillin patrols open fired on the forest watchers, which led to a firefight that lasted for hours between the soldiers. The superior archery and home terrain of the elves drove the Ithilianes back, but this victory would not mean much, as the elf leaders feared retaliations from the Ithilianes. Seeing that playing both sides in the conflict would lead the elves nowhere but misery and destruction, they decided to cooperate with the Veltian, who were friendlier to them to begin with. Irian, also having understood the current climate his city found themselves in, volunteered to join the Hraesleg Lions, a growing authority in the borderlands, hoping they would be willing to protect the elves if war breaks out. Equipment: Being a forest ranger, Irian possesses and is very familiar with his bow, in which he takes very rigorous care of to make sure his every shot still rings true. Aside from that, he is also equipped with a short sword for any melee combat situations. His relatively standard armor is received more recently due to his employment in the Hraesleg Lions, having a more all-rounded combat role rather than forest watchers. Skills: Irian is a highly skilled bow users, well-trained in elfen archery, with shots so accurate it could be measured with a gold coin. In need of a target disposed from afar, Irian is the right person for that task. Despite that, being more open to other forms of archery, Irian is also trained in a more high-speed, medium-ranged styled archery that seeks to loose as many arrows as possible onto the enemy. Irian is also adequately trained on anemo magic, mostly to be chanted into his equipment, increasing the power, range or piercing capabilities of his bow/arrow, or in some niche cases allowing him to bend the trajectory of his projectiles slightly, albeit it would need to be premeditated. He is also able to hold his own in melee, but don't expect any miracles from it.</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah had been hoping for a little more fanfare, a heartfelt declaration of protection, or even a mention of how cute and amazing she was and what a pleasure it would be to defend her. She had no right to expect it, of course. Not from someone of Velvetica's stature (social), in particular. Still, it was something. She smiled happily, her expression conveying that Velvetica's response was as pleasing to Lirrah as she could possibly have imagined. All Lirrah really needed was Velvetica's word to do her best to protect her. Velvetica seemed the sort to put a lot of stock in verbal contracts (you shouldn't), and it would have been as good as the ink it wasn't written in that Lirrah would come back virtually unscathed. Well, she supposed it was hard to promise such things in times like these. Still, she was not expecting to be part of the battle plan. It was almost flattering, being treated as a mercenary asset. Like she was a real knight or something. But real knights got killed. Her eyes drifted to Guillaume once more, who was ecstatically hobnobbing with perhaps two of the most important and dour gentlemen she had been apprised of in the whole camp. How did a man that seemingly naïve survive this long? Perhaps she would have back row seats. Anyways, if she was on good terms with the knight, and he was on good terms with Cadmon, there may be some business prospects there. Still, the business at hand was surviving. Lirrah gave Velvetica a polite curtsey, and smiled brightly. "Thank you, lady Hraesleg. I will look out for any dangers that may come our way, and do my utmost with my meager compat abilities. Oh, and please feel free to stop py my tent more often! You have a standing 10% off 'Saving My Life' discount on any items you desire! I can get anything you want, lady Hraesleg. Anything." Lirrah turned to the bowman next to her, who had asked about the battle plan. She supposed she would be grouped with him soon, and Lirrah hadn't had much of a chance to interact with many Elves. They seemed to be rather reclusive here, and borderline nonexistent back home. All she knew was that they apparently lived for a very long time. Maybe some of them had a lot of savings squirreled away, though she wouldn't assume. Either way, he was pretty and had a sort of austere regality to him. Then again, a lot of the Lions were pretty. You wouldn't think it, but Ila-Nem were they pretty. Of course, Lirrah knew she was the cutest and prettiest, but a more insecure type would probably be grinding her teeth looking at everyone. Well, maybe she felt a little threatened. She smiled up at the archer and gave him a wink. "My, you look tall and strong! I'm sure I'll feel safe with a reliable gentleman like yourself," Lirrah sang, pouring on the charm like strawberry jam on a dry biscuit, "Let's protect each other out there, shall we? I look forward to working together~" What Lirrah meant by this, of course, was that the taller and stronger combatant should take some responsibility for protecting the shorter, weaker one. The way she said it, however, made it seem almost like an equal partnership. A joint business venture in which they'd both gleefully profit, when the reality was that she'd want Irian to do most of the tough work while she languished upon her own timidity and reaped rewards.</s> <|message|>Urden Antiac "So they aren't using the corpses in raids. If I was a betting man, I'd wager they are throwing bodies at whatever they are looking for. Dead don't get tired, far as I assume." Urden was considering the brief so far, and the plan was quite the simple one, which left little to go wrong. Bait an ambush from the necromancer's minions, slaughter enough of them to route, and pursue them into whatever camp and holes they hid in. From there? Butcher them all, ideally with the necromancer long dead to an assassin's blade. Sounded like a good night's work to him, regardless of the damn fool nature of bringing a merchant along. It would end up selling the illusion of not being a trap, after all, who would bring a merchant along for an intended assault? Still, back with the archers was safe, plenty of time to run if things went truly sideways. Well, least as far as those short legs could manage. Reasonable enough plan, hell, if it all went smoothly he'd get his pay today without having to hack apart the too many corpses, into enough pieces they stopped fighting back. He knew he would be in the frontline crush of the fight, which suited him just fine. No hazard pay would be present, not with work like this, but it was the best place to find it all the same. "So, any chance we'll have a rough idea where their attack will come from Boss? I figure we'll want the vanguard folks like me ready and waiting to meet the raid with extreme violence." Odds were they would have a fair spread of the best of the best throughout the lead elements, to hold the line against the raid as it came in on the bait convoy, but Urden had a feeling there would be need for his special brand of axe work. Holding long enough for the ambush to play out proper was what would be needed. The mercenary had gotten back on his feet to look over the map and plan, speaking to the princess in a fairly cavalier manner compared to some, though he always addressed his employers as Boss, it was just the nature of things. At the moment he hadn't much else to say to the others present so far, fortunately the merchant wasn't going to need an escort. That would have been an easy job though, stand back and hack down anything lucky enough to get close to the archers and merchant. Wouldn't have gotten him anywhere quick though, all the more reason to stay at the front where he worked best. Still, that all depended on what the Princess had to say.</s>

<|message|>Irian Sinewell It's not a big surprise that he was to be the backline fighters and picking his targets from range, unless Velvetica had better ideas to put him on stealth duty like Kayliss, but he had a bit of doubt about that idea. Velt's battle plans and doctrine were a lot more symmetrical. Armies come and fight mostly in the open field of honor, locked in battles of wits and tenacity, and the superior army would emerge victorious. Woof Elves, however, tend to be a lot more 'dishonorable' if some were to judge, but it was effective nonetheless. Irian is a flexible person though; long range one-shot one-kill type of engagement was exactly his forte. The Nem he was observing earlier made quite the charm on introduction. The elf would have been easily manipulated by the sweetness if he had more shred of vanity in him, but it was a difficult trait to live with. It was already hard enough living in nature, as much as it might seem otherwise. And his family always took the earliest chance possible to knock him down a peg every time he had any idea of personal aggrandizement. "Well, I'm glad to hear. I'm certain you will perform in battle just as well." He said, his tone quite a bit more flattering, but he tried to keep it as grounded as possible. Knowing Nem traditions of combat, as well as Lirrah being good enough to be around in the Lions, there was a certain amount of trust placed in there. "Can't help each other though if we don't know our names." He gave a smile and extended an arm for the Nem to shake, and if she were to accept it, it wouldn't be a traditional handshake, but Irian would grip onto her lower arm instead, expecting the same gesture. It was not just an equal partnership but more comradeship and trust involved. "Irian Sinewell. Or just Iri. No formality needed within our ranks."</s>

<|description|>Irian Sinewell Age: 26 Gender: Male Race: Wood Elf Appearance: Irian stands at an average 5'7 (175cm), with a reasonably yet decently well-built body. His blonde hair extends shoulder-length, to contrast with his green eyes. His attire is generally green as befitting his Wood Elf origin, but he has also incorporated purple as the other shade in his clothes. Personality: From the looks of it, Irian is quite a serious individual, rather straightforward, duty driven and concentrated, and is quite professional even when it comes to small talks, but if you were to try to go out of their way to strike up a conversation with him, he wouldn't mind it, but don't expect any lengthy talks. He's also a decently open person when it comes to knowledge, whether it is his fighting capabilities, his past, his roots as an Veltian elf, etc, as long as there are nothing taboo, or a person is coming to him in good honest faith, he's willing to reciprocate the feeling. Irian is fueled by a desire to learn and understand the world around him, not out of an altruistic and abstract vision that 'Knowledge is power'. Knowledge IS power, but that power is used to survive close by to Ithillin. There is a concrete and material gain from absorbing knowledge about the world, and he's all for it. He is very observant and reads others well, and naturally he is quite good when it comes to politics and diplomacy. Brief Backstory: Irian was born in one of the few forest settlements by the Wood Elves lying somewhere in the Velt's eastern borders. As the middle sibling, as his parents grew older, Irian was given a lot of privilege when it comes to social standings. He was not groomed into being head of family, nor was he living in the shadows of any siblings. He was his own person, and that allowed him to pursue his career as a forest watcher as soon as he matured. Being forest watchers, his role was to keep eyes on any unwanted visitors, whether that be Veltians or Ithilianes, or even other creatures who wandered their ways into the elve's sights. Being a distinct and integral position for an elf to be in, Irian was taught pretty much everything an elf was supposed to be taught: hunting, survival skills and archery. And he surely did prove himself to be both an accurate shot and a fast one, though it's not always both. While it was important work, the remote position of his settlement did make jobs quite simple for the first few years. However, that was about to change. The brewing cold war between Velt and Ithillin were slowly creeping up to the elves, who were caught in between both sides. Border skirmishes became more common, and forest watchers like Irians found themselves in incredibly tenuous position of possibly starting conflicts between the elves and the kingdoms, which they stood no chance against, or between those two kingdoms with each other, which would still result in the elves getting roped in nonetheless. The tension could no longer be ignored when a particularly aggressive Ithillin patrols open fired on the forest watchers, which led to a firefight that lasted for hours between the soldiers. The superior archery and home terrain of the elves drove the Ithilianes back, but this victory would not mean much, as the elf leaders feared retaliations from the Ithilianes. Seeing that playing both sides in the conflict would lead the elves nowhere but misery and destruction, they decided to cooperate with the Veltian, who were friendlier to them to begin with. Irian, also having understood the current climate his city found themselves in, volunteered to join the Hraesleg Lions, a growing authority in the borderlands, hoping they would be willing to protect the elves if war breaks out. Equipment: Being a forest ranger, Irian possesses and is very familiar with his bow, in which he takes very rigorous care of to make sure his every shot still rings true. Aside from that, he is also equipped with a short sword for any melee combat situations. His relatively standard armor is received more recently due to his employment in the Hraesleg Lions, having a more all-rounded combat role rather than forest watchers. Skills: Irian is a highly skilled bow users, well-trained in elfen archery, with shots so accurate it could be measured with a gold coin. In need of a target disposed from afar, Irian is the right person for that task. Despite that, being more open to other forms of archery, Irian is also trained in a more high-speed, medium-ranged styled archery that seeks to loose as many arrows as possible onto the enemy. Irian is also adequately trained on anemo magic, mostly to be chanted into his equipment, increasing the power, range or piercing capabilities of his bow/arrow, or in some niche cases allowing him to bend the trajectory of his projectiles slightly, albeit it would need to be premeditated. He is also able to hold his own in melee, but don't expect any miracles from it.</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah smiled sweetly as Irian extended his hand. His words implied, perhaps, that she would be expected to do more work than her own words suggested. Well, it wasn't as if she was planning on doing nothing, and it wasn't like the Elf would have the luxury of watching her the whole time, but it was significantly more expectation than she was used to. Still, when a soldier offers a hand, you shake. This could not be refused, she imagined, as soldiers were a tight-knit group. Spurn one, spurn many. Befriend one, befriend many. That, and he threw in a nickname. Nicknames were excellent for business relations. Trading some small degree of combat expectation for this much social clout had Lirrah coming out like a bandit. Lirrah reached out to daintily take his hand, and suddenly found her arm clasped in the bond of battle siblings. She trembled a little, but gripped the man's arm with as much force as her tiny body could muster. This was more than she had bargained for, but if she was gonna do it, she had to do it properly. "Iri, then," she snatched up the offered nickname like a wolf to a steak, "it's a pleasure~ I am Lirrah Matayannah! As someone new to these lands, it is always good to meet new friends~" 'New friends' was, perhaps, a little presumptuous, but if she was taking the arm-clasp, she was taking everything she could. And her smile was nectar while- OH ILA-NEM- Lirrah practically jumped out of her boots when yet another scary person accosted her, this one brandishing an order in her face. With her pale face made even paler, she awkwardly broke the handshake to snatch up the list, giving Iri an apologetic smile. As this went on, the discussion about the plan continued, including Cadmon's talking about using her as bait. If Lirrah was capable of shooting a terse death glare that would make someone fear for their safety, then Cadmon would feel it. She was, thankfully, not capable of this. Cadmon was fantastic as a potential customer, so she would just have to remember to overcharge him. As Lirrah looked over the list, she was able to connect it with the sorts of requests she'd get from certain shady individuals. She was no apothecary, and she didn't particularly ask questions, but she could recognize ingredients for a poison when she saw them now. Velvetica-sanctioned poison. Very interesting. Lirrah smiled up at the woman who, after the initial shock, actually wasn't so scary. She had dealt with customers that had gazes like hers before. They were typically the dour sort. Maybe a little sad. "Oh, dear me, no," Lirrah apologized without apologizing, "the 10% off is for her personal use. If it was for anything the Lions needed, I'd be selling everything lower. I'd put myself out of a jop!!" Lirrah pouted cutely. "Although... I'll tell you what: I wouldn't like to leave a pretty woman like you disappointed. How apout we make it 15% off if you commit to a reoccurring order? Say... once a month, for three months at least? We can do more if you need, though. Some of this stuff I have, yet a few things here are hard to get hold of. The more you order in advance, the more likely you'll have it on hand if you need more than you thought. Isn't that a great deal? It's propably something you'd order anyways, put at 15% off! I'm gonna ruin myself at that rate~" She gave the woman a honey-sweet wink as the battle discussion was wrapping up. To no one's surprise, Lirrah wouldn't be bait. They did get to vandalize evil effigies, though. She guessed that would be a big hit for most of the soldiers. They'd probably use the chance to flex their creativity. How productive!</s> <|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw The Steel Princess conceded a point that the necromancers would no doubt be at least somewhat aware of the Lions' presence. Her plan, however, already appeared to factor this in- they would not simply passively bait the foe out, rather the Lions would provoke them in an act of iconoclasm to rouse them into reaction. With any luck, Roger surmised, such a spur of the moment retaliation would prove sloppy and lacking in planning. Velvetica announced that she was going to allow the Lions to volunteer for roles- at her sole discretion, of course. Roger already believed he knew the role he was most suited for. Lirrah, the Nem merchant, was busy haggling with Kayliss for poison components. Roger wasn't sure if she'd be tagging along. She was quite useful as a supplier, and one could make the argument that she was too valuable logistically to risk in combat. On the other hand, she was also a decent archer and grenadier, made even more lethal by the disarming facade of harmlessness that she had mastered. Kayliss might be the Lions' dedicated assassin, but Roger suspected that Lirrah would be quite the deadly infiltrator if she needed to be. Sir Guillaume had already volunteered to play the role as bait. No surprise there- he was the archetypical knight-in-shining-armor, the sort of beacon of chivalry and courage that Roger's mother would want him to emulate. This meant he would be just the kind of person whom they would expect would vandalize the necromancer's effigies with minimal regard for being retaliated upon even if outnumbered. If they see him riding around and tearing their icons apart, they'd have little reason to assume that it's part of a trap, because that's just what valorous men like him do. "Shortclaw and I volunteer to take part in the ambush team," he announced. "We're not exactly suitable to play the role of bait, but we're quite confident in our ability to outflank and pursue." The griffin rider looked around at the others, awaiting to see what roles the others would be volunteering for.</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- @HereComesTheSnow --- Cadmon stood still as Velvetica spoke up, issuing forth her commands to the group. It seemed her reputation as a genius and prodigy was well earned; her quick adjustment spoke to an agile mind. 'The other part of our strategy,' indeed. Sometimes, genius wasn't just in the ability to think outside of the box, the ability to rapidly take in changing information and account for it, the amount of knowledge gained over a time of study—sometimes the ability to save face and preserve a reputation was just as important. As Velvetica looked over the group within her tent, he met her gaze with a level, blank stare, murmuring "Nice save." Likely quiet enough that István wouldn't even hear it, sharp as his ears were, though Cadmon expected that his hulking retainer was thinking something along the same lines. He maintained his own stare a moment more as Velvetica's gaze passed on, before turning towards the large knight and raising his voice slightly so that his man could hear. "István, pick who you see fit and lead one of the raiding parties. Harass their defenses and smash their effigies, like Lady Velvetica said. Aside from that, the particulars of how you draw them out are up to you." At least he couldn't find fault with how Velvetica had seen fit to mollify the competing factions in the discussion; even if the supply caravan likely wouldn't make good bait compared to the supposed skirmishers, it could at least serve to distract the necromantic cult long enough to let the rest of the bait strategy come to fruition. "I'll stay in my usual ward, unless she should request otherwise. Do take care not to get killed."</s>

<|message|>Irian Sinewell "Lirrah." Irian nodded. "New friends are indeed worth the effort." Lirrah would be continuing what she does best if it hadn't been for Kayliss, which caused the Nem's attention span to shift straight to trying out discounts on her. Truly a merchant indeed. He decided to listen to the ongoing discussion around the strategies they were going to employ. Baiting out enemies were more in the minds of the soldiers around here than he expected. The only disagreement that the group was having was more of the methodology of doing it, which Irian found a little amusing that it was more of how much they could trick a suspicious opponent. To him, if the opponent was suspicious enough to not take the bait on the caravan strategy, then luring out their entire group with a raiding party would just be biting on rocks a little harder. The difference there would just be the degree of the cultist's arrogance. If anything, what would concern him more would be how devastating the Lions can inflict on the enemy and to that Irian believed more on Velvetica's initial strategy. Caravan ambush is a lot easier to envelope and completely decimate the cultists rather than relying on good warriors to lure enemies out through fighting capabilities. What the Steel Princess decided on was more trying to offend the cultists instead to actually lure them out into a fight, which made sense too. Pretty much an element from both of their strategies combined, without the need to risk the Nem merchant and their supplies. If they took the bait and walked directly into an ambush, then perfect, one less enemy for Velts. And if they were competent enough, well now they knew. The elf simply followed along with his arms crossed, his silence conveying his agreements. "I'll ambush." Irian said tersely. "It's better, and I'm certain the princess wants archers at the backline anyway."</s>

<|description|>Roger Falkner Age: 23 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Armored Unhelmeted His mount, fully armored Roger stands at 5'8" without his armor. Personality: Being intended as the first in a line of griffin knights, Roger has always felt pressure placed upon him. The strength to endure it, and the motivation to pursue it, has been thanks to his companionship with his griffin mount. Given the choice, he will forego most luxuries that his station might offer, such as a fancy meal or a warm bed, in favor of sharing a kill and curling up with his mount at night. In fact, being separated from his griffin causes him some degree of anxiety, partially due to his worries that his beast could get up to trouble- or at least become agitated- if left unsupervised. Roger is ambivalent on the nobility. While there are indeed many brave and dutiful nobles, like the princess and his mother's family, he's also rather unimpressed with the silly notions that their lineage somehow makes them special. He may not be as prideful as his mount, but if some arrogant fop insults his family's lineage, they might lose a very expensive horse or two. One thing that remains at the back of his mind is his worries about what will happen when his griffin finds a mate. Will it still be able to serve as his mount? Would their bond remain? It's not an immediate concern, but it's a worry that he cannot dispel. Brief Backstory: For many generations, the Falkner family were renowned across Velt as griffin breeders and tamers. For most of their history, they were not nobility, but were nonetheless quite well-off due to the price that a trained griffin could command. This situation changed when one of the family's sons married a knightess from a minor noble family of little means, raising the family to nobility. Roger was the firstborn son of this union, and the first of the Falkner name to be born to nobility. He lived much of his early life at the family's mountain eyrie where his father taught him the family business of handling and riding griffins. He learned to handle these dangerous, prideful predators without getting injured, how to train them, and how to ride them across the skies. Meanwhile, his mother trained him in the ways of a knight, hoping that Roger would follow in her family's martial traditions. They hoped that they could raise him to become the family's first griffin knight. At first, his parents expectations for him seemed lofty, even unreasonable, and Roger struggled. He might have never managed to live up to their hopes if it were not for the fledgling griffin that was chosen to be raised as his mount. The beast became his closest companion, and bonding with it made him all the more invested in becoming a griffin knight, and more capable of enduring the pressure. When Roger was knighted, it sent a message to the aristocracy of Velt that the Falkners intended to usher in a new tradition of raising up not just griffins, but also knights to ride them. Many of the nobility, however, were skeptical of Roger's credentials and abilities as a knight, seeing him as the son of an upstart family with little martial tradition. However, because of the value of an airborne cavalryman and the trustworthy reputation of his family, he was able to secure a position serving under Velvetica Hraesleg, where his role was mostly relegated to relaying messages, reconnaissance, and, if his commander requested, transportation. This changed as Velvetica's unit began to take on more formidable foes, and during the attack on the orc warband, Roger and Shortclaw faced their foes' porcine cavalry and cut them down, their first real fight. Since then, as Velvetica's unit has stepped up its role, Roger and his griffin have assumed a more active combat role, flanking their enemies and tearing into their cavalry and war beasts. Equipment: Shortclaw A male griffin, raised alongside Roger since it was old enough to leave its nest. More than just a mount, it is Roger's closest and most valued friend. It is a preening, prideful creature, and while it will not attack humans or horses unprovoked, it will react poorly to being restrained by anyone other than Roger- and even then it'll probably whine. As far as griffins go, it is in excellent physical condition and quite capable of inflicting lethal injuries with its beak and claws. After Roger joined the Lions, he has managed to train Shortclaw to allow the princess to touch it and climb onto its back, although he wouldn't want her to take the reins without him being present. Armor and Barding Roger's armor was designed for griffin riding in mind. It provides protection from both the cold winds when flying and the blades of enemies. His mount is also well-armored, clad in barding that bears a weight-reduction enchantment. Spear Roger's primary weapon is a long, winged spear, designed to strike foes from his perch atop his mount, and prevent skewered foes from getting closer. Survival kit It is important for a griffin knight to be prepared for the possibility of going down in the wilderness, and Roger is consequently equipped with a satchel of basic tools for wilderness survival, including a knife, bandages, a tinder box, a water skin, spare saddle straps, and a small metal pot. Skills: While Roger is inexperienced, his parents trained him well in the basic skills needed to be a griffin knight. He grew up around griffins, and the fact that he still has all of his fingers is a testament to his competence in handling them. While he is not nearly at his father's level in this area, he can nonetheless train griffins to be comfortable around humans and obey basic orders, and is quite comfortable riding them both on the ground and in the air. In addition to what his father taught him, he was trained by his mother in the ways of knighthood, and focused particularly in the art of fighting with spears.</s> <|message|>Kayliss Lambert Kayliss Lambert Strangely enough, life as a Lion had been far less eventful than life as a Crownsblade in her months of service thus far, even with the border tensions. Then again, Kayliss had overheard some of the veterans saying war was at least half waiting. Kayliss could wait, certainly. But even having patience didn't stop the waiting from being monotonous. She'd not been tapped to be a scout this time, so she was simply waiting around camp, taking a seat as she did another check on her weaponry. Her crossbow, knives, shortsword, and dagger all proved themselves to be in good condition, just as they had been the last time she made this check but mere hours ago. Social activity wasn't much of an option, either. Certainly, Kayliss was familiar with at least a few members of their force. Some even rather high up. But word had gotten around that she was an assassin of some sort, and thus the common soldiery was rather leery of interacting with her. Fortunately, whoever had been responsible for that information leak didn't bring up the Crownsblades at all, or there would be far more cause for concern. Her working theory was that Lady Velvetica, who was one of the very few that knew all the details of her story, mentioned her status as an assassin off-hand at some point, and it had spread. At least she knew not to mention the fact that the throne of Velt had an otherwise secret organization of shadowy killers. An organization that was shattered now. A frown marred her face at the thought, and how she was no closer to an answer after several months. Just then, she was interrupted by one of the aforementioned acquaintances she knew. Cadmon Demet. A decent sort for a lord, even if he was barely a man. Still, from what Kayliss had gathered on the moody earl, well, she had good reason to believe he had rather poor reasons to be so sullen all the time. Regardless, it wouldn't quite do to antagonize him without reason. "Earl Demet." Kayliss nodded back, her ponytail waving behind her as a slight breeze kicked up. "Am I to receive orders, then? Is there a target?" At least, she hoped it was a chance to get back out into the field. Goddesses help both her dwindling patience and Cadmon should this turn out to be something especially foolish.</s> <|message|>Irian Sinewell Irian Sinewell --- In this desolate, barren rocky lands, the sight of dark brown soil was definitely worth a look at. No creatures, even faes or the dreaded Midnight Hunt were to cause the earth to be this disturbed. And it wasn't nice and easy either, so much of these were either intentionally upturned or something else big had caused this phenomena. Increasingly, the notion that regular bandits were behind these raids grew twisted. From the beginning, the wood elf could somewhat entertain the idea. After all, bandits could be just as organized as any professional assassin attacks if they were led well. However, this felt a little off to him. According to reports, they were also stealing the deceased as well as the living. He wouldn't discount unrelated freaks and crazies involved, but for his often alarmist and cautious mind, he had to be prepared that it wasn't what he or they wanted. The elf silently moved inbetween the jagged white rocks, each step simply eased into the earth softly, bow in hand, an arrow in another. While many of these rocks looked natural, shaped by the unforgiving river of time, there were some rocks with sharp edges that were clearly broken by force. 'More unnatural activities.' Irian grazed the rock as he neared. It was beginning to feel a little bit unpleasant. A couple more steps forward and a rather disturbing sight came into view. A skull of some unfortunate souls atop a stick. From a distance, the elf could not really discern if the skull was real or not, and he did not even want to touch the possibility that the skull was just a disturbed creature robbed from its grave, or was someone tortured and beheaded on a stick. The thought of someone being put through that kind of atrocity, it disgusted him. Either way, he needed to head back to the Princess. He had seen enough. Their settlement would likely not be that far off from there.</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- Landshark --- The effort needed to resist rolling his eyes was nearly herculean. What was needed to keep his jaw shut for a moment was even greater. No, no, I just thought I'd take a romantic stroll around the war camp with my favourite assassin. As much as he wanted to say something sarcastic like that, it would be pointless. Antagonizing her would be no help at all with what they were soon to face; beyond that, he had little doubt of his low likelihood of waking up in the morning if she decided she disliked him enough. Not that she seemed inclined to harm an ally, certainly not in that way, but he only trusted an assassin as far as he could throw them. Given that Kayliss was a somewhat tall human woman rather than a Nem, that wasn't very far at all. "With any luck," he said after a moment. No true confirmation for her question, yet, but he was hoping. "Assuming they didn't meet with an unfortunate fate, our scouts are due to make their reports to Lady Velvetica today. If they bring back something useful, I'm hoping that we could make use of your talents."</s>

<|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw There's is something strange about the ground down there. From above, Roger could see splotches of terrain taking on a different color as they got closer to the bandits' hideout. They had been flying low to avoid detection, but it was still high enough to see a stark difference from the surrounding land. It wasn't unusual to see land of different colors whenever they flew over farmland, but this was no freshly tilled field, ready for planting, and it was far too extensive to be the work of small burrowing animals. This was...well, he had no idea what it was. Even stranger, he glimpsed a few objects on the ground that looked a little like scarecrows. Surely the bandits couldn't actually be trying to work the land down there, especially in this rocky area, right? It was a curious enough matter that Roger opted to take a closer look. He circled around, then signaled his mount to descend and land. The griffin slowed its flight and touched down on the suffiently large clearing of disturbed earth, bounding off the ground once before coming to a stop, causing Roger to bounce in his saddle. The first thing the rider did was take a few moments to glance around the area to ensure there was no trouble awaiting them.. He hadn't seen anyone when flying overhead, but it paid to be cautious. Shortclaw turned his head around as well, also on the lookout for trouble. If he doesn't see anything, we should be clear. His eyes are keener than mine. As he looked around, he noticed one of the "scarecrows" he had thought he spotted. That's no scarecrow, he thought to himself, uneasy at what he beheld. It was a crude, macabre effigy of some sort, crafted with bones and topped with a humanoid skull, creaking eerily as it rocked in the strong wind. Just what were these bandits doing out here, and why would they create such twisted totems? He already knew that these bandits were doing some strange and unsettling things, and the fact that they'd construct these things raised some questions as to just what they were up to. In contrast to his increasingly uneasy rider, Shortclaw seemed completely unfazed and uninterested in the effigy, probably because there was no meat on the bones. "Let's get back to the camp," Roger spoke, signaling the griffin to take flight. Shortclaw began to run forward and flap his wings, leapt into the air against the wind, and began gaining altitude. There wasn't much else to do here, so once they climbed above the treetops, Roger directed his mount back to the camp. He wasn't entirely sure what these strange effigies meant, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. Perhaps the Steel Princess or one of the Lions' more learned members, or one of the other scouts, would have a better idea.</s>

<|description|>Roger Falkner Age: 23 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Armored Unhelmeted His mount, fully armored Roger stands at 5'8" without his armor. Personality: Being intended as the first in a line of griffin knights, Roger has always felt pressure placed upon him. The strength to endure it, and the motivation to pursue it, has been thanks to his companionship with his griffin mount. Given the choice, he will forego most luxuries that his station might offer, such as a fancy meal or a warm bed, in favor of sharing a kill and curling up with his mount at night. In fact, being separated from his griffin causes him some degree of anxiety, partially due to his worries that his beast could get up to trouble- or at least become agitated- if left unsupervised. Roger is ambivalent on the nobility. While there are indeed many brave and dutiful nobles, like the princess and his mother's family, he's also rather unimpressed with the silly notions that their lineage somehow makes them special. He may not be as prideful as his mount, but if some arrogant fop insults his family's lineage, they might lose a very expensive horse or two. One thing that remains at the back of his mind is his worries about what will happen when his griffin finds a mate. Will it still be able to serve as his mount? Would their bond remain? It's not an immediate concern, but it's a worry that he cannot dispel. Brief Backstory: For many generations, the Falkner family were renowned across Velt as griffin breeders and tamers. For most of their history, they were not nobility, but were nonetheless quite well-off due to the price that a trained griffin could command. This situation changed when one of the family's sons married a knightess from a minor noble family of little means, raising the family to nobility. Roger was the firstborn son of this union, and the first of the Falkner name to be born to nobility. He lived much of his early life at the family's mountain eyrie where his father taught him the family business of handling and riding griffins. He learned to handle these dangerous, prideful predators without getting injured, how to train them, and how to ride them across the skies. Meanwhile, his mother trained him in the ways of a knight, hoping that Roger would follow in her family's martial traditions. They hoped that they could raise him to become the family's first griffin knight. At first, his parents expectations for him seemed lofty, even unreasonable, and Roger struggled. He might have never managed to live up to their hopes if it were not for the fledgling griffin that was chosen to be raised as his mount. The beast became his closest companion, and bonding with it made him all the more invested in becoming a griffin knight, and more capable of enduring the pressure. When Roger was knighted, it sent a message to the aristocracy of Velt that the Falkners intended to usher in a new tradition of raising up not just griffins, but also knights to ride them. Many of the nobility, however, were skeptical of Roger's credentials and abilities as a knight, seeing him as the son of an upstart family with little martial tradition. However, because of the value of an airborne cavalryman and the trustworthy reputation of his family, he was able to secure a position serving under Velvetica Hraesleg, where his role was mostly relegated to relaying messages, reconnaissance, and, if his commander requested, transportation. This changed as Velvetica's unit began to take on more formidable foes, and during the attack on the orc warband, Roger and Shortclaw faced their foes' porcine cavalry and cut them down, their first real fight. Since then, as Velvetica's unit has stepped up its role, Roger and his griffin have assumed a more active combat role, flanking their enemies and tearing into their cavalry and war beasts. Equipment: Shortclaw A male griffin, raised alongside Roger since it was old enough to leave its nest. More than just a mount, it is Roger's closest and most valued friend. It is a preening, prideful creature, and while it will not attack humans or horses unprovoked, it will react poorly to being restrained by anyone other than Roger- and even then it'll probably whine. As far as griffins go, it is in excellent physical condition and quite capable of inflicting lethal injuries with its beak and claws. After Roger joined the Lions, he has managed to train Shortclaw to allow the princess to touch it and climb onto its back, although he wouldn't want her to take the reins without him being present. Armor and Barding Roger's armor was designed for griffin riding in mind. It provides protection from both the cold winds when flying and the blades of enemies. His mount is also well-armored, clad in barding that bears a weight-reduction enchantment. Spear Roger's primary weapon is a long, winged spear, designed to strike foes from his perch atop his mount, and prevent skewered foes from getting closer. Survival kit It is important for a griffin knight to be prepared for the possibility of going down in the wilderness, and Roger is consequently equipped with a satchel of basic tools for wilderness survival, including a knife, bandages, a tinder box, a water skin, spare saddle straps, and a small metal pot. Skills: While Roger is inexperienced, his parents trained him well in the basic skills needed to be a griffin knight. He grew up around griffins, and the fact that he still has all of his fingers is a testament to his competence in handling them. While he is not nearly at his father's level in this area, he can nonetheless train griffins to be comfortable around humans and obey basic orders, and is quite comfortable riding them both on the ground and in the air. In addition to what his father taught him, he was trained by his mother in the ways of knighthood, and focused particularly in the art of fighting with spears.</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela Listening quietly, the mage couldn't help but frown as Cadmon outlined his plan. Maybe it would work from a tactical perspective--she was hardly trained in military planning--but from a magical one, it struck her as crucially flawed. Unfortunately, that meant that she had to give up on her preferred anonymity and speak up. "Against a necromancer of unknown quantity, I would encourage everyone to avoid splitting into small groups. It would be too easy for any loss to be turned against us; if a single party is surprised beyond what it can handle, then not only would we be down half a dozen men, it would be as if they had turned traitor and now stand against us," the mage answered, "In the heat of battle, it would be an unlikely foe that could raise a host as the battle progresses, but only moderate skill would be needed with minutes to spare." There was even the other risk--if their foes included necromancers, could it not be that they had other mages? The ability to maintain groups prepared for any eventuality would diminish the more they shrunk. The prospect of being able to lose one group to a surprise show of concentrated force, then have that group turned against them... diluting their strengths would only benefit the ones who could grow in power as there were more fights. Otter</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- @Raineh Daze --- Cadmon quickly turned his gaze to Gisela, a deeper frown than her own on his face. "Then I suppose you'd like to dispense with the initial plan as well?" he asked, with a short nod to Velvetica. "Both entail us splitting apart our forces, after all, and I doubt that any of us are so lacking in sensibility that we'd leave whoever we send out as bait, in whichever manner, so wanting for aid so long—nor, assuming we pick who goes into my suggestion carefully, would they be so foolish as to strand each other. "In either scenario, the rest of us will be close enough to step in when the time is right. Miss Lambert will be ready as soon as their defences are opened enough to go and remove the threat of their necromancer or necromancers. Otherwise, we may as well commit to a direct assault rather than play around with any attempted subterfuge and ambush."</s> <|message|>Gisela Gisela "One large group and bait is far less risky. Making a single group that can hold out until reinforcements has much less splitting, does it not? There is no need to supplement the most skilled with the average, or reliance that this cult doesn't have a surprise that can overwhelm a small group by numbers or magic alone." "Are standard tactics not standard for a reason? If they err on the side of caution, then we can leverage our other offensive skills to force them out."</s> <|message|>Cadmon Edricsson Demet Cadmon Demet --- @Raineh Daze --- "Standard tactics would be sending out a basic raid without intent to immediately back them up, and without using them for nothing more than mild testing of the enemy defences," Cadmon said slowly. "Assuming this cult hasn't completely set their own brains to rot like the corpses they dig up, the initial plan is more likely to be ignored as an obvious trick than it is to be taken as bait. It's neither standard nor effective from my view."</s> <|message|>Guillaume Fortier the Sincere (or Gil) Guillaume --- The room's temperament is that of war-strategists planning their carefully laid out skirmishes. For a single moment when Guillaume has heard that Lady Demet has passed away... He felt a brief pause. The air was as cold as his grief that washed his face. Istvan's chiseled expression did not betray a sorrowful emotion, but the deep tone of his monolithic voice exudes a regretful undertone. Guillaume's hand crept to his breastplate. "My condolences. The world has lost a beautiful soul. May her spirit be lifted into Reon's arms." Lady Demet had treated Guillaume with much kindness, respect, and gentleness during his service. To see such an amazing woman passing on so early is crushing to the heart, and it must be more so for the Earl himself. "Pass on my condolence to the Earl. I will make sure to return and mourn for his loss in person, once this is all over." The reunion became a bittersweet gathering of sorts, which had to be ended quickly as the young Demet broke the brief silence. "Indeed, my travels have been both great and shameful at times." His hand slowly fell to his side. "Soon you'd have to test your governing abilities when your people are influenced by outside news." His voice was upbeating, trying to move on from the feelings of grief. "Politics would perhaps become your craft." The small conversation was put on hold as Lady Hraesleg began to lay out her plan of attack. It seems that Lirrah's pleading had earned her the role of night watch woman. It was her best abilities utilised effectively to avoid direct confrontation. Then, there was the assassin. For some reason, Lady Hraesleg had found it fitting to include an assassin into the Lions. The knight's brow furrowed as he laid eyes on her golden locks with uncertainty and some suspicion. He didn't exactly know who she was, but for Lady Hraesleg to have included must mean that she had an incredible recommendation from a Lord or some kind. Soon a disagreement broke between Gisela and Cadmon over whether to follow the usual combat practices rather than Lady Hraesleg's initial plan, with both presenting good points that should not be ignored. Though Guillaume remained quiet and thought over the battle plan for a moment. The plan is to lure the foxes out of their hole with essentially more bodies that could potentially be raised back by the necromancer close to their encampement or hideout. When they strike the 'bait', the rest of the Lions will attack in response and chase them into their hole, where the assassin would have already eliminated the Necromancer. "Lady Hraesleg," The knight responded. "I am willing to pose as the lure if we are to follow the initial plan, with six men to pose as guards to a caravan. The caravan can be filled with a few more of us to join the fight immediately." He could envision one version of events, where the enemy strikes their caravan, and soon would come to find out that the caravan of goods were but a decoy. "We'd be able to quickly eliminate them when they attack. Then, we ride into their encampment in similar numbers of the attackers as they'd be expecting the raiding party to return." To take Cadmon's note on the matter, "However if the enemy has indeed caught wind of the Lions hunting them and remained on the low, then we'd indeed need to quickly move to assault their base the old-fashioned way."</s> <|message|>István Shilage István Shilage Otter@VKAllen@VitaVitaAR I wouldn't worry. He's already mourned. "As it stands, they'd be exceedingly blind to not have noticed us." the large man offered, a brewing rejoinder to Guillaume's final plea and consideration. Of course he wanted to offer himself as the "bait" in accordance to the original plan laid out— Errancy being what it was, it forged an entirely singular consideration of skill, risk, and worth. In himself he would trust, and by the same token, only himself would he happily risk. Terribly honest. But upon such a note, that of subterfuge and earnestness's many intersecting foibles— His hand swept behind them, leading gazes to follow back through the bulk of the camp. The Lions were many things. "The fires of camp have seen to that. Large as our force is, the smoke will carry far on the wind and high above the plains. We're hard to miss." Subtle was rarely one of them.</s>

<|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw Roger said nothing as the others debated tactics for this battle. Shortclaw, meanwhile, was watching the exchange between Cadmon and Gisela, seemingly interested in their debate. It didn't matter much to the knight- Velvetica was the one who had the final say on the orders and plans. True, battles rarely went according to plan, but there was a big difference between going into battle intending to do something completely different than what you were ordered to do, and adapting to the changing battlefield even if it meant going against the letter of your orders. Still, there was no harm in discussing tactics, so long as everyone could be depended upon to do as they were ordered. Roger saw two merits in laying a trap for their raiders. First, it'd thin their numbers, robbing them of precious bodies to defend the camp. Second, it would provide Kayliss with disguises for her infiltration mission once their raiders are wiped out. He was unsure, however, how quickly the necromancers would react, both to the initial sighting of an ambush target, and to the subsequent failure of their attack. As far as his own role went, Roger guessed that he'd be placed with the ambush team. His griffin wasn't exactly able to pose as a mundane caravan beast or lowly patrol mount, and the sight of them it flying overhead would alert the necromancers that something was amiss. There was a good chance that they'd be walking for much of this mission.</s>

<|description|>Roger Falkner Age: 23 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Armored Unhelmeted His mount, fully armored Roger stands at 5'8" without his armor. Personality: Being intended as the first in a line of griffin knights, Roger has always felt pressure placed upon him. The strength to endure it, and the motivation to pursue it, has been thanks to his companionship with his griffin mount. Given the choice, he will forego most luxuries that his station might offer, such as a fancy meal or a warm bed, in favor of sharing a kill and curling up with his mount at night. In fact, being separated from his griffin causes him some degree of anxiety, partially due to his worries that his beast could get up to trouble- or at least become agitated- if left unsupervised. Roger is ambivalent on the nobility. While there are indeed many brave and dutiful nobles, like the princess and his mother's family, he's also rather unimpressed with the silly notions that their lineage somehow makes them special. He may not be as prideful as his mount, but if some arrogant fop insults his family's lineage, they might lose a very expensive horse or two. One thing that remains at the back of his mind is his worries about what will happen when his griffin finds a mate. Will it still be able to serve as his mount? Would their bond remain? It's not an immediate concern, but it's a worry that he cannot dispel. Brief Backstory: For many generations, the Falkner family were renowned across Velt as griffin breeders and tamers. For most of their history, they were not nobility, but were nonetheless quite well-off due to the price that a trained griffin could command. This situation changed when one of the family's sons married a knightess from a minor noble family of little means, raising the family to nobility. Roger was the firstborn son of this union, and the first of the Falkner name to be born to nobility. He lived much of his early life at the family's mountain eyrie where his father taught him the family business of handling and riding griffins. He learned to handle these dangerous, prideful predators without getting injured, how to train them, and how to ride them across the skies. Meanwhile, his mother trained him in the ways of a knight, hoping that Roger would follow in her family's martial traditions. They hoped that they could raise him to become the family's first griffin knight. At first, his parents expectations for him seemed lofty, even unreasonable, and Roger struggled. He might have never managed to live up to their hopes if it were not for the fledgling griffin that was chosen to be raised as his mount. The beast became his closest companion, and bonding with it made him all the more invested in becoming a griffin knight, and more capable of enduring the pressure. When Roger was knighted, it sent a message to the aristocracy of Velt that the Falkners intended to usher in a new tradition of raising up not just griffins, but also knights to ride them. Many of the nobility, however, were skeptical of Roger's credentials and abilities as a knight, seeing him as the son of an upstart family with little martial tradition. However, because of the value of an airborne cavalryman and the trustworthy reputation of his family, he was able to secure a position serving under Velvetica Hraesleg, where his role was mostly relegated to relaying messages, reconnaissance, and, if his commander requested, transportation. This changed as Velvetica's unit began to take on more formidable foes, and during the attack on the orc warband, Roger and Shortclaw faced their foes' porcine cavalry and cut them down, their first real fight. Since then, as Velvetica's unit has stepped up its role, Roger and his griffin have assumed a more active combat role, flanking their enemies and tearing into their cavalry and war beasts. Equipment: Shortclaw A male griffin, raised alongside Roger since it was old enough to leave its nest. More than just a mount, it is Roger's closest and most valued friend. It is a preening, prideful creature, and while it will not attack humans or horses unprovoked, it will react poorly to being restrained by anyone other than Roger- and even then it'll probably whine. As far as griffins go, it is in excellent physical condition and quite capable of inflicting lethal injuries with its beak and claws. After Roger joined the Lions, he has managed to train Shortclaw to allow the princess to touch it and climb onto its back, although he wouldn't want her to take the reins without him being present. Armor and Barding Roger's armor was designed for griffin riding in mind. It provides protection from both the cold winds when flying and the blades of enemies. His mount is also well-armored, clad in barding that bears a weight-reduction enchantment. Spear Roger's primary weapon is a long, winged spear, designed to strike foes from his perch atop his mount, and prevent skewered foes from getting closer. Survival kit It is important for a griffin knight to be prepared for the possibility of going down in the wilderness, and Roger is consequently equipped with a satchel of basic tools for wilderness survival, including a knife, bandages, a tinder box, a water skin, spare saddle straps, and a small metal pot. Skills: While Roger is inexperienced, his parents trained him well in the basic skills needed to be a griffin knight. He grew up around griffins, and the fact that he still has all of his fingers is a testament to his competence in handling them. While he is not nearly at his father's level in this area, he can nonetheless train griffins to be comfortable around humans and obey basic orders, and is quite comfortable riding them both on the ground and in the air. In addition to what his father taught him, he was trained by his mother in the ways of knighthood, and focused particularly in the art of fighting with spears.</s> <|message|>Velvetica Hraesleg, the Steel Princess "Exactly what part of this sounds like standard tactics to you, Sir Guillame?" commented Velvetica, with one eyebrow raised, "If this is standard to you, you must have been in some interesting engagements prior to entering my service. I should truly love to hear about them, Sir Guillame." She cocked her head, before clearing her throat. "In any case, it's certainly worth noting there's no doubt they're at least somewhat aware of our presence, and perhaps the idea of spreading our bait a little wider and a little more aggressively isn't a poor one." Seating herself, the Steel Princess steepled her fingers. "But that will work excellently with the other part of our strategy. Our bait isn't merely bodies and supplies, with deadly warriors hidden within and an ambush awaiting out of sight. The effigies, those blasphemous artifices to whatever deranged faith they follow. Why, they're quite noticeable, aren't they? And we are dealing with fanatics." A smirk crossed her lips. "How do you think they'd respond to their destruction? Not merely supplies and people, but people who are directly insulting their madness? Tearing down what they have worked for?" She let her question hang for a few moments before continuing to speak. "It's not merely provocation," she added, "But a practical approach as well. If those effigies are ritual components, it's possible destroying them is not only an insult to whatever thing they're treating as a god, but also a direct disruption to whatever foul magic they have at play. Besides, they're a token of their gleeful defilement of the dead. Anyone should see it as their duty to destroy them." Velvetica placed her hands down on the table. "I shall tentatively allow you to arrange yourselves as best you see fit, to select either the bait and raiders or the ambush. If I disagree with your choice, I'll simply correct it myself." Daze@Rin@AzureKnight@Psyker Landshark@The Otter@VKAllen@Eisenhorn@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@Octo@PigeonOfAstora</s> <|message|>Lirrah Matayannah Lirrah smiled sweetly as Irian extended his hand. His words implied, perhaps, that she would be expected to do more work than her own words suggested. Well, it wasn't as if she was planning on doing nothing, and it wasn't like the Elf would have the luxury of watching her the whole time, but it was significantly more expectation than she was used to. Still, when a soldier offers a hand, you shake. This could not be refused, she imagined, as soldiers were a tight-knit group. Spurn one, spurn many. Befriend one, befriend many. That, and he threw in a nickname. Nicknames were excellent for business relations. Trading some small degree of combat expectation for this much social clout had Lirrah coming out like a bandit. Lirrah reached out to daintily take his hand, and suddenly found her arm clasped in the bond of battle siblings. She trembled a little, but gripped the man's arm with as much force as her tiny body could muster. This was more than she had bargained for, but if she was gonna do it, she had to do it properly. "Iri, then," she snatched up the offered nickname like a wolf to a steak, "it's a pleasure~ I am Lirrah Matayannah! As someone new to these lands, it is always good to meet new friends~" 'New friends' was, perhaps, a little presumptuous, but if she was taking the arm-clasp, she was taking everything she could. And her smile was nectar while- OH ILA-NEM- Lirrah practically jumped out of her boots when yet another scary person accosted her, this one brandishing an order in her face. With her pale face made even paler, she awkwardly broke the handshake to snatch up the list, giving Iri an apologetic smile. As this went on, the discussion about the plan continued, including Cadmon's talking about using her as bait. If Lirrah was capable of shooting a terse death glare that would make someone fear for their safety, then Cadmon would feel it. She was, thankfully, not capable of this. Cadmon was fantastic as a potential customer, so she would just have to remember to overcharge him. As Lirrah looked over the list, she was able to connect it with the sorts of requests she'd get from certain shady individuals. She was no apothecary, and she didn't particularly ask questions, but she could recognize ingredients for a poison when she saw them now. Velvetica-sanctioned poison. Very interesting. Lirrah smiled up at the woman who, after the initial shock, actually wasn't so scary. She had dealt with customers that had gazes like hers before. They were typically the dour sort. Maybe a little sad. "Oh, dear me, no," Lirrah apologized without apologizing, "the 10% off is for her personal use. If it was for anything the Lions needed, I'd be selling everything lower. I'd put myself out of a jop!!" Lirrah pouted cutely. "Although... I'll tell you what: I wouldn't like to leave a pretty woman like you disappointed. How apout we make it 15% off if you commit to a reoccurring order? Say... once a month, for three months at least? We can do more if you need, though. Some of this stuff I have, yet a few things here are hard to get hold of. The more you order in advance, the more likely you'll have it on hand if you need more than you thought. Isn't that a great deal? It's propably something you'd order anyways, put at 15% off! I'm gonna ruin myself at that rate~" She gave the woman a honey-sweet wink as the battle discussion was wrapping up. To no one's surprise, Lirrah wouldn't be bait. They did get to vandalize evil effigies, though. She guessed that would be a big hit for most of the soldiers. They'd probably use the chance to flex their creativity. How productive!</s>

<|message|>Roger Falkner Roger Falkner and Shortclaw The Steel Princess conceded a point that the necromancers would no doubt be at least somewhat aware of the Lions' presence. Her plan, however, already appeared to factor this in- they would not simply passively bait the foe out, rather the Lions would provoke them in an act of iconoclasm to rouse them into reaction. With any luck, Roger surmised, such a spur of the moment retaliation would prove sloppy and lacking in planning. Velvetica announced that she was going to allow the Lions to volunteer for roles- at her sole discretion, of course. Roger already believed he knew the role he was most suited for. Lirrah, the Nem merchant, was busy haggling with Kayliss for poison components. Roger wasn't sure if she'd be tagging along. She was quite useful as a supplier, and one could make the argument that she was too valuable logistically to risk in combat. On the other hand, she was also a decent archer and grenadier, made even more lethal by the disarming facade of harmlessness that she had mastered. Kayliss might be the Lions' dedicated assassin, but Roger suspected that Lirrah would be quite the deadly infiltrator if she needed to be. Sir Guillaume had already volunteered to play the role as bait. No surprise there- he was the archetypical knight-in-shining-armor, the sort of beacon of chivalry and courage that Roger's mother would want him to emulate. This meant he would be just the kind of person whom they would expect would vandalize the necromancer's effigies with minimal regard for being retaliated upon even if outnumbered. If they see him riding around and tearing their icons apart, they'd have little reason to assume that it's part of a trap, because that's just what valorous men like him do. "Shortclaw and I volunteer to take part in the ambush team," he announced. "We're not exactly suitable to play the role of bait, but we're quite confident in our ability to outflank and pursue." The griffin rider looked around at the others, awaiting to see what roles the others would be volunteering for.</s>

<|description|>James O'Toole Jr. Alias: The Living Apparition Age: 27 Appearance: Power/Skills: James is a more than competent brawler with a cunning mind to back up his brawn. While lacking in the more super spots of heroics, James employs a multitude of gadgets and fear mongering to get the upper hand on evil. His pedigree also comes with the bonus of a vast amount of wealth to fund his superheroics and an above average post-secondary education. Equipment: His suit is packed with specially crafted manganese-steel plates and thick cotton capable of stopping all but specially made firepower. James also possesses a pair of gauntlets that can bellow a thick smoke, capable of covering his movements. In order to not lose his own line of sight, James employs an advanced (for the time) infrared camera/goggles. The goggles can operate for about a minute before some components need to be switched out. Personality: Quiet, Short-tempered, Theatric, Cunning, Resourceful Brief Bio: The O'Toole family (consisting of James and Helen O'Toole along with their son James Jr.) called one of the seedier districts of Steel City home with the father and mother both working and making just enough for the family to get by. James Jr. did his best to make things easier on his struggling parents by trying hard in school and helping out around their house but James had a knack for getting into fights with the other local kids. Most of the time it was just something to do but James wasn't a stranger for getting into real thrash-fests. Despite his good grades, James' life was destined for a similar fate of working paycheck to paycheck like his parents until one dark night resulted in a premature pruning of the O'Toole family tree. In the dead of night James Jr. opened the door to find a posh looking gentleman looking for his parents. James never got the full story but after the death of a distant relative with no immediate next of kin, the poor O'Toole family was rocketed from scraping by to being one of the richest families in Steel City and in possession of a majority share in Newman Defence Co. The family enjoyed a year or so, indulging in the good life but James Sr. and Helen had enough willpower to think longterm and grab this opportunity by the horns. It took some time but the family was eventually able to learn enough about the company to settle into a stable and good life. With this newfound status, wealth and opportunities James Jr.'s parents were able to send him to the top schools for business in the hopes that he would be able to take over the new-found family business. Ever the diligent son, James accepted this path and attended a prestigious business school though his old hobbies followed him to the new life of luxury. James had more than a few run ins with the school's administration after getting into more than a few brawls at school, most of these being much less friendly than the ones of his youth. All these run-ins garnered a lot of stains on the O'Toole family's still budding reputation. James Jr. would eventually smarten up after seeing the affects his actions had on his family but his itch for combat would always be present. After graduating, James would have a big party thrown for him and, at his request, it would be a costume party. Most of those in attendance would be influential figures in Steel City or a small smattering of James' own friends, most of which he would have met during his minor in the performing arts in university. For the party James dressed as a ghost in the classic A Christmas Carol fashion of all white. However, on his walk over to the venue (opting out of getting a rid as he hadn't been in the city for some time), James witnessed as woman getting robbed. Not oblivious to his own outlandish look, James intervened and leaned into the odd nature of his look. His stark white get up and years of brawling allowed him to take down the armed thug with not much trouble though the would be victim was similarly scared off by his ghastly visage. His costume covered in the other man's blood, James quickly made his way home and changed into a more toned down suit with masquerade mask. His late night escapade didn't get much attention in the paper but the act had left a deep impression on James. He'd found an outlet for his itch to fight and a way to keep his family's name off the lips of the gossiping elite. That morning James began his preparations for The Living Apparition's official debut... Notes: James took a minor in acting in the hopes of finding something new to replace his urge for throwing down.</s> <|message|>Jacob 'Jake' Johnson In the 1930's, Steel City was 'the place to be.' Rules: 1.) My word is law. 2.) Obey the law. 3.) No back-to-back posting. 4.) PAY ATTENTION TO HEALTH AND POST COUNT! HEALTH SHOULD BE LISTED BELOW EACH ATTACK OR DEFENSE MOVE! a.) Health will be reset every two Levels [10 posts]. 5.) Make sense. If your hero used basic melee punches and kicks along with other moves make sure it's clear in the post! ROLEPLAY BETWEEN THE LINES! Meaning don't be scared to get a little descriptive when not in the throes of battle. 6.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions or just ask to collaborate in the discord. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys! 7.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC. 8.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story. 9.) "I was waiting for [insert player/character] to make a move" is not an excuse to halt posting. 10.) There is no rule #10. 11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the deputy GM (none ATM) will take control and their word will then be law. ___________________________________________ It was a little past two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and a pair of individuals couldn't wait to get away from Eisner High School. Just on the edge of Kings Bay, it was the largest of three high schools in Steel City. Unknown to the students and faculty, there was more than one hero under their roof. Several weeks ago Jake Johnson found one of the mystical instruments of the Piper and soon after adopted the identity of Boy Blue. The other just so happened to be a decorated war hero turned history teacher and the hero Professor Ironside. Both of them caught one another glancing up at the clock on the wall. There was a large flash of light down the street, and it was obvious who was causing trouble… Mister Brightside. "Can I go to the restroom, Mr. Warren?" Jake asked from the back of the classroom. "Class ends in thirty-two and a half minutes. Be patient, Mr. Johnson." responded the metal handed history teacher. The teacher knew the boy wanted a way out to go play hero, he wasn't oblivious. In the weeks since Jake found the mystical instrument, Prof. Ironside saved the boy no less than six times. The kid was just too damn curious for his own good. One day he'd challenge the Copper Kids Gang, the next he was trying to take on some costumed idiot downtown making a scene. After he wore some blue clothes the Tribune gave him the alias Boy Blue and he started wearing a simple mask to help conceal his identity. The clock continued to creep ever so slowly towards two forty-five… and freedom. Across town an undead man staggered through Kirby Park. Most of the locals just assumed the man had been drinking. They could never imagine that he was once dead and reanimated as a puppet of Doctor Death. Death sent letters to the police and taunted their every move. He had ties to the Tribune and sent letters to them as well, and not all of them were reprinted for the masses to read. Now his creation, his 'Death Man', approached a small child playing roughly twelve feet from her mother who was busy talking to another parent.</s> <|message|>Murphy Montgomery Murphy sat on a park, drinking from a flask of water. He nervously adjusted his coat, looking around as if he was waiting for something. Which was, of course, what he was doing, but even to him, it was unclear what he was waiting for. There were probably better things for him to be doing - the professor had sent him out to grab some prints, the custodian was looking to schedule a visit soon, and Vincent had asked him to pick up some donuts on the way back. But Murphy... had a feeling. Oh how he hated the phrase, so frustratingly vague and undescriptive. But even if it dealt in vagueries, the Moth God had been right every time. He didn't know what would happen, or when it would happen, or precisely where it would happen. For someone like him who liked to be right on time, it was a hairpulling experience. But something always would happen, some disaster would strike just when Murphy convinced himself he had imagined the impulse, and he would throw himself into the fray once again. Whatever occurred in the park today, the Magnificent Moth Man would be there to help. It was what he had to do, and the occassional Tribune headline focused on him didn't hurt either. Murphy checked his watch impatiently. He hoped that whatever it was that happened, it would happen soon. He hoped that he could at least get to the print shop before it closed.</s>

<|message|>James O'Toole Jr. It didn't take James long to hear about the commotion in town and it took him less time to jump into action. He'd lucked out by not having anything on the agenda for the day, simply spending it mulling around home and taking a load off after an eventful weekend. The calm was luckily interrupted by some real action with the flash of lights seen from his home's window and an intercepted call to the police. Rushing to his wardrobe, James removed the faux back panel to reveal his costume, of which he quickly donned. There was another flash as James scrambled upstairs and onto his roof. Through athletics, trial and error James now had a good idea of how far he could leap roof to roof before needing to clamber back down to street level and make the rest of his journey the layman's way. Luckily for James his route let him stay atop the building until he was a block away from the commotion. Deftly moving down to the street, James would lurk around the corner or one of the nearby building and scope out just what Mister Brightside was up to before making his own move.</s>

<|description|>Hector DiLorenzo "You're a disease, and I'm the cure." Alias: Age: Appearance: Power/Skills: Very skilled rider on his motorcycle. Also quite an expert at wielding his primary weapons of choice. Beyond that, not much beyond a seemingly ghostly or phantom-like aura about him. Equipment: Mauser C96 Ithaca 37 Side-Bar Police Baton Harley-Davidson Flathead motorcycle Bowie Knife with a strange symbol engraved on the blade Personality: Dedicated, Determined, Angry, Mysterious, Merciless Brief Bio: Hector DiLorenzo was an officer with a promising career in the SCPD. He was a motor unit, and thus issued a standard flathead motorcycle to serve as his primary transportation for patrols and pursuits. But he was also known for carrying a couple of personal weapons as a preference, namely his Mauser C96 which he first used when fighting in the trenches of The Great War. But he also carried a bowie knife with a unique engraving on the blade, a keepsake and family heirloom that just so happens to also serve as a suitable backup weapon. But all that changed after a few short years on the force. DiLorenzo accidentally discovered corruption within his own motorcycle division. Apparently they were sharing a cut of the profits from a local mob boss's bootleg operation. But because DiLorenzo wouldn't let himself be paid off, he was marked for assassination. His own former partners sabotaged his bike in order to arrange an accident, then shot him for good measure. By all accounts, he should have died. Instead, he heard what sounded like the call of a woman's voice. Telling him to awaken, to rise and take his vengeance on those who had betrayed him. He awoke, alive against all odds. He'd been found and nursed back to health by a man who owned a dairy farm not far from the site of DiLorenzo's "accident". The ex-cop remained there for a brief time, enough to heal and to repair his wrecked motorcycle. After that he rode off into the night, becoming the spirit of vengeance known only as "Lawman". And while his ex-partners were his primary targets, he decided there was no harm in dishing out some retribution to other criminals along the way. Notes: The bowie knife he carries once belonged to Nathan H. Bedford - Hector's grandfather on his mother's side. Nathan had fought against the forces of General Sherman during the Meridian Campaign of the Civil War. He, too, was shot and left for dead only to miraculously survive and live to fight another day. He was carrying the bowie knife when it happened, and the knife has remained in the family as an heirloom ever since.</s> <|message|>Jacob 'Jake' Johnson In the 1930's, Steel City was 'the place to be.' Rules: 1.) My word is law. 2.) Obey the law. 3.) No back-to-back posting. 4.) PAY ATTENTION TO HEALTH AND POST COUNT! HEALTH SHOULD BE LISTED BELOW EACH ATTACK OR DEFENSE MOVE! a.) Health will be reset every two Levels [10 posts]. 5.) Make sense. If your hero used basic melee punches and kicks along with other moves make sure it's clear in the post! ROLEPLAY BETWEEN THE LINES! Meaning don't be scared to get a little descriptive when not in the throes of battle. 6.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions or just ask to collaborate in the discord. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys! 7.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC. 8.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story. 9.) "I was waiting for [insert player/character] to make a move" is not an excuse to halt posting. 10.) There is no rule #10. 11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the deputy GM (none ATM) will take control and their word will then be law. ___________________________________________ It was a little past two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and a pair of individuals couldn't wait to get away from Eisner High School. Just on the edge of Kings Bay, it was the largest of three high schools in Steel City. Unknown to the students and faculty, there was more than one hero under their roof. Several weeks ago Jake Johnson found one of the mystical instruments of the Piper and soon after adopted the identity of Boy Blue. The other just so happened to be a decorated war hero turned history teacher and the hero Professor Ironside. Both of them caught one another glancing up at the clock on the wall. There was a large flash of light down the street, and it was obvious who was causing trouble… Mister Brightside. "Can I go to the restroom, Mr. Warren?" Jake asked from the back of the classroom. "Class ends in thirty-two and a half minutes. Be patient, Mr. Johnson." responded the metal handed history teacher. The teacher knew the boy wanted a way out to go play hero, he wasn't oblivious. In the weeks since Jake found the mystical instrument, Prof. Ironside saved the boy no less than six times. The kid was just too damn curious for his own good. One day he'd challenge the Copper Kids Gang, the next he was trying to take on some costumed idiot downtown making a scene. After he wore some blue clothes the Tribune gave him the alias Boy Blue and he started wearing a simple mask to help conceal his identity. The clock continued to creep ever so slowly towards two forty-five… and freedom. Across town an undead man staggered through Kirby Park. Most of the locals just assumed the man had been drinking. They could never imagine that he was once dead and reanimated as a puppet of Doctor Death. Death sent letters to the police and taunted their every move. He had ties to the Tribune and sent letters to them as well, and not all of them were reprinted for the masses to read. Now his creation, his 'Death Man', approached a small child playing roughly twelve feet from her mother who was busy talking to another parent.</s> <|message|>Murphy Montgomery Murphy sat on a park, drinking from a flask of water. He nervously adjusted his coat, looking around as if he was waiting for something. Which was, of course, what he was doing, but even to him, it was unclear what he was waiting for. There were probably better things for him to be doing - the professor had sent him out to grab some prints, the custodian was looking to schedule a visit soon, and Vincent had asked him to pick up some donuts on the way back. But Murphy... had a feeling. Oh how he hated the phrase, so frustratingly vague and undescriptive. But even if it dealt in vagueries, the Moth God had been right every time. He didn't know what would happen, or when it would happen, or precisely where it would happen. For someone like him who liked to be right on time, it was a hairpulling experience. But something always would happen, some disaster would strike just when Murphy convinced himself he had imagined the impulse, and he would throw himself into the fray once again. Whatever occurred in the park today, the Magnificent Moth Man would be there to help. It was what he had to do, and the occassional Tribune headline focused on him didn't hurt either. Murphy checked his watch impatiently. He hoped that whatever it was that happened, it would happen soon. He hoped that he could at least get to the print shop before it closed.</s> <|message|>James O'Toole Jr. It didn't take James long to hear about the commotion in town and it took him less time to jump into action. He'd lucked out by not having anything on the agenda for the day, simply spending it mulling around home and taking a load off after an eventful weekend. The calm was luckily interrupted by some real action with the flash of lights seen from his home's window and an intercepted call to the police. Rushing to his wardrobe, James removed the faux back panel to reveal his costume, of which he quickly donned. There was another flash as James scrambled upstairs and onto his roof. Through athletics, trial and error James now had a good idea of how far he could leap roof to roof before needing to clamber back down to street level and make the rest of his journey the layman's way. Luckily for James his route let him stay atop the building until he was a block away from the commotion. Deftly moving down to the street, James would lurk around the corner or one of the nearby building and scope out just what Mister Brightside was up to before making his own move.</s>

<|message|>Hector DiLorenzo "This is where the Law stops, and I start." It was the cold of night. The sun had set over Steel City over three hours ago. The outskirts of town were pitch black, lit only by occasional flashes of lightning as the rain poured down and thunder rumbled in the distant skies. On the old road approaching a dairy farm, a patch of road was dimly lit by the flaming wreckage of a motorcycle. The dim light revealed a masculine figure laying nearby. Shot in the back, the uniformed policeman lay face down in a muddy puddle of blood and water. His right hand clutched the handle of a Mauser CP6 pistol, while the left hand clutched the handle of a Bowie knife. The symbol engraved on the blade almost appeared to pulsate with a soft glow in time with the flashes of lighting and flickering of the nearby flame. A haunting wind whispered its way across the scene, washing over the surely dead man. And when mixed with the pattering and splashes of raindrops, one could swear a distant voice could be just made out among the blowing wind. "Rise." After moments of nothing happening, a bolt of lighting struck much nearer than any previous. The accompanying thunder roared alongside the now-howling wind. The distant whisper became a closer, more sharply-toned command. Rise!" Hector's eyes shot open and he bolted upright in his cot. He looked around at his surroundings, confirming that he was indeed in the abandoned barn that he had repurposed into a hideout. It was spacious enough to park his bike inside of like a garage, and located outside of town where he would be allowed solitude and privacy. Hector wiped cold sweat from his face and stood upright. Sunlight peaked through the occasional cracks and spacing between planks, informing him that it was daytime - though he wasn't sure what time it was specifically. Even so, he set about his usual wake up routine. He grabbed a bucket and used it to draw water from a nearby well outside. Then hung the barrel onto a simple pulley system he constructed in order to dump it on himself so that he could wash and clean himself. He turned on the radio of his bike, allowing himself to listen in on SCPD radio chatter while he went about getting dressed. At this time he picked up on some dispatch chatter, officially being labeled as a "drunk and disorderly" incident but with a certain code number attached to it that Hector recognized. It meant that there was a possible Doctor Death connection to this incident that the police were keeping quiet from the public until further investigation. Hector had heard that name before, as anyone might have. And while he had yet to encounter Death personally, Hector had been diligent in trying to keep the reports of his activities on his radar. Perhaps Doctor Death was just another psychotic freakshow... or maybe he wasn't. Hector had been investigating his "awakening" on the side, trying to piece together how and why he was able to survive something he surely shouldn't have. And there was a possibility - however slim - that this Doctor Death character had an answer. Or, if not that, a clue at least. In the next moments, Lawman was suited and burst out of the main doors of his barn/hideout aboard his motorcycle. Going on "rides" like this during the day wasn't his usual M.O., but he was willing to buck his own patterns if it meant getting a shot at Doctor Death. With his bike's engine giving its signature haunting roar, he sped into Steel City en route to Kirby Park.</s>

<|description|>Mira Feng | --- | | | ___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 30 Sex Female Height 5'10" (177.8 Cm) Weight 135 Lbs (61.235 Kg) Ethnicity Mixed (Han Chinese and Jewish) Rank Corporal ____________________________________ | ____________________________________________________________________________ SHORT BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY Mira Feng was born in Lambour City to a Chinese father and a Jewish mother, the youngest of three children and the only daughter. Mira's father was a real estate agent and her mother a nurse at a local health clinic. With two high earning parents Mira and her two older brothers had a very easy life growing up and more often than not had the best of everything - or at least close to it. Mira was close with her family, her mother was kind and attentive and her father a patient and dedicated parent if hard-spoken at times. Mira and her brothers were very tightly knit through their youth and well into their teenage years. As wonderful as things were though this ideal family would be shaken by tragedy. When Mira was fifteen her father was gunned down after being held up in the street, the terrible happening leaving the entire family grief stricken to say the least. Mira's mother particularly went into a spiraling depression and became more distant as she tried to focus on working to hold things together. Thankfully extended family on both sides stepped in to help, but no amount of financial and familial support would heal the scars left on the Feng family after the death of Mira's father. After graduating high school Mira's brothers both went into respectable career fields, the elder becoming a real estate agent like his father and the younger a chemistry instructor at the University of Maine. Mira meanwhile went into law enforcement which was a blend of surprise but also a deeper understanding to those around her. On the death of her father - murdered in broad daylight - Mira had decided she wanted to go into law enforcement to serve the city, help protect the communities at large, and generally stop others from becoming victims of tragedies like her family was. All of the usual idealisms. After finishing police academy Mira would serve with Lambour City Police Department for four years before moving over to the Williams County Sheriff's Department. In no time she made corporal and was soon after promoted to Investigator. However her growing abrasiveness and bullheaded approach would soon see her demoted back to corporal after stepping on the wrong superiors' toes too many times. Mira is a blunt, straightforward woman that has no tolerance for any kind of nonsense or beating around the bush. She likes to tackle problems head on though not stupidly, her ideal approach being a quick but tactful handling of any kind of situation. When quick is too dangerous she can settle on tactful alone and when tactful is too slow and the risks are not too severe she is more than willing to go for the quick direct approach. Her sometimes bombastic way of policing have earned her as much criticism as praise and she has been reprimanded before for "playing the hero". Despite her aggressive and relentless demeanor regarding her duties as law enforcement Mira also has an empathetic and caring side, particularly towards her family and close friends. Mira Feng is the best of friends and the worst enemy to have. |</s> <|message|>Mira Feng EPISODE 1 OUTBREAK "Fuck, it's cold." Corporal Mira Feng shuddered intensely as she slid into the drivers seat of her patrol car, two polystyrene cups of coffee in hand. She placed one of the coffees in the cup holder while reaching to hand the other to her partner, Deputy Omar Barajavan. As Omar took the coffee Mira reached and pulled the car door shut, albeit a little too hard, anxious to be out of the freezing November night air. Mira tugged her coat collar up snugly around her neck as she reached and turned the car key, the engine roaring to life. The time was one fifty-eight. "Look at that, still two minutes ahead of schedule." Mira quipped monotonously as she put the patrol car into gear. Mira and Omar were pulling out of the station for their regular shift, two to twelve. Normally they would be leaving a bit earlier than they were now but with the weather like it was Mira felt the need to hang back and grab a coffee for them both. Mira turned on the windshield wipers as they pulled up to the edge of the street in front of the station. There was a modest sheet of freezing rain coming down and according to the weather over the next few days it would get progressively colder and bring some heavy snow. Mira knew what that meant, working vehicle wrecks and directing traffic just as a start, especially now - never mind chasing hoods and punks down slicked roads and sidewalks. You signed up for it. Mira thought wryly as she turned out into the street and peeled down the way. Traffic was minimal but Mira knew that had to do with the epidemic that was suddenly shaking the city. The day before, early in the morning hours, people were coming into the hospital and showing severe symptoms that resembled a flu. A winters' illness outbreak was to be expected this time of year but this was something different. It was so sudden. Reports said that by the dozens and then the hundreds people were just flooding in wracked with symptoms, and it was worsening by the hour. By that afternoon hospitals and clinics were overflowing with sick people, many barely able to sit up straight in the waiting rooms - all this within less than twelve hours. Mira had never heard of anything like it. Ambulances were screaming up and down the streets all day and night from people having to be picked up from their homes, not even able to make it to their cars or to a cab to get to aid. Mira had just woken up from sleeping earlier that evening when she heard about the wave of deaths. The news said people were dropping like flies, slumping over in their waiting room chairs or hospital beds. Mira still remembered that sudden, dreadful chill that had rushed through her as she watched the tv from her living room couch. The mayor had declared a state of emergency and was reaching out to the governor and Washington for immediate aid in this epidemic - whatever it was. Mira was no doctor but she imagined it to be some kind of freak mutant flu. And yet I have never heard of anything that could shake up and shut down a whole city in less than one day. The Corporal shook her head as she reached for her coffee and took a long sip, the hot coiling steam feeling good against her face. Nearly every business Mira and Omar passed had signs indicating being indefinitely closed amid this strange pandemic. Doors were all locked up tight and blinds and window covers masked the insides of everything from stores to street side restaurants. Few people were on the sidewalks and most wore masks and gloves and were all giving each other a wide birth. A red flashing caught both deputies attention as they passed an apartment complex, an ambulance was parked outside and Mira could see EMT's were rushing up the stairs. Mira glanced sideways at Omar as she made a sharp turn down a side street on their route. "What do you know about this virus or whatever it is, Omar? This… flu…" Mira hoped he had something for her, anything other than just a shrug or an "I don't know". This whole thing was making her nervous to put it to the least, so many hospitalized and dead with no end in site reported.</s> <|message|>Omar 'Mario' Barajavan The rich aroma of the coffee woke Omar up. His movements were still laggard as his hands gingerly accepted what Mira offered him. His chin inclined slightly downwards out of silent appreciation before he pinched and pulled down the hem of his woolen mask with two fingers. Lifting the cup towards his face, Omar immediately slurped down the steaming black liquid. The caffeine scalded his tongue bitterly as he inhaled in to take a whiff of the earthy vapor. He exhaled out as the coffee worked its magic, the world around him becoming less of a blur and sharper, as if it was under a magnifying glass. " Small mercies," Omar replied back, mouth muffled by the coffee cup. His eyes flickered towards Mira as he took another sip, watching as she drove out of the station onto the slick street. For the last 3 weeks, Omar had heard rumors from the other officers about Feng's reputation since his induction at the Lambour County Sheriff's Office. From what scant details he could put together, the common denominator between all the far-fetched tales he'd been told was that it had something to do with her conduct during her time at Williams County. Plus, any officer who bought him coffee before patrol duty was alright in his books. Rain cascaded down outside the car, shrouding the empty horizon in a thick soup of grey mist. The sugar maples and sycamores on the boulevard drooped down, their skeletal branches signifying the beginning of winter. At this hour, you would see some cars rolling down the street, maybe, a couple of people pulling out their umbrellas on the sidewalk. All Omar could see was mostly empty streets, windows wrapped with wax paper and closed doors. The scene reminded him more of a gh It made him shiver. On most days, Omar would be relieved but last night's news report still troubled his mind. It has first began as a series of coincidences, most chalking it up to the winter flu season. In less than 12 hours, Lambour Lutheran Hospital emergency departments were swamped with crowds of people all experiencing the same symptoms. They'd called it a flu at first but no flu caused this many people to become sick at the same time. When the first deaths were reported and Mayor Kilburn issued a state of emergency, Omar was more annoyed with the deluge of phone calls he'd received from Mom and Dad and Arat and Tomar and everyone else in his family. They'd urged him to move out of the city and Omar simply told them he couldn't. The reason was simple. Law enforcement officers weren't immune to whatever filled the halls of Lambour Lutheran and almost half of their officers were on paid sick leave. It'd left the other half to pick up the extra slack. " Other than what's already been told to us by the mayor?," Omar questioned, lying back in his seat. Contrary to Mira, he looked nonplussed about the events of the last 24 hours. He scratched his chin, deep in thought, before shrugging his shoulders. " Every person I've spoken to has a different crackpot theory," Omar lifted up his fingers and began counting them out one by one. " Food poisoning. Some sick guy from overseas. Lab leak. God's judgement. I think it's almost easier to ask them what it isn't than what it could be." Omar then looked at Mira, wondering if his words were reassuring enough, before clasping her shoulder briefly. " Look, it'll all blow over by the time spring comes around. Just between you and me, personally? I think I'm going to spend my salary on a vacation. Somewhere warm, like Hawaii -SLOW DOWN!" Omar jabbed his finger towards the front of the patrol vehicle with urgency. They'd just turned the block and immediately, they met a swarm of dogs and cats that occupied the street. Lambour was no stranger to strays but Omar was confident today that the crowd of animals in front of them encompassed the entire population of missing pets in Lambour. The swarm paid no heed to them, scampering past their vehicles in one unified direction. Omar could feel the patrol vehicle vibrate as the column of animals marched past them. " Probably should call in animal control. ," Omar breathed in shock. His eyes then squinted and pointed into the misty outlines of Lambour's inner city. " Say, isn't that where Lambour General and Lutheran are? Do you think that has something to do with them?"</s>

<|message|>Mira Feng "I- I…" Mira found herself speechless as she retightened her grip on the steering wheel. She had nearly plowed right over the wave of cats and dogs that had came surging forth. If Omar had not shouted fast enough she was not too sure she would have reacted in time. For a second Mira thought she had pissed on herself until she looked down and realized the sudden stop had sloshed some of her coffee out onto the dash and across her upper thigh and groin. "Well shit." Mira spat as she reached out and used one bare hand to smear and wipe at the brown liquid on the dash. It would be sticky without doubt but she could wipe it off later, thankfully none of the coffee had splashed out onto the radio. The spill on her pants had already soaked in, it was uncomfortably hot but not scalding thankfully so she could just let it dry and worry about washing her uniform later. She absently wiped her sticky hand off on her pants leg, annoyed and disoriented from the sudden happening. "Yeah, we need to call that in…" Mira said, her tone a little distant as she tried to process what she just saw. What the hell caused that? All those animals to just go flooding in a singular direction undeterred by any kind of danger. Jesus, this city is getting weirder by the hour it seems. Just as Mira's hand started to glide toward the radio it suddenly crackled to life causing her to flinch slightly. "Attention all units we have a one thirty-two in progress at the corner gas station on Willard Street, all available units please respond." Armed robbery, Mira felt the hair on her arms and neck raise, Willard Street. That's just two blocks over! Mira put the car in gear and drove her foot down into the pedal, the patrol car lurching forward as the engine roared to new life. "Take that for me!" Mira nodded toward the radio as she made a sudden hard turn. The animals will just have to wait. What a shift this is looking to fucking be!</s>

<|description|>Mira Feng | --- | | | ___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 30 Sex Female Height 5'10" (177.8 Cm) Weight 135 Lbs (61.235 Kg) Ethnicity Mixed (Han Chinese and Jewish) Rank Corporal ____________________________________ | ____________________________________________________________________________ SHORT BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY Mira Feng was born in Lambour City to a Chinese father and a Jewish mother, the youngest of three children and the only daughter. Mira's father was a real estate agent and her mother a nurse at a local health clinic. With two high earning parents Mira and her two older brothers had a very easy life growing up and more often than not had the best of everything - or at least close to it. Mira was close with her family, her mother was kind and attentive and her father a patient and dedicated parent if hard-spoken at times. Mira and her brothers were very tightly knit through their youth and well into their teenage years. As wonderful as things were though this ideal family would be shaken by tragedy. When Mira was fifteen her father was gunned down after being held up in the street, the terrible happening leaving the entire family grief stricken to say the least. Mira's mother particularly went into a spiraling depression and became more distant as she tried to focus on working to hold things together. Thankfully extended family on both sides stepped in to help, but no amount of financial and familial support would heal the scars left on the Feng family after the death of Mira's father. After graduating high school Mira's brothers both went into respectable career fields, the elder becoming a real estate agent like his father and the younger a chemistry instructor at the University of Maine. Mira meanwhile went into law enforcement which was a blend of surprise but also a deeper understanding to those around her. On the death of her father - murdered in broad daylight - Mira had decided she wanted to go into law enforcement to serve the city, help protect the communities at large, and generally stop others from becoming victims of tragedies like her family was. All of the usual idealisms. After finishing police academy Mira would serve with Lambour City Police Department for four years before moving over to the Williams County Sheriff's Department. In no time she made corporal and was soon after promoted to Investigator. However her growing abrasiveness and bullheaded approach would soon see her demoted back to corporal after stepping on the wrong superiors' toes too many times. Mira is a blunt, straightforward woman that has no tolerance for any kind of nonsense or beating around the bush. She likes to tackle problems head on though not stupidly, her ideal approach being a quick but tactful handling of any kind of situation. When quick is too dangerous she can settle on tactful alone and when tactful is too slow and the risks are not too severe she is more than willing to go for the quick direct approach. Her sometimes bombastic way of policing have earned her as much criticism as praise and she has been reprimanded before for "playing the hero". Despite her aggressive and relentless demeanor regarding her duties as law enforcement Mira also has an empathetic and caring side, particularly towards her family and close friends. Mira Feng is the best of friends and the worst enemy to have. |</s> <|message|>Mira Feng Mira dashed around the side of the gas station and made fast for the rear of the building, hoping the gunman had not caught a glimpse of her and hoping that the back door was not locked. The ground was slick from all the rain and twice she had to catch herself from face planting onto the hard concrete. Mira slowed up as she reached the back corner of the building, pressing herself against the cold brick wall as she reached for her gun. There was nothing saying the suspect did not have a partner waiting out back. Mira slowly came around the corner, pistol raised and eyes down the sights. There was no one behind the building, the woman releasing a clouded breath of a sigh. A single car, undoubtedly the owners', was parked in a space near the back door and a line of half filled dumpsters reached down the wall on the left side of the door opposite of Mira. Mira stepped back against the wall once more, sliding down it until she was directly alongside the back door of the gas station. Cold crystals of frozen rain glazed her hair and neck sending a sharp chill down her spine, the corporal ignoring it to her best. The door was thankfully not one of the large heavy metal ones but rather a windowless wooden door. She reached down with her right hand and twisted at the knob - locked of course. Couldn't have it that easy I guess. Mira flinched as she heard another loud blast from the perps' gun. Fuck it, we don't have time for backup and I need to get in there! Mira considered reaching to try and rattle or yank the door open but then decided not. If the gunman happened to hear her he might blind fire at the door, possibly hitting her or someone inside. Or worse yet he may panic and just start shooting people. Mira stepped back sucking in a deep breath, the cold air tightening her throat and chest, her heart beating like a war drum. "Go." Mira sprinted forward, swinging up her right leg with all her momentum behind it as she slammed a fierce kick into the back door - a slight snap of wood and a rattling of the knob could be heard as the door flew open and slammed against the inside wall. "What the fuck?" The bright lights of the gas station interior disoriented Mira for a second, even so she could see the gunman standing behind the front counter dead ahead. Nothing was between them, a line of freezers to her right filled with assortments of booze and to her left was a shelf of chips and crackers that reached just short of the counter. The gunman was facing Mira, the woman could see a short rotund man cowering at his feet. Mira barely had time to react as the perp raised his weapon, a shotgun - the corporal leapt behind the shelf to her left as the wall nearby was blasted spraying chunks of shattered paneling through the air. "Bitch!" the gunman roared. "Make it easy on yourself," Mira shouted back defiantly as she scrambled to a half crouch behind the shelf, "drop the weapon!" "Fuck you!" Another gunshot, Mira hunkered down as the shelf was blasted across the top raining down bits of metal and shredded chip bags. "Put the weapon down!" Mira shouted back, not standing again. "Not a chance!"</s> <|message|>Omar 'Mario' Barajavan " I repeat again, come out with your hands behind your head or we'll be forced to use lethal force -," The sound of a gunshot erupting made Omar drop the radio. Sucking in a breathe, he grasped his pistol firmly with both hands and ran towards the front of the gas station. He didn't know who fired the first shot but he wasn't keen with leaving Mira alone in there by herself. His boots splashed apart the rivers of rainwater that were beginning to inundate the streets, soaking the scuffs of his woolen jeans. Once he was at the door, he could hear muffled sounds of commotion. With one hand still on the grip of pistol, the door opened with a quiet whine. Omar pushed it enough just so the edge of the door touched the lip of the bell. Immediately, Omar could hear someone shouting in a coarse, uneven voice. Male. Probably in his late 20s or early 30s. He took a peek through the crack and briefly saw a broad shouldered figure in a hoodie waving a pump-action shotgun around. "Not a chance!," The man spoke out. " You make one more move towards me and I'll paint his fucking brains all over the counter, you hear me?!" " Please, sir….," A heavily lisped voice whimpered out loud. " I'm willing to help you with your situation but you have to believe-" There was a cry of pain and then, the sound of a shell being re-racked into a shotgun. " You shut up if you know what's good for you, old man." Alright. That was enough. The sound of lightning split the sky above and Omar used the opportunity to push open the door quietly as to not spook the robber. He didn't want to have to fill in on the incident report about how the owner was missing half his head. The robber was still looking in the direction of wherever Mira was and didn't notice Omar's pistol pointed a few meters away from his head. " Hands on your head right now!" The robber turned his head towards Omar in surprise. This close, he could see the straw blonde hair poking out of his hood. A cherokee blue bandana was wrapped around his mouth. Freckles dotted the underside of his shadowed grey eyes. " Put the shotgun on the counter slowly and step away from the hostage. You're surrounded." The robber shifted and bounced on his feet. His movements reminded Omar when he watched mice struggle to escape the mouse traps his mom had laid around the house. " You'll have to do something for me first." Shit. Now wasn't a good time for negotiations. He barely passed that course when the NJPD made it mandatory. Omar signed inwardly, still putting on the face of consummate professionalism as his finger rested on the trigger. " Put your shotgun down on the table and we can talk." " You'll just cuff me, man." The robber scoffed, still pointing his shotgun down at the man below him. " You'll listen to what I have to say and then, we'll talk." Omar's fingers danced on the pistol grip, contemplating the actions he could take. The man was on edge, on the verge of breaking. Even if he'd managed to shoot him, a mis-fire from the shotgun could still happen. Talking him seemed like the best distraction for Mira to catch the robber off guard. " Alright. Start talking," Omar nodded. The robber rolled his shoulders, lowering the shotgun slightly away from the shopkeeper, before speaking. " My little bro…." The robber's voice trailed off. " He's now sick with the same bug that's been passing around. I can't afford a check up at the ER for her. I need him to be checked up at the doc right now." "You can't cover it under insurance?" The robber shook his head in frustration and shakily replied back. " I can't afford insurance, asshole," The robber choked back a swear. A pang of sympathy ran through Omar's heart as he momentarily lowered his pistol before raising it back up. His parents would've never forgiven him if he'd failed to take care of Omid and he sure as hell didn't want to know how he would be able to handle facing the loss of his brother. " How old's your brother?, Omar said softly. " 7," The robber gulped guiltily, eyes shifting towards the left of the store where another door was located. " I brought him with me. He's holed up in the staff room on his DS. Your partner can go over there to verify and check it out for you." " You heard all that, Mira?" Omar asked out loud, pistol still trained on the man's head. " I'll keep point. You can check it to see if his story matches up."</s>

<|message|>Mira Feng There was a sudden heavy clopping sound from the nearby aisle, the sound of boots on linoleum. The robber turned back around raising up his shotgun, time seemed to be coming to a grinding halt. Mira burst forth into Omar's view, gun holstered and instead she wielded her baton in her right hand. She took a sharp forward stride bringing the baton up and then beginning a downward arc. There was a loud crack and the masked gunman cried out in pain as his shotgun fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor. Mira had struck him across the left forearm just as he had brought his gun up level with her. The man grabbed at his arm in shocked agony which gave Mira the chance to bring him down, jabbing him hard in the stomach and dropping him to his knees. From there she got behind him and drove him down onto the hard floor with her left knee, right next to the hostage he had been threatening. Mira slipped her baton away, keeping the downed gunman pinned as she reached for her handcuffs. Stupid. Mira though to herself admittedly, Very stupid. Had the gunman been just a second or two faster Mira would have taken a chest full of shot and be sprawled out dead on the floor. She shook her head as she tussled for the man's arms, ignoring his groans of pain and explicit protests. "My arm, you pig bitch, I think you broke my… fucking arm!" His voice was muffled from his face being pressed into the linoleum but his protests were audible enough. The hostage was scrambling away as he slowly stood, wobbly and big-eyed at what had just occurred. "Nice little distraction, Omar." Mira said as the handcuffs clicked together. The Corporal hooked her hands under the robbers' shoulders and with a loud grunt began to roughly haul him to his feet. "You broke my arm, dammit! Take these off me!" Mira got the man stood up, he was maybe an inch or two taller than her. "Your arm isn't broken." Mira snapped. "How do you know?" "We'll check it then when we get you back to the station." Mira asserted. "Omar grab his gun."</s>

<|description|>Mira Feng | --- | | | ___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age 30 Sex Female Height 5'10" (177.8 Cm) Weight 135 Lbs (61.235 Kg) Ethnicity Mixed (Han Chinese and Jewish) Rank Corporal ____________________________________ | ____________________________________________________________________________ SHORT BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY Mira Feng was born in Lambour City to a Chinese father and a Jewish mother, the youngest of three children and the only daughter. Mira's father was a real estate agent and her mother a nurse at a local health clinic. With two high earning parents Mira and her two older brothers had a very easy life growing up and more often than not had the best of everything - or at least close to it. Mira was close with her family, her mother was kind and attentive and her father a patient and dedicated parent if hard-spoken at times. Mira and her brothers were very tightly knit through their youth and well into their teenage years. As wonderful as things were though this ideal family would be shaken by tragedy. When Mira was fifteen her father was gunned down after being held up in the street, the terrible happening leaving the entire family grief stricken to say the least. Mira's mother particularly went into a spiraling depression and became more distant as she tried to focus on working to hold things together. Thankfully extended family on both sides stepped in to help, but no amount of financial and familial support would heal the scars left on the Feng family after the death of Mira's father. After graduating high school Mira's brothers both went into respectable career fields, the elder becoming a real estate agent like his father and the younger a chemistry instructor at the University of Maine. Mira meanwhile went into law enforcement which was a blend of surprise but also a deeper understanding to those around her. On the death of her father - murdered in broad daylight - Mira had decided she wanted to go into law enforcement to serve the city, help protect the communities at large, and generally stop others from becoming victims of tragedies like her family was. All of the usual idealisms. After finishing police academy Mira would serve with Lambour City Police Department for four years before moving over to the Williams County Sheriff's Department. In no time she made corporal and was soon after promoted to Investigator. However her growing abrasiveness and bullheaded approach would soon see her demoted back to corporal after stepping on the wrong superiors' toes too many times. Mira is a blunt, straightforward woman that has no tolerance for any kind of nonsense or beating around the bush. She likes to tackle problems head on though not stupidly, her ideal approach being a quick but tactful handling of any kind of situation. When quick is too dangerous she can settle on tactful alone and when tactful is too slow and the risks are not too severe she is more than willing to go for the quick direct approach. Her sometimes bombastic way of policing have earned her as much criticism as praise and she has been reprimanded before for "playing the hero". Despite her aggressive and relentless demeanor regarding her duties as law enforcement Mira also has an empathetic and caring side, particularly towards her family and close friends. Mira Feng is the best of friends and the worst enemy to have. |</s> <|message|>Omar 'Mario' Barajavan Omar didn't quite know how to react to Mira's action. He wasn't sure whether to be angry that he misinterpreted her instructions or grateful for saving him from a potentially foolish mistake. Omar wondered if his time in New Jersey had made him too soft for the shit that happened in the north-east. It took a second for him to process Mira's instruction as he leaned down to pick up the shotgun. He turned it over to the side and recoiled at just how unmaintained it was. It was an antique 870 but you couldn't tell that from how chewn the wooden stock was or from the rust-coated barrel. Omar set the shotgun down and produced a clear plastic evidence bag from his person, zipping it open to wrap it around the long gun. He signed as he settled into the minutae of logging down evidence detail with a pencil. " Oh, thank you, officers," The pudgy shopkeeper was dusting himself off as he approached the pair. His skin was pallid and moist with sweat and fringes of tufted hair grew around his bald head. " Is there anything that I might assist you with?" " Can you tell us what happened here, Mister…..?" " Alfonso Francocci," The shopkeeper puffed up his chest proudly. " Mister Francocci," Omar said brusquely, all business. " We need the details of what happened?" " Of course, officer. I was closing up my store early today." Alfonso then looked at the man in Mira's grasp with an irritated look. " Then, this stronzo burst from the back of my store and pointed that gun at me. He asked me to empty all the cash in my register and when I refused, he gave this to me." " Was he accompanied by anyone else?" " Yes, a woman and a man." Omar felt his fist clench, the robber avoiding his gaze of disappointment as the rookie officer looked at him. " She said she felt sick and went with her friend to the cold room.," The shopkeeper pointed over Omar's shoulder and Omar's eyes followed the direction of his finger to a freezer door located near the dairy section. " I haven't seen them since," The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together out of worry. " Do you think they might have - uh- ran away?" Then, Omar heard the groan. A bass-like rumble that teetered on being animalistic from behind the freezer door. Omar looked at the shopkeeper to see if he was in the midst of a coffee-induced hallucination and the shopkeeper's frightened face dashed that theory. The rookie officer pinched his nose, looking up as though he was praying to some pagan god for good fortune before reaching down towards his holster. " Stay here," Omar didn't even bother giving an answer as he took out his Glock again. Just as he was about to make his way to the freezer, he paused and nodded towards Mira. " You wanna get the perp in our vehicle or you feel comfortable letting me handle this one?"</s> <|message|>Mira Feng Mira stood the gunman up keeping a tight hold on his wrists as she looked toward the freezer room door. A wax of worry seemed to be encased upon her visage as she considered the options. They needed to remove the other two perpetrators and arrest them immediately, if both of the deputies went outside to deal with the man at hand the other two could break for it and be gone in minutes. They couldn't just leave the handcuffed gunman crammed into a corner to run the minute they turned their backs. But Mira hated the idea of leaving Omar to face two people alone, even if one was allegedly ill. They could both be armed and likely were and Omar would be in a perilous situation. But what other option is there? Mira gritted her teeth. Mira looked to the store owner, Francocci, "Get inside your office and lock the door, one of us come get you when things are all clear." Francocci nodded nervously and stepped back behind the counter and through the rickety wooden door into his personal office. Mira took a deep breath and then looked to Omar, "Go cover the door, I'll get this one out to the car, wait up for me." What was that growling? Mira backed towards the front door while Omar followed her order. She twisted around and went from pulling to pushing as she walked the cuffed man outside and towards the patrol car. The freezing rain had picked up, coming down harder and colder than earlier, Mira feeling bits of ice in it as well. She imagined as the temperature dipped a bit more it would be hail and soon enough snow. It took her no time to get the door open and push the perp inside with some final protests from him. Making sure he was secure Mira then turned and made a rush back towards the front of the store, hand slipping around her holstered pistol as she reached the front door.</s> <|message|>Omar 'Mario' Barajavan Now by all himself, Omar shuddered again as another groan surfaced from behind the door. Omar walked, more caution in his steps than ever, as he made his way to the freezer door. The surface was coated in a slick sheen of white frost that wormed in tendrils across the foam. He rapped his fist against the door lightly before speaking out loud. " Police, open up." The moans continued on. Either the perps were deliberately ignoring him or they were somehow getting their rocks off in a cooler room in the middle of a town-wide pandemic. Omar spoke again, this time more forcefully. " I said, open up. We've got you surrounded." Again, the damn moans keep going on as if they didn't even hear him. Omar rapped the door again. No response. Omar's finger absentmindedly thumbed the trigger of the Glock in worry. He could wait for Mira to come back with the perp or go inside to spare her the trouble. Who in their right mind would spend 1 hour being stuck inside an virtual icebox in one of the oldest counties in the north east? Pushing his body against the freezer door, Omar slowly pulled it open, hiding his body behind the frame. Wafts of icy air billowed out of the door and into the restaurant. Omar twisted his frame in and pointed his pistol out, only to be met by darkness. Grunting in annoyance, Omar reached for the flashlight hooked on his belt and flicked it on. The beam of light cut a swathe through the impermeable void. His flashlight glinted off the gleaming icicles that hung from the damp metallic shelving units. All the while, the moans continued to echo inside the refrigeration unit, piercing the hum of the air conditioning units. Suddenly, he heard a slick sound of something wet falling to the ground. Omar turned his flashlight around and his blood chilled. It was a woman standing over a still corpse of a man on the ground. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth was ajar, a trickle of blood flowing out. "Maám, are you -," Omar's mouth gummed up the moment her neck craned around towards him. Her skin was a ghoulish white, varicose veins coursing underneath her neck and skin. Everything below her mouth was covered in dripping red blood, flowing down her shirt and pants. Strings of viscera were stuck between her blue lips and a long piece of pink gut hung out of the corner of her jaw. She slowly stood up, tilting her neck curiously at him, before trudging forward drunkenly. Omar shifted the barrel of his pistol up at her neck. " Put your hands on the ground right now.," Omar commanded but the woman paid him no mind. She continued walking forward towards him, arms lengthened out towards his neck. " I said - " Omar's words were cut off as the woman leaned forward in a stumbling push, clawing at his neck. The cold of her skin scalded him numb, causing him to shout in pain. The trigger depressed and a loud bang issued from the barrel. The woman's head flicked back and then, turned to look at him with that same dead-eyed look. The only difference now was that there was a gaping hole in her right cheek where he could see a swollen tongue flapping up and down. " Fuck!,-" Omar cried out. " Mira?! We got a situation here!"</s>

<|message|>Mira Feng "What the hell, Omar, I s-!" Mira's voice cutoff as she rounded the aisle, gun in hand. She had the first perp locked in her car and was just coming back through the door when she heard the pow of Omar's Glock. The Corporal looked in shocked awe at the woman before her, her deathly gray-white flesh and bloody appearance like something straight from a horror film. Were the woman staying still Mira would take her for a corpse, but that she was very much not. "Back up and raise your hands!" Mira snapped out of her trance, pistol raised. The grody-looking woman did not comply, instead continuing to grasp and lunge at Omar. Fuck, she's crazy! Mira dashed towards Omar and the woman, dropping her shoulder as she drew close and slamming into the assailant sending her tumbling across the floor and into the wall with a crash. Mira glanced at Omar to make sure he was okay, she didn't see any blood or scratches or bite marks. That was good. The last thing the Corporal wanted was her new partner getting maimed by some drug-head on her watch. Mira then took a bold stride forward and pointed her gun down at the fallen woman, "Face down, hands behind your head!" The woman only grunted in response, shoes scraping against the floor as she raised up and twisted to face the two deputies. Mira then saw the wound in her face, the gaping hole and all the blood - it made her stomach churn fiercely. What was more rattling was the female perp seemed not in the least phased by it, standing up to full height and continuing with the short throaty groans Mira and Omar had been hearing as she looked at them with glossy but intent eyes. "I'll shoot you if don't comply!" Sweat was beading across Mira's forehead, her fingers felt numb from the tight grip she had on her firearm. The woman lunged and Mira with no other choice squeezed the trigger. The gun was loud in the tight quarters, the bullet striking into the center of the woman's' chest sending her falling back against the wall. A cold, fearful wave surged across Mira as the woman stood back up straight and shuffled forward again. "Fuck!" Mira screamed, her trigger fingering snapping three times firing off three more shots into the suspects' chest, hot bullet casings clinking across the floor at her feet. The woman still did not fall, merely staggering back before lurching forward with savage eyes and a raging growl. Mira stepped back, heart pounding at what she was witnessing. This is fucking impossible! Mira's feet got tangled up and the Corporal overbalanced and fell back in a sprawl across the floor, eyes wide with fear as the woman reached down for her - blood pouring from the four bullet holes in her torso. "Omar!" Mira yelled.</s>

<|description|>Kissimi Gender: female Alliance:Rogue Sith Apprentice Looks/etc: She wears pure brown with her classic Jedi-style brown belt. She has two lightsabers, one purple, which she stole from her dead master, and the other a double-bladed red lightsaber. She has two Loth-wolves for friends, White, a female, and Brown, a male. She also just happens to be part Loth-wolf herself. She can speak many languages, including Loth-wolf, Hutteese, Wookie, etc. She is a human. She also can trick Jedi into thinking she's a Jedi since she DOES still have the lightsaber she stole from her master, Mace Windu(canon) when she murdered him after his ship crashed on her home planet of Lothal.</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi has landed her ship in a field near the capital city of Lothal, and she is currently playing with her Loth-wolf friends, White and Brown. Her playful laugh is light as the white wolf knocks her over, licking her face. However, the brown wolf is more resigned, playing with the girl only when the white wolf is farther away.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu had been walking for what felt like hours. He had been stranded on Lothal with very few resources when his ship was shot down by pirates. Vishu was on the bad side of multiple pirates. This is when he spotted Kissimi and her wolves. He watched them for a while, waiting for somebody to notice him. The Pantoran was appropriately wary, though the sight interested him.</s> <|message|>Kissimi After a few moments, the brown wolf catches a glimpse of Vishu and barks. Immediately, the girl stands, turning to study Vishu. She remains silent for a moment before speaking. "Who are you?" Her voice carries, and her tone conveys a slight threat- she is not afraid to become dangerous.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu also studied her, wondering the same thing. Of course, she had asked first, so he would be the bigger person and respond first. "My name is Vishu Soya. I was stranded on Lothal by pirates." He told her, holding up his open hands to show he meant no harm, as if he could sense her threat.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She thinks about his response for a moment before responding herself. This time, her tone carries a touch of kindness. Beside her, the white wolf barks and growls. Immediately, as the white wolf barks, the brown wolf utters a fierce growl and both wolves fall silent. "My name is Kissimi. I live on Lothal mostly. Which pirates, if I may?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He sighed. This girl, Kissimi, asked alot of questions for a local. "Gorian Shard and his crew," he replied, glancing nervously at the girl's wolves. The two animals made him rather uncomfortable. He slowly lowered his hands, watching both the qolves and the girl.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She raises her eyebrows, suspicious of Vishu's answer. If Gorian Shard really was mixed up with Vishu, this could go very badly. She knew who Gorian Shard was, and dislikes it. "Gorian Shard is dangerous. Why would you mess with him?" she asks Vishu, turning her attention to her wolves for a moment, "Brown. White. Hush." The white wolf whines but they both fall silent.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu watched her wolves, still wary. But he dared to take a step forward, not knowing what the reaction would be but willing to risk it. "I was desperate. Please, Kissimi. Can you help me?" His tone took on that of a dying man.</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi shakes her head. There was no way she was getting messed up with Gorian Shard. "I am not getting myself involved with Shard," she tells Vishu. She moves her hand down to her purple lightsaber, revealing it a little bit.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu froze upon seeing the lightsaber. "Jedi," he growled, his fraction of trust towards her vanishing in an instant. He was already on edge, so seeing the loghtsaber hadn't helped matters. "Who really are you?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi Her expression changes at the mention of Jedi. "I am not a Jedi. Nor am a Sith. I stole the lightsaber," she explains quickly. Her wolf friends snarl as Vishu steps forward. But Kissimi puts her hand down and they fall silent quickly.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu was still suspicious but nodded. "If you say so. So will you help me or not?" He got ztraight back to the point he was going for in the first place.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She thinks for a moment before finally nodding. She strokes the white wolf's head for a moment before speaking. "Fine. What do you need?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He smiled, relaxing a bit. "Thank you. I need transport offworld and to pay off Shard," he replied. He took another step forward, forcing himself to ignore the wolves.</s> <|message|>Kissimi It's her turn to stiffen. She takes a step back. The brown wolf barks and growls in warning, and this time she doesn't silence him. "I can get you transport, but I cannot pay off your debt," she replies, voice tight with some strange emotion- perhaps annoyance, or maybe bitterness.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He seemed a bit co fused at her response to his seemingly sinple request. "Is there something wrong?" He inquired, tilting his head slightly.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She nods, and her wolves growl warningly at Vishu. "I am not paying off your debt," she replies, shaking her head as if disappointed. Her tone is gentle, but firm. She gently taps the noses of her wolves and they vanish into the form of a pendant around her neck, one advantage of being Sith.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Kissi, you said you'd- what the hell did you just do-!?" Vishu watched the wolves seemingly vanish with a rather alarmed expression. Vishu had seen many people with exotic pets, but never had anybody done that...</s> <|message|>Kissimi She smiles elusively. "Magic," she replies simply, "now do you want off Lothal or not?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "You're Force-sensitive, aren't you?" Vishu snapped, his hand going to his blaster almost immediately. He stepped back, stumbling over the ground but not falling. "Sith or Jedi?" He growled.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She sighs, putting her hands up as if to surrender. When she speaks, her tone is completely calm. "No need to be aggressive. As I said, I am neither Sith nor Jedi. Yes, I am Force-sensitive," she speaks slowly. Her tail waves gently, providing a small clue into her nervousness. But other than that, she is completely calm.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Even though her words do calm him a bit, Vishu remains suspicious. "How do I know you're not lying to my face?" He spat, completely forgetting about what he had originally asked her for.</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi sighs, lowering her hands and her head. "The Jedi were wiped out. The Sith killed my only friends apart from my wolves," she responds slowly. Her words are believable, and her tone helps her case.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu nodded hesitantly. "Okay..." His hand slowly moved away from his blaster, thoih his expression and tone are now closely guarded. He studied Kissimi for a moment before again speaking. "So, about that transport offworld..."</s> <|message|>Kissimi She tilts her head, her ears now pinned back and her tail lashing slightly. "What about it? You expect it from me after you accused me of being allied?" She spits, glaring at Vishu.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He ducked his head, guilt flickering across his expression. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I jumped to conclusions. Please. I need to get offworld. Soon." His voice took on a guilty begging tone.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She sighs. "Don't look to me. Go into the city," she snaps.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. "Kissimi, please. I already tried going into the city. I won't be a bother, I just need to get back to Pantora." He looked up at her, trying to force himself to meet her eyes.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She meets Vishu's gaze, glaring. Her tone is cold when she speaks. "What's in it for me then, Pantoran?" she replies.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He tilted his head. crap. I didn't think of that, he thouht, silently cursing himself. "Well, uh..." He began. "Well, I-" He couldnt'think of anything right away.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She shakes her head, turning to enter her ship. "You have nothing. Just like I thought. Nothing but trouble," she hisses.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Wait! What is it you would want in exchange?" He called, realizing that it wouls be easier if he knew what she wanted. His voice shook, but not with fear. No, Vishu was a desperate man.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She stops, but does not turn. Her hand moves down to her lightsaber, as if to warn Vishu not to try anything, or perhaps to warn him that her request might seem extreme. "Well, that's simple. I want Cad Bane dead, most of all."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya His eyes widened. That was an impossible task! "That's- I- that's not something- alright fine. I'll get it done, but I need transport to Pantora first."</s> <|message|>Kissimi "Nope. Bane is here, on Lothal. I spoke to him recently, actually," she hisses. This time, she turns, glaring at Vishu with obvious dislike.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. His hand went to his wrist by default- a nervous habbit. He nodded slowly. "Alright. We meet her in two rotations?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi "At dusk," she replies, shaking her head. She knows Vishu will wonder why she's being so tight with her timeline, but she'll answer that if he asks. For now, she will play her own game...</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Wha- that isn't possible! I have to-" He stopped, realizing that she probably was doing this on purpose. "Why dusk?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi "Some of us need to be home in time for dinner," she replies simply, "do you want my help or not?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He nodded. "Fine," he said before turning and heading for the city. He pulled his hood over his head, mostly hiding what species he was.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She watches Vishu leave and sighs. She enters her ship and prepares to leave Vishu behind, debating whether to actually do so or not.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He returned to the ship at dusk, a bit of blood on his uniform. "Kissimi! It is done!"</s> <|message|>Kissimi Instead of being met by Kissimi, like he might have suspected, he is met by the white wolf. The wolf barks a few times, then pads into the ship, looking behind her as if to want Vishu to follow her.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu hestitated for a moment befors following the white wolf. He didn't trust the wolf, but Kissimi didn't seem like the traitor type...</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi is speaking to somebody via hologram, but ends the transmission the moment White and Vishu enter. "Hm. You actually did it," she nods her approval, "not many people are that useful." She goes to the cockpit and flips a few levers and pushes a few buttons. "Get comfortable."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He nodded, trailing her then sitting in the co-piolt seat, not touching any controls.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She guided the ship up and out of the atmosphere then set the coordinates and jumped to hyperspace.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He watched her every move carefully. He was silent for a while before he finally spoke. When he did speak, his voice was soft. "So, if you're not Jedi or Sith, what are you?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi She hesitates, turning her head to study Vishu. She debates her answer, knowing that the truth would probably be a bad idea. But she settles to tell said truth. "I'm both..."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He blinked at her. "How is that possible?" He asked, tone taking on that of confusion. Even his expresson is rather confused.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She just shrugs, turning her attention back to the ship. "Anything is possible," she responds after a few moments of silence. Just then, the proximity alarm goes off and the ship drops out of hyperspace.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He stood, alarmed. "What's going on? Why did we drop out?" He asked, tone becoming panicked.</s>

<|message|>Kissimi She checks the scanners and there's only one other ship she can find. "Proximity alert," she tells him, sighing. She startles as a voice comes through the comm system. "Lady Kissimi. What brings you near Pantora?" A male voice crackles. Kissimi motions to Vishu to remain quiet. "Just passing through. Requesting permission to land," she replies. The voice is silent for a moment. "Denied. Turn back before somebody gets hurt."</s>

<|description|>Vishu Soya Gender: Male(he/him) Species: Pantoran Looks: Vishu is a younger Pantoran male. His skin is the common blue of a Pantoran. His eyes are amber. He wears a soldier's outfit, though he is not a soldier. Personality: Vishu is kind, but does not trust easily. His parents were murdered by the Sith, so anybody who uses the Force starts as an enemy to him. More While RPing</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi has landed her ship in a field near the capital city of Lothal, and she is currently playing with her Loth-wolf friends, White and Brown. Her playful laugh is light as the white wolf knocks her over, licking her face. However, the brown wolf is more resigned, playing with the girl only when the white wolf is farther away.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu had been walking for what felt like hours. He had been stranded on Lothal with very few resources when his ship was shot down by pirates. Vishu was on the bad side of multiple pirates. This is when he spotted Kissimi and her wolves. He watched them for a while, waiting for somebody to notice him. The Pantoran was appropriately wary, though the sight interested him.</s> <|message|>Kissimi After a few moments, the brown wolf catches a glimpse of Vishu and barks. Immediately, the girl stands, turning to study Vishu. She remains silent for a moment before speaking. "Who are you?" Her voice carries, and her tone conveys a slight threat- she is not afraid to become dangerous.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu also studied her, wondering the same thing. Of course, she had asked first, so he would be the bigger person and respond first. "My name is Vishu Soya. I was stranded on Lothal by pirates." He told her, holding up his open hands to show he meant no harm, as if he could sense her threat.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She thinks about his response for a moment before responding herself. This time, her tone carries a touch of kindness. Beside her, the white wolf barks and growls. Immediately, as the white wolf barks, the brown wolf utters a fierce growl and both wolves fall silent. "My name is Kissimi. I live on Lothal mostly. Which pirates, if I may?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He sighed. This girl, Kissimi, asked alot of questions for a local. "Gorian Shard and his crew," he replied, glancing nervously at the girl's wolves. The two animals made him rather uncomfortable. He slowly lowered his hands, watching both the qolves and the girl.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She raises her eyebrows, suspicious of Vishu's answer. If Gorian Shard really was mixed up with Vishu, this could go very badly. She knew who Gorian Shard was, and dislikes it. "Gorian Shard is dangerous. Why would you mess with him?" she asks Vishu, turning her attention to her wolves for a moment, "Brown. White. Hush." The white wolf whines but they both fall silent.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu watched her wolves, still wary. But he dared to take a step forward, not knowing what the reaction would be but willing to risk it. "I was desperate. Please, Kissimi. Can you help me?" His tone took on that of a dying man.</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi shakes her head. There was no way she was getting messed up with Gorian Shard. "I am not getting myself involved with Shard," she tells Vishu. She moves her hand down to her purple lightsaber, revealing it a little bit.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu froze upon seeing the lightsaber. "Jedi," he growled, his fraction of trust towards her vanishing in an instant. He was already on edge, so seeing the loghtsaber hadn't helped matters. "Who really are you?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi Her expression changes at the mention of Jedi. "I am not a Jedi. Nor am a Sith. I stole the lightsaber," she explains quickly. Her wolf friends snarl as Vishu steps forward. But Kissimi puts her hand down and they fall silent quickly.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu was still suspicious but nodded. "If you say so. So will you help me or not?" He got ztraight back to the point he was going for in the first place.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She thinks for a moment before finally nodding. She strokes the white wolf's head for a moment before speaking. "Fine. What do you need?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He smiled, relaxing a bit. "Thank you. I need transport offworld and to pay off Shard," he replied. He took another step forward, forcing himself to ignore the wolves.</s> <|message|>Kissimi It's her turn to stiffen. She takes a step back. The brown wolf barks and growls in warning, and this time she doesn't silence him. "I can get you transport, but I cannot pay off your debt," she replies, voice tight with some strange emotion- perhaps annoyance, or maybe bitterness.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He seemed a bit co fused at her response to his seemingly sinple request. "Is there something wrong?" He inquired, tilting his head slightly.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She nods, and her wolves growl warningly at Vishu. "I am not paying off your debt," she replies, shaking her head as if disappointed. Her tone is gentle, but firm. She gently taps the noses of her wolves and they vanish into the form of a pendant around her neck, one advantage of being Sith.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Kissi, you said you'd- what the hell did you just do-!?" Vishu watched the wolves seemingly vanish with a rather alarmed expression. Vishu had seen many people with exotic pets, but never had anybody done that...</s> <|message|>Kissimi She smiles elusively. "Magic," she replies simply, "now do you want off Lothal or not?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "You're Force-sensitive, aren't you?" Vishu snapped, his hand going to his blaster almost immediately. He stepped back, stumbling over the ground but not falling. "Sith or Jedi?" He growled.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She sighs, putting her hands up as if to surrender. When she speaks, her tone is completely calm. "No need to be aggressive. As I said, I am neither Sith nor Jedi. Yes, I am Force-sensitive," she speaks slowly. Her tail waves gently, providing a small clue into her nervousness. But other than that, she is completely calm.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Even though her words do calm him a bit, Vishu remains suspicious. "How do I know you're not lying to my face?" He spat, completely forgetting about what he had originally asked her for.</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi sighs, lowering her hands and her head. "The Jedi were wiped out. The Sith killed my only friends apart from my wolves," she responds slowly. Her words are believable, and her tone helps her case.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu nodded hesitantly. "Okay..." His hand slowly moved away from his blaster, thoih his expression and tone are now closely guarded. He studied Kissimi for a moment before again speaking. "So, about that transport offworld..."</s> <|message|>Kissimi She tilts her head, her ears now pinned back and her tail lashing slightly. "What about it? You expect it from me after you accused me of being allied?" She spits, glaring at Vishu.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He ducked his head, guilt flickering across his expression. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I jumped to conclusions. Please. I need to get offworld. Soon." His voice took on a guilty begging tone.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She sighs. "Don't look to me. Go into the city," she snaps.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. "Kissimi, please. I already tried going into the city. I won't be a bother, I just need to get back to Pantora." He looked up at her, trying to force himself to meet her eyes.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She meets Vishu's gaze, glaring. Her tone is cold when she speaks. "What's in it for me then, Pantoran?" she replies.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He tilted his head. crap. I didn't think of that, he thouht, silently cursing himself. "Well, uh..." He began. "Well, I-" He couldnt'think of anything right away.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She shakes her head, turning to enter her ship. "You have nothing. Just like I thought. Nothing but trouble," she hisses.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Wait! What is it you would want in exchange?" He called, realizing that it wouls be easier if he knew what she wanted. His voice shook, but not with fear. No, Vishu was a desperate man.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She stops, but does not turn. Her hand moves down to her lightsaber, as if to warn Vishu not to try anything, or perhaps to warn him that her request might seem extreme. "Well, that's simple. I want Cad Bane dead, most of all."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya His eyes widened. That was an impossible task! "That's- I- that's not something- alright fine. I'll get it done, but I need transport to Pantora first."</s> <|message|>Kissimi "Nope. Bane is here, on Lothal. I spoke to him recently, actually," she hisses. This time, she turns, glaring at Vishu with obvious dislike.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. His hand went to his wrist by default- a nervous habbit. He nodded slowly. "Alright. We meet her in two rotations?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi "At dusk," she replies, shaking her head. She knows Vishu will wonder why she's being so tight with her timeline, but she'll answer that if he asks. For now, she will play her own game...</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Wha- that isn't possible! I have to-" He stopped, realizing that she probably was doing this on purpose. "Why dusk?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi "Some of us need to be home in time for dinner," she replies simply, "do you want my help or not?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He nodded. "Fine," he said before turning and heading for the city. He pulled his hood over his head, mostly hiding what species he was.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She watches Vishu leave and sighs. She enters her ship and prepares to leave Vishu behind, debating whether to actually do so or not.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He returned to the ship at dusk, a bit of blood on his uniform. "Kissimi! It is done!"</s> <|message|>Kissimi Instead of being met by Kissimi, like he might have suspected, he is met by the white wolf. The wolf barks a few times, then pads into the ship, looking behind her as if to want Vishu to follow her.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu hestitated for a moment befors following the white wolf. He didn't trust the wolf, but Kissimi didn't seem like the traitor type...</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi is speaking to somebody via hologram, but ends the transmission the moment White and Vishu enter. "Hm. You actually did it," she nods her approval, "not many people are that useful." She goes to the cockpit and flips a few levers and pushes a few buttons. "Get comfortable."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He nodded, trailing her then sitting in the co-piolt seat, not touching any controls.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She guided the ship up and out of the atmosphere then set the coordinates and jumped to hyperspace.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He watched her every move carefully. He was silent for a while before he finally spoke. When he did speak, his voice was soft. "So, if you're not Jedi or Sith, what are you?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi She hesitates, turning her head to study Vishu. She debates her answer, knowing that the truth would probably be a bad idea. But she settles to tell said truth. "I'm both..."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He blinked at her. "How is that possible?" He asked, tone taking on that of confusion. Even his expresson is rather confused.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She just shrugs, turning her attention back to the ship. "Anything is possible," she responds after a few moments of silence. Just then, the proximity alarm goes off and the ship drops out of hyperspace.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He stood, alarmed. "What's going on? Why did we drop out?" He asked, tone becoming panicked.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She checks the scanners and there's only one other ship she can find. "Proximity alert," she tells him, sighing. She startles as a voice comes through the comm system. "Lady Kissimi. What brings you near Pantora?" A male voice crackles. Kissimi motions to Vishu to remain quiet. "Just passing through. Requesting permission to land," she replies. The voice is silent for a moment. "Denied. Turn back before somebody gets hurt."</s>

<|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu stiffened, again questioning who Kissimi really was. If the Imperials told her to turn back, then who was she? "Kissimi..." His tone is worried, but not afraid. He was worried about how Kissimi would respond, if she engaged it would probably be bad.</s>

<|description|>Vishu Soya Gender: Male(he/him) Species: Pantoran Looks: Vishu is a younger Pantoran male. His skin is the common blue of a Pantoran. His eyes are amber. He wears a soldier's outfit, though he is not a soldier. Personality: Vishu is kind, but does not trust easily. His parents were murdered by the Sith, so anybody who uses the Force starts as an enemy to him. More While RPing</s> <|message|>Kissimi She smiles elusively. "Magic," she replies simply, "now do you want off Lothal or not?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "You're Force-sensitive, aren't you?" Vishu snapped, his hand going to his blaster almost immediately. He stepped back, stumbling over the ground but not falling. "Sith or Jedi?" He growled.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She sighs, putting her hands up as if to surrender. When she speaks, her tone is completely calm. "No need to be aggressive. As I said, I am neither Sith nor Jedi. Yes, I am Force-sensitive," she speaks slowly. Her tail waves gently, providing a small clue into her nervousness. But other than that, she is completely calm.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Even though her words do calm him a bit, Vishu remains suspicious. "How do I know you're not lying to my face?" He spat, completely forgetting about what he had originally asked her for.</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi sighs, lowering her hands and her head. "The Jedi were wiped out. The Sith killed my only friends apart from my wolves," she responds slowly. Her words are believable, and her tone helps her case.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu nodded hesitantly. "Okay..." His hand slowly moved away from his blaster, thoih his expression and tone are now closely guarded. He studied Kissimi for a moment before again speaking. "So, about that transport offworld..."</s> <|message|>Kissimi She tilts her head, her ears now pinned back and her tail lashing slightly. "What about it? You expect it from me after you accused me of being allied?" She spits, glaring at Vishu.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He ducked his head, guilt flickering across his expression. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I jumped to conclusions. Please. I need to get offworld. Soon." His voice took on a guilty begging tone.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She sighs. "Don't look to me. Go into the city," she snaps.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. "Kissimi, please. I already tried going into the city. I won't be a bother, I just need to get back to Pantora." He looked up at her, trying to force himself to meet her eyes.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She meets Vishu's gaze, glaring. Her tone is cold when she speaks. "What's in it for me then, Pantoran?" she replies.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He tilted his head. crap. I didn't think of that, he thouht, silently cursing himself. "Well, uh..." He began. "Well, I-" He couldnt'think of anything right away.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She shakes her head, turning to enter her ship. "You have nothing. Just like I thought. Nothing but trouble," she hisses.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Wait! What is it you would want in exchange?" He called, realizing that it wouls be easier if he knew what she wanted. His voice shook, but not with fear. No, Vishu was a desperate man.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She stops, but does not turn. Her hand moves down to her lightsaber, as if to warn Vishu not to try anything, or perhaps to warn him that her request might seem extreme. "Well, that's simple. I want Cad Bane dead, most of all."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya His eyes widened. That was an impossible task! "That's- I- that's not something- alright fine. I'll get it done, but I need transport to Pantora first."</s> <|message|>Kissimi "Nope. Bane is here, on Lothal. I spoke to him recently, actually," she hisses. This time, she turns, glaring at Vishu with obvious dislike.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. His hand went to his wrist by default- a nervous habbit. He nodded slowly. "Alright. We meet her in two rotations?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi "At dusk," she replies, shaking her head. She knows Vishu will wonder why she's being so tight with her timeline, but she'll answer that if he asks. For now, she will play her own game...</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya "Wha- that isn't possible! I have to-" He stopped, realizing that she probably was doing this on purpose. "Why dusk?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi "Some of us need to be home in time for dinner," she replies simply, "do you want my help or not?"</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He nodded. "Fine," he said before turning and heading for the city. He pulled his hood over his head, mostly hiding what species he was.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She watches Vishu leave and sighs. She enters her ship and prepares to leave Vishu behind, debating whether to actually do so or not.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He returned to the ship at dusk, a bit of blood on his uniform. "Kissimi! It is done!"</s> <|message|>Kissimi Instead of being met by Kissimi, like he might have suspected, he is met by the white wolf. The wolf barks a few times, then pads into the ship, looking behind her as if to want Vishu to follow her.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu hestitated for a moment befors following the white wolf. He didn't trust the wolf, but Kissimi didn't seem like the traitor type...</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi is speaking to somebody via hologram, but ends the transmission the moment White and Vishu enter. "Hm. You actually did it," she nods her approval, "not many people are that useful." She goes to the cockpit and flips a few levers and pushes a few buttons. "Get comfortable."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He nodded, trailing her then sitting in the co-piolt seat, not touching any controls.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She guided the ship up and out of the atmosphere then set the coordinates and jumped to hyperspace.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He watched her every move carefully. He was silent for a while before he finally spoke. When he did speak, his voice was soft. "So, if you're not Jedi or Sith, what are you?"</s> <|message|>Kissimi She hesitates, turning her head to study Vishu. She debates her answer, knowing that the truth would probably be a bad idea. But she settles to tell said truth. "I'm both..."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He blinked at her. "How is that possible?" He asked, tone taking on that of confusion. Even his expresson is rather confused.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She just shrugs, turning her attention back to the ship. "Anything is possible," she responds after a few moments of silence. Just then, the proximity alarm goes off and the ship drops out of hyperspace.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He stood, alarmed. "What's going on? Why did we drop out?" He asked, tone becoming panicked.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She checks the scanners and there's only one other ship she can find. "Proximity alert," she tells him, sighing. She startles as a voice comes through the comm system. "Lady Kissimi. What brings you near Pantora?" A male voice crackles. Kissimi motions to Vishu to remain quiet. "Just passing through. Requesting permission to land," she replies. The voice is silent for a moment. "Denied. Turn back before somebody gets hurt."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu stiffened, again questioning who Kissimi really was. If the Imperials told her to turn back, then who was she? "Kissimi..." His tone is worried, but not afraid. He was worried about how Kissimi would respond, if she engaged it would probably be bad.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She shakes her head. "We're landing, Vishu. Calm down," yet even as she says that, the Imperial ships open fire. Almost instantly, she takes evasive action, easily moving past what should have been deadly. She gets past the Imperial blockade and ducks into Pantoran airspace. A squad of tie fighters following. But she easily got into an offensive position and took down a few of the ties then found an open port and landed, turning to Vishu. "Off. You've caused enough trouble."</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He stood, ducking his head. "Thank you, Kissimi. If you ever are in trouble, you can call on me and my family and we will help you," he promised her, "unless it gets us in trouble with the Empire." Those are his last words before he takes his leave. As he leaves, he looks back, wondering whether this is a good choice.</s> <|message|>Kissimi She nods, watching him leave. As she does so, her wolves appear at her side. She looks at the brown wolf. "Follow him. See where he goes. Don't get caught," she whispers to the wolf. The wolf nods then bounds out after Vishu, keeping to the shadows. His dark coloration makes it difficult to see him.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He didn't notice the wolf following him as he flagged a taxi and made his way to his home. His adopted daughter/sister was waiting for him at the entrance, and she waved to him. He waved back, paid the taxi droid, and went and hugged her. He still did not notice the wolf until his sister pointed the wolf out. "Brother, there's an animal following you." She told him. He turned, not immediately seeing the wolf but knowing the wolf was there. He ushered her inside, standing outside the door for a moment before pulling it shut after hissing, "Go back to your master, wolf!"</s> <|message|>Kissimi The brown wolf does not move, simply watching Vishu. for a moment before making his way towards the door and scratching at it with pleading whimpers. Now that he knows Vishu has a sister, he knows what Kissimi would want him to do...and he always does as Kissimi orders. Meanwhile, Kissimi has gone into the local market to restock on supplies, flanked by her white wolf.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu put a hand out to stop his sister/daughter from getting the door for the wolf. "Don't. I'll deal with it," he told her. She looked worried but nodded and went to her room without needing to be told. Vishu went to the door, pulling out his blaster before opening it. He saw the brown wolf and shot his blaster at the wolf, aiming to kill. He knew this was a bad idea, but he was already sick of Kissimi's games; he'd done as she'd asked of him, and he wanted away now. But he guessed he wouldn't be able to get out of her grasps very easily, not if she was who she seemed like- a bounty hunter. If she was a hunter, he'd most likely be dead for trying to kill the wolf in hours, but if she wasn't... well, he'd probably be dead sooner.</s> <|message|>Kissimi As a response to the blaster fire, the brown wolf ducks away then stands taller, snarling. His sharp wolf fangs are visible, but he does not attack. He has been ordered not to follow, but he wants to so badly, and it's clear in his stance. He steps forward, lowering his head as if to attack. His claws click on the tiled floor as he pads up the staircase to stand in front of Vishu. But he stops as a voice calls out. "Brown! There you are!" It's Kissimi, with the white wolf standing beside her wearing a customized saddle bag perfect for shopping.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He looked up as he heard Kissimi's voice, expression that of anger and slight fear. "Get your dog under control!" He snapped, quickly hiding his blaster. He was aware she might have seen it, and he could only guess what the price for trying to shoot her pet would be. "I don't see why you keep such vial pets."</s> <|message|>Kissimi She glares, shaking her head. "My friends are not pets," she takes a step forward, "Drop the blaster and we won't have a problem." Both wolves fall into spots beside her, growling and occasionally barking at her.</s> <|message|>Vishu Soya He quickly set his weapon down, kicking it away and raising his hands. "I really am sorry, my friend. Though I don't see why you'd send your dog- erm, wolf- after me when you knew I'd be willing to help you if you needed it," he said quickly, taking a hesitant step back. He disliked how Kissimi had gone from reluctantly helping him to a cold and heartless girl in not even seconds. He hadn't known the wolves weren't pets!</s> <|message|>Kissimi Kissimi laughs. "If only you knew why," she replies. The two wolves growl and take a step forward, moving in front of Kissimi slightly.</s>

<|message|>Vishu Soya Vishu sighed. "This is about the bounty, isn't it?" He asked. "Look, I don't take you as a hunter, correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem like somebody who can negotiate. She's just a child, after all!" He knew his words weren't completely true. He knew that his sister had already managed to cross some extremely powerful people. But he would protect her with his life.</s>

<|description|>Riyu Alar Gender: Female(she/her) Age: 19 Species: Werewolf Vampire Looks: Riyu has dark skin and light blue eyes. Her hair is a warm auburn color. Her ears and tail are tipped with dark russet points, and she has two fangs that she doesn't bother to hide due to her vampire genes. More While RPing</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar Riyu was on a walk, and she didn't notice much of anybody. She passed Axel, and the children, and a woman walking a dog, but she took no notice. She was the type where if somebody was hurt, she still wouldn't notice. Again, she was off in her own world od imagination.</s> <|message|>Axel Her attention flicked when she saw the new arrival, her eyes scanning the others appearance as if committing it to memory, she willed her brain to stop, to just let the information go, but of course, her brain committed everything to memory, she sighed softly, turning her attention back to the children who where playing</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar Riyu suddenly was snapped out of her imagination as a boy of about 19 decided it was a good idea to trip her. She stumbled, but pulled herself together pretty quickly and easily sent the boy falling to the ground with a swift kick to the shin. Of course, she wasn't a fighter, and she simply walked away.</s> <|message|>Axel She looked back over, interest lighting her gaze, she stood, her movements fluid as she took the boy by the collar and stuck him up into a high tree, then proceeded to follow Riyu, because she was curious</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar The boy was not very happy about being taken down by two girls, but he accepted his fate. Riyu, now remaining in the present, turned as she was being followed. "What the hell do you want?" She snapped.</s> <|message|>Axel She simply tilted her head, eyes expressionless "Nothing" Was all she said, her response quick, as if she already knew what the other was going to say, her voice was monotone and quick, containing no expression whatsoever</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She glared at Axel. "Don't kid yourself. You were fvcking following me. So why?" She snapped, not in the mood to take shit from anybody after what the boy had done.</s> <|message|>Axel She blinked, her eyes analyzing everything. "Because your interesting" Was all she replyed, doing it quick as if she knew what she was going to say, then again, she did</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She sighed. "I'm no different than anybody else. Leave me alone," She spat, turning and walking away at a brisk pace. She was sick of people, especially weirdos wjo behaved like androids.</s> <|message|>Axel She followed silently, her movements making no sound as she walked, her brain taking in everything around her as if it would make it all new again</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar Her ears were pinned back, yet she knew Axel was still following her. "Stop. Following. Me," she growled, speeding up.</s> <|message|>Axel "I'd rather not" She said, continuing to follow her, although she knew it was creeper like</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar Eventually, she stopped, turning. "Why? Nobody asked you to follow me. Nobody wants you to. So leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone." She snarled, her eyes flashing red.</s> <|message|>Axel She stayed still, watching with curiosity, her green eyes seemed to look barcoded as she analyzed this, committing it to memory as she always did</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She sighed. "Fine. Be like that, android," she turned into a bat and flew off. Due to her vampire genes, she could become both a bat and a wolf, so it gave her an advantage.</s> <|message|>Axel She watched this, eyes analyzing, mind committing, brain turning</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She flew to her house and in through a window, laying down on her bed sith a sigh. This was irritating her, to say the least.</s> <|message|>Axel She shrugged, going to a abandoned house and going inside, sitting on the floor, letting all her thoughts spill out and just sitting in silent agony</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She lay back on her bed and soon fell asleep. Her sleep was restless, plauged by nightmares and dreams of her fallen friends and foe.</s> <|message|>Axel She didn't sleep that night, to many thoughts to clear away, she cleared almost all of them to make room for new memories, most of her old ones were about a old friend</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She woke a few hours later, yawning and dragging herself out of bed. She knew something was off about the girl who had followed her, but she dismissed it. Skmething was off about most people.</s> <|message|>Axel She laid on the floor of the abandoned house, finally managing to sleep after the painful process of clearing her memories, she woke after a few hours, deciding to go try and find the person she had followed the day befire, something was different about that one</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar Riyu began walking down main street, avoiding the hostile glares of a few random people. She turned into a small cafe and ordered herself a black coffee before sitting down at a table facing the door.</s> <|message|>Axel She walked into the cafe, which was actually the place she worked at, she opened the door, not seeming to notice the person she had followed the other day as she went behind the counter</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She noticed Axel and pulled her hood over her head, covering her ears and curling her tail around her leg. She took out her laptop and began working on some of her work that she had.</s> <|message|>Axel She put her apron on and went to a table, the table being the others "Hello, what would you like today?"</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar "I'm fine, thank you," she replied, taking a sip of her coffee. Her attention remained on her laptop.</s> <|message|>Axel She nodded, something about this person seeming familiar, she searched her memories, being called over by a guy before she could figure it out</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She watched Axel walk away then returned her attention to her laptop.</s> <|message|>Axel She talked to the guy, who looked to be in his 40's he was practically yelling at her while she just stood there, taking everything he was yelling without emotion</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She noticed this but took no action, simply keeping her attention on her laptop</s> <|message|>Axel The guy raised his hand and slapped her across the face, she turned stiffly and walked away, although a single tear rolled down her cheek, the only sign she felt emotion at all</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar That got Riyu to stand and come over. "Why the hell would you do that?" She demanded. Even if something was off about Axel, what the man had done was not okay,</s> <|message|>Axel She tried to calm the other down, the guy standing and looking angry, she went over to try to calm him down, but he slapped her again, this time sending her skidding to the ground</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She stepped in front of Axel at this point. "Try that one more time. I fvcking dare you." She snarled, letting her hood fall. Her eyes glinted red. She was not going to be as nice as she was aith the boy from yesterday, and she could be harmful.</s> <|message|>Axel She stood, wincing a bit, her cheek was bright red from where she had been slapped, she forced the tears back as she tried to calm Riyu and the guy</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She gently pushed Axel back, keeping her attention on the guy. "Take a break, kid," she told Axel, her tone void of everything except venom.</s> <|message|>Axel The guy stomped forward, and Axel actually looked scared, she hated when customers acted like this, the guy took a vase and smashed it, she squeaked "No!" She loved the vases, she quickly tried to pick up the glass, cutting herself multiple times but managing to get it all picked up</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar That was Riyu's fjnal straw. She grabbed the guy by his shirt collar and dragged him out of the cafe, utilizing her werewolf strength. She dropped him on the ground. "Do you mind? Goddamn bastard, she did nothing to you. So leave her, and the cafe, alone!"</s> <|message|>Axel She had gotten glue and was frantically trying to glue the vase back together, she seemed like a totally different person than yesterday, some tears fell down her face, mostly because she had allowed herself to be slapped like that, twice even</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She left the guy and reentered the cafe, approaching Axel. "Hey. It's broken. I can make you a new one, if you want," she offered, her tone gentle and soft. Her tail flicked Axel's leg in a kind manner.</s> <|message|>Axel She quickly wiped the tears away when Ryui approached, she sniffled, trying to make herself look less like she was crying, she shook her head "No it's fine.." She said, her voice soft and sad, the man had ran away</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She sighed. "You sure? Also, is it often you let people treat you that way?" The question was innocent, but her tone was again mostly empty.</s> <|message|>Axel She looked away, avoiding the question "Thank you for helping me"</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She sighed again. "Yeah. No problem. The name's Riyu, by the way," she added, her tail flicking. She had noticed how Axel avoided the question, but she paid it no mind.</s> <|message|>Axel "Nice to meet you.. I'm Axel" She said in her soft voice, still holding the broken pieces of the vase in her bare hands</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She nodded, glancing at Axel's hands. "You know, somw broken things can't be fixed."</s> <|message|>Axel She held the broken pieces close to her chest "Well, I can still try" She said, closing her eyes and sighing softly</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar "True. Or you could use the broken to make something better." She studied the pieces. "I work with glassblowing in my spare time. I could make something out of those."</s> <|message|>Axel "Really?" She asked, eyes lighting up in wonder, she was like a completely different person from who had followed Ryiu the day before</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She nodded, noticing the change but thinking nothing of it. "Really. Actually, I'm off today so..." she tilted her head.</s> <|message|>Axel She let a tiny smile through her usual blank face until memories flashed in her mind, bad memories, her smile instantly faded, but the look of wonder never leaving her eyes</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She took note of this and tilted her head. "You good?"</s> <|message|>Axel She nodded "Yup, fine" She said, voice taking on its monotone again</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar "Alright. Well, I'll see you later, Axel," she turned, geeting her things from the table before leaving without another word.</s> <|message|>Axel She looked down at the broken pieces of the vase, her boss coming and yelling at her for not working, her boss telling her that the cost for the vase would be taken from her paycheck, she got off of work a few minutes later, going to a cherry tree orchard and sitting under a tree</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She went to her small shared glass studio, but didn't start another project. Instead, she started thinking of ideas for the pieces.</s> <|message|>Axel She had put the broken vase in a little pouch inside of her backpack, she leaned her back against the tree, signing softly</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She found an idea she thought Axel might like and began sketching a basic design.</s> <|message|>Axel She looked up at the leaves of the cherry tree, trying desperately not to burst into tears, she wiped away the few that had escaped, pulling her knees to her chest and trying not to think about what had happened in the cafe</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She finished her sketches then went in search of Axel. Of course, it didn't take her very long to find the other girl. But she would not be recognized, as she was in her wolf form, with a pouch at her side to carry the drawings. She barked a greteting, padding up to Axel below the tree.</s> <|message|>Axel She tilted her head at the wolf, her brain already piecing it together, she blinked, trying to get the sudden headache away, she nods in greeting to the wolf, knowing it was Ryui</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar She tilted her head but sat dosn, shaking the pouch off and nudging it over to Axel. Riyu then lay down and waited for Axel to look at the drawings and decide.</s> <|message|>Axel She looks at the pouch, getting the drawings out and looking through them, her eyes lighting up in wonder</s> <|message|>Riyu Alar Her tail tapped the ground as she watched Alex look at the drawings.</s> <|message|>Axel "There so pretty" She said, voice full of wonder as she looked through them, she picked one, eyes shining when she sowed it to Riyu "This one"</s>

<|message|>Riyu Alar Riyu nodded, standing and gathering the drawings aa best she coupd as a wolf. She pulled the pouch back on then trotted away, looking baxk as if wanted alex to follow,</s>