[System]
Age: 27
Occupation: Defense Attorney
Nationality: American
Appearance: Desmond stands at 5'11", is of average weight, and with messy eye-length dark brown hair and blue-green eyes. He is trim and fit, though not too muscular, and generally dressed in an expensive three-piece suit. When out scavenging or fighting, he wears black dress pants and a black leather jacket over his white t-shirt.
Place of Residence: New York City, United States
Strengths:
Charismatic: Desmond is a natural leader and orator. He is better with his mouth than most are with a weapon, and is generally well-liked by most he meets -- despite having very few close friends throughout his life.
Competent Mechanic: Many of the young lawyer's childhood memories took place in his father's garage outside of the city, tinkering with cars and engines. His father was a local mechanic, and although he aspired higher for his only son, he still taught the boy all he knew. As a result, Desmond is a pretty good guy to have around when there are car problems. Still, when it comes to the more difficult engine problems and the like, his knowledge only extends so far.
Semi-Trained Marksman: As a boy, when he and his father weren't in the garage, they were often upstate on hunting trips. Through those excursions, Desmond learned how to aim and shoot a rifle and pistol, as well as routine maintenance. In the first few days following the rise of the dead, Desmond took refuge with a group of army veterens, who gave him a silenced pistol and a few pointers regarding firearms. Though he is by no means an expert, the lawyer brings some knowledge and skill to the table.
Weaknesses:
Alcoholic: Desmond, in response to his lack of emotional communication, often took to the drink to relieve the stress and frustration. With the start of the end of the world, this habit has started to grow more severe, though not yet debilitating.
Lone Wolf: The young lawyer is a curious contradiction of rallying extroversion and hazardous introversion. Though he excels in leading and bringing people together, he often neglects to include himself: often performing stupidly dangerous missions alone, or not telling others of a personal situation until it has reached critical levels of importance and he is forced to.
Belongings:
Clothing: Two suits (black, three-piece), some jeans and t-shirts, an expensive black leather jacket, a pair of black loafers and a pair of sneakers.
Weapons: A silenced Beretta M9, a Smith & Wesson pocket knife (5 inch blade)
Aldous Huxley's Brave New World
An expensive black watch, always fastened to his left wrist
His grandfather's dog tags from WWII
Personality: Charismatic, smooth-talking, and professional; Everything you'd expect from a big city lawyer. Around others, he appears good-natured and -- considering the circumstances -- quite content with life. However, by himself he is quite introverted and pensive. When talking, he manages somehow to always be at the center of the discussion, while never actually revealing anything personal about himself. He's learned the hard way that a person's life is taken away all too quickly in this new world, and doesn't want to feel the pain of losing more people close to him. So, he emotionally detaches, and keeps trudging along as an island of miserable solitude, cloaked with the guise of a happy man.

[User]
Gabel Wester
 The little girl sat among the pillows on her living room floor, each one having been brightly decorated with glitter and stickers to this young lady's content, boredom mostly. Pushing herself to her feet she wiggled her toes happily taking another bite of the sandwich she clutch each bite as if it would be her last.

 Trudging out of the living room making sure her feet were quiet as she stepped onto the hardwood floor of her kitchen Gabel finished the sandwich eyes almost sparkling as she finally had spotted the can opener under a pile of what used to be important papers her father had set down. She moved the papers aside little fingers clutching at one of the handles before she took it over setting it on the table with a soft thud the sound just enough to trigger the groaning of her father in the bathroom.

 Gabel looked over at the bathroom door her happy expression turning into a frown before she spoke in a whisper, "Go away monster." The clever girl knew what was really going on and had been taking care for herself since her father locked himself in the downstairs bathroom telling her everything she needed to know before the man passed. Gabel really did miss him.

 Sounds from the entryway caught her attention, scraping hands on the glass frightened her. Had they finally gotten past the gate? She neared watching this monster claw mindlessly as the window it's dead growl directed at her, she froze her eyes watering slightly at the sight before her a ripped open jaw basically hanging from it's place, she was suddenly feeling sick.

 Quick little footsteps backed out of the room and ran upstairs hitting each step with a soft little padding sound, the past few days she had learned to be quite due to the noises that thing that used to be her father would make. She paused at the landing in between the stairs little eyes peering out at her front yard focusing on a broken fence. Maybe she could fix it? Maybe if all the monsters went away, oh who was she kidding, she was only seven. Gabel just stood there watching the dead things outside from the safety of her home.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jazileena Felix

 Shaky fingers ran through part of her hair pushing it back behind her ear. The sound of the walker's slight scratching was maddening to her at this point, hand going to rest on the steering wheel she just looked over at it examining this creature. Skin slowly rotting away, its bloody teeth snapping against the window, chunks of flesh still hung down from the thing's mouth dangling in a sick manner, blood caked into the fingernails hands just grabbing at the glass dumbly wanting to get inside.

