[System]
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Etlock

Appearance:

(minus the swords)

Grol makes an imposing figure. He stands at about 7'4. Judging by his build, one can guess him at at least the weight of two large, muscular human men. As it is highly typical for his race, a rather large fraction of his body is covered in ornate tattoos. They don't represent actual objects, but are of a more abstract design mainly based on curved lines of variable thickness. Grol's eyes are of brown color and embedded in rugged features. His face is framed in a wild mane of almost black hair, organized in more then a dozen thick strings held together by metal clamps.

He knows about the benefits a comfortable, lightweight and highly flexible piece of leather and fur can have, which is why he most often wears this, especially in towns or when he has to reduce his noisyness. When he needs all the protection, he replaces it with a piece of heavy plate armor of Edlock craftmanship that encases him completely.

Backstory: Grol's roots originate from the Edlock captical city of Etlockbarv, but he was never really happy with his stay there. After all, the policy of not leeting foreign people enter their land results in themselves not being able to see much of the world. At least if one doesn't decide to leave it - and that's where the really interesting part of his story starts.

Even by Etlock standards, Grol has always been a bit of a rascal. When he found himself far away from home and with his supplies dwindling, he picked up work. Not an ordinary job, that would have been to boring and tedious for him. Instead, he started as a mercenary. It was there that he met a particularly interesting female elf called Amalay. While he was basically adding himself to the borderline criminal folks by.. let's say subtle loot enhancements, he always kept his line and turned out to be more reliable than most of their 'comrades'. It was a fertile ground for a developing friendship between them, though not without several more or less severe breakdowns partly based on his stubbornness.

It survived - and so did they, probably to a significant part just because of that. One day they found themselves effectively being sold as slaves without knowing. When they found out, it was too late for a pieceful solution. Soaked in the blood of the slavers they had managed to overwhelm, it was the end of their life as mercenaries. Hopefully the hunter's guild and its boss would turn out to be a much less corrupt bunch than what they had experienced.

Personality: It is probably a good strategy not to take him too seriously. He is loud, has a tendency to make jokes and to immediately tell people what he dislikes. This can include a small rant here and there, but those who know him can expect the tides to subside and an apology to occur a few minutes later. He has quite a criminal potential, but his kind-heartedness prevents him from doing real ugly things. His compliance can be increased by returning the favor: Yell at him, give him a whack into his face or punch into his belly: He can take it and if one's point is right chances are good that he will ultimately accept it with laughter instead of a fight. He likes fights though...

Weapon skill/choice: He uses a very large morning star as a means to bash enemies.

Notable ability: Pickpocketing; very, very strong and massive.

[User]
Place: Hall of Remembrance, Hunter's Guild.

 The air shifted sharply as the door let in cool breeze from the outside world, as it continued to open letting new faces be seen. Drovia had not seen a jump in population since the end of the great war, but word that the hunters guild had began recruiting openly again made new way for new comers to the great human capital. All races of Terecoth, now gathered in the hall in which it all started. A hash was issued over the large crowd. They were made up of all ages, some looking as though they had just finished grade school now to enlist in the Hunter militia. Rather large foot sets upset the silence as the hall door opened. The large metal and engraved door dragged on the ground and opened slowly. As the light from, the large windows broke the shadow of the man walking in, everyone peered to look at the new body in the room. Head-Master Ash stood tall and spoke in a deep dark voice that voided all other sounds. "Welcome New-Bloods" Ash gave a slight chuckle giving a little room for comfort. "My son Varioyn is going to be signing you. I will only say this once, come one by one up to the table and tell him your name and reason for being here today" He gave a quick glance around the room at all the faces, some strong, some frail, some looked as though he was a monster that needed to be hunted. "Many of you may not know who we are. Many of you do. We are the Hunters, Drovia's first army, Terecoth's finest men and women the titans have to offer. What we are NOT, is assassins, brutes, farmers. We are not here to murder or disrupt, we are here to help those in need." He gave another quick glance, to see if there was any change in facial expressions of the mass. "This is a life or death profession. Many here...." He looked back towards Varioyn and the veteran hunters "....Have lost friends, Family, ..Themselves." He pulled himself back. "There will be a test for both physical and mental capabilities, we need to know you are fit to be a hunter. These will begin tomorrow after the signing and introduction. Please feel free to say and look at the Hall of Remembrance after you have spoke to Varioyn" Ash nodded at the crowd and walked back into the room, closing the great metal door behind him.

 Varioyn looked down at his pen and paper. "Alright, everyone line up. You heard the Head-Master" The line looked so long that it could stretch forever. Varioyn laid his cloak down. Might be a long night..

[Assistant]
Amalay had steadily been working her way as close to the table as possible because of her impatience. She hated waiting in line, and whenever there were formalities, there was always a line. Upon everyone beginning to collect, a dodge here, a few steps there, and she was only about a dozen back from those fortunate enough to randomly choose to stand right at the origin of the line. The bows and announcements were largely human youths since we were, after all in the great city of humans, and none were more eager for their time to shine than the young.

Upon her turn, she showed all respect that was due, a flowing curtsy with crossed feet that was almost fluid. Memories of her mother teaching her her manners ran through her mind. "As though you are blown upon the wind, as though you are water trickling over the stones. Hands spiral in, and clasp at your heart. Not so fast, not so slow. Now bend at the knee and hip as though you are to fall asleep. And now remain, but not too long should the person feel themselves not important enough to deserve it."

Strangely enough, should she show such formality to a merchant troop, not only would she be viewed as strange, they would all be horribly self conscious. She had been a very long time in coming to any sort of nobility.

"I am Amalay Du Lya, Somnant Knight of One Kill, the Dreamer of the Lya. I have come to join the hunters in order to destroy the world... and to elevate a greater one in its stead. A place where the shadow is driven farther than the most distant reaches of the abyss, and the talons of evil is scalded away by the goodness that flows from the people."

What is in a name? Well, if one was versed in this olden time address, this was more than simply a noise that your family decided to use to clarify what they were talking about. This was a resume. Amalay Du Lya meant that she was from the village of Lya, a small and humble residence somewhere around Lothadid, like it's greater dwelling, it too was hidden and thus meant very little to those unfamiliar with the forest and the ways of the elves.

Somnant Knight of One Kill, well, that meant she was a warrior that had seen real combat numerous times and was now considered a veteran... however, unlike a warrior in human terms, notching their weapons to keep track of the enemies they have slain, it was the opposite. Each kill was a blemish, since it meant that the conflict could not be resolved without bloodshed or killing. This was a way of the past now, Somnance was the magic of nature to transfigure opponents into harmless forms of life. While it gave a certain edge, and let the Elves sleep at night, it was not the most efficient way of battle since it required quite a bit of training, about twice as long to master as a bow. During the great war, there was no time for lengthy training of troops, and thus more carnal solutions were used. Now, most Elves had taken the habit of notching on human terms, especially since it singled out the skilled rather than sharing company with newcomers, and it was no longer a display of how approachable and humble they were.

Dreamer of Lya meant that she was given a title in her hometown as a dreamer. While someone might not know who Amalay was, they would undoubtedly hear stories of "the Dreamer of Lya." Depending on the size of the community, such stories could really mean something, but since Lya was pretty small and un-influential, it was probably a hand-full of wild antics that the locals knew about.

With her introduction out of the way, she signed the parchment before her. A calligrapher, she was not, and her chicken scratch was full of asymmetric letters and lumpy blobby loops that would have earned her the tisk of her teacher had she been nobility herself, or had she been studying swordsmanship.

[User]
(Waddling into the lecture, Meshiro pushed to the front ... alongside the others. Even with his stature, he could barely squeeze through the breaks of the crowd for it was as a tight and clustered as tuna in a tin. Occasionally, Tsuekami found himself brushing past individuals who smelled entirely of corpus and must. With each advance, Meshiro took scheming stares, and harsh eyeballing from a few slender elves who had been plotting behind their thick black mantle of steel knives and other deadly trinkets, or even a downward glance from brutish, hulking Etlocks who loomed over the boy like an ant to a human.)

"Boy, am I gonna be an anvil's face, or a hunter? These big body, lousy ruffians here... They out here expectin' they're gonna be swift killers on a field, heh! To be soaked like a towel just by trying to move... and not even by mine sweat, musty beast ya are. Maybe, one of those filthy thieves from before will cut me with his ears alone. Dice my little body up like-- eh, signori, ya're in the way...?"

(The quiet rant had come to an end. Interrupted by a mountainous Etlock whose arm lazily swung towards Meshiro with a hand the size of a frying pan with fingers built like juicy bratwursts. Cerise fuzz decorated the giant's palm like green on endless hills. Meshiro accosted the great hand with the warmth of his own, but in reality could only bring the Etlock's pinky to a twitch and not even a shake. The Etlock grinned and scooped Meshiro from behind with his veins bulging like thick viola strings. The Etlock catapulted Meshiro through the crowd with a 'gentle' shove.)

"Uffgh, signori... Ya needa be careful shoving me around like some doll.... Oh."

(Meshiro glanced up, lying at the feet of yet another Etlock. This Etlock was not as kind the former, and didn't offer his hand. Furthermore, this Etlock was even bigger, with golden locks of hair, and wielded a heavy spiked iron baton in one hand, with a red bulwark in the other. The Etlock nudged Meshiro off the ground and faced back the other way. Meshiro looked around himself, and still, it seemed he hadn't moved even a meter from the entrance.)

"When will it be my turn already..."

[Assistant]
Human taverns... Without knowing it, the hunter's guild had done something that asked for compensation. Wouldn't it have been the better decision to hold this rally in the open field ? The initial benefit of it being warmer and calm in here was dwindling anyway, leaking out of this room divider that was barely given the chance to stay closed for any noticeable amount of time. Still, Grol was focusing on the damn thing as if he could stop the steady stream of people by greeting them with a grim look.

A silhouette grabbed his attention. Its strange familiarity had got it past the filter in the Etlock's mind, identifying it as something that was worth being relayed to his upper levels of consciousness despite the fact that it had only occured in the corner of his view. Grol raised himself on tiptoes, something that was bound to be considered hilarious because he was already towering above his surroundings, risiking a serious strike onto his head from above. It was a sign of good quality that the floor was able to hold up against his inhuman stature on such a small area without too much protest.

It was when Amalay got up from her curtsy that he was able to see her dead ahead. What a lucky person... or... was she really ? Or had it been determined usage of her skills that had gotten her in front of this desk so quickly ? He couldn't tell, but the latter thing really would not have surprised him. Grol could very well remember when and how this 'one kill' had occured. The true meaning of this event eluded him however. For the Etlock, it was 'just' a singularity in the behaviour of his friend. As far as he knew her, she didn't freak out and stab somebody with his own weapon, but used methods that seemed to be much more advanced. Not that this would have been capable of reducing his self esteem... After all, he was the biggest one in here. That had to count, too!

He glanced over to the two Etlock comrades. Grol already had to bear the rather bad reputation of his people, he knew that his appearance would do nothing but support this theory of all Etlock's being brutes, and now that! A small boy being pushed around like air by two of them. Perhaps he should step over and give them a beating before he had to start being afraid of a local revolt against his kind ? Luckily, the action subsided before the hulking giant had to give up his place in the line for this.

This was a good thing, because now he had progressed so far that there was only one person left in front of him. Once the man had made his signature, it was his turn to bend down and place his hand on the desk for support. If anyone was worried about Amalay's handwriting, that same one had to be horrified by the act of pure gross motor skills Grol was torturing both parchment and quill with. "Grol. If I wouldn't be convinced that the hunter's doing is a good thing I wouldn't try to join them." he growled with a voice that was brutally deep, then chuckled.

He was really looking forward to those physical tests. Hopefully they would have much to do with what he was good at and less with what he wasn't good at, but who knew ? Now he had to try to get out of this mess as quickly as possible, even if it meant stepping forward slowly, but continuously so that people would get out of his way of their own accord.


[System]
Sex: Male
Age: 27 (Born 6/24/1988)

Appearance/Personality/Biography:

5 May 2014 // 05:29 UTC-04:00

Grant sat up, twisting towards the night stand to press the button on his phone's alarm clock before it struck the half-hour and woke the person lying next to him asleep. He couldn't remember her name. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom, clicking the light switch on after the door closed behind him. There was an expensive-looking purse on the counter, a wallet poking out from the top. Grant flipped it open, thumbing through the cards. Victoria Fong, 25. He shrugged and slid the ID back into her wallet. Doesn't ring a bell. Grant started a shower and looked into the bathroom's long mirror while the water heated. It must be the money, because guys that look like you don't get women like Victoria. His father, always an honest man, once said, "We're average men Grant, nothing wrong with that." And average was an accurate appraisal. Like his father, he had dirty blonde hair cut conservatively short and angular but symmetric features. His eyes though, were a gift from his mother. Ice blue and expressive, they were a painful reminder of things lost in the past. He was in good shape from a martial arts regimen that had been his passion for the past 13 years, but he'd never gotten the muscles to go along with the strength. He showered quickly and quietly and looked back into the bedroom. His suit was in a pile next to the bed.

"Grant?" Apparently he hadn't been quiet enough.

"Victoria, I'm sorry, I really need to go." He walked over and picked up his pants, feeling for his wallet. "Here, take this. Should be enough for a cab back to, uh, where'd you say you live?"

She stretched and rubbed her eyes. "Oh, I've got a place at The Marlowe, but honestly, I'm fine."

He pulled on the suit with practised motions. "If you're sure." He buckled his belt. "Room's paid for - your purse is in the bathroom. I saw a room service menu over there if you're hungry." She saw it too. Grant babbled when he felt guilty.

"I saw it too." Victoria picked up her phone off the night stand. "So, why the rush? Have a meeting or something?"

"Yeah, actually. I always get in around six, looks like I'll be late today though. Oh well, meeting's going to be boring anyway."

Victoria was polite enough to force a chuckle. "Where do you work?"

"Sullivan & Cromwell."

"Oh, so you're a lawyer then?"

"Guilty as charged," said Grant, then winced when he saw the clock. "Well, uh, have a good day."

The night stand buzzed. "Hang on," said Victoria, "You forgot your phone." She handed it to him and he saw the caller ID.

He headed for the door and tapped the screen. "Hey honey."

17 January 2015 // 15:21 UTC-08:00

"So, Mr... sorry, how do you pronounce that?"

Grant sighed. "Raskstål. It's Swedish." The office was one of the most inoffensive he'd ever been in. He didn't know if the splotches of color framed on the walls could rightly be called paintings. The furniture was simple and wooden. His chair was subtly uncomfortable. Likely it was all by design.

"Alright, I think I've got that Mr. Raskstål. As you probably know, I'm Dr. Hanson, but please just call me Jim." The psychologist smiled and adjusted his glasses as he looked up at Grant.

"Ok, Jim. Call me Grant. We going to start now?"

Jim pulled out a notebook and pen. "Sure Grant, let's get started. Can you tell me why you're here?" Jim had a soft, carefully modulated voice.

"Ever since the divorce I've been less productive at work. I'd like to fix that." Grant couldn't believe he was doing this. He was used to solving other people's problems, and he'd thought solving his own would be easy. He was wrong.

"I see. Can you tell me about yourself?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Start wherever you think is appropriate. We're just having a conversation here."

Grant thought about that for a moment. Things had been a blur for the past 7 years. Law school, marriage, work, divorce. He decided to be concise. "My mom was an American lawyer and my dad a Swedish fisherman. He's retired now. By the fact that I can afford your rate, you can probably guess whose footsteps I followed in. I had no life throughout high school other than class and studying; that won me an acceptance to Harvard where I spent four years doing Philosophy. After getting a 2.5 in my undergrad Harvard had second thoughts about me spending another two years at their law school. My mom pulled some strings and got me in at Princeton Law - I didn't deserve it. Sullivan & Cromwell hired me straight out of school and I moved to Manhattan and got married. I made a lot money there. I screwed around. One day, I just couldn't deal with it any more, so I told her. She filed for divorce. I asked for a transfer out to the boonies. So here I am." Grant looked out the picture window. The afternoon sun glinted off the L.A. skyline. January and 73 degrees. He hated California.

Jim was writing carefully in his notebook. After a few moments he looked back up. "I see. That's a lot to take in at once. Let's start with your parents. You said you 'followed in your mother's footsteps.' How does that make you feel?"

Grant sighed.

Skills:
* Martial Arts: Grant has studied martial arts for 13 years. He is practiced in traditional Chinese Wing Chun, a 3-dan in Japanese Kendo, and has studied HEMA (Historical European Martial Arts), specifically the longsword.
* Law: Grant has studied United States law.

Elemental Cores:
* Aether
* Cold

Abilities:
* Materialization of the Blade [Metal: Earth + Cold]: Condenses mana from the user's reservoir into the body's hand in order to materialize a sword or other bladed implement. For quick creation, the form of the blade must be memorized. New designs may take some practice before perfection of form is reached. Currently, Grant remembers the form of a European longsword and a Japanese katana from his time on Earth.
* Mark of the Sojourner [Aether]: The user identifies a point on their line of sight and marks it with mana. This consumes a small amount of mana. The user may then consume more mana to travel through hyperspace to that location. A user may have multiple marks simultaneously, but the target mark must be on the user's line of sight to perform a hyperspace jump. The marks persist for several hours before they dissipate into the environment if they are not manually removed.
* Serenity of the Dispassionate Mind [Cold + Aether] [Passive]: The user's mind is stable and not easily inflamed into rash or emotional behavior. This ability lends its user a certain cold, removed objectivity, as well as a resistance to less subtle mind-altering magics.

Possessions:
* Tom Ford Charcoal Grey Suit: A $4000 suit with white shirt. The tie has been lost. The owner is likely compensating for something.

EDIT: 7/15 2:40 PM PST - Put in a hider for easier navigation.

[User]
GrantGrant began to charge after the bear as it tried to escape with the green girl, but quickly realized he was far outstripped by the bear's four-legged sprint. Standing, out of breath and slightly dazed, he took a moment to do a mental inventory of what had happened in the past - what felt like - seconds. Perhaps it was time to start operating on the assumption that there was actually some truth to what the so called goddess had said. Perhaps it was time to assume that this was actually happening, and not just some sort of dream or vision. I woke up in that bed... almost like a pod. The stuff in there looked... electronic? This place doesn't look like any environment I know of on earth. And that thing... a bear? Grant was starting to wish he remembered the Biology he'd taken. Although he was pretty sure no species existed that looked like that. And then there was the issue of this sword. He brought it up in front of his face to examine.

Silver Knight Straight Sword from Dark Souls rendered in Skyrim
Steam was still rising off of it in wisps. Curious, he knelt down and placed it on the ground. The second he released his grip, the sword disappeared, dispersing into some sort of glowing particulate. Did I make that? Grant shook his head and stood back up. The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him. Him, a lawyer from Los Angeles, had evidently been kidnapped to some alien world, imbued with magical powers, and left to fend for himself. Well, on second thought, he wasn't entirely alone. He turned around to face Darius. "So, you can throw ice spears then." Grant started laughing humorlessly, overwhelmed by the insanity of what had just happened.

[Assistant]
Vestus

Vestus flinched a little when the woman shot a blast of cold and sweat went down his brow, he tried to act cool as if he hadn't been afraid but he was smiling through clenched teeth so to speak.

"The cool one eh well that's a little to cold for my taste why don't we turn up the heat?"

He was wondering awhile back why he felt so warm and fiery on the inside and at times he realized within him he was radiating a little bit of heat and he now thought about what else he could do so he for a second scratched his head and thought what any person would do if they had some kind of heat power so he switched his gaze to his hand and he extended it forward so the group may see and focused intensely on his hand he felt a slight tingle in his hands as he started focusing harder and after a minute small flames danced across his finger tips and then they got larger until the blaze was surrounding his whole hand and it didn't even effect him it only felt slightly like he was being tickled.

"And I'm the hot one!"

He said looking at everyone as they stood there and the he made the fire die down as he lessened his will and let the fire douse.

"My body feels like a furnace at times"

He explained how it felt in short and he enjoyed how flames only tickled him now which deeply amused him though life would not be the same as it ever was.

Vestus wondered what else he was capable of other than lighting himself on fire and being extremely resistant to it.

[User]
Darius → Darius watched with caution, still stanced in a defensive position as the bear made its retreat with the girl. She should've made a move to try and fend off the bear, but her inaction earned her death. He felt perhaps a little sense of guilt, but there wasn't much he could do. He just had to count on the girl reviving at the shrine, just as the goddess of the realm had told them all. Grant charged after the bear immediately, but it was of no use. The bear could outrun the man any day. Darius surveyed the aftermath of the event: the group was down one person, Grant was having some sort of epiphany about the ordeal, and John Eidolon was unconscious. Just great... The brunet grimaced. The current situation wasn't ideal. Or it might have been, depending on how helpful John and fish girl would be.

 Darius took a look at Grant, the taller, blue-eyed, blond man that contrasted completely with Darius's own complexion, height, eye color, and hair. What a complementary duo. The boy only hoped that he and Grant could work together somehow and build enough trust to form a strong team. In the meantime, Grant was all Darius would have. The shimmering, steaming blade that Grant once wielded had disintegrated completely. Interesting... The boy at least took note. Grant could summon a sword, and Darius had some sort of power with ice and water. His face took on a more thoughtful expression as he committed to memory their abilities and internally mused about them. Grant turned to Darius, and the motion drew his attention straight to Grant's face.

 "So, you can throw ice spears then." Grant quipped half-heartedly.

 "Yeah..." Darius gave a hesitant chuckle and an uneasy smile. "And, uh, you have a cool sword." He ambled casually over to Grant and stood next to the older man. "Any ideas for where we go from here, uh, Grant?" The day was young in the Cradle of Divinity. They had eternity here until they could overpower the pantheon and escape. He just wanted to go home. He didn't want this. He didn't want to feel mediocre in a contest against other godlings. He was... a nobody. He was just an average kid. The young man said just above a breath, "As for me... I wish I knew why this had to happen to me. It feels fucking awful."

[Assistant]
Grant"Any ideas for where we go from here, uh, Grant?" said Darius as the teenager walked over to him.

That's a damn good question, thought Grant as he instinctively reached into his shirt pocket, forgetting that the pack of Marlboro Lights he kept there for moments such as these was now gone, simply vanished. He'd been paid $230,000 a year to come up with good answers to tough questions (or at least good-sounding ones) and now he was coming up empty, something that was becoming a trend in this, as the man in the lab coat had put it, brave new world. All his years of study, his overpriced Harvard education, were beginning to appear more and more worthless here. He almost laughed when he realized his martial arts hobby that cost $50 a month in gym membership fees would be more valuable. He had to say something though. Even stating the obvious would be preferable to standing there with his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded.

"We should see if... John? Yeah, I think that's right. We should see if John is alive. Maybe he's a doctor or scientist - he could know something about this place." Grant was aiming for sounding calm and confident - well, he managed to not stammer, at least. "I suppose we should get to know each other as well. It looks like we're going to be spending some time working together. To, uh, overthrow some gods." Grant fell silent when he realized how ridiculous that sounded. He fell back on custom to break the awkward silence and stuck out his hand. "As you obviously know, I'm Grant. Grant Raskstål. Darius, right?"


[System]
Alias: Adrian Romano
Age: 26
Appearance: A tall man, completely covered in bandages, wearing a heavily worn trench coat and an old hat. His physical appearance varies, but if one looks close enough, they might see something squirm under the bandages.

Para Category: Alpha, threat level 3

Rumours have begun swirling in the back streets of Marlon, of a mysterious vigilante hellbent on revenge. A bandaged man in an old trench coat, prowling the alleyways to fight injustice. His hatred for the Lorne corporation is only matched by the ferocity of the rats he commands as they tear the flesh of his foes. Those who know of his existence often speculate on his identity. A man burned by a chemical accident, a parahuman disfigured by his own powers, and more theories thrown to the wind. In peeling back the bandages, one finds the truth - a mass of rats in the shape of a man, hiding the gnawed bones of whom they once were.

The Ratman began his life as Adrian Romano, proud son of Claudius and Rachel Romano, and brother to a number of siblings. His parents were high level managers in the Lorne corporation who had worked their way up from nothing, and Adrian's older brother also worked there. Adrian followed suit and sped up the ranks, hoping to use his position for good. Sadly, his rapid rise had attracted jealousy, and there were those already plotting his downfall.

Stabbed in the back by someone he trusted, Adrian was taken through the back streets of Marlon to die. They threw him into a pit, leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bullet in his head. Barely alive and in shock, Adrian weakly called for help, but his call attracted a swarm of hungry rats instead. Only a miracle would have saved him, and funnily enough, one came. The energy wave came from the tower, imbuing various people with special powers. This did nothing to dissuade the ravenous rats, however, and Adrian was promptly eaten. As they ate, however, they were slowly coming under Adrian's influence. The more they ate, the more they became like him. When they had gnawed him down to the bone, he was reborn. His will had been transferred to them, and there was no going back.

It took some time to get used to being a swarm of rats, but that allowed him time to get used to his environment. He became familiar with the lowest rung of society, making him lose more faith in the Lorne corporation. The shock at his situation had given way to anger, and now he planned against the corporation which ignored the plight of the poor and who had, in some ways, facilitated the betrayal.

When the Lorne corporation began their sweep, he was ready. Hiding their identity, Adrian and his swarm of rats became the Ratman, fighting the Lorne corporation and the corrupt government as best they can, carving their legend into the back alley streets of Marlon.
Blood ties
The Ratman's sole power. His flesh and blood act as a conduit for his will. By ingesting parts of his body, a part of Adrian's consciousness is transferred and the recipient becomes a part of him, allowing the effect to proliferate. The effects of this power are affected by certain factors, however. The mind control is strongest from Adrian himself, but takes a back seat to stronger wills. A secondary host exhibits weaker powers, but the effects are stronger if the secondary host infects another host similar to itself. This way, the rats of Ratman can create other rats for the mass. There is a limit, however, as if there are too many minds to control, some will resist the effects.

Those under the effects function as a hivemind of sorts, many minds making one whole.

Strengths:

* Infiltration and surveilance
The small size of Adrian's rats allow for discreet infiltration, and they can pass information around the hivemind.
* Survival
As long as one rat survives, the pack can be remade. In an emergency the entire mass scatters in different directions, maximising survival chances.
* Knowledge of the Lorne corporation
As an ex-employee of the corporation, he knows of some secrets. Though they have most likely scrubbed his credentials from the system, he knows other ways to enter the headquarters.

Weaknesses:

* Strength of many
The strength of the Ratman is the strength of numbers. In situations where they are outnumbered, Adrian doesn't have many options. Thus, he prefers avoiding large engagements where he can't just pick off targets one at a time.
* Human contact
The Ratman is a group of rats in a trench coat. While he can communicate through language, it's obvious that he's at the very least a parahuman. This makes communicating with non-parahumans difficult.
* Hunger
In order to ensure their survival, every member of the pack needs to eat. Finding food for a large pack of rats every day is a task in and of itself.

It was a calm, moonlit night. The bandaged man walked the back streets of Marlon as he usually did, traversing the maze of concrete with measured ease. Rats accompanied his every step, skittering to and fro, exploring every unturned rock and dustbin in their path. Suddenly, the he stopped dead in his tracks, prompting the other rats to follow suit. They looked at him with curiosity as, in a hundred little voices, the Ratman sighed. As the bandaged man turned to stare at the moon, the other rats turned to the sky as well. He wanted nothing more than to simply stand there, staring at the beauty of the world. It was something he wished for everyone, in some ways. But not tonight. He had snagged something on his information network, which meant he had work to do.

It was a quiet night, which meant that he could hear it pretty soon. Grunts, thwacks, and occasional sobs. The bandaged man turned the corner and found what he was looking for. In the alleyway, a man relentlessly pounded a scantily clad woman with his fists. Judging from the man's clothes, he was from Marlon's upper crust. The woman was likely a sex worker of some sort. The bandaged man didn't know their story, and he didn't care. The bandaged man knew him as a government official, and it was time to pay his respects.

His shadow loomed over the pair, and the squeeking of rats heralded his arrival. The man turned, his face twisted in anger melting into horror as it beheld the bandaged man.
"Y-You!"
"Me." The Ratman rasped.
The man was angry, but his voice was tinted with fear. So they had heard of him up there. Good.

He stepped forward with measured ease, slowly closing the distance between them. The government man scrambled through his pockets and withdrew a gun.
"Back off! Now!" He barked.
The bandaged man stopped stopped. A hundred voices spoke in unison.
"Don't bother. You'll only put more holes in my coat." He said.
The government man opened fire. The bandaged man's flesh shifted under his coat. Blood splattered from the holes that formed in his chest. The man grinned, but his triumph melted into confusion, as the being in front of him stood right where he was. His expression once again turned to fear, as the bandaged man brushed off the blood and took another step forward. The government man gritted his teeth and took aim, shooting at the bandaged man's head. 2 shots landed, and the bandages unfurled. The bandaged man put a hand to his face.
"Y-you see that? Get the hell out of here, freak!" The man yelled with renewed bravado.
"My, my. Look at what you've done to us." The bandaged man replied calmly.
He rose to his feet and 2 bloodied rats scurried out of his hand. His head bluged and shifted under the now bloody bandages.

The bandaged man took step forward.
"S-Stop!"
And another.
"I mean it this time!"
And another.

The government man turned his gun towards the woman.
"Take another step and I'll blow her brains out!" He yelled.
But it was too late for him. Rats swooped down onto the flustered man from the rooftops, biting down on his gun hand. The government man screamed. The rats at his feet scurried into his clothes, biting and scratching wherever they could.

It was over quickly. The bandaged man surveyed his handiwork. The only thing left was bones and clothes, the rest had been eaten by the rats. The woman had run off in the mean time, but he didn't mind. There was only one thing left to do now. He issued a command and a wave of rats picked up the remains.

The night was transitioning to day. In an hour the sun would rise, and the citizens of Marlon would begin their day. But there was no rest for the police, especially not with parahumans running amok. The donut shop was a popular place for them to relax, as it was open 24 hours a day. In other words, it was the perfect place to send a message to the right people.

A policeman sat outside the store with a box of donuts on his lap. He was the only one to see it happen. A mass of rats dropped from the rooftop, scattering as they hit the ground. The cop jumped up and drew his gun, but they were gone as fast as they appeared, taking some donuts for the ride. Left on the scene was the skeleton. The policeman scrambled to the car and yelled a report through his radio. He had served for a while, he knew what he was dealing with. The Ratman's eyes watched as the policeman howled his name with fury, dozens of pairs of tiny little eyes, watching from the shadows. As the sirens drew closer, they turned away and disappeared into the night.

[User]
Darkspire's lips pursed as she watched Taylor work. They seemed rather skilled in their methods. "Were you a doctor before this?" She asked softly, curious. She helped levitate the unconscious man, so that his back could be tended to and keep the wounds from being aggravated. She shrinks her lights and scatter them through the room as to give better sight. "Your methods remind me of my brother, he worked in this sector of the city." Her eyes flicked over to the rats. "I'm guessing these rats are with you as well? They seem too intelligent to be normal."

She looked outside. "Orwell, get me out of work tomorrow. I know it's probably going to be a bad idea but I can take days to myself." She looked outside. "I'll look around, the moon will set in a few hours." She flew out of the room, the lights staying active as she didn't go too far, merely went outside to observe the city. To look over the ruins of the place she had found her few friends in.

[Assistant]
As cautious and suspicious as Taylor was being overall, it was at least warming up slowly and noticeably to the para woman. It did not argue when she used her abilities to assist it, so as long as she kept her distance and allowed Taylor to do its work uninterrupted. After cleaning the wounds, it saw no signs of a negative reaction to the antibiotics. Granted, it was not an ideal sort of test, but these were not ideal circumstances. It applied the antibiotics to deal with any potential infection, then set to work with care and precision to bandage each and every one of William's burns.

Regardless, Taylor was still somewhat terse in its answer to the para woman. "It doesn't matter what I was before. That life was stolen."

However, even after the woman flew away to keep watch around the area, Taylor still had cause to be protective. She had called attention to the rats, so Taylor was taking notice of them. It had seen them as it was fleeing through the city, and now it could still catch glimpses of them here, as long as it looked closely enough. Their presence only reaffirmed to Taylor that it needed to stay right by William's side, if they intended to make a meal of the incapacitated Human.

After Taylor had finished with the bandages, it dressed William in the clothing the woman had brought, then curled up, laying on the ground by his feet. Its many, glowing eyes scanned the room, vigilant even for small signs of movement.

[User]
It appeared that it was time. The rats had brought the costume, all that was left was to reveal themselves. The swarm gathered together, reconstructing his bones, winding up the bandages, and putting the clothes on. They had gotten a fresh coat from somewhere - it was old and worn, but at least it didn't have any bloodstains on it. The Ratman put on his hat, and he was ready.

Quietly, he stepped into full view, the rats scattering and gathering behind him.
"You are by far one of the strangest beings I have ever encountered." The Ratman said, emerging from the shadows. "I must apologise for watching you from the shadows, but I have questions I hope you'll answer."

[Assistant]
Taylor jumped up to its feet the moment it spotted the being enter the room, letting out a sound most akin to a growl to warn it from getting too close. It could not see behind the coat, but the sight of some of the rats gathering around it immediately clued Taylor in to the fact that they were related. It seemed that the para woman had been right in her intuition about the rats that had been trailing them; they were more than just normal rodents.

"Just stay back from him. I don't know you, but I will kill anything that tries to hurt him. You have questions...then you can ask them from right there." Taylor warned.


[System]
Species: Human
Faction/Unit: 6th Special Personal Security Detail, formerly of Blue Squadron, Independence
Location: TBD
Synopsis of Role: Experienced starfighter pilot with combat experience at Turkana and in Operation Skyhook seconded to the 6 SPSD to provide support duties. A former Outer Rim swoop ganger, he can fly a light freighter, starfighter, any sort of speeder and does not look, in any way, military.

[User]
"After performing our due diligence," Etain Leto, counterespionage specialist and the 6th Detail's lead intelligence officer, chimed in, "we've learned that the Rokarokatusawa serves a drink called the Rancor Shot, which may have enough alcohol in it to actually cause brain damage. We'd suggest a round of those after the meeting, not during." A few laughs went around the conference.

"In all seriousness," he said after a moment, "we've vetted both the contact and the meeting point. Ryella, if you could?"

At the sound of her name, the blue-skinned Twi'lek woman to Leto's left placed a holoprojector on the table. A nondescript human face flickered into blue existence. "Thank you. This is our contact. He's an officer with the Parcossis Valley Militia. They're disorganized, but they have a lot of blasters which makes this a good connection. He's got a good amount of influence among the PVM leadership, so this should be a productive conversation."

"Beyond that, the location itself is also good," Leto opined, tapping the holoprojector. The image switched over to a projection of a building, the bar. "Low profile bar, not too high end, not too low end, low traffic most times of day. Whatever the time of the meet, we can have a team on the ground three hours in advance to take care of our security protocols. All in all, this should be a milk run."

His presentation done, he tapped the holoprojector off and slid it back toward the Twi'lek. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said.

[Assistant]
"I'm not completely unfamiliar with similar militia groups. The first operation that I ever conducted dealt with the pacification of a local cell of Separatist sympathizers, and that was shortly before the start of the Clone Wars."

Senator Dona Ordo had listened in relative silence for the entirety of the presentation that had been given by his subordinates. He was dressed rather casually for the meeting, but that was purely by choice. After nearly half his life wearing uniforms, he was more than eager to have some level of control over what he could wear. Besides, he had every intention to immediately change into his Senate formalwear following the conclusion of the meeting. As for the rest of his outward appearance, his prematurely graying dark brown hair was well coiffed, framing a cleanly shaven handsome face. This was only obfuscated by a discoloration of his skin that went from his right cheek and travelled the length of the right side of his body. This had been the result of third-degree burns caused by an injury gained during the Clone Wars, and the discoloration was all that remained after spending a lengthy period of time in a bacta tank near the conclusion of the war.

"In my experience, these insurgents are far too skittish in the presence of the Empire, even if it's only a former Imperial officer that they have to contend with. My past isn't exactly a secret throughout most of the Outer Rim."

Once Dona had recovered from his wounds at the end of the Clone Wars, he had been placed in command of an Imperial strikeforce that was tasked with uprooting Separatist insurgent groups throughout the Outer Rim. Many labeled him as ruthless based on his draconian methods that were used to eradicate these terrorists, but he simply considered himself and his men to be efficient. Even to this day, there was nothing he would apologize for. A devastating galactic war had just taken place, and Dona had lost more friends than he would ever care to count. So, he was quite adamant to pacify the Outer Rim and help bring true peace to the galaxy. Of course, his current position within an organization that was fighting to undo that peace… well, that was an irony that wasn't lost upon him.

"I'll allow Leto to lead this entire operation as it concerns making contact with this… Harlush. I'd prefer to have a line in with the leadership of this militia sooner rather than later. At the same time, don't allow my desire of expediency to be a blank check. The ISB can outperform us in terms of blackmail and coercion nine times out of ten. I'm already highly skeptical about this contact and his militia as it is."

"I will be preoccupied with my official capacities as a senator for the most part. Keep me abreast of any significant developments by passing along any relevant information to Issmic and he'll notify me of anything that I need to know." With that, he motioned to his personal assistant who wasn't standing all that far away from him. He was also looking close to pulling him out of the meeting and placing him back on his senatorial schedule.

"I do want some skin in this game," Dona concluded, with half a smile.

[User]
Remi Vando had been in some shitty situations in his life and this wasn't one of them. He admired Senator Ordo and felt honored to be on his PSD. He would do whatever it took to protect the man's life including diving on a thermal detonator if needed. I would give my life for him, was his personal Creed while serving as a Personal Security Officer. He honestly hoped it would never come to that, but was mentally prepared in the event it should come down to it. He spent five years with the Rebel Pathfinders and saw this opportunity as an avenue for self-improvement. He had no desire to serve in government, but sought to improve his skills where it came to providing security and building his body to be a better soldier.

He was not completely interested in the contents of the meeting, but felt it necessary to hear what was going on or more specifically, where the Senator was heading. He could then research their destination as well as the route they were taking to determine what threats might possibly be along their path.

Remi kept his HL-27 blaster hidden under his coat. The weapon was small and easy to conceal. It had been a gift from Senator Ordo when he came to this detachment two years ago. A small vibro-blade was strapped to his back under his jacket as a back up, just in case he needed it. Other weapons were kept in other locations, to be used when needed. For now, he did not require an arsenal, keep it simple for close in security.

Remi spoke quietly to Garith Calman so as not to disturb the meeting. "I need to go use the 'fresher. I'll do a perimeter sweep while I am gone." He left the room and headed to the Refresher in order to relieve his bladder and then walked around the outside of the briefing room. He checked the corridor outside the room and then the doors leading inside. There were people walking about, as though they belong. He did not see anything out of the ordinary and returned to the meeting room.

[Assistant]
Issmic Bene stood behind the Senator, carefully taking notes and eyeing the ticking time, as the gathered conspirators plotted their next move. The only part that really perked his ears up was the Rancor Shot, which he made a mental note to sample before they left his wretched planet. His mind, instead of being here in the meeting room, was dwelling elsewhere. Issmic had to think hours, if not days, ahead of the schedule and, while he was certainly glad that the retired Rear Admiral was concerned and invested so deeply in the Rebel cause, he still had official business to attend to. If the Imperial Security Bureau figured out his true motives for going to this backwater world, then they would all be shot for treason.

Treason! To think that Chief Bene, the hero of Targis IV, could be considered a traitor was enough to make him laugh. He had given his youth, his happiness, his marriage, his entire life to the cause of the Galaxy. He had gone into battle against dozens of species in countless star systems to ensure that the Galaxy remained stable, so that the Peace of the Empire could be extended to every star that glimmered in the Heavens. The thanks he got? A medical discharge for a shattered leg (which, although reconstructed by droids, never quite felt the same again), no pension, and no working opportunities. He thanked Lady Luck every day that Senator Ordo, no greater friend and no worse foe, took pity upon his old adjutant and made him his Chief of Staff.

At the time, he wondered why he had been graced by his brother born from combat, but the reality soon dawned on him. The Senator needed to surround himself with people he could trust, and Issmic had proved it time and time again in those campaigns against the Seps. And he would continue to prove it, in his own way and in the capacity that he served, by making sure the Senator did not forget his obligations.

"If I may interject," The Personal Assistant, feeling all together ignored by the affairs of the Rebels, finally spoke up, "Senator, I must remind you that the meeting at the Rothanan Fleet Yards is time critical. We cannot afford to miss this obligation, and therefore I insist with much haste that we get onto it."


[System]
// loading personnel records //

//  Organisation Selected: Collective Federation Military //

// SELECTED: EX-EMPLOYEE 375 || Terry J. Campbell //
Age: 32
Alias: Mars
Status: Dishonorably Discharged. Wanted Criminal.
Background: Terry J. Campbell was born ██ ██ 2444, at ███████ Hospital. His parents █████ and ███████ ████ offered the boy up for experimentation and grooming at the ████ ██████ Military Experimentation Labs. The boy was given the identity of Terry J. Campbell.
// SPECIFICS REGARDING OPERATIONS AT ████ ██████ M.E.L. REQUIRES A HIGHER SECURITY CLEARANCE //
At the age EIGHTEEN, Terry J. Campbell was put in the field. Proving his worth in helping keep order on the streets. He would have been a great soldier if it were not for the ████ incident.
// DETAILS PERTAINING TO THE ████ INCIDENT REQUIRE A HIGHER SECURITY CLEARANCE //
After the aforementioned incident, Terry was recalled to the lab for adjustments. After being recalibrated and tuned up, he was sent on a secret assignment.
// FOR MORE INFORMATION, REFER TO TEST #5 FOR PROJECT ██████ //
After being betrayed, and hunted by project ██████, Terry J. Campbell defected to the Terrorist Organisation known as 'Olympus.' He has taken up the mantel of 'MARS.'
Affiliation: 'OLYMPUS'
// CURRENT INFORMATION REGARDING 'OLYMPUS' IS CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE //
Capabilities: Often called the 'One Man Army' Terry J. Campbell is very skilled in several styles of combat. Favouring close to mid range combat, Terry is an adept hand to hand fighter, and proficient with knives and hatchets. His skill extends to throwing the melee weapons as well.
As for weapons of choice, he typically utilises a pair of revolvers. One chambering HEIAP bullets, the other white phosphorus bullets. Though will use whatever shotguns and assault rifles he can get on the black market.
Terry J. Campbell was a Praetor, and as such has all the Cybernetics and Armour that comes with that.
// YOU DO NOT HAVE SECURITY CLEARANCE TO SEE PRAETOR SPECIFICATIONS //
Directive: Terry J. Campbell is too dangerous to be taken alive. Shoot to Kill.

[User]
Loading.....Bacchus Log#001

Bacchus kong vaulted over a metal pipe smiling underneath his mask as the CF police chased after him. Doing a short walk run off a billboard Bacchus was able to get onto another building as he pulled out his rifle. His mission was to lead the police a bit aways from a surplus store so Olympus could gather some supplies they were running low on things to repair prosthetics and to make weapons. Bacchus's rifle wasn't too special just a plain assault rifle with a design of a grape vine on the sides . Firing off a couple of rounds at the Police Bacchus then turned and began to run across the rooftops with the Police in pursuit.

[Assistant] "Time to do a little shopping..." Apollo chuckled to himself as he pulled the cargo truck into the loading area behind the surplus store. No gate. No guards posted. And now, thanks to Bacchus, no police within mile of the place. Everything was going so smoothly he wouldn't have been surprised if somebody left the back door wide open. He pulled the truck up to the loading dock. He could have used the scope focus on his visual sensor the determine to a centimeter the distance of the back of the truck from the dock, but he was proud of his driving techique to a fault. He prefered to use his standard visual setting if he had to be suited up. And if there was one thing he'd learned in Olympus, it was that you better be suited up when in the field. He parked at a good centimeter away and radioed the squad still in the back with a playful, musical tone to his voice. "Ladies and Gentleman, we are here! Everybody's got their shopping list?"

[User]
Mars was sitting in the back of the truck. He checked the cylinders on both of his revolvers, double-checking they were clean and loaded. It was supposed to be clear, but he never went in without loaded guns.
Mars holstered tHE revolvers, before tapping the side of his head. Activating his Holo-Lens. Bringing up a list of computer components and other whosits and whatsits. Mars had a bad feeling about this. It was a simple endeavour, Bacchus leads the police away, and the rest of them break in and rob the place for everything it's worth. This plan, of course, failed to account for local security and alarms/traps. Moving to the next screen on his Holo-Lens, he looked over the available schematics for the building. Trying to plan his route. That was when he felt the truck come to a stop. "We're here." He muttered to himself before the announcement came through.
Being closest to the door, he stood up and rolled up the door. Tapping his Holo-Lens again to open the Comm channel. "We are good to go. I'll meet you all inside." He said stepping out of the back of the truck. Drawing the revolver loaded with Willie Ps, he moved off to the side. He was gonna find another way in. He didn't trust the back door being left unguarded.

[Assistant] Diana crouches on a roof of a tall building nearby, her finger tapping impatiently on her arm as she waits for the signal. She had refused to ride with the others; crowded backs of trucks made her claustrophobic. Besides, from here she had a clear view of her colleagues and outward cameras and security. She flicks a finger and a mechanic bird flutters around the building, looking in. She taps her temple to comm with the others, her tone lightly teasing. "Relax, Mars. All clear."

[User]
Loading.....Bacchus Log#002

Once Bacchus had lost the police he ducked behind a air conditioner unit and smiled as he heard everyone on the comms. His eyes began to glow as he saw a holographic keyboard and screen come into his vision beginning to tap on the keys he backed into the stores databank and disabled the alarm and the few hidden cameras the store had. Bringing his finger up to this temple he nodded " can confirm the store is safe to enter cameras are down and alarm is disabled. " he said then got up and began to take a different way to the store.

[Assistant] Diana smiles. "Exactly what I said. Thank you, Bacchus." She observes from her perch, then jumps down from the building, and lands in a crouch. She creeps into the building, her bird glittering back to her.


[System]
Priscilla
Nickname: Cil
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Powers:
Very, very, very lucky. Very.
Able to wield anti-magic. Can get extremely tired out by this act as it draws from her willpower directly. Revolves around the idea of disrupting a beings link to magic, protecting the user from magic or interrupting spells in some way. Highest level of use can stop spellcasting in an area for a short time, but runs the risk of harming the user.
Can only cast anti-magic after she has absorbed some magic, be it from taking a hit from an enchanted weapon, weathering some lightning or wading through a dragon's breath. Its like eating for her, she can't do it too much or else she risks hurting herself.
Species: Human. 100%.
Crush: None.
Relationship: A family she has almost forgotten.
Spouse: None.
Children: None.
Personality:
A very snarky woman, prone to taunting those that cross her or making a jest at their expense. Usually very friendly, but not above suspicion and wariness when it comes to meeting new people. A simple woman in habits and tastes, but not in thoughts. She would rather sit and watch the river roll by than ford its depths to get to the other side. Always one to look for the easy way out, she isn't diligent in anything save for her training and her survival. She prefers to travel alone, or at least that is what she tells people.
History:
Priscilla was once a god-fearing little girl, in a small river village with no name. Well, it had a name. It was named Mudbank, but she either preferred that it had no name or did not remember it had one in the first place. She was raised in a small hut near the village chapel, and as a result, she went to the sermons everyday to pay reverence to her god. Their god was a water god, said to bring them the rains and flows that brought fish and helped the crops to grow. That year, the crops hadn't grown, and the fish hadn't come, because the people were not devout enough. The pastor said that she wasn't devout enough. She had prayed every night that year, and the gods in the water still hadn't seen her as devout. She heard that there were still tithes to be paid, belongings to be offered and so the waters wouldn't flow. This made her confused, but she stayed vigilant through the tough years. The water god kept them fed, kept them happy and kept them safe from the horrors of the night... right?

It wasn't until the village was raided by a relatively small swamp dragon that she completely lost the faith. Just like that, her belief was shattered. The water god didn't come to help them, didn't come up from the deep to strike this creature down. It just ran amok, devouring people and burning down homes. It even got to her home, and still no sign that the water god would help. No sudden rains, no giant floods, no water elementals like in the old tales. Nothing. The only saving grace was found when a band of rugged men and women came to combat the thing, saying that they had been tracking it for weeks. They made quick work of it. They stayed for a while to help the village rebuild. They even found out that the pastor had dammed up the river mouth, and was letting water through as he pleased. That year the fish and the crops were plentiful. The water god did believe that they were devout enough, but he was being suppressed by man. Her belief had been shattered by a mere man, and that made her mad. She took up praying to the water god once more, everyday by the river and she could have sworn she saw the water moving towards her.

When it came time for the band of warriors to leave, after a few weeks of helping and hunting other horrors near the village, they said their goodbyes and departed. Slayers, they called themselves. Priscilla bathed in the river that day, and offered a final prayer, before stowing away on their equipment cart. She was 13 then. She convinced them to take her in. To train her. She wanted to help them fight the injustices of the world. They took her in, and found she had a gift. A gift for magic, or rather, a gift for dealing with magic. She ate it as if it were fish and bread, and stopped it in its tracks moments later. For years she trained, both her body and her ability, until she could best almost every person she had lived with the past decade or some such. Then she ventured out on her own, as a solitary Slayer, to just... solve problems. Maybe even find her way back home.
Other: She can't read or write. Let the games begin.

[User]
Priscilla felt an itch at the tips of her fingers and the top of her head as the man drew closer, and tweaked her lips to the side. She could smell the residual magicks on him like spice on a hunk of meat. It was an aroma like a mix of fresh soil, mint leaves and summer rain, not unpleasant and definitely not something she had smelled too recently from the others. The smell of druidic or natural origins for magic. She could only smile as recalled her fond memories of sitting and eating with her Orcish shaman friend and her brief summer romance with a dryad. They smelled this way too. It calmed her. But now was not the time for reminiscing, she reminded herself as she shook herself out of her momentary trance.

She offered another smile to the man from within the forest and removed her gauntlet, raising her hand to show the tattoo denoting that she was a Slayer. "I've come on personal business, been tracking a particularly muddy and disgusting swamp dragon. The hunt lead me to this island, over land and sea. You seen anything, brother of the wilds?" She walked over to him and donned her gauntlet once more before she offered the hand in greeting.

[Assistant] Jacque's brow raised slightly as he stared at the insignia on Priscilla's hand. He knew of the Slayers, having even worked with one once to help stop a necromancer that had attempted to achieve lichdom. Jacque fondly recalled the argument that the Slayer had started with the Paladin of the past group when the battle was over, as the paladin wanted to take the necromancer before his church to face judgement, while the slayer simply wanted to part the necromancer's head from his shoulders. He pushed the memory away in favor of thinking about Priscilla's question, "A swamp dragon, eh?". Jacque absentmindedly reached up and tugged on one of the braids in his hair, a habit he'd developed that he only did when in deep thought. The fauna of the forest had indeed been acting strange lately, Jacque recalled that in the last three weeks alone he'd spotted several ospreys, otters, mangrove monitors and even a crab or two moving through the forest. At the time he'd just chalked it up as a novel, yet not quite worrisome occurrence, after all, water sources like swamps dried up all the time, and perhaps what spurred their travel was a drought. Now that Jacque thought about it however, he'd recalled that they didn't move with the purposeful yet discreet movements of an animal in an unfamiliar land in search of a home. The creatures that had entered the forest were frantic; they had been moving as if they were being pursued, always checking their surroundings with rapid, jerky head movements, as if they expected at any second to be pounced upon and devoured and compensated by trying to se everywhere at once. Jacque released the braid and cleared his throat, "Now that I think about it, the wild life here have been acting strange. I've been seeing a lot of creatures around here that I used to only see in a mangrove swamp to the south of the island. They weren't moving like they were migrating, it seemed like they were fleeing for their lives.".

[User]
Arin looked around while walking and noticed a heavily wooded area which he deemed a forest, but hadn't gone in just yet. He was hoping to make a few friends here and there as he walked away from the forest and over to where he hoped he'd find a nice group of people.

Ace shifted to his dog form while happily following. "I thought we were exploring." He said, wagging his tail.

Arin looked over his shoulder at Ace. "We are, I just wanted to make a few more friends while we're at it." He said.

Ace nodded before saying, "Okay."

Price was still was trying find someone new to bond with while making sure the person he met would not be a human. It wasn't that he didn't like humans, he just couldn't be around them for reasons unknown to anyone but him and any friends he made in the past.

[Assistant] James couldn't help but laugh. "That sounds like him. He tends to not let any other animals on his territory that he claims." He looked at Priscilla. "I can lead you to him. I know his scent," he said, sprouting his draconic wings.

[User] "I could help in the battle if you want my help, after all cleansing the world of evil is a personal goal of mine."

[Assistant]
Priscilla's eyes lit up with elated glee at the mention that her quarry might be nearby. She clapped, creating a crude noise of steel colliding with steel as she celebrated. "Oh thank the waves! Finally, after all this searching, I can bring that beast its just deserts." She looked to and fro along the coastline and then turned to look over the tree-line, a look of slight confusion on her face as she stopped and turned back to the local-living man. She huffed an annoyed breath and chuckled. "Though I AM intrigued enough to ask, what else is there for this island to offer? I'm not going to just slay and leave with a dragon's head in tow. There has to be some sort of hidden wonders or secret valuables to be had."

She toyed with her nose-ring as she considered the offer of help. She WAS all alone on this island, with no company to assist her. But then again its not like slaying mythical beasts was new to her. 'In the end though, numbers are better in any situation, so it can't hurt.' She chewed at her lip as she thought, looking over the two as if surveying architecture or a sculpture. She held her arm up and showed two fingers to the eager pair of dragon-kin. "I've got two conditions. One is you leave the beast entirely to me, and if I am in need of assistance, then you may help. This is a much more personal affair than just regular slaying business, and that means I get the final blow. The second, we make our way on foot. We don't want to alert it to our presence from the air, no matter how dense the tree-cover. That and I've no taste to be flying about. I've come too far and worked too hard to have the prize handed to me on a silver platter now."

[User] James nodded, then turned into one of the Cave Dragons, which burrow underground. "How about I dig us a tunnel that leads close enough that we can get there on foot? Because from what I can tell this island is massive."

[Assistant] Growing bored Amos retreated back into the forest from whence he came. He was slightly weakened and needed the comfort of the darkness to refuel him. He would go back to his temple and search its contents for anything unusual. As he got closer to the temple itself, he failed to realize before that it was close to an old swamp full of mangroves. It looked unnaturally void of life and dark as if the sun avoided the area. A perfect place to retry a power he once had when he was uncorrupted. His shadowy hand touched an old mangrove tree and as he poured some of his essence into it, creaking and groaning could be heard. The tree became darker in color and started to ooze a black substance from its cracks. He had given the tree life, in a corrupted form which many would call a dark ent. However, he was no where near strong enough to control it now, and it lashed out at him. His form dissolved in the air and he retreated back into the confines of the temple to recuperate. He looked back at his creation, it was moving slightly learning its new powers and he could not help but be pleased with the result. It would now be an obstacle for anyone daring to get close to the swamp or the temple.

[User] Slowly and firmly she sighed, and brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of her nose. She felt a sudden stabbing pain behind one of her eyes, and the smell of brimstone, grave dirt and rotting plant filled her nostrils. Her fingertips tingled once more and she could taste swamp air in the back of her throat, making her grimace in disgust. She waved a hand casually at the dragon-kin speaking to her, "A tunnel is fine, just don't bring us up beneath the thing. Bring us up just outside the swamp itself. I'll take it from there." Her tongue felt like sand as she spoke, drying out and becoming rough. All of these signs at once meant something, a sort of sixth sense for magicks like when Jacque appeared from the brush. She dismissed it and resolved to stay on her guard as they continued.

[Assistant] James nodded, then leaped about 20 feet in the air, spinning as he came back down almost like a drill as he extended the horns on his head to burrow through the ground, and made his way towards the swamp at high speed.

[User] Down he went into the temple, exploring the numerous rooms, finding some gold and gems. All useless to him but he questioned why they were there in the first place. He soon arrived in what he presumed was the central chamber to find what looked like an old sacrifice and a treasure horde. Skeletal remains littered the place and in a circle of dead bodies wearing tattered robes, a blood red gem sat upon a pedestal. An aura of corruption seemed to flow from it, so he decided to let it lay there, knowing that it would not effect him in the slightest. The treasure about the room came in many forms, more gems, gold, weapons and armor. Something was amiss however, as it all seemed to be tainted but to a mortal there would be no difference. At the back of the room sat a table and a chair, to which he sat in the chair, regaining his powers quickly.

[Assistant] The feat of acrobatics seemed slightly lost on Priscilla as she finished rubbing away the pain behind her eye. She sighed as she removed her pack and placed it on the floor to remove her torches from a loop on the side. They were just an oiled rags tied around lengths of rusted iron but with a swipe at her boot, one of the rags burst into flame, and she held it above her head in preparation to head in to the newly created tunnel. The other torches, she took the time to stab into the earth around the entrance to the tunnel. With a succinct point to the torches she spoke, "If anyone sees fit to follow and CAN'T see in the dark, take a torch and strike it on something hard. Like stone, or steel," She knocked on her breastplate to drive her point across, "You'll be able to see just fine after." She shot a look to Jacque specifically, hoping to encourage him to follow so as to not be the only human going on the trip, before descending into the tunnel at a leisurely pace.


[System]
Nickname(s): Dani

Gender: Female

Age: 11

House: Yet to be determined (Sorting Hat)

Appearance:
Dani is rather petite, standing at only 3'7" and weighing about 39 pounds, with straight, light brown hair that hangs down to her shoulders and blue eyes. She has a round face with a button nose and small ears that are normally hidden by her hair. Her body shape is rather slender, though it is obvious that she doesn't have any sort of well-defined musculature.

The clothing she wears when not wearing the uniform usually consists of bright or pastel colored clothing, and is virtually limited to simple t-shirts and either pants or shorts, depending on the weather. One thing that is constant, however, is that she always has some sort of accessory in her hair, whether its a clip or a ribbon. The uniform itself is the same as that of every other student at Hogwarts, though maybe a little ill-fitting due to her small size.

Wand:
Length: 7 and ½ inches
Wood: Pine
Core: Unicorn hair

Pet: None

Strengths: Dani is quite skilled at reading body language and other nonverbal communication, as well as communicating without speaking, both of which are due to the fact that she is mute. She's also quite good at going unnoticed, which is partially due to her small size. Though it shouldn't come up for a while, it is worth mentioning that she is exceptional when it comes to dueling because she doesn't cast magic verbally and can spot her opponent's tells more easily. It's also worth mentioning that she has a large amount of magical power and a talent for using it efficiently.

It might accurately be described as a strength, but Dani also has synesthesia, which means that she associates colors with letters, numbers, and sounds, as well as other associations. Perhaps as expected, Dani is a rather exceptional artist and musician, having been involved in art and music classes and clubs throughout her life so far.

Weaknesses: Dani is unable to speak, having been born mute, in addition to having Nyctophobia, or the fear of the dark. She is also entirely new to the whole magic thing, as she is a muggle-born witch. As such, she is often unsure of what she's doing or proper customs, which can lead her into trouble with others. Due to being unable to speak, it is rather easy for others to bully her, and she has a tendency to let things go that she shouldn't. Another thing to note here is that she is pretty weak physically, which is primarily due to her small size. As such, she's not very strong, fast, or durable, and she doesn't have a great amount of endurance.

A negative side-effect of her synesthesia is that she has a tendency to space out when experiencing something particularly intense, like a crescendo in music or a particularly vivid image. While these moments are usually pleasant, they can result in sensory overload, causing discomfort, irritability, or pain. Some sounds in particular have been known to provoke negative responses in her, which can be a bit surprising for someone usually so sweet.

Personality: Dani is, at first impression, a rather cold, distant person. But that is primarily because she can't speak, and, upon getting to know her, it becomes clear that she is actually a sweet and kind-hearted individual who enjoys the company of others. Dealing with people who don't understand her condition or who are impatient in dealing with her has resulted in her developing a surprising amount of patience for a child of her age.

Unfortunately, Dani can be rather spacey, an idea popping into her head having a tendency to capture her attention for longer than it should. That's not to say that she's not intelligent; she's about average in that department. It's just that she might get stuck on a concept because it is interesting to her, or something along those lines. If anything, it helps her understand the material better, if at a slightly slower pace than her peers.

History: Dani grew up in a small, rather unassuming muggle town in England. Apart from being mute and a synesthete, her life was rather normal. The only thing that her conditions resulted in were some bullying here and there and finding new ways to deal with the hassles of public school. There were a few times that she noticed that she was able to do things she shouldn't have been able to do, though she usually just brushed them off as her overactive imagination playing tricks on her.

It wasn't until she turned eleven on February 14th, that she discovered the magical side of the world, as a ministry official, who looked rather ridiculous if she was being honest, arrived at her doorstep with a letter of invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was there for quite some time explaining everything to the bewildered family, which also included Dani of course. By the time he was done, however, it was rather clear that the best option was to agree to send Dani to the school.

Preparing for the year took quite a bit of time, though mostly because they understood nothing about what they would need or where to get it and had a million questions for the ministry official who was tasked with guiding them through Diagon Alley. Really, the poor man deserved a medal of some sort for putting up with the small family, as the questions they asked seemed as though they would have common sense answers that would get tiring to answer.

Eventually, however, they did manage to acquire everything that she would need for her first year. From there, time seemed to fly until the day arrived to send her off at Platform 9 and ¾.

NPCs: None, currently

Other:
Dani carries a whiteboard and a variety of dry-erase markers around with her as a means of easy communication.

[User]
Professor Quinn would be standing at the back of the hall. Her eyes would set carefully upon each first year student as they left their podium. Thoes involved in the incident knew that they needed to get in line and follow her.

She only led away the first years. The upperclassmen who had been involved would be dealt with separately.

She would lead them down the hall, down a stair, up a stair, and finally lead them into a room lined with long wooden benches. There was a wider door, perhaps it lead to the headmistresses office. There were a few small tables, some had plants set upon it, one of which seemed to be... watching them. There were a few paintings on the walls as well, all empty: All the subjects of these paintings were in the great hall. This made each work of art seem like a landscape or still life.

"Wait here. The Headmistress will arrive shortly." Professor Quinn instructed.

[Assistant]
<Julius Hillshire>
Julius paced around, an excited look on his face. He was in Slytherin! It was not Hufflepuff like he wanted, but his dad said that Slytherin was probably the best house in Hogwarts, so he was fine with that!

Of course, his celebration was dampened by the fact that he was in trouble before the first day of classes even started. That had to be a new record, or something.

Oh whatever, it doesn't detract from the fact that Hogwarts was freaking amazing! Look at those walls! The candles! The stairs that were freaking moving!!! He bounced around, looking everywhere he could as they were led to what was probably the principals office. He turned to look at some of the others, and spotted Rozie, James and Moriah. He walked up to them, a grin on his face.

"Man this place is a-freaking-mazing, don't you think? I can't wait for the lessons to start," he said rapidly. "So how do you feel about your houses? I got into Slytherin. It's not Hufflepuff, but it's still pretty cool I guess. Say, I wonder if Wade is around here? I should probably talk to him - that punch to the liver is gonna need an apology, or something."

[User]
Layla Ginlio

Layla wiped the sweat off her brow as she was sorted into Gryffindor. Was she surprised? Well, yes. Considering her father had been in Ravenclaw, yes, she had expected to be in there. Oh well! You're IN Hogwarts! Stop having a flipping go - at yourself! Layla was barely repressing a squeal as she sat down at the Gryffindor table. Maybe she would be like Hermione Granger, who she had read about in a book... STOP!

Layla sighed. She looked around at her fellow first years; a short red-headed girl  caught her eye. She wracked her brain and remembered her name was Charlotte Mary Slinger - or something of the sort.

"Hi there. My name's Layla Ginlio, but, um, you may already remember that from the Sorting," she gabbled, finding her confidence suddenly, "Do you know, once my dear father once took my toy broom off me and I was so angry I turned myself invisible! Amazing, eh?" Layla sighed happily, "You know, this place is MASSIVE! How are we ever going to find our way around? Oh! Have you read A History Of Hogwarts yet? I read it the day I got it! So fabulous. Did you know that a wizard or with can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds! Unless, of course, the Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, lifts the enchantments... Sorry! Sorry! I'm rambling! Anyway, nice to meet you."

[Assistant]
Nolan left the stool and the hat that seemed to know so much and slowly made his way to the back of the Great Hall. Despite the enchanted ceiling and ghosts and mass of students, his eyes were on the point directly ahead of him to where Professor Quinn was standing. He could feel the stares of a few of the students on him, his brothers' no doubt among them, but he wasn't the first of the first years to have to join the Professor instead of sitting at the table.

What did Professor Quinn even teach? He racked his brain for the information, but it didn't come to him. That was surprising as he'd been asking all about his teachers in the past weeks. He'd come to the conclusion that with his trouble learning, he was going to have to get on their good sides if he wanted to survive school. Either way he'd already failed at making a good impression with her. He hadn't even had a chance to explain himself. Chandler and Caelum had been swept away before Nolan himself had even been unfrozen. The thought flashing into his mind he turned on the spot to take a look at the line. He breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of each of them, seemingly fine now. But he had to wonder, did the teachers think he'd done something to them like that Slytherin girl? Worse, did Judoc think so?

He watched in silence as they each got sorted into other houses. Disappointing. He took note of his fellow Slytherins, wondering what they would be like. Would he get along with them?

The walk to headmistress's office was silent for him. Had anyone tried to talk to him they would find him completely lost in his own brooding. He shook out of it once they were left in the room with the benches however and he approached Chandler. "Doin' all right?" he asked.

[User]
IN THE WAITING ROOM

Moirah stammered when Julius approached and asked the question: "I... I'm a Slytherin too!" Her eyes were wide behind her thick glasses, she looked both astounded and uncertain. She would be in the same house as her most recent set of antagonists. Was she doomed to be picked on by her peers the rest of her school days? She would not be alone though, Julius, who had punched a popular Slytherin in the gut was now sorted into the house as well! She would make sure to keep close to him. He could stand up to the bullies, unlike herself.

Caelum  kept to herself on the outskirts of the room. She slowly walked toward where professor Quinn stood. "P-professor... I... I don't think I should be here I didn't really do anything..."

The teacher gave Caelum a pitiful look. "You did nothing? Is that why your knuckles are bruised?"

Caelum stuffed her hands into her robes, it was true, her knuckles were red and pink, some beginning to turn purple. "That... but that was..."

"Enough, take responsibility for your mistakes. Excuse me." The professor broke away from Caelum and disappeared from the room, perhaps to go fetch the professor.

She was uncertain for a moment, then spotted Chandler and Nolan. She walked toward them and spoke quietly upon her arrival.

"Are you guys okay? I don't even understand what happened..."

IN THE DINNING HALL

Sitting next to Layla Ginlio was a second year boy who decided to butt into the conversation. "There are tons of enchantments that limit the students here at Hogwarts! In the name of security we have been forced to surrender our freedoms! Imagine how much time we could save if we could apparate between classes! And why interfere with our electronics? Just because we are wizards doesn't mean we should be cut off from muggles! I am drafting a petition to allow the use of cellular phones on school grounds. Would you like to sign it?"

[Assistant]
The fight that had started on the train was quickly finished as a wave of cold filled the entire section of the train, holding everyone, Dani included, in place until the teacher, a harsh-looking woman, came by and released them one at a time. Though grateful that the chaos had been ended, Dani couldn't help but feel that she and her two new friends were also in trouble, despite having had nothing to do with the whole mess.

Her fear that she would be in trouble kept her from really enjoying the sights and sounds as they disembarked the train at the station, she and the other first years being led down to the river where boats were waiting. In spite of her miserable condition, she couldn't deny that the view of the castle as they went around the bend in the river was magnificent, what with the tall towers and buttresses extending far above the trees along the riverbank.

The whole ceremony did nothing to alleviate the nervousness that Dani was feeling, though it, fortunately, seemed to go by quite quickly, with her being placed in Ravenclaw, not that she particularly knew what that meant exactly. Once the hat was done with her, Dani followed the other first years who had been involved in the mess on the train to the back of the Hall where the teacher stood, watching everything with shrewd eyes. Hopefully, they would be able to explain their side of the story and would be able to evade punishment.


[System]
(Picture coming soon)
Age: 35
Species: Human
Appearance: Mocha-colored skin, long dark hair down to mid-back, dark brown eyes, slender frame. She holds a modest but classy sense of style.
Occupation: Traveling merchant.

[User]
As Miria fiddled with her wares and waited for the jinni to respond, she took a discrete glance around the market square. There was no one near the jinni, and no one nearby gave the impression that they were watching his movements. How strange it was for a jinni to be shopping for tapestries unsupervised! Wouldn't the owner need to be present to select just the right look? Couldn't the jinni make any of this himself or rely on the network of other jinn to make something for him? It didn't make sense.

That was when he mentioned mourning. Miria looked up at him then, feeling as though the air around her had suddenly dropped ten degrees. A memory flashed across her mind, of her family slaughtered. She remembered blood splattered everywhere -- on the walls, the furniture, the unfinished tapestries, the faces of her mother and father frozen in silent horror. He had been there, crouched next to her father, stroking his hair, taken by sobbing. Burglars had come, he had said, and he tried to stop them, but too late...

Miria had cried with her jinni that day, the jinni she suddenly inherited, and believed his story for years. She had been young, inexperienced in the world, so her jinni had also become her crutch....

Miria's gaze hardened when this older jinni declined her gestures and looked steadily at her. Why was he here if not to buy one of her tapestries? This was all the more suspicious to her. "Is it your master you mourn for?" she snapped, and without giving him a chance to answer, she pressed on. "Have you a new master? Where is your master now? Perhaps you have--"

She caught herself just in time, literally biting her tongue until she could feel the metallic sweetness of blood in her mouth to keep herself from finishing her inquiry. She had almost accused this jinni of murder, and for what? For all she knew, he could be mourning the death of a relative or friend. This, however, didn't explain why he needed to buy one of her tapestries. Or perhaps his master was in mourning, which meant he must be by default. She was allowing her own circumstances to get the best of her again.

Miria gave the jinni an apologetic smile and parted her lips to apologize, but movement over the jinni's shoulder caught her eye and stayed her speech. On the other side of the square, two guards were drifting about, stopping at each stall, observing the wares with disinterest, craning their necks as though looking for something specific... or someone. With them was a middle-aged woman, one of Fiira's neighbors. She was the nosy sort that liked to occupy her time with the affairs of others. She had been on holiday for several days, but she had come back early. Of course, Miria didn't know the woman at all to know these details, but she did note that the woman looked distraught, flinging comments to the guards, wringing the corners of her shawl with both hands, glancing about nervously. They weren't close enough to hear or to make out details of their faces, but Miria had been a part of this lifestyle long enough to know that something was amiss. It could be a number of things.

[Assistant]
Time was not in his favour. Neither was luck, it seemed. Circumstance had somehow conspired to win him a moment of conversation with the one woman at the market who would ask the questions he wasn't prepared for. Or maybe it was his fault for pausing here. There was no true rush for the cloth. No real need for it either. It was meant as a memento, but there would be no one to claim it when the rite was done. But stop he had.

Now, Curdle blanched at her short barrage of questions. He didn't know how she knew, he didn't even know what she knew. All he understood was that she was asking what he couldn't answer. He was mourning his master, but he couldn't say it out loud. Not least of which was the little matter of secrecy. He had to be outside the city gates before they found out. Otherwise…

He wouldn't be going anywhere.

Yet, just as suddenly as she started, she stopped, midsentence, and he was left staring at her, rather lost. But while she'd managed to strike him speechless, he hadn't lost all his faculties. He knew how to read expressions, and he saw her softening demeanour tighten again as she noticed something behind him.

Who was she? What had made her lash out in so particular a way? He didn't know, and he didn't have time to ask. Instinct, or perhaps simple pessimism, told him that if he turned around, he wouldn't have the chance to do anything else either. But he shut his eyes, took a deep breath and turned around anyway. Her mysteries she could keep. If she was looking at something bad, however, he'd like to know.

He should have trusted his instinct. His movement caught the woman's attention, and they recognised each other at the same time. She raised her hand to point, and he flinched back from that well-manicured nail. "There he is!" For so small a lady, she had powerful lungs. The guards raised their weapons, but he didn't stay to hear them command him to do anything. He blocked his ears, turned, and ran.

Curdle cursed as he went, wasting precious breath on imprecations. He should have done it last night. Just walked out the gate, dumped Fiira's ashes in a pile somewhere and walked away. He could have been sleeping comfortably in his cot then, instead of that spine stiffening chair! And his duty to his master would have been completed. Done with. Finished! But he hadn't. He'd hesitated. So, now he was going to be caught, and probably tried for escape if not for murder. There were enough witnesses to know that Fiira had been sick for a while, dying slowly. But humans seemed to like a good story. Simple truth might not satisfy them.

And why hadn't that girl just told him no and been done with it? No use wasting her breath on a jinni, he usually wasn't worth the trouble. Bah! He turned down a side street and held his breath as his pursuers, the two guards minus the woman of course, ran past, then bent double coughing as the air burned his throat. Too old for this, he'd told himself that a hundred times. Here was proof. A little illusion magic was too much effort.

As quickly as he could, hoping they hadn't heard his outburst, Curdle put more distance between himself and the guards, using the winding streets to his advantage, though it would have gone better if he'd known them more. Fiira hadn't been one for wandering through back alleys…

More than once an outburst sent him doubling back, whether or not he knew it was guards or just someone else having a bad day, caution might at least win him some time to think, if nothing else. Eventually, he found himself near the square again, and damned the routine his feet had decided to follow. Always visit the market. He'd done that! Look what it had got him. No more, he needed somewhere to hide, and never mind trying to get out. If he just waited until things calmed down again, maybe he could go back to the Lady's house and explain things. He'd still be in trouble, but less than if they caught him trying to get out of the city without knowing why. Though… That still left him with an incomplete promise.

Cursed no matter what he did, but a promise he'd meant was worth more than one he'd been forced to make. That decided it. Though it was helped in part by the winding of a horn that seemed to echo off even the clouds. They weren't calming down, things were escalating instead…

A full turning out of the guards meant that walking on the streets wasn't a good idea. Continuing with his harebrained attempt to get out of the city was an even worse idea. But while he did stop wandering around, climbing into a mostly empty cart while a donkey eyed him suspiciously, he didn't change his mind about getting out of Renna. If he let himself be caught, they'd take her ashes and put them in the catacombs. Hiding the urn wouldn't work, they'd only bind him to the truth. And even if they didn't, it would be the same as being buried in the catacombs. The urn was only meant to be a temporary container.

He'd wait until dark, try to get some rest, maybe have an epiphany, maybe he'd befriend the donkey, maybe he'd be found out. But until then, he pulled a heavy canvas over him, checking to be sure there were no bits of him poking out, and took the urn out of his bag, running knowing fingers over its smoothed edge in the dark. If they did find him, he'd leave it behind. Whoever owned the cart would find it then, and maybe dump it out so they could use it for something else. An undignified method of achieving his goal, but so long as it worked…