[System]
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Ethnicity/Nationality: Arab-American
Physical Description:
Ria takes after her father, dusky skin and broad. At 5'5" and 140lbs, she is fit and toned with a layer of muscle, not curvy. Her near black hair is cropped close. She has strong facial features - pronounced cheeks and nose, with a sharp chin. Her dark brown eyes frequently have bags beneath them, and make up barely registers as a thought. Her body is scarred and frequently bruised. There are two thick scars that run from her right shoulder nearly to her mid back.

Skillset:
Skills: Tracking, planning
Training, Knowledge & Education: Vampire lore, her family's hunting history. Training started a young age with trips to a gun range, as well as hand to hand training. "Normal" studies were attempted, but traditional book knowledge was never a priority. Ria also speaks English and Farsi fluently, and can get by as needed in Arabic.
Talents:Preternatural sense of vampires, including a pulling feel towards a specific individual.

History
Though she came from a family of hunters and had a network of family "friends" and acquaintances in the same line of business, it wasn't until she was nearly twenty that she was party to a real hunt. For much of her childhood, her father would train her and her sister, Nima, and occasionally disappear with friends for a week or two. He would come back, nearly always injured.Nima was a few years older and started to join their father while Ria was a teenager. In those days, it fell to Ria to put together plans and contingencies. She played a peripheral, albeit important, role.

As she neared adulthood, she joined her family on their hunts. A string of suspicious disappearances when Ria was 19 spurred the small group into action. Ria's plan was foolproof, at least for getting out alive. Nima would play the bait, pretty and similar to the girls already taken. Ria hadn't counted on there being two of them or that they had indeed been baiting the hunters. Though she had an immediate bad feeling as they sprung their own trap, it was too late for Nima. Ria watched her sister disappear, unable to do anything but run. Her father, overwhelmed with grief, took his own life a short month later.

She buried her own grief, grief that turned into rage and near obsession. Leaving behind the others in her group, she set out on her own to track her sister. What she would do when...if...she found her was a question Ria could never quite answer to herself.

It took years to get any sort of definitive idea as to where Nima had gone. She ended up in Vancouver, sneaking aboard a yacht in the marina. Ria was certain she could feel her sister's presence, but it was not Nima who confronted her. The handsome vampire sneered cruelly. His attacks mixed with feints, like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it. Ria was no match, especially not on her own. Her head slammed into the railing, and she was certain she heard Nima's laughter from a distance. In the moment her attacker paused to savor the moment before the killing blow, she flung herself overboard in the dark, cold embrace of the water.

There was no up or down, no moon to cast an eery glow in the water. As she flailed in the water, her lungs desperate for air, Ria saw Nima flickering in the water. She kicked towards her, pushing, clawing through the water.

She woke up in a hospital, banged up badly but alive. Not long after waking up, she was offered a chance, a real chance, to hit back.

Psychological Profile:
Ria is motivated nearly entirely by a desire for revenge. Watching her sister be taken and likely turned and her father's suicide in quick succession pushed a young woman over the edge into blind despair and rage. Working largely on her own for a few years taught her extreme self reliance. A more fragile mind would have cracked. At the end of the day, a chance to hit back is worth the chance of becoming monstrous herself.

Modifications: (The ones already listed are standard issue for all characters)* Communications suite, HUD and neural-computer, all standard issue – Vigil agents are able to text by thinking it among each other on a heavily encrypted wireless network. In fact, the computer works off brain impulses and is easily one of the most sophisticated and useful implants they have; what's more, its capabilities have yet to be fully exploited. The downside of this implant is that it includes a cortex bomb with an anti-tampering device. A captured agent can set it off, destroying the hardware inside, or a signal from control can do the same. This is to prevent the enemy from learning the capabilities of implanted agents.
* Internal air supply and aerial toxin filter -- this also has the added advantage of making the agent immune to vampire pheromones, as some types of vampires are known to use this to seduce their prey.
* Blood/liquid toxin filter -- the obvious is at work here -- vampires use their blood as a means of controlling mortals, and this system (and everyone, even non field agents, in the Vigil organization have this implant) screens out one of most subtle weapons a vampire has, rendering them functionally immune to being controlled through ingested blood the way mortal thralls of a vampire might be.
* Eye augmentation; a HUD showing all sorts of system data, such as the status of implants, as well as allowing for low-light and ultra-sound modes of vision, the latter being thought to be more effective than thermographics when dealing with vampires, who tend to run cold if they haven't fed lately.
* Implants in her right arm and hand to restore feeling and full function
* Neural implant to strengthen her preternatural sense of vampires and tracking of an individual

Equipment: (The items already listed are standard issue.)
* Mimetic Camouflage (Predator) coat, though this is designed to look more like a trenchcoat -- no doubt some project engineer with a penchant for the dramatic, or an interest in fashion design. The coat is actually stylish, which serves a dual purpose as vampires tend to dress stylishly and surround themselves with the stylishly dressed. This allows Vigil agents one more edge. Of course, they call it the Predator Coat. Because the engineers are geeks. (This is a standard issue Vigil item)
* Modular, caseless assault rifle/carbine. Bullpup, caseless ammunition, synched with existing implants and capable of mounting a variety of accessories including a 25mm grenade launcher whose munitions range from conventional high explosive to nano-guided scattered mines. It also syncs with HUD implants for improved accuracy in a mechanism similar to a bluetooth link. The trigger is electric and the weapon includes a biometric security system; anyone but someone authorized to handle it and it will blow; that is a standard feature on most any weapon the Vigil has in service with its teams. (This is a standard issue Vigil item)
* A number of electronic accessories, including a PDA tablet and other items to assist in making physical connection with computer equipment. (This is a standard issue Vigil item)
* Grenades, mostly white phosphorus. The organization has designed a 'grenade' that involves a strobing UV light that damages vampires -- it is known as 'the disco ball'.
* Other items as you see fit.

[User]
"Holy shit, it worked." Saria was breathing heavily, a mix of exertion and the remaining adrenaline in her system. Giorgio was dead, decapitated. Anna and Mullen were incapacitated. While she had not accepted that this would be a suicide mission, there was still a healthy dose of skepticism she retained.

"So far. Trenton and the others arriving in 10." Kramer joined in, eying the situation up close. "They're going to be pissed, it's Anna they're bound to."

The former hunter glanced sideways at the woman. Pathetic, her abdomen was mangled. Both of the incapacitated Eternals snarled against their restraints. Thralls in withdrawal would not be pretty for Dukewater. How long the withdrawal period would last seemed to depend on many variables, and this trio had set up their territory in the town for a while now. Saria pressed her lips in thought. Regardless of their decision, they did not have long to clean up and clear out. She wiped her face against the back of her hand.

"Hey, new girl. Get the van?" Morgen, spoke up. "We'll need to move the bodies out before Deputy Dickie shows up with his posse."

Saria rolled her shoulders in annoyance, she was frustrated to not finish off one of the vamps. "Trust me with the keys? You're sweet." She caught them easily, and jogged off to where they had parked their main transport.

A few minutes later, and with a few minutes to spare before the deputy should be arriving, Saria returned with body bags slung over her shoulder. They would finish disposal of the bodies later, where they wouldn't be disturbed. She glanced towards the others before setting herself to the task of getting Giorgio into a bag. In the distance, she could hear sirens. The others would be able to as well, undoubtedly. That made her nervous, thralls could be dangerous, especially those fully armed.

"We getting out of here?" She asked, the now heavy bag hefted over her shoulder.

[Assistant]
Saria wasn't the only shocked one. Simulations, technology and all that didn't necessarily offset the dark fears that whispered in his head. The trauma required regular medication, there was a computer that monitored his emotional responses and dosed accordingly to stabilize. But he was elated, it worked. However, it worked and left them holding a bag. Saria nailed it; Thralls. What to do with them?

"Not yet. Can't leave these thralls to detox around civilians."

He didn't want the vampires to overhear the plan.

Designating map points for deployment. Let's pick up Anna and Richard and lure these deputies away from civilians.

Either way, it'd be a mess, but at least if they left a mess of deputies dead somewhere away from everywhere else, there'd be an investigation. All the same, the result of leaving thralls to detox meant that people who weren't involved would get killed. So Marco was already hefting Anna up. Someone else grabbed Richard, and they started to move fast, getting the two of them to the vehicle and getting it started. Others were able to move unencumbered and quickly while the van played a coy game of lumbering along, trying to string the thrall deputies into the trap alongside.

It took a couple punches to get Anna to settle down long enough to get her and Richard into the back of the van. Marco was right there with them, so was Saria. And behind them were Dukewater's finest, blood-addicted and on the razor edge of seemingly normal behavior and a homicidal freakout with tac-gear.


[System]
Guerra

"Ever heard of that saying: 'mess with the bull, you get the horns?' Yeah, well I'm the bull, and my horns are made of fire."

Vitals
Title: Reaper of War

Age: 32

Sex: Male

Date of birth: 17th March, 1983

Lineage: -

Class/Major: Tank

Class/Minor: Support

Occupation: Reaper

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Marital Status: Married, three children

Birthplace: San Jose, California

Blood Type: O+

Eye Color: Wholly crimson red, glowing and flickering with an unnatural fire. Occasionally sparks fly from the corners of his eyes.

Height: 6' 3"

Weight: 185 lbs

Hair Color/Style: Medium length, longer fringe, light brown.

General Appearance: His build is muscular, strong and typical of a man his size. His usual combat gear is his combat vest, desert beige fatigues, combat boots and a tan scarf/neck protector. When not in combat gear, Luis is commonly dressed in a tee shirt of any design he chooses, blue jeans and sneakers, with a gold chain around his neck.

Skin Tone/Condition: Slate grey, dark and riddled with cracks. A deep red and orange light emanates from these cracks, as if the man's body is only a shell around a raging fire within.

Markings: -

Combat Stats

Dominant Hand: Left

Equipment:

-Upper Body:
* Hellfire Armour - once thought to be a standard US-issue ballistic vest with plating, the body armour has since morphed into a fiery, ashen armoured regenerative vest, a mere visage of what it once was. It protects against most medium calibre bullets, but has a harder time stopping higher powered projectiles.

-Lower Body:
* Boots of Flame - these special combat boots are part of Luis' Flame Boost power; their soles easily combust and break away to allow his flame jets to burst forth. They also regenerate nearly instantly, but do little else.

Weapons
* Cuarenta (Forty)- What was once an M249 SAW is now a fire-spitting beast of death. Drawing upon daemonic powers, the machine gun's magazine no longer requires bullets, instead spitting a constant stream of hellfire bolts at Luis' enemies.
* Ira (Anger) - This Benelli M1014 shotgun is no longer a shotgun. It instead is an agony launcher, firing explosive shot or depositing pellets of distilled pain and fury into enemies, turning them into mindless killing machines that cannot tell friend from foe.
* Desierto (Desert) - What used to be an IMI Desert Eagle is now a heat-seeking bolt thrower. The bolts from this unholy pistol release ungodly amounts of heat when fired, drying up plant life, dirt or soil, superheating liquids, metals and solid structures and weakening them.
* Spada (Sword)- Luis' machete has been given a brain and a pair of eyes and a mouth, and now this foul blade reaps death in the battlefield, its bloodlust and power growing with each kill.

Abilities
* Super enhanced strength, endurance and stamina to nearly superhero levels.
* Enhanced speed and reflexes.

Magic
* Fire Form - By breaking free of his ashen flesh shell, Sanchez is able to turn his whole body and kit into an unstoppable raging fire, capable of swarming and engulfing small to medium-sized structures and turning everything into ash. Standing still and within his ashen shell, Fire Form renders him impervious to most basic projectile, penetrating or wounding attacks. When not in this form, he is mostly human. Sustaining Fire Form requires stamina, and though Sanchez is high on that, it's not infinite.
* Ashen Flesh - What encloses his heart of hellfire, Ashen Flesh is a passive magic that overtook Luis' entire body upon his death and resurrection. It converts his skin, muscle and bone into a hard, dense ash that protects his innards. This ash isn't impervious to his own internal fires; the light and bursts of flame that emanate from the tiny cracks within the ash are what enhances his aesthetic. The ash is strong enough to withstand basic non-powered attacks from any type of melee weapon, though not tough enough to withstand either powered attacks or bullets. Other projectile attacks that are magical, not gunpowder-powered, are dissipated or absorbed, unless the power levels are too high. It all depends.
* Flame Boost - By breaking holes in the soles of his feet, Luis is able to blow out jet streams of fire out his legs and effectively boost around like Iron Man. Flame Boost renders Luis capable of short-distance, sustainable flight, or long-distance ground travel.
* Unkillable - Being made of unquenchable fire means that Luis effectively cannot die, though like Cho before him, being injured greviously or to the point of death means that he has to spend a long period of time slowly regenerating his body and rekindling his flames.

Bio
Voice: Hard, crackly, as if he was talking through a fire.

Personality: Sanchez is very up-front, gung-ho and boisterous. Most that are asked to describe him say that he laughs in the face of danger, and most times it shows.

Backstory: Sanchez was a full blooded Spanish-American, born and raised in San Jose on the west coast. Not long after he hit the right age, he immediately requested to sign on with the army. After his basics, he was placed within an infantry battalion, one that was posted to fight the War on Terror. This was in 2003.

In 2006, his platoon came under fire from an enemy machine gun emplacement inside a building. Trapped across a road from the rest of his section, Sanchez took it upon himself to free the rest of his comrades from the suppression of hot lead. With only his LMG and shotgun, he charged at the building in question, daring and taunting the insurgents within to kill him. They put up a fight, but Sanchez beat them back, forcing the gunner away from his position by firing back. With his bravery and confidence under fire, it was then that Delta Force took notice.

Two years later, in 2008, Sanchez was part of a Delta Force squad that single-handedly took down a terror cell hiding in a remote desert base on the outskirts of Cairo. On their way home though, they were ambushed by insurgent raiders and subsequently trapped in an abandoned town. It was there that he and his squad fought not only insurgents, but something else entirely. Something not quite human.

The dark skinned, robotic humanoid that greeted their squad wiped out the insurgents in a fit of rage, then turned on the four operators with a fire unmatched by anything they'd ever seen before. The team was killed, one by one, until Sanchez was the only one alive. The man was burned to a cinder by his opponent's magical fire, left as a husk on the battlefield next to the corpses of his friends.

Thus the Darkness chose him to bear an eternal fire and turned him into the Reaper of War.

Just as in life, when a courageous fire burned within his heart that could not be quenched, so too in death he was given a fire, a flame that consumed his entire inner being and set him ablaze in a furious inferno.

When he awoke, he found his skin like hard ash, his flesh like cinders and his inner body a raging fire. His weapons were possessed by daemons, and yet they were strangely friendly with them.

And, in front of him, stood another man. A man made of shadow.

A friend.

A Reaper.

OthersDaemons
Much like Cho before him, Luis was bonded to four daemons after his experience with death. However, in accordance to the way he died, the daemons he was bonded with are vastly different to the ones Cho travels with.

Cuarenta
Cuarenta, or Ren for short, is a fire daemon. She resides in Luis' machine gun and, like Tac, is considered the de factor 'leader' amongst the four daemons with Luis. Her gentle and often understanding nature belies the cruelty and ruthlessness of her daemonic fire.

As Renny is a fire daemon, her powers and skillset are mainly devoted to fire; either causing it, spreading it, or imbuing it into his weapons and body.

Ira
Ira is a rage daemon, and he resides in Luis' shotgun. The youngest of the four, he doesn't let his inexperience stop him from unleashing fiery anger and unholy rage upon Luis' enemies.

Ira's skills and powerset passively augment Luis' combat and endurance abilities, bestowing upon him godly levels of endurance, healing and stamina, while enhancing his natural strength and speed.

Desierto
Desierto, or Des for short, is a heat daemon, and the main difference between her and Ren is that while Ren produces and manipulates fire, Des can make and manipulate heat. She resides within Luis' pistol, and she is commonly used as a precursor for stronger attacks from his other weapons. Though her usefulness is limited, it doesn't stop her from trying to be the best she can be.

With aggressive heat as the basis for her skill and powersets, Des is most often used as a combat starter, prepping the battlefield and targets so that his other weapons have the most effect when they come into play.

Spada
Spada is the oldest daemon of the lot, and is an elite daemon fighter and warrior. While he doesn't have any special abilities, he makes up for it by being Luis' main source of combat smarts in the field, guiding the one-man wrecking crew along when he's busy being an unstoppable killing machine. He resides within his machete, and is most at ease in the heat of battle.

Spada's entire skill and moveset rely upon Luis' instincts and close-quarters combat abilities. By constantly observing and analysing a fight or combat, he is able to give consistent, good advice, as well as being able to make any bladed attacks home in slightly on their target.

[User] The other man brought the machine gun up, then started talking? Drall thought he heard his real name, but nonetheless the man continued to talk. Before he could even finish his little speech Drall zeroed the sights on his center mass and rapidly sent seven rounds from his magazine downrange.

[Assistant]
As the bullets tore through his body he staggered, getting pushed back slightly from the force of the rounds impacting his chest. Without thinking he immediately flashed his body into fire, exploding in a red hot inferno as he quickly converted his sustained wounds into fire that burned strong and hot. Then, as quickly as he had exploded from his ashen flesh, he reformed himself, his flesh forming back and cracking under the intense heat contained within.

"Hijo de puta."

He ran straight at the offending office building and burst into flames, blasting straight up towards the fifth floor in a raging inferno. As he broke through the windows, he reformed himself and raised his machine gun, squeezing the trigger and laying down a field of fire upon his adversary.

[User] "that's annoying" Drall commented to himself as his opponent reformed. The man sprinted at the building and Drall let the G3 fall so it was hanging on its sling. The minute he turned to flames and began to climb Drall dropped two fragmentation grenades at his feet and turned sprinting. Diving over a desk as his opponent shattered the window to shield himself from the explosion that ensued as soon as his opponent opened fire.

[Assistant]
As he landed and peppered the area with gunfire, the two frag grenades his adversary dropped detonated. The combined concussive shockwave knocked him back a step, but it was the desk that impacted his face not a moment after that made him stagger back a few more steps. As the heavy wooden desk shattered into pieces against his body, he grew enraged, roaring as a torrent of fire poured from his mouth, setting the office space in front of him on fire, triggering the fire alarms and sprinklers not a moment after.

The explosion itself tore a mighty hole in the floor of the current level of the office building, completely shredding the metal framework at the corner where his adversary had been. Glass in the whole level was shattered into pieces, and the power was out from the major damage. The building as a whole was mostly unharmed, but the current area was very unstable; the floor falling out in places nearby the explosion site.

As he calmed down, he surveyed the area. His opponent was out of sight, had been as soon as he'd got up here. Probably had run off somewhere to cower while his explosives did their work.

He back slung his machine gun and brought his automatic shotgun forward instead, pumping the slide to chamber the first shell even as it pulsed and rumbled in his hands, the daemon within aching to get some action.

"Now where is this puta. Sniff him out, Ira. Find 'im."

Following his shotgun's instincts, he slowly walked in the direction of Drall's hiding place. Obviously not knowing where he was exactly, once he reached the little set of cubicles and desks where the man was hiding, he raised his shotgun and held down the trigger. The automatic shotgun roared and spat explosions in quick succession as he raked his fire across the area, each gunshot sounding deafening in the confined space. The shells that he fired contained explosive warheads that primed in the short distance between gun and target, and detonated once they impacted any solid surface.

The entire area would be torn to complete shreds before he'd have to stop and reload or switch weapons. The miniature fragmentation grenades contained within each shotgun shell would most definitely result in some form of injury unless he moved.


[System]
Species: Human
Age: 40

Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.

Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.

Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.

Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It's not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.

Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.

Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren't much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.

It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.

His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.

-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.

Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.

With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.

Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.

As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.

So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.

He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.

Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus.

[User]
Isabeau had not moved from her spot within the group. As each made attempt to address or calm the scared man behind the bar counter, she had only drifted towards the back, slowly and cautiously moving into the tavern, assessing each guest and their threat level. The conversation turned back to Sakaala. How overly gracious of the best woman to make such an offer. Not only would she not use a room and still part way with her coin, but she had also offered to fix the man's door. The barkeep stared at the large beast, whether it was out of awe or fear, curiosity or suspicion, it wasn't clear. But he slowly nodded to her and stuttered a single word. "Thanks".

Her nose wrinkled in thought, which had been split among too many variables to count. Dizzying to say the very least. Taking a moment to breathe, she shut them out long enough to gather enough coin for the barkeep. Enough for the room, dinner and enough gin to drown her pesky conscience and its thoughts.

"I will take the first room then, and gin along with my dinner please. Thank you." Her mouth seemed a bit dry, and her voice slightly hoarse with exhaustion. She glanced towards Ajax, though not at him persay, but more to spot the artifact on his person. She trusted him enough that he wouldn't kill her, either he had no reason to or she amused him somehow. But she couldn't yet make up her mind on whether or not she trusted him with the artifact. Everyone was at risk, but perhaps the question was Is he stupid enough to linger on it long enough to be corrupted? Is he stupid enough to keep it from me?. Creases formed around her lips as she pursed them. She hated not trusting people just as much as she hated having to trust people. Neither made her job any easier, and moreso it just gave headaches and heartache. But there seemed to be little choice in this matter, she have to trust him, as she imagined it wouldn't end well if she tried to take it from him. She loosed a soft sigh and turned her attention back to the barkeep.

"On second thought, I would like the strongest stuff you got, and I'll take that now, thank you.

[Assistant]
"I don't think the inn is being robbed." Tarden muttered to himself, as if saying the words out loud would help him to believe them. He grabbed his pick and slowly headed downstairs. Foot after foot he creeped down the stairs and took a concealed look at the assembled group. Okay, the bar is being robbed was the only conclusion he could draw.

The various strangers that had entered the bar all towered around Jarkson as he cowered behind the bar. Well, except for one child who slept in the arms of a young man. The door lay across the floor in some pieces, and Tarden could only attribute that to the great hulking ball of muscle who stood stoically to the side. Jarkson was probably on his own, Tarden didn't think he take any one of them in a duel, let alone all of them. Except maybe the child he mused. Actually, I couldn't hit a child. I would lose that fight too. and his self esteem lowered just that little bit more

"On second thought, I would like the strongest stuff you got, and I'll take that now, thank you." It was one of the politest requests from a thief Tarden had heard, and she didn't look overly threatening to be honest. Eyes fool, minds don't! his father had once told him, and it was a much better idea to stay back before he jumped to any conclusions. He had an uneasy sense of danger when he looked at her. If it came to a fight he knew she'd be much faster than him, but he had every other advantage. But deep down, he still knew he'd lose, and he couldn't put his finger on why he felt that.

He quickly moved himself back into a concealed position and thought about what he could do, singing a silent prayer that Jarkson had this under control.


[System]
Appearance:

Alias(es): Hellspawn

Age:36

Gender: Male

Description:

Height-5'9
Weight-180
Skin: Tan
Hair: darkish brown
eye colour: dark brown, almost makes it seem like he has no iris
build: Average build as fit as any regular military member

special features,

Magic Type: Mana

Role: Battlemage

Specialty: Elemental magic

Personality:
Quiet
Studious
knowlegable
Lack of sympathy\
Loves sweets
Hates Pirates, criminals, evil doers
Explosive when angered

Background:

Born of Hell's Flames

Arn was born to a mother who had been sold to a brothel by pirates. He never knew why he had been allowed to live when other females merely killed the embryo in utero. Perhaps it was his mother's need for somebody to truly love instead of the myriad of men who visited her bed.

Whatever the case, Arn grew in the rough and deadly environment of vice and vile. Despite this, he still thought that life had more to offer. He grew up really quick, always wanting to take care and protect his mother. He spent his time running from bullies and just trying to survive really. While he hid from the older kids, he would spend his time reading random books he found in the trash. His favorite was of oriental stories of men of valor, strength, and honor.

It was this mentality that steered him in the direction of trying to be a hero. It was one of time that a particularly violent customer visited his mother and he was hiding in the balcony that he attempted to act on his illusions of saving her from that life. He burst in while the man abused his mother. Arn tried to attack the man but ended up getting beat. His mother then tried to protect him and the drunk and angry man beat her unconscious. Thinking her dead, the young boy knocked the man down and in a feat of anger somehow activated his contact with Gea which manifested into an inferno.

Flames engulfed his hands which in turn devoured not only the violent man, but his mother and the building with all in it. Authorities would later report finding the crying boy holding the charred body of a female, his own hands sporting serious burns.

Learning to Temper the Fire

Eventually, it was discovered that the sad angry boy was adept in magic. He was recruited by the military and sent to study at the academy in Belisio. He was too dark, sad, and awkward to be of good social standing. However, he was able to forgo this with the sanctity of the vast library. It was here that he fully threw himself into learning all he could of magic. He felt that in some way, his mother's sacrifice had unlocked this gift in him. It was a way for him to feel closer to her in a world where he felt alone. Due to his focus and innate gift, he was soon a top level student which meant he was in the focus of jealousy and bullying from less capable more influential students. Luckily for him, the military cared nothing for his lack of social know how. Instead, he went on to become the youngest battle mage so far.

Forged in the Fires of War.

Arn was no stranger to death and suffering even before he stepped into the battle field. However, he was too good of a killer even for his superiors. He specially seemed to be extra vicious against pirates or criminals. Many of his squad mates could swear they saw his dark eyes gleam with fire as he incinerated people who had been on the verge of surrendering. This and the fact he preferred fire attacks that earned him the nickname Hellspawn. He was headed towards a court martial when a Knight took him under his wing.

The only reason why Arn listened to him was because the knight reminded him of the oriental warriors he had read in his novels. The Knight taught Arn self control, temperance, and peace. Interestingly enough, this made him an even more efficient killing machine. However, this new facet was much more focused. He still felt no remorse in killing bad people, but his incidents of friendly fire were all but none existent. He won the trust of his squad mates and superiors but the nick name never went away. Indeed, many in the underworld still say the name in hushed tones.

Equipment:

Samurai armor fashioned battle vest that is made of Kevlar plates able to withstand small caliber bullets and some explosives.

Keeps Ornamental Daisho swords but that are still able to be used in battle

Abilities:

Flamethrower- His mana excites the atoms around him and engulfs his hands/feet in flame and able to expel it up to 15FT like a flame thrower

Burst- able to produce an outwardly expanding flame ball with the force of a claymore mine. Produces fire and concussion damage.

Rock Wall: Causes a concentrated seismic reaction that produces a rock wall up to 6ft tall and about 3ft thick.

Avalanche: Able to deteriorate an area of ground by cutting the Aether strings which will cause a collapse of about 3ft deep to an area of a bout 15ft.

Wind Bullet: Able to compress the air around him and fire it off at high velocities.

Wind Cushion: Focuses a high air pressure to form an upward force to slow the rate of descent. Especially effective if used with parachutes or other such devices.

Hydrocannon- synthesizes the moisture into a stream as powerful as a fireman's hose.

Extra: (Optional)

[User]
"Confident as always. Some would say such confidence will not always hold up."
Tyrhallan watched the man shift to a more suitable battle stance. He could sense Leo was adjusting and raising his ki, probably as much as he was. The only difference was where they chose to send that energy.
To Tyr it was spend in a single fraction. What good were barriers and walls when your opponent was already within one's own inner circle. No way to deflect, all that was needed was one strike. It was his preferred method of fighting. Like a Viper or a Falcon swooping down with outstretched talons.
He was about to oblige Leo for once, knowing the young man's reputation and love for the deathly dance.
It would be a good way to warm up indeed and to allow the man to lose some that unspent eager rage. That need for a fight, a gnawing feeling that would overcome every warrior, even someone like himself fell to its powers when he was not careful.
With the battle closing in on them, this might be his only reprieve before the storm.
Tyrhallan needed to silence his own troubled mind, he was about to respond when he noticed that Leo had noticed their spectators.
Or rather the mage who had been quite ready to use his magic on them.
Hearing Leo's words however made him roll his eyes in resignation, could the young man find some more wisdom in the silence of his tongue instead of using it to start another fight to release the bottled up desires. He was itching for a fight all right, by all accounts he best prevent the fool from being burst into flames.
He turned as well facing the mage and those behind him with a stern but friendly expression, holding up his hand in a gentle gesture.
"All is well, there is no need for your well-meant interference Battle Mage. Keep your watchful eye though, for I believe it will prove lifesaving in the battle to come. Be assured for I have control over this particular situation."
To Leo he send a look of 'Don't goad them. This is not the time.'

[Assistant]
Arn lowered his arms when Leo addressed him. He cancelled his connection with Gia and the casting ceased immediately. The feeling in his stomach dissipated and his heart rate went back to normal. He gave Leo a quizzical look. Most of sarcasm was lost on the battle mage. He wondered why there was an annoyed feeling in the air.

Apparently, he had walked in on another Knightly duel. Knights often dueled for honor, or to prove something or etc. While there was some sort of unwritten rule that Knights and mages were to never get along this fell along the lines of politics for him and he cared little for it. He never even knew what the disagreement was supposed to be anyway. When the knight with noble demeanor utilized his politically correct address the battle mage shrugged.

"I did not mean to intervene in any sort of practice or sparring session. However, as you are well aware gentlemen, training must be routed via the appropriate channels and sanctioned by the Commanding Officer. Unless, immediate training is necessary to ensure efficient and safe mission completion. If this was a sparing session, the rules state that there must be at least a witness to prevent any sparring from veering into brawls."

He approached the pair. He moved easily and confidently. He was not much shorter than Dalmer. He could appreciate both the knight's stature and obvious fitness levels. If a spar match was to ensue, the mage had no doubt that they would give a good show. This gave him an idea and addressed the warriors in an even but respectful tone.

 "I understand that you gentlemen would like to blow off some steam instead of all this waiting. Honestly, I think your spar would perhaps serve as a diversion for the junior personnel which would boost their morale and prevent any last minute jitter from setting in." He looked both directly in the eyes. He did not care for politics but he cared for the lives of men and women who served in the military. Arn would do his best to keep as many alive as he could even if that meant his own death.

[User]
I couldn't help it, Leo gestured back with an elaborate shrug.

As the mage spoke again however, it quickly became apparent that he would provide no amusement and his words soon became noise to Leo as he wondered what kind of magic the man might have used on him.

Leo had fought mages before, but try as he might, he never could decipher what the signs of their power meant before taking form and effect. Whether it was a slight shimmer in the air, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, or the physical movements of the mages themselves, it was impossible to read. All Leo knew was to get out of the way before anything happened and launch a counter attack as quickly as possible.

A horizontal slash towards the neck, unprotected by the armour, Leo thought as he imagined ways of killing the mage in a combat scenario, resisting the impulsive urge to do it for real.

Then with an abruptness that was almost surprising, the mage stepped forward to approach the two knights, close enough for Leo to see the man's brown eyes and startlingly small irises. This time, Leo could not help paying close attention as the mage spoke.

"Well, how about that," Leo said, nodding with approval as he turned towards Tyrhallan. "What do you say, Captain? Shall we put on a show for them?"

[Assistant]
Tyrhallan unlike Leo listened patiently to the Battlemage. He observed the shift in demeanour and carefully took a long reading look over the man, who appeared closer to him in age, but with mages one couldn't really tell.
He was a bit perturbed by the man to lecture 'him' of all people on the rules, but he chastised himself stating that he most likely would have done the same thing. Nevertheless, it rubbed him the wrong way. He would have to find out the man's name later and make a mental note of it...if his underlings ever complained about his strictness towards the rules he would drag up this guy.
Still to his surprise and that of he actually proposed to turn their little warm up into a proper sparring match.
He pondered the request not showing his immediate thoughts on the matter, unlike Dalmer who's eagerness was akin to that of dog waiting for its treat.
He turned his gaze towards the sky again as if he was listening or searching for something, before a soft exclamation of breath was given in agreement.

"Very well and considering your own contribution to this sparring match Battle Mage, you can be the Arbiter." He said as he narrowed his eyes. "After all someone has to oversee the rules and judging of the match, someone as impartial as you would do nicely."


[System]
Age: 274
Gender: Male
Race: Ashan
Element: All
Background: Atlas is one of those rare male figures of the Ashan race that actually does a lot of dangerous and challenging tasks. Why is he an exception? Well, he's good at what he does.

Reason being, his a member of the Red Sun. Taking from birth, he was trained to be a cunning and deadly assassin. He was remarkably good at what he did, and his natural gift for magic only aided in his success. Using his clone as well as his other abilities, he completes most of his tasks with ease.

His is of great loyalty to the Red Sun and does all his tasks without question or second thought, and is a very accomplished Artist. He has a knack for stealth, and purely uses his body and his own abilities to complete his mission.

More personally, Atlas doesn't have much connections or personal interest besides the Red Sun. He has spent his whole life with them and completed many missions of varying degree, and is one of the Grandmaster's best Artists. Although he has a lot to learn, and is still growing as an assassin, his natural ability for it puts his ahead of the game. A killing machine, known by most as "The Shadow".

::ADVANTAGES::
Reflexes: Lvl-5. Nothing much sneaks up on Atlas, he's quick, always on his feet. He can inhumanely dodge out of the way of things, with impressive barrel rolls, back flips, bends and twists.

Stealth: Lvl-1. Being an Artist, Atlas has learned the art of stealth to sneak up on his opponents. Where he isn't the stealthiest person, he can quite his footsteps and knows how to stay hidden.

Hand-to-hand Combat: Lvl-2. Atlas has moderate skill in this form of combat, such as a MMA fighter would. Also, his reflexes greatly bolster his combat, making him quick on his feet.

::POWERS::
Perfect Clone: Dark Lvl-5. Atlas can conjure a clone entirely made of darkness that is in his image. It is indistinguishable from him, and call use all his powers besides cloning, also think on its own and can relay information back to Atlas. In addition, the clone is stronger, faster, and can regenerate itself with ease. It can last for long, but the more energy it exerts and damage it takes, the shorter it can last unless Atlas uses his own energy to fuel the clone.

Adrenaline: Fire Lvl-1. A limit breaker that gives him the effects of adrenaline does for humans, increased strength, speed, dexterity, etc. Usually used to accomplish a difficult feat or enhance his combat skills.

Phasing: Earth Lvl-1. Atlas can change his own construct of his body and phase through matter for a very short time. He is unaffected by physical means for the most part, but can still be affected by powers and other means.

[User]
Sundancer, Below Deck

There was three things that a wise man feared : the calm before a storm, a night without song, and the wrath of a Erdevar stuck inside an airship. It was not that Asrai particularly had a dreadful fear of flying but she disliked the act all the same. She much prefered the ground beneath her feet. Ground did not go and explode randomly in the sky and kill everyone inside, ground did not depend on the calculations and skill of others to remain alive. Ground was dependable and stout qualities that Erdevar valued immensely.

Normally Asrai would have made her pilgrimage to Kamisai on foot treking across the empire, across the border into Juren, traveling to the Juren coast and taking a boat from there onto the island before trekking it across the Kamisai chain of isalnds to visit each of the pilgrimage temples before heading back to her old village. Though it seemed all sense of normality was quickly leaving Azure as the Mytryan Monarchy grew hungry for more power. What was once a simple border crossing, became a whole affair as she had to pass through several imperial checkpoints and now she couldn't even do that as only special military visas could get you through the impromptu blockade the imperials had created. Though things like a simple military checkpoint weren't going to stop her pilgrimage even if it meant having to fly on a death machine through the sky. Sometimes she cursed her own damn cultural obligations.

The Vukodav sat as she did for most of the trip in silence legs crossed in a meditative position. Her bow was across her lap and Adra was curled up next to her his canine frame slowly rising and falling with his gentle breaths. Meditation was less of something Asrai did and more of something must do. The practice of Erdevar mediation is a process that is placed into the children of Kamisai at a very young age. They spend their first months of training at the temple learning to meditate properly. It started out simple lots of sitting and deep breathing and eventually they moved to more abstract ideas things that would make the average man raise an eye in postulation. They learn to feel the anima around them fluxing and coursing like a gentle river as they trained to feel the ripples that life caused within it. This lead to a very acute sense of self and presence in a Erdevar medition state as it puts you very quickly into perspective into the much bigger span of the universe. Each breath felt miniscule and yet oddly important to the bigger picture as if even though the void did not care of you without you the void had nothing of contrast. Though Asrai was having trouble finding an extended period of peace due to the constant racket of the airship around her.

As the Sundancer groaned again gently Asrai opened one of her eyes again letting out a small sight. Giving up upon meditation she arose to her feet stirring Adra who got up and followed close behind leaving her cabin. She did not travel far moving only from her quarters to the stern observation area. An observation area in the way that the ship was a luxury liner really just a place at the back of the Sundancer that happened to have a small window. Through her she saw what she could barely deem to see as another airship heading in the same direction of them. The strange sight almost past her by absentmindedly but being that close to Jurden made her extra suspicious.

"Hmmm...." was all she said already pondering to herself as she continued her idle wandering about the underdeck of the ship, Adra following close behind. She wondered if she would run into any of the other souls aboard the ship. They had spoken only a little, the Ashen was an odd one and judging from what she could sense from him he was always rippling with magic something that Asrai could only disapprove of in her head, the mord was oddly talkative and always trying to find time to talk to somebody and pester them about life, their captain was apparently a cold and suspicious women who always seemed as if she was waiting for one of her guest to try and stab her. Honestly Asrai would prefer if she didn't have to speak to anybody as it would just become tiresome quickly.

[Assistant]
Storage bay of the Sundancer

A man sleeping in full armour has a few similarities to fighting hordes demons, as in both cases they're tasks widely associated with general foolishness and a lack of will to live. Also, they're both things Mords were simply forced to get used to, among plenty of other things. And also another similarity is that they both leave you pretty tired, but that last part didn't apply to Mords. Not when sleeping while wearing armour, anyway. Demon fighting always took a lot out of you.

Gilbert blinked slowly, emerging from a groggy state. He slowly got off the floor, careful not to hit his head and got into a sitting position. He then stretched his stiff limbs, cursing his sleeping situation in his mind. Sleeping in armour for most of your life might make you get used to it, but it didn't change the fact that it was uncomfortable. Adding to the fact that he'd been sleeping in the cargo bay because the rooms weren't really big enough for him, Gilbert figured that even the most flexible person in the world wouldn't get out of the night without being in serious need of a winch to pull their limbs out of the dead lock.

Gilbert's joints made some healthy cracking sounds, and he loosened up slightly. He let out a large yawn and decided to go up to the deck to get some air. Picking up the greatsword that lay next to him, he stuck it onto his back and got up. His head smashed into the roof but he recovered quickly and was on his way, head bowed to avoid the ceiling.

Gilbert made progress through the ship, his armoured footsteps making quite loud noises as he ascended. He stepped quietly enough outside the cabin doors, in case others were around, and continued upwards through the ship. He saw another of the passengers at the observation deck and offered a short wave with one hand, stifling an onconveniently timed yawn with the other. He didn't know if the Eredvar noticed him or not, but it was highly unlikely that she didn't. Regardless, he grunted a greeting, still trying to shake off his sleepiness.

"Good morning!" He said cheerfully, before continuing his walk.

Normally, he'd probably make some light conversation with other passengers, and indeed, he'd tried on the first day. However, his fellow passengers proved to be less social than him and he found that the conversation couldn't be kept long enough for it to be amusing. Watching the outside held more promise but there was little else to do on the small ship.

Well actually, it was quite large in the view of smaller people, but Mords were 2.5 meter tall colossi and they didn't normally fit well in the abodes of other species. Another thing that Mords just had to get used to. Gilbert didn't really mind, though. He liked people, and while they people on the ship were unsociable, he didn't think they were bad, so to speak.

In fact, the captain of the ship had been so nice to let him on her ship so he could get into Juren. He was thinking about visiting but the country was in lock down for some reason, and he'd managed to hitch a ride with a reasonably trustworthy looking person for some of his money. Well, a lot of his money actually, but he didn't really need to hang on to it anyway, and she seemed trustworthy. In the back of his mind, there was an inkling of a thought about borders and legal stuff, but Gil was never good at that kind of thing so he payed it no mind.

Gilbert continued to climb and found himself near the stern, where the captain usually spent her time. He paused for a minute and decided to say hello. He bent down slightly and knocked on the door 3 times. Two large clangs resonated and on the third knock, he accidentally forced the door to open with a small bang.

"Ah, whoops." Gilbert said.

Disregarding the door, he poked his head through the doorway and issued his greeting.

"Hey, captain!" He said cheerily. "What's it like in the skies today? Oh right, sorry about your door."


[System]
* Age: 22, although due to her height she's often thought to be younger.
* Gender: Female
* Race: Half-dwarf. All this really means is she'll live slightly longer than a human would (barring accidents or illness), is a bit short and has to shave roughly once a month.
* Appearance: Something like this. Like her dwarven ancestors, she often takes the no-nonsense approach to problems.
* Personality: To the casual observer, it would seem that Martina predominantly takes from her dwarfish side, being rather gruff and overly serious. She is an exceptionally hard worker and stubbornly refuses to give anything less than her all towards any given task. However, closer inspection will reveal that she does take quite a lot from her mother too, as she is rather open-minded and curious as humans are wont to be. To her, the most important thing is to follow her duty, and this combined with her dwarfish stubborness and her human recklessness means that if she is told to hold the line, she will damn well hold the line until her dying breath.
* Brief Backstory:Dwarfs are an uncommon sight in Thaln, but they're not entirely unknown of. Every so often, traders and merchants emerge from their mountain homes and head to human settlements, intending to trade the metals and gemstones they mined and the exceptional weapons and armour they smithed for materials and supplies that are much rarer in the mountains. And whilst many of them immediately return to the mountains when their business is done, one dwarf in particular found himself setting up permanent residence in Aimlenn. His name was Aaron Stonehammer, and with the skills and knowledge gained after over a century spent in the business he found himself being voted in as the head of the city's Merchants Guild. Such a position allowed him to mingle with the higher parts of society, and it wasn't very long before her met one Lady Lieselotte Blumenthal, a minor noble whose family had a strong association with the guild. Soon, despite how unorthodox it may have seemed to others, the two fell in love, and... Well, the result was Martina, formed from the rare union of dwarf and human.

Despite having to put up with a bit of prejudice due to her nature as a halfbreed, Martina seemed to grow up rather well-adjusted. Whilst she intends to eventually inherit the family business (as her father has taught her is the dwarfish tradition), she also had an inherent need to prove her martial prowess (...as her father has taught her is the dwarfish tradition). Thus, as soon as she was of age she joined the Iron Rose Knights... Although she often has to juggle her obligations to the knights with her obligation to learn the family trade, and occasionally takes time off to do so. Despite this, she's as dedicated to both as she can possibly be, a testament to the dwarf blood that flows through her veins.
* Equipment: Martina wields a finely crafted dwarven warhammer and shield, and wears a suit of mail under her tunic. The hammer is a heirloom of her father's side of the family, and as can be expected from an ancestral dwarfish weapon it is engraved with runes of magical power; due to this, it becomes superheated whenever she swings it with the intent to cause harm.
* Skills: Martina is a mighty warrior; she has to be, otherwise it would bring shame to her ancestors. She specializes in close-quarters combat, often charging into the thick of things where her hammer can do the most damage. As a testament to her dwarfish heritage, whilst on the warpath she is like the mountains; relentless, indomitable and refusing to budge an inch once she's dug herself in. Aside from warfare, she's also rather knowledgable in the fields of economics, and is able to easily appraise the value of numerous objects if given enough time to give them a good look over.

[User]
True to his word, Tiral had delivered the mistress to the Captain following his own studies, and, as he had expected, was told that he was going to be dragged along for formalities' sake. The thinly-veiled look of irritation was soon followed by one of dejected acceptance. An order like this wasn't something he was in any position to contest, and though he would have preferred to become something more useful to the Knights as a whole, this occasion seemed to take a higher priority to his superiors.

So the afternoon passed without incident as the ice mage returned to his room to find some sort of outfit that might possibly make himself look passable in any sense of the word. Even if he was a member of the Iron Rose, his origins were still low enough that it was likely that people would look down on him. That plus the fact that he funneled more money into research materials and magical equipment (that dagger sure as hell wasn't cheap, after all!) meant that was was somewhat... Unprepared for the event.

With a sigh, the ice mage dug through his own wardrobe, praying that there might have been something in there that would not let him be the laughingstock of the event. By some miracle, at least, there seemed to be some sort of clothing in that shallow closet that he called his own that wasn't picked out solely for comfort or utility. A pair of dress pants and some sort of shirt that looked... Sort of fancy? There was also a pair of shoes that didn't look like they had seen the hell of a battlefield lying around...

So at the very least, he wasn't going to look like a COMPLETE fool.

---

With his dagger concealed under his shirt and an annoyed expression that betrayed his current opinion on the matter, Tiral continued walking calmly behind the rest of the entourage. Everyone else seemed to have deeper pockets and more frivolous spending habits than he did (given how fancy everyone else seemed to look now), which ended up making the ice mage unsure how how much or how little he stood out. It'd be best if he could blend into the background during this ordeal, but given the invitation (and judging by how Sir Ian was currently being mobbed by women) the chances of that seemed very unlikely.

Before he could even try to do so, however, Tiral caught a glimpse of the Captain being...
...
Did that count as sexual harassment?

"...Uh... I... I'm not going to ask..." he sighed, turning away and shaking his head as the group entered the venue. It was every bit as grand as Tiral had expected, and though he was still averse to even come here in the first place, it wouldn't have been a lie to say he was impressed by the grandeur of it all.
...
Now, if only had this been under different circumstances might he not have been so irritable. Social gatherings were like the bane of his existence. The heat, the sweat, the superficiality of it all...
At least magicians told you when you screwed up. With these people, everything was all veiled behind smoke and mirrors.

[Assistant]
Earlier on Viviane ever the one to be prepared had a dress that she ended up taking a bit of time to make sure it was on correctly. Due to her lack of maids to be able to help her it took awhile to make sure it was on perfectly. Beyond that she couldn't help but believe that even if she was doing it alone she grew learning how to do these by herself should the need arise. Despite not believing she would need to do such so soon. She chose to pick a elegant like dress that did not impede her movement should the need arise for her to run. The navy dress Showed quite a bit of her back though and a bit of her chest. Some would say it was a daring choice due to the amount of skin it showed but it was honestly one of her better choices. In the end she decided to forego her traditional style for her hair and fixed it in a more elegant braid suiting the occasion she thought to herself. Standing up she walked towards the large mirror adorning her borrowed room spinning around to see how it looked. Deciding to use a more subdued colors rather than her vibrant red for color choice really made her seem like a different person she supposed.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Walking down towards the ball room her large heeled boots seemingly clacking with each step as she looked around for the captain or at least a familiar face. Being somewhat paranoid at what could happen she did not go unarmed. a small dagger was hidden expertly on her body as well. Reaching the ball room she didn't have to wait long to spot the captain before she was given a odd greeting. Seeing it as a good time as any to approach she stepped forward a demure smile gracing her lips. "Ah honored Captain it is a pleasure to see you again." Viviane spoke up as she faced the captain. "Pray tell how do you fare this eve?" She added as well her lessons from her childhood on how to act in these events showing itself.

[User]
Tyaethe paused to regain her composure at the entrance to the palace and, more importantly, readjust her sword so that it wasn't dragging on the ground again. It was so inconvenient to be carting it around out of armour but, whilst she might be willing to sacrifice her protection in order to attend a ball, she was never going to try protecting her Captain with anything less than her best offence. It wasn't like the guards minded terribly--the sword was sufficient proof of her identity and position amongst the knights.

She tuned out the introduction that accompanied her entrance into the ball; it wasn't like there was anything important there. Much better to try and focus on how to adjust this dress: it was too frilly and lacy but it had been the only thing the undead had dug up that was both suitably formal and fit. That didn't excuse how the lace on the sleeves extended past her fingers or how some overly enthusiastic dressmaker had chosen to embroider pearls all over the place and give the skirt multiple layers. Had it been up to Tyaethe, the frilly and cute abomination would never have been brought into existence.

Refusing a gift would have been wrong.

Admittedly, the cloth-of-gold scarf probably wasn't helping with making it any more comfortable. She'd be damned before she stopped wearing scarves, however, and the two century old ribbon had been dusted off and put to use. Scarves were one of the easiest ways to recognise her--if the pale skin and red eyes didn't, surely the completely superfluous scarf would?

The paladin made her way over to the numerous refreshments, sizing them up, before grabbing the darkest ale hidden along the tables and shooting glares at the onlookers asking if that was entirely a reasonable choice. She was already suffering through this by being out of armour and there was no way that the red-eyed paladin was going to abstain from something she enjoyed after two centuries without. All the fancy wines could be left to the poncy nobles.

Now that she was suitably braced for the inevitable politics that were going to happen, Tyaethe stomped her way over to the captain. There were numerous clues for the knights at who had joined their little conglomeration, after all, but the biggest came from similarity to a certain portrait stuffed in a corner of Candaeln. There were the familiar features seen through a visor, the enormous sword slung across her back, but most telling was the portrait's ankle-length white braid and its golden bow. Tyaethe in the picture had, however, been considerably more practically dressed. She had also been an adult.

For some reason, the Immortal Knight of the Iron Roses appeared to be nine years old and incredibly grumpy about the whole affair.

[Assistant]
What was all the commotion about? It was as though these people had never seen a dwarf greeting a trusted comrade before! Was it because she didn't have a beard? It was highly unusual for even a female dwarf to shave, but... Well, maybe it was due to her human-half but Martina had never liked the beard. Too itchy, for one thing, and it looked... Weird on her. Father didn't approve, of course, but mother was perfectly fine with it. They'd even had their monthly argument over it last night as she begrudingly prepared for the ball.

Still, she couldn't let this stand, and so Martina gave Gillian a stern look right in the eye. Of course, she had to stand on her tiptoes in order to do so, but the effect was there at least.

"Now listen here, lad," she growled, her legs trembling just slightly as she tried to maintain eye contact, "ain't you ever seen a dwarf before? It's a traditional dwarven greeting between friends, you hear!" It was a well known fact that dwarfs often liked to remind non-dwarf races that they were, in fact, dwarfs, and with Martina only being half-dwarf sometimes she overcompensated a little. Laying her feet flat on the ground again, she gave Gillian one last glare before turning back to Fanilly.

For a moment she pondered repeating the gesture, but her common sense prevailed for the time being. Maybe later.

"Of course everything's alright, lass! Me and the captain go way back!" she assured Marianne, her brow twitching ever so slightly at the assumptions plain to see on everyone else's faces. "Ain't that right, captain?"

Even as she tried to clear the air, Martina couldn't help but notice what appeared to be a young child approach the knights. Maybe she was just curious about them, but hopefully she wouldn't stick around for too long. The Iron Rose Knights were no place for children, after all!


[System]
Age: 34
Race: Human
Weapons: A Single-Edged Longsword and two 'Sword Breaker' Daggers.
Info: Former leader of the Legion of Ten, an elite army of knights trained from a young age to fight all manner of foe. The Legion of Ten was the only military in service of the Kingdom of Ansgar, an independent city-state nestled in the mountains of the northwest, though they disbanded shortly after the death of their king and subsequent collapse of the kingdom. John believed himself to be at fault for all that transpired, for it was the duty of the Legion to protect Ansgar and their king - and who but their leader should be responsible for their failure? So he relinquished his command to Sarthun, a comrade whom had proven himself a cunning and relentless warrior, and ventured south in the pursuit of a new life. He wishes for nothing more than to reclaim some semblance of honor, but thinks himself incapable of redemption.

Name: Garren Droche
Age: 35
Race: Human
Weapons: A Bardiche and a Hand Culverin (and, of course, a couple of Slow Matches to fire it).
Info: A former member of the Legion of Ten under the command of John Relder. An accomplished and loyal warrior with a light-hearted soul, Garren decided long ago that he would follow John to the depths of Hell should the time come. As the Legion fragmented, what else was he to do? Garren could not bring himself to forsake his allegiance as the others did. With all that had been lost, he refused to let go of this one last piece of his past. Besides, there was glory to be had in the south - new foes to conquer, and people in need of help.

[User]
"Well, not to seem rude, but I had heard your song and watched sing for the children. I recognize some of them as orphans due to the terrible battle that had happened here not too long ago. As a servant to Askari it is my duty to tend to the innocent such as them, but my own duties have made me too busy to care for the young ones. That being said, for you to go out of your way to care for them, in any way you can, is something admirable and trustworthy." Annabeth said with a smile as she shook El's hand. She didn't want to bore her with exposition like she did with Maren and Cassius (it was probably why she wasn't asked to stick around), so Annabeth was just honest and to the point. "The town is filled with strong warriors but I can only trust a few. And for me trust is far more important than skill at arms. Seeing your good nature, I feel that I can trust you to watch my back as we hunt the beasts that plague the swamp, more so than I could a craven who'll run at the first sign of overwhelming odds. If you'll accompany me, I'll gladly lay my life down for you."

Annabeth bowed deeply as her father taught her to do when speaking to a lady or lord. If El does join, that'll be one more person Annabeth would have at her side. Though she knew she needed more. And while she might trust El, Annabeth couldn't be certain about her combat prowess which is still needed for hunting monsters. Annabeth does need a skilled fighter, one who won't be so prideful that they wouldn't work with her, but also one who is available to assist. That gave Annabeth an idea; she remembered an unusual warrior who had helped her defend the northern gates. He appeared to have been a mere fisherman, but he had also slain quite a few of those mad dog mercenaries with his spears, and moving swiftly and striking with deadly precision. He would no doubt be a boon in hunting the swamp monster. While Annabeth's arms and armor would help her survive against a beast, mobility was just as important and he was swift of foot and steady of hand.

"It will not just be you and I of course. I actually have another in mind who I think I can trust to fight alongside us. If you're willing, we should go speak to him together to see if he'll want to join us for this hunt."

[Assistant]
---

"You're too generous with your assessment of me, Lady Elliot." El said with a bright smile directed towards the knight errant. "Those children were some of the most delightful company I've had in some time, I'd hardly say that I'm going out of my way considering that I enjoy myself just as much as they seem to. As for your reasoning," Elithiana gave a deep bow much like Annabeth's. "it speaks much of your character as well. I'll gladly join you on your quest," Straightening up, El grinned at Annabeth. "provided you keep from laying down your life for me as you put it, I'm no where near important enough for that honor."

The situation might be beyond surprising, but it was an opportunity to help people, something that El would never turn down. Besides, she's pretty sure that her uncle would approve of this endeavor, considering his own numerous tales of slaying dangerous beasts and taking on large bands of rogue thieves single-handedly, though she's not quite sure of the authenticity of most of his tales...

"About this other warrior you wish to recruit, do you know where he is?"


[System]
Age: 114
Gender: Female
Sexuality: ------
Race: Mountain Elf

Personality: Sylvaine is seen as serious and quiet, but can be quite sincere and looks after others. She is an intellectual person especially in battle, but far from cold-hearted. She is faithful to Ganda and like other mountain elves is a lover of the stars. While she is used to a loner-type lifestyle, she is not anti-social. All it takes is a little alcohol to open her up and she will reveal her competitive nature and more playful attitude.

Appearance: Sylvaine has long choppy brown hair, one side of which is pulled into a tight french braid. She has hard steel grey eyes which are always taking in her surroundings in a calculating manner. Her body is fit from practice and fighting, but still fairly slim from having to ration food while on the road. Sylvaine's armor is a deep blue with silver accents and a thick leather belt that acts as a holster for her knives and swords. Sylvaine carries two scimitars and three daggers all wrapped with a dark goldish yellow leather around the handle for grip. The leather on the scimitar extends a few inches past the hilt and holds beads and feathers collected from various places Sylvaine has visited. Both the scimitar and daggers have embellished stars and constellations which shine brightly against the dark grey metal. As Sylvaine is always on the road, she keeps a single leather bag filled with her sparse belongings and gold.

Class: Sylvaine works as a mercenary, but keep her prices low. She retains her right to decline any job she finds immoral or not worth her time. This means that while she is not very wealthy or well known, the townsfolk still appreciate her work and she is occasionally paid in food or a place to sleep. She is proficient in fighting with her swords and daggers, and is slightly proficient in magic. Being a mountain elf, she was taught the ins and outs of magic, but was only ever able to grasp basic control over the elements. She will use magic to occasionally aid her close combat fighting, but only sparingly as it can take a lot out of her. Sylvaine is also a very intellectual person and uses this in her fighting. She is strategic and uses this to win her battles. She is not the strongest, nor the fastest, nor the most flexible, but she uses her brain over her brawn.

Story: Sylvaine grew up with her family in the mountains with other mountain elves. Her parents were skilled in Alchemy, but Sylvaine herself could never move beyond the basics of magic. After realizing this, her parents decided to let her train with a human swordsman who lived in the village for a short while. They wanted her to be able to defend herself if necessary, but she grew to love sword fighting. After the swordsman left the town, Sylavine spent years practicing on her own and yearning for another mentor to teach her more. Once she was old enough, her parents let her leave the village where she traveled to Helsset to find a new mentor. However, while in Helsset, Sylvaine had very little money. So she worked odd jobs to keep herself fed while she looked for a mentor. Finally, Sylvaine met a retired Royal Guardsman who took her in and taught her how to fight. While studying under him, Sylvaine was told many stories of his own travels across Eana which finally inspired her to do the same. So Sylvaine became a mercenary to travel the kingdom and help the people who needed it most.

Motive: Sylvaine answered the call of the king because she cares about the kingdom. She's been far and wide and has experienced all that Eana has to offer. These experiences have motivated her to protect the kingdom in her own way and while normally it's through her mercenary job, she has decided to help the kingdom in a more direct manner during this time of need.

[User]
Sylvaine felt a smile spread on her face as they entered the Anaar Fields. It was a peaceful stretch of land that seemed like the perfect place to retire. Well, if she ever made it to retirement that is. Avveel was on the horizon which meant their day of travel was nearly done. While Sylvaine was more used to being on the road, the idea of a nice bed and warm food excited her. On the other hand, she could see that the journey was taking its toll on one of her new traveling companions. Allet seemed burdened by, in Sylvaine's opinion, an excess of baggage. Sylvaine had offered to carry a bag or two, but had been refused. In general, it seemed as though Allet wasn't much of a fighter. To Sylvaine it seemed odd that someone like her took up the King's call.

Speaking of non-fighters, Alfaru didn't seem like someone who has seen a battle either. As much as taking up the King's call is a personal decision, Sylvaine really didn't want to see people needlessly flinging themselves into a situation that could get them killed. Nonetheless, it's not like Sylvaine knew their whole story either. Numair on the other hand, seemed to be the only other one who knew what he was getting into. Sylvaine had heard of the Order of the Ravens, but didn't know too much about them. She didn't usually work well with others.

Allet seemed drawn to Sylvaine as she asked about her weapons. The tension in the air felt a bit awkward for Sylvaine's taste, but she decided to answer to try and break the silent spell. "The three daggers are for just in case. Sometimes they get wedged in wood or flesh, or I simply lose them in battle. Besides it's better to be over prepared than weaponless." Her fingertips gently hovered over the hilts of her daggers as she remembered with a start that she probably needed to pick up another dagger to hide in her boot. The last one escaped while embedded in a deer that managed to avoid becoming her dinner. "As for the sword-" Sylvaine drew one in a swift manner to admire the design. "It's called a Scimitar." Her fingers ran over the star design briefly before returning it to its place at her hip. Sylvaine returned her gaze back to the road.

Travel days were always the most boring, but normally she didn't have to deal with the maddening ordeal of traveling with others. Normally Sylvaine would get lost in her own thoughts, but with others there was always something pulling her out. Like someone walking too slow or discussing which direction they need to go. While she wishes she could enjoy the company, like she does when settling into a bar for the night, traveling was usually something she did alone. Luckily, though, they were nearly to Avveel. Only a week to go. Sylvaine closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. Guardian Ganda above, she needed a pint or three.

[Assistant]
Alfaru had been traveling with the other three for three days and he still hardly knew anything about them. That wasn't too unusual given his naturally reserved nature, but it did make the traveling a bit more lonely. So far, he only knew the professions of his three companions. One was some sort of Eldritch Knight from an independent order that Alfaru had never heard of before (not surprising since nothing ever really happened in his village), another was a freelance mercenary, and the third was a healer like himself, although this one seemed more suited to the job than Alfaru was (not that he was bad at what he did, but his ambitions were much too big for a simple healer). The only other thing he noticed was that none of the others displayed any overt prejudice towards him due to his mixed blood, which was a pleasant surprise. He was well aware of the tendency of some, particularly dwarves and elves, though humans were by no means exempt from the tendency, to dislike mixes, and he had endured some abuse for it, but he had not heard even a muttered slur from his traveling companions in the three days he had been with them.

They had come into the Anaar Fields, and the village of Avveel was in sight. The last stretch of their journey was in view, and it made Alfaru pick up his pace slightly, despite how tired he was. Before setting out on this journey, Alfaru had never traveled so much in a single day. He had never even left his village before he had heard the King's message. And now he had been traveling for just under two weeks, making camp in the wilderness if there were no villages nearby, waking up at the crack of dawn to continue his journey, and walking until sundown to cover as much distance as possible each day. He had been in good shape before beginning this journey, but in the ten days since he left his village, he had slimmed down slightly, and the angles of his face had sharpened just enough that Alfaru noticed it. It made him look more mature, combined with the stubble on his face from not being able to shave during the journey.

[User]
Numair al-Din was not a fan of travelling. His feet hurt, and his back ached from not having time to properly pack it at the last stop. That was why for most of the journey, he wore a stern frown. Numair liked to work at extremes. Working hard to overcome a goal, or partying hard in a local inn, but travelling was travelling. It wasn't exciting or fun. It just had to be done.
With the village coming into sight, Numair smirked. The idea of a cold pint and a warm meal was pleasing to his travel-weary soul. Pulling his back further up his back, to retighten a strap that had come loose over the course of the journey. "Ah, finally." He readjusted the way his swords were hanging on his hip. "This town better have a tavern that serves decent beer." He paused as he considered his expectations of decent beer in a rural hamlet such as Avveel. "Or just beer." Numair decided the promise of decent beer that was served cold would be a bit much to ask for. Plus, to be fair, he couldn't give to shits how it tasted as long as it took the edge off. After travelling with this lot for the past three days, he's earned a drink, or three, or five.

With newfound energy, he continued on down the path with his merry band of friends. They were an interesting group. Numair wondered what sort of adventures a Mercenary, two healers and himself would get up to in the days to come. His hand brushed his coin pouch, seeing if he had enough to indeed get drunk in this town. He frowned as it was lighter than he would have liked. Numair sighed, as he remembered he forgot to receive his commission from the Order back in Giron. While it would carry over, and he would be able to collect twice as much next time he was heading that way, he wouldn't have enough to afford a room, and get drunk in this town. Numair just hoped against hope that the Order of the Raven had a satellite office in this hamlet where he could pick up a small commission. However, it was extremely unlikely.

[Assistant]
The road to Avveel is like all other roads. It gets shorter only by walking. There is no magic to it. Step by step you leave the Rocky Gate behind and head towards Avveel. The road bends ever so slightly to the right, turning more and more towards the South-East direction of the village. You can see that the way is quite flat. There aren't many remarkable dents or bumps worth mentioning in the topography of the field. Thus making it very easy to walk, regardless of being a gentle downhill.

Grass begins to take over for the rocks and gravel on both sides of the road. First in tufts of various sizes here and there, but soon covering the whole landscape. There are some farming fields in the distance. As the harvest season is about to begin soon. They are turning or are already different shades of yellow. You spot some fields of greener colours too, but because of the distance you can't quite yet discern what they are yet.

you are observing the group and are looking around, you notice a young boy in a shouting distance among the rocks and boulders closer to the foot of the mountain where grass doesn't grow. He is wearing a white tunic and sand colored ¾ long trousers. He looks somewhat skinny from where you are and has yellow-blonde hair. You can't quite discern what he is doing, but he is walking around, crouching and looking under smaller rocks. There aren't any adults besides the group you are travelling with around.

[User]
Allett listened intently to Sylvaine as she described her weapons. A scimitar huh? It sounded more like a cooking spice. She chuckled softly but kept the thought to herself. Still, Sylvaine's scimitar had bright outlines of stars that practically glowed against the metal. Glancing down at her plain dagger, Allet wondered if she might have displayed more interest in swordplay with a sword like Sylvaine's. She hardly knew how to even wield the one she owned. Another skill she'd need to learn for this adventure. Part of Allet wanted to ask the elf more questions but she knew better. She muttered a thanks as Sylvaine returned the scimitar to her belt.

Keeping quiet for the remainder of the journey to Aveel, Allet kept her mind focused by thinking of various herbs and mixtures she brought with her. She often did this to help calm herself. A pleasant breeze brushed past her face and she breathed in the clean and familiar air. Even as an adult, she had a sense of excitement rush through her. Visiting Avveel had been her first adventure as a child. They weren't planning on staying long but it only felt fitting she stopped here before aiding the King in Helsset.

[Assistant]
Sylvaine felt the numbness of her legs that came with a long day's walk. It felt as though all the blood in her body were in her legs. Her mind idly wandered towards random thoughts. Maybe she should send a letter to her parents. It had been awhile and now that she was going to be working for the King there was something to write home about. Sylvaine very rarely received letters from her parents since she was always traveling, but there were times when she had stayed in a location for a while. Either because the job was taking time or simply because she liked it there. It was those times that Sylvaine would receive a letter from her parents. Usually, it was just about whatever new project they had taken on or about the village gossip, but it was still nice to hear from them every once in a while.

Sylvaine adjusted the leather sack over her shoulder and winced at the jangling of the few coins she had. She might have to strike a deal with the innkeeper if she wanted a bed tonight. If not, well, then it wouldn't be the first time she's made do in a stable or just outside the town. Besides, once she got to Helsset there were a few places she remembered that offered a nice place to stay for a night's work.The city always had jobs to be done and people to help. It had been years since she'd been to Helsset, but surely there had to be someone she remembered there.