 Jazileena kicked against the bottom of the car's carpeted floor screaming at this sick creature having lost her cool, "PISS OFF!" Just making everything worse she took a deep breath, the monster frantically trying to get in scratching more violently than before. From a distance Jazileena could see more of these things coming, it was time to move.

 Turning the key the engine roared back to life, wasting no time Jazz had it into drive within a matter of moments taking off shortly after. She would find someone, she needed to know at least someone was alive. At this point Jazileena was looking for a reason to exsist.

[Assistant]
Me Dead
Ved

---

 He eyes trailed, gazing off a bit as he rested his sight on the young Korean man standing before him. He wasn't tall, or built impressively, but he clearly knew what he was doing, as his knife was drawn, and a hand at the ready and a crossbow within it's grip. The young man wasn't letting his gaurd down, and that was something that peeked Ved's interest. He had heard the crack in the mans voice, an the wet spots on his shirt betrayed him, he had been crying recently. That, added with the fresh blood on his shirt, indicated that he wasn't too experienced with killing walkers. Lucky Bastard.

You want to talk? Fine, take your hand off the bow, and step within swinging distance."

 He commanded lowly, the guy had a look of innocence alright, but it was an "innocent" man that put the bullet in his knee. He took his bat, and in a quick motion, drove the nails of it in the ground a few feet in front of him. It was close enough that if something went down, he could grab it by stretching out, but far enough that he couldn't touch it standing straight up.

"Step one foot away from the bat, and put your knife in the ground next to it. Put us on a level playing field."

[User]
Conner Davis

 Conner sighed softly looked back at the walker on the ground for a moment before letting go of the strap on his bow and dropping his knife on the ground his feet shuffling forward just a bit before he spoke, "I'd rather we just stay away from each other for now." One of his hands reached back rubbing at his neck softly seeming tired, god he looked like he hadn't slept in awhile.

 "Any idea where we are? I haven't been too focused on road signs lately." his voice held a slight accent, "My van ran out of gas and I haven't really spoken to anyone since this shit went down." A New York accent maybe? Conner was a bit nervous, sure he liked people but since this all he'd seen quite a few messed up things done by people themselves. In The Big Apple parents would just abandon their kids, pretty fucked up if you asked him.

[Assistant]
A Dance with Death: The Pas de Deux

---

The next series of events happened so fast that Ana failed to keep up with it all. From her own perspective, the man noticed her, one second, and the next he was bringing his gun up. Not knowing what was going to happen, Ana ducked under the dashboard of the police cruiser just as the man's first two shots whistled by. Whatever he was aiming at, he hit something squishy that eventually fell with a muffled Thud!.

While all this was happening, a second shambler managed to catch up to Ana's car and in an event of perhaps sheer unluckiness, the zombie managed to frail just right in its hungered lunge to catch its hand on the backseat's door handle, pop the door open, and as it pulled away, it yanked the door open with it. Greedily, it flung forward and tried crawling towards its tantalizing target. It was stopped dead by a second volley of shots. Ana screamed as her attention had just turned toward her uninvited guest, just in time to see the two bullets pound right into its rotten skull.

In all the excitement, Ana had dropped her sidearm, which was placed delicately on her lap throughout her drive, and lost it when it slide under the pedals of the car. Panicked, Ana remained hunched over as she scrambled to place her own safety net, and bargaining tool, back into her hands before anything or that man came back over. Ana had just managed to grab it and lifted herself back up, so she could peer just over the vehicle's dashboard, hoping to see that the man was still a distance out... But no. She saw him in her peripherals just as she raised her head.

Ana turned to face the man, feeling a bit relieved that he was showing concern for her well being, but she her relief faded as she was now becoming alarmed at the man's tone. "Wh-wha...?" He didn't even give Ana a chance to respond before he brought his weapon up followed by very aggressively asking the same question twice. Ana dropped her gun in the shock, probably for the better, and rose her hands up in a surrender. "N-no no no! I am fine! Healthy! Really!" Ana hastily stumbled over her words, her accent sounded heavy in her panic, rolling her 'r'. "Fucking hell don't shoot me, asshole!"

[User]
He watch her movement, her hands went up into the air in an attempt to surrender. 'Thank fucking God' He thought with a visable sigh, shoulders relaxing. It wasn't until he heard her speak did he cock his head to the side away from his sights with an inquisitive look facing her. He lowered his rifle so the sling would hold his gun in front of him. His look turned to a strain as he seemed to be thinking with his head down before looking back up at her. "Bespokoystvo net. Dver' narusheniye pozhaluysta." It was broken Russian, she would be able to tell. But his hope was to at least get a ride out of the area. His eyes went wide as he heard the sound of multiple growls and other similar sounds approaching from behind him. He turned to see more than a dozen walkers approaching. Must've been from the horn. His head snapped back over to her. Dver' narusheniye pozhaluysta? Dver' narusheniye pozhaluysta!? Dver' narushen-Fucking unlock the passenger door!" He struggled and stumbled over the words until he said 'Fuck it' and just blurted out what he wanted as he moved around the other side of the car, rifle at the ready. Each shell from the chamber equaled another walker neutralized, mostly thanks to his training.

He would try to open the door. If it was already unlocked he would quickly throw his bag into the car and enter, quickly slamming the door closed behind him and following up quickly with pushing her back in her seat while he would lean forward rifle up, firing away through the driver side window as he would yell "Vpered vpered vpered!"

If the door was locked he would knock on the window rapidly as he would watch them move in, putting a round into them. "Hurry uuuuup." He would half yell in an attempt to have her move faster. However once the door was unlocked, he would throw the bag into the car, and then hop in, closing the door behind him. He would then smash the passenger window out, clearing the glass away from it before leaning out of it, his ass sitting where the window was, his rifle up and firing away at the walkers. He would slam his hand on the top of the roof several times yelling "Vpered vpered vpered!"

[Assistant]
The door to the residence opened, the lady inside stepping back to allow entrance, and Desmond exhaled a sigh of relief. He realized then that he had been holding it the whole time, anxiously waiting to hear the instantaneous, deadly pop of a bullet going into his body. It hadn't come, yet at least. The woman seemed less-than-friendly to him, but in the world they lived in, that was to be expected. Anything less than utterly hostile left an opening for cooperation. With a gracious nod, Desmond entered through the open door, and turned to face his host.

"Actually, I was hoping to talk more along the lines of the lay of the land," he replied, his eyes occasionally making sweeps around the seemingly otherwise-deserted house. "I just rolled into town, and the place seems relatively safe from what I've seen. Do you know anything about the area that you'd be willing to share with me?"

It was a long shot -- most survivors he'd encountered on the road from New York weren't nearly gracious enough to even invite him into their homes, never mind helping to orient him with his new surroundings and give a breakdown of the area. But at the least, it showed her that he was just another survivor. Though the two looked quite dissimilar in attire, both faces wore the weary expression of one whose future was uncertain. Now closer, he could see her face more clearly: a sort of tough-pretty, with a short mess of blonde hair and a pair of aviators covering her eyes, though -- eerily -- he could still feel her stare.

"Is this your place?" He asked, already knowing the answer. The house looked untouched, unlived -- as if the family had gone away for a simple vacation, and would return shortly. The woman did not appear at home there, Desmond could tell from her body language. And anyone with a brain would have at least begun the process of fortifying by then, and this lady most certainly seemed to have a semblance of intelligence.


[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]
Miria listened to this old jinni's plea, her heart torn between compassion and doubt. Her countenance froze, as though rigid stoicism would somehow shield her from making one decision or another.

A part of her wished she had never offered Curdle that small tapestry for the urn, even if this was a dream and nothing physical was real. The emotions were more tangible than anything she could touch, see, and hear right now, like the life force of all movement and color in this subconscious world. Emotions controlled Miria's stiff hesitation and this jinni's calm desperation, and he had admitted that it was her kindness that made him choose her for this task of…

…Of taking the ashes of someone she had never known and probably never would have met if this person was alive to a very distant city that harbored at least a little animosity towards jinn customs. She wished she had been cruel enough to dump this Lady Fiira's ashes the first chance she got, like any sane human woman would have done, and then she would be facing only her normal worries. She'd have her usual dreamless sleep or a nightmare-wrought attempt at rest as Tamal ever haunted every unconscious thought…

Tamal. Thinking of him now did not pit her among the apparitions of her past as it usually did. The scene did not shift in response to her thoughts, the market and her booth as steadfast as Curdle's feelings towards his master even after her death. Miria looked at Curdle now, this haggard, worn creature, his physical presence imprisoned back in Renna and his consciousness chained to her thoughts. Whatever guilt, hatred, and regret she harbored towards the jinn in general, Curdle somehow kept it at bay. His presence had shattered the normal course of her dreaming, and now she was questioning his motives in a rather dull market place instead of reliving her blood-soaked regrets yet again.

Perhaps it was fate that somehow brought Curdle and Miria together? But Miria no longer believed in fate, or at the very least it frightened her. Still, she couldn't ignore that with how cumbersome this Curdle could be, he at least had one use.

And she knew she could never turn this jinni away, not with a plea like that. Perhaps she should resent that Tamal hadn't hurt her enough, as absurd a notion as that was. Or perhaps the years had softened her countenance too much.

"Sherahd is bound to be part of this caravan's route," Miria said, her tone clipped and frigid, "as it is a major trade hub. I will keep your master's ashes for the time being, mainly because I don't see it worth it breaking from the caravan to dump her over some sand dune. Knowing how the world works, a breeze will blow the ashes against me anyway, and that thought is too disgusting to bear. But I can't make any promises once we reach Sherahd."

Carefully, Miria stood, dusting off her clean, spotless clothes. "And you can stay in my head if you wish," she said with a haughty sniff, looking quickly away from Curdle, "if your presence still allows me a good night's sleep. Don't expect me to engage you in any way, though. And I hope you gone when I wake."

[Assistant]
Coarse grain pressed itself into his skin as Curdle held his pose in the long silence. Whether it was truly any longer than a breath or two, he could not have said, but it felt as though time had ceased its flow. There was no measuring how long she held him captive to her mercy, waiting for whatever release she felt him worth.

He could feel that sand leaving imprints in his palms and forehead. Imprints as fickle and diverse as the chance that had brought them together. How many other cloth merchants might have been in that market? How many passed through Renna's gates? How varied were the options of how that day might have turned out differently? It was no accident that fate was entwined in the sands of time. One single grain's displacement and how many paths suddenly shifted and changed and never again followed what almost had been?

The old jinni was caught feeling his own weight in how heavily he pressed those sand grains between himself and the market's stone. Caught hearing nothing but the faint roar of blood in his ears and feeling only the warm brush of his breath across his cheeks where it was trapped against the ground.

When she finally spoke, he was dizzy with relief, and did not immediately understand the words. It was enough that she released him from the wait, good or bad, her voice offered its own solace. Cold though it remained. The tension in his hunched spine gave out as though his body had collapsed, elbows and shoulders drooping, breath escaping him in a heady rush.

Her decision was made.

She turned it into a matter of convenience. The caravan went to Sherahd, and so would she. Even her abrupt dismissal of what was, to Curdle, a hard-won freedom found no purchase when she threw out her barbs. Dumping Fiira anywhere was not and had never been his intention, but that Miria had considered it even slightly was strong hint that she did not think to simply abandon the urn, ashes and all, where he would never find it, and circumstance might never knock loose the lid. The Lady would not be trapped in the dark by his thoughtlessness. For that alone, she had his eternal gratitude.

That she was willing to go further in offering her aid, he was stunned into disbelief by how easily the words tripped from her tongue. So impersonal…

He had not regained his presence of mind or his tongue before she'd turned away, and it was almost all he could manage to lift his head then. But he did, that and more. Slowly, hand shaking, he brought dusty fingers to his lips and reached across to the ground as near her feet as he could. Letting them rest there a moment before he could find the strength to lift himself from his genuflection.

The gesture was not meant to be seen, or even acknowledged. How could it be? There was no possible response. But it was all he could think of to give her in return. She had agreed to help him regain the honour he'd given up too easily. His sense of worth had been lost with it, and was, perhaps, the more significant loss, but it would be far harder to find again. Still, in helping him on the road to one, she set him towards both, if he could take it, though he realized nothing of this beyond his overwhelmed understanding that Fiira would not suffer for his weakness.

For that, and nothing else, he strove to do as she seemed to want. Unfortunate, that he did not know how to leave, or he would have that very instant. All he could give her was his silence. Speaking no more words on the subject, though he surely couldn't manage any, just then, so it was hardly an effort. He remained on his knees, as small a presence as he knew how to be, and did not look up to see what she might be doing or thinking now. He did not even raise his hands to brush the sand from his forehead or fingers. He would be as nothing, if she asked it, that he might intrude no more in a private place where no one else belonged.

He had no plans to ignore her. In fact, he was very carefully doing the opposite, though he did not wish to give that away. Heedful of her every action, he was listening attentively, watching her feet at the edge of his sight in case she suddenly desired something of him. His gaze, however, would not leave the cloth still where he'd left it. Near to his knee, but not quite touching. Its colours twisted in his vision and the longer he stared, the less its details remained intact.

He was tired, he realised slowly. And he could feel a new weight on his shoulders, in his chest. His body was heavy. It wasn't here. But it needed the sleep this dreaming didn't offer. Or why else would he be tired in a dream?

Already, though he was not aware of it, his shape and form were becoming looser. More insubstantial as his chin began drooping towards his chest. Young and old, sometimes weightless above the ground, sometimes, somehow, beneath it, sinking. Flickering fitfully like a dying fire burning out the last of its heat and life. Though, in his case, it was only his control and magic slipping as his mind began to doze.

Though it took a long few moments, the end, when it came, was sudden. One instant, he was there, the next, as his chin finally struck his chest, he was gone. No fanfare, no puff of smoke or flash of light, merely empty space.

In Renna, stretched out on the floor, head tilted by the weight of his horns, an old man had begun to snore.


[System]
Universe: World of the Showa Riders
Canon or OC: OC

Appearance: While untransformed, he's a fairly typical salaryman. His various transformations.
Age: 57
Personality: Takahara is, first and foremost, a henchman. He tends to just go along with things and isn't very bright. While not transformed, he's fairly cowardly, running from combat- he's nearly sixty after all. This goes out the window once he's gotten into the spandex. He has forty years of experience fighting foes vastly more powerful than himself- he's taken so many Rider Kicks and Rider Punches that he can perfectly emulate them. He fights to protect his comrades in villainy with everything he's got- after all, their bosses might consider them expendable, but they're his brothers in mookdom.

Abilities: Takahara's most valuable skill is his ability to handle money. He is possibly the greatest accountant in the multiverse, able to balance books and manage funds in such a way that even the stupidest evil plot breaks even financially. Almost as terrifying is his skill with corporate bureaucracy. He's also one of the earliest Shocker Combat Cyborgs, granting him greatly enhanced strength and durability. This comes at a price, however- his cybernetics don't have an external power source, and as such they run off the calories stored in his body. He never quite got up to "Altered Humanoid" though, and does not have a monstrous form.
Equipment: A Sengoku Driver and various lockseeds, allowing him to take on various armors as a Kamen Rider. These armors come with weapons and various powers.

Faction: Shocker+
Background: Takahara has floated around as villainous organizations have risen and fallen. He started out as a Combatant in SHOCKER before getting transferred to accounting. Then the Kamen Riders broke free and fucked everything up. So he moved on to Destron. Same story. Eventually, he discovered the multiverse as he was hired by Dai-Shocker, a multiversal collection of enemies of the Kamen Riders... and then a pink Kamen Rider promptly fucked up the multiverse AND his cushy job. But at least this setback opened up an endless multiverse of employers. From BOARD to Smart Brain, Takahara's a familiar face among the shady corporations and evil organizations of the Kamen Rider worlds. Takahara's most recent employers have included a museum (that for some reason manufactured USB sticks), a corporation that seemed to have its hands in everything (he ended up doing finances for R&D), a Japanese pharmaceutical company trying to get in on the "Battling Monsters" craze, and a child molester seeking to destroy the universe. But of course a Kamen Rider came and fucked those up too. After the fiasco with the destruction of Zawame, he grabbed a few things from the ruins of his office at the Yggdrasil Corporation as a severance package to go along with the trophies from a long history of failure his employers have endured. Turns out when exposed to various sources of power, the fruit of Helheim matures into a lockseed reflecting the source.

After putting up with the foolish goals of his previous employer for what felt like an eternity, then becoming frustrated with the needless bureaucracy of the Sentient Millieu, Takahara decided to found a new Multiversal Evil Organization. Made up of the remnants of the retired, defeated, and dormant organizations, Shocker+ has become the gold standard in for-profit multiversal villainy.

[User]
Trunks breathed a sigh of anticipation. This was going to be his first job for the Dunkelzahn institute. If ever there was a time to prove himself to his superiors, now was the time. He closed his equipment into large cases, except for his sword. His sword he left sheathed on his back. With a click of a button, each of the cases condensed into tiny capsules, which he stored in his Capsule Corp jacket. While the technology used by the institute exceeded his own by leaps and bounds, Capsule Corp tech still had its uses.

Trunks readied his stepper box, and looked over the distress signal. It was notably ambiguous, and that put Trunks on edge. The last time he had to address a mysterious threat, it had turned out to be an entity designed to be the perfect warrior, destroy all life on earth, and was stronger then his worst enemies. Still, Trunks was stronger then ever before, and could easily rival Cell's power on his own.

Trunks took another deep breath. Stalling while reminiscing about his past would do no one any good. He double checked the capsules in his jacket, and prepared himself. It was time to show the multiverse his strength; the strength of his home, and the strength of the Saiyan race. He engaged his stepper box, and warped to the ship emitting the distress signal.

[Assistant]
The sounds of high heels clacked against a metal floorboard as Koizumi Mizuki paced through a narrow hallway aboard the Mother Ship. After a few steps she paused in her stride and loosened the grip she had on her legal binder nestled in her left hand. Stretching out her left arm, Mizuki moved the binder in front of her and opened it to the front-most page. She peered intently at the documents which concerned her analyzations with Sector 930/33100, World 0405-H.

As per her observations, they were still not yet ready to be allowed into the multiverse proper, under the Institute's banner of course. Though the real matter would come when Mizuki would report the findings at quickly upcoming meeting. And then after presenting, hearing whether or not the Institute had continued in that world, or if they would reassign her somewhere else. As such, she knew she would have to put her best foot forward while presenting this information.

With this in mind, Koizumi quickly shut the binder and kept it clutched against herself once more, as she headed to the bathroom to freshen up. And so quickly she entered the nearest latrine and placed down her purse and binder upon the bathroom sink counter. Unzipping her purse with a smile, Mizuki began digging around searching for her make-up. However while she was doing that, by mistake she picked up her phone which was vibrating.

Quickly she pulled it out and noticed the most recent, of countless, messages. It was a bulletin noting a recent emergency distress mentioning a pair of co-ordinarants and mention of pay. Well this was an unfortunate set of circumstances!

Mizuki wracked her brain pondering on exactly who, in the Institute, had jurisdiction there. But for the life of her she couldn't recall. Returning the phone into her purse, and placing the binder in it as well, Koizumi slung it back over her right shoulder as she exited the bathroom.

Carefully striding through the hall, Mizuki headed towards the nearest transporter hub, that wasn't being used of course, and tapped in the location acquired from the phone. And so in a flashy beam of light, she was heading towards the location marked out.

Hopefully this would be a big enough deal that she wouldn't be scolded for attending the meeting late.

[User]
Consciousness eased its way back to Aoi's mind as she woke within the prison. Annoyance spread through her as the discomfort caused by her unnatural position set in. Her face was smashed into the corner of the room where the floor met the wall, and her body was crumpled up behind her, as though she'd been thrown carelessly into the room. However, the pose was sure to please the audience, as it showed off her curves quite well.

Aoi made an attempt to roll over, only to find that her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her God Arc was bound into her grasp, preventing her from rolling out of position. If I can't go one way, I'll go the other, concluded Aoi. She gave her Arc a squeeze and it sprang to life, pieces exploding out from it to reconfigure it into rifle mode. The force of the pieces hitting the floor forced the God Arc into the air, turning Aoi onto her side with it.

Finally able to see beyond a small patch of grey flooring, Aoi was suddenly aware that she had no idea where she was nor how she'd gotten there. The room contained the amenities of a warden's office, but with much fewer personal effects than one would expect. The walls and the top of the desk stood bare, the chairs were without cushion, and there was little other furniture to speak of. This kind of setting wasn't uncommon in Aoi's universe, so she felt right at home.

On the floor beside where her God Arc had sat were a bloody arm and leg with ragged wounds, both human and both seemingly from the same person. The satisfied feeling that emanated from Aoi's God Arc told her that someone had touched it while she was knocked out and had learned the hard way why one shouldn't touch a God Arc that is not their own. Aoi was a bit puzzled by this, though; shouldn't everyone know this extremely basic fact?

However, there were things to attend to. She needed to be free of her shackles, and her position didn't allow her enough leverage to break free with brute strength. That left using her rifle, and she had just the thing for the job. Aoi twisted a part of the handle to change bullet types to a weakly explosive mortar round she'd made for training with gravity-affected shots. She pulled the trigger, and...

PEW!

A blazing red laser-type bullet shot upwards, crashing through the ceiling and continuing out of the building before dispersing three football fields above. Missed it by that much. Aoi adjusted the knob one click back and fired again, this time managing to free herself from her shackles.

Aoi found her bag at her feet, still stuffed with O-Ampules. She began to reach for one to replenish her ammo, then thought better of it and slung the bag over her shoulder. Instead, she eyed the two perfectly good sources of energy on the floor. There was no sense in wasting an item in limited supply when there was a viable alternative right there, waiting to be used, after all.

The door to the office swung open, letting Aoi step into the hallway. Through the door, the camera could see that there was now a crater in the floor where the arm and leg had been and that the desk was now in pieces. Aoi's Arc was quite the messy eater.

"I wonder if I'll find anyone else here?"

[Assistant]
"You know, I've found that the cardinal sin of horror movies is they tip their hands too early and show you the whole monster. Oh, uh, but you didn't call us for writing advice."

The giant bipedal capybara at the door bowed, holding out a business card for Mr. Reynolds and his Associate. He had a briefcase under his shoulder.

"Hello there, my name is Barapy! I'm with Shocker+, the company you contracted for additional monsters. While our negotiations for providing your monsters haven't quite been finalized, I've gone ahead and included the latest printing of the Monsters Monthly, Shocker+'s catalog publication, for no charge. I've also taken the liberty of bringing profiles for some of our monsters which might be particularly well-suited to your horror movie."

With that, Barapy gave the employee file and bowed once again.

"Please, take your time looking them over!"

Swamp Hominid
"GROOOOOAAAAGH!"
Previous Employer: The Lost Empire of the Mu Hominids
Good Point: Punctuality
Bad Point: Old Age, Not allowed within 500 feet of a minor
Likes: Long walks on the beach, swimming
Dislikes: droughts, fishing season, tigers

The Swamp Hominid is a Brazilian monster. Distantly related to the Creature of the Black Lagoon, Swamp Hominid was deployed millenia ago (and again in 1973) by the Mu Empire in an attempt to conquer Earth. Though he may be old, his skill in aquatic combat ability to vanish in water makes him a valuable asset in any tropical or maritime engagement.

Mummy Hominid
"UNGAAAAAAH"
Previous Employer: The Lost Empire of the Mu Hominids
Good Point: Experience
Bad Point: Old Age
Likes: Triangles, deserts, bandages
Dislikes: Ethiopians, tigers, the number 7

The Mummy Hominid was sealed within the Temple of Mu for millenia before being unsealed in 1973. Able to drain the moisture from a human body with a touch, its vocal chords have decayed to the point it can no longer speak. However, this can be said to add a certain level of intimidation as it grinds out its ghastly calls. Usually masquerades as a more mundane mummy before striking.

Lightning Hominid
"GOARAAAAA"
Previous Employer: The Lost Empire of the Mu Hominids
Good Point: Electric Personality
Bad Point: Old Age
Likes: Copper, thunderstorms
Dislikes: Rubber, tigers, motorcycles

Unlike his compatriots, Lightning Hominid is perfectly capable of speech. He just prefers the shouting. With control over electricity, it's hard not to find a use for the Lightning Hominid- just be warned about his eccentricities. A real mystery monster.

Ganma
"All eyes on me!"
Previous Employer: Currently employed by unnamed individual with poor dental hygeine
Good Point: Spooky, can't really tell them apart except by clothing
Bad Point: Perhaps TOO Spooky
Likes: Halloween, Eyes, Wreaking Havoc
Dislikes: Proton Packs, Historical Figures

The Ganma are the newest, freshest mooks to come out of the worlds of the Kamen Riders. Being ghosts, they are invisible to most mortals- though the effects of their rampages are readily apparent. Due to their currently-active villainy, however, we can not guarantee a large supply.

Chain Shadow
"I've got this lovely coffin..."
Previous Employer: Shadow Line
Good Point: Lovely Singing Voice, Good With Children, Piano Skills
Bad Point: Gloomy Personality
Likes: Dark spots, basements, dusty catacombs
Dislikes: Rainbows

Chain Shadow is the chosen representative of the Shinotani (Death Valley, formerly Inotani) branch of the Shadow Line's railways. By striking the fear of death into the hearts of children, he seeks to gather enough darkness to create an eternally dark catacomb in which to hang out. Enjoys scenic train rides aboard the Shadow Line. He's never seen without his Cross Coffin, in which he imprisons those who stand in his way. Fights using long, rusty chains.


[System]
"I make the finest steel"

---

---

◾ Name:
Tiras Sky-The bastard blacksmith

◾ Age:
18

◾ Gender:
Male

◾ Sexuality:
Heterosexual

◾ Origins:
Unknown-raised in Mount Promonon

◾ Residence:
Hyland's keep

---

---

◾ Loyal ◾ Outsider ◾Honest◾Short tempered ◾

◾ Personality:
Tiras is passionate about black smithing and an honest man. However, his short temper gives him the reputation of one not to short hand. He is not one to speak loudly unless enraged or, if one were to get close enough, emotional. He is rather average in smartness, but quick enough to survive. He is kind to those that earn his friendship and respect, which is not many. He is often silent, speaking only occasionally...the feeling of being an outsider shaped that quirk.

◾ Role & Career:
Tiras is the royal blacksmith. He does work for lords and ladies along with his own family. If one can get enough money, then he will create a piece for those not of royal blood.

◾ Hobbies & Interests:
-Black smithing
-Reading
-Falconry
-Horseback riding
-Jousting

◾ Likes & Dislikes:
-He enjoys being outdoors around animals and the open air
-He enjoys molding steel and other metals into other things
-He enjoys participating in jousts along with watching. (He has gotten quite good)
-He dislikes being lied to
-He hates cruelty toward animals
-He hates being short handed for his work

◾ Other:
-He owns a falcon who is often seen without a cover. This is odd and can be attributed to him training the bird well
-He is quite tall at 6 foot 1
-He tends to wear all black. Forgoing any colors and usually the attire is somewhere between Royal and blacksmith. He does have a ring with the house symbol on it. This allows him to be treated a bit better in some places.
-When he enters the mind of his fox his eyes change from green to a feral amber.
-His fox is named kit since the fox has a very puppy like personality.
-Kit weighs 30 pounds and is more then capable of using weight to his advantage....and teeth.

---

---

◾ Family Members:
-Edwin Hyland
-Juliana Hyland
-Maria Sky

◾ Biography:
Tiras' beginning is not fully known. He was brought home with his sister by his father from travels and does not know whom his mother is. It is rumored that his mother is a lady of the desert.
He was raised alongside his family, treated not quite like a royal, but not quite like a regular towns person especially since he was living with the royals. He did not have to learn the same exact things the rest of his family did, but sought out books of history, archery, falconry, and black smithing. He particularly found a knack for training animals and black smithing. His unusual ease around animals was perceived as odd, but Tiras and others did not think much of it.
When Tiras was 10 years of age, he found a reddish fox kit. It seemed that it was either abandoned or the mother had died. Tiras took the kit in and raised it with the help of his sister. He felt an odd bond form with it and discovered a few months later that he was having dreams typical of a warg. Not long after that, he figured out that he could enter his fox's mind and control him. He kept his abilities secret, but is never seen apart from the fox. His sister had found out about the ability when they were young, but she has kept the secret.
Many assume the fox is always there due to Tiras not having many friends, so he has the fox and that works just fine for him.
He was trained to blacksmith by the previous Royal blacksmith and since their death has taken over that role.

[User]
---

---

Maria Sky

Interacting With: @BlackPanther Tiras
Location: Corevial Castle then the Tournament Grounds.

---

---

Maria crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Tiras as he like always hid and bottled up his emotions and rolled her eyes slightly towards him. "You know one day I might not be there for ya if you don't vent on whats wrong." Maria said softly as Kit got out of her arms and started trotting behind Tiras, she was starting to get hungry and she was looking forward to getting into the feast. Maria followed behind her brother as she walked back into the grand hall, she chose to sit with her brother. Maria looked over towards Grey for a moment and then over towards her family, though her half sisters and half brothers looked down on them she was content being close to her brother. Maria continued to eat the feast in front of her occasionally making small talk with the guest next to her, then finally the tournament was about to begin and the guests started to head out to the tournament grounds.

Maria walked along with the others and found a front row seat in front of the grounds and proceeded to sit down and watched as the horse and riders started to get ready. Maria would look around as everyone slowly started to gather and take their seats or to get themselves ready for the tournament for the young princess.

[Assistant]
As the feast ended, the tournament began. Trystan, sobering up already from all the ale and wine he drank, asked a stable boy for his horse. When the stable boy brought out his courser, he approached and traced a gentle hand along its mane and side. With one swift move, he mounted his horse and kicked off, trotting into the tournament grounds.

As he arrived, his eyes scanned the stands. He found the royal family and he offered his greetings. Bowing to the king, queen and princess. Then, his eyes carried on. Scanning the stands where his family sat, he found Lyra. He looked squarely at her, holding on to his sword with his weaker left hand and the horse with his stronger right, he kicked the horse up to where it stood on its hind legs and spun in a small circle. To those unbeknownst to the fact that he has feelings for Lyra, they would think he is doing this for his family. A display of prowess, so to speak. Once he was facing the royal family again, he settled his horse and waited for the other lords to arrive.

[User]
---

---

Interacting With: Open
Location: The Tournament

---

---

Isadora had been ill for the past three days, restricted to bed, and her duties as the princess's handmaiden set aside. She had been looking forward to the excitement of today, for weeks. Any feast or tournament was always a welcome brake from the mundane everyday, but today was even more special. It was the princess's thirteenth name day, and her royal highness would most likely be betrothed by the end of the night. Not only was the entertainment going to be spectacular, the hordes of gifts Madeline would be receiving, were also always fun to see. Izza had been the girl's handmaiden for two years now, and was one of five noble girls who accompanied, and attended to her daily. She considered the princess to be a good friend, so she really hoped whoever won the tournament was young, handsome, and kind-hearted.

Lady Scylla Evanthe had sent Isadora a gift for the princess two weeks prior, for her to present during the feast on behalf of house Evanthe. It was an ornate gold jewelry box, encrusted with glamorous diamonds and precious emeralds. The box was stunningly decorated with a delicate filigree pattern, and the inside was lined in dark green velvet. As magnificent as the box was, the intricately carved jade hair comb it contained was somehow even more marvelous. Isadora didn't like her mother, but the woman knew how to give gifts. Along with the presents for the princess, Lady Scylla had sent several yards of lavish silks for the queen, and five barrels of rich Diovire spiced wine for the king to enjoy.

Izza did not have the same allowance as most noble girls, so affording to buy fancy jewels, and luxurious items as a gift for the princess was impossible. Instead she hand made her own gift for her friend Madeline. She had spent quite a few late nights secretly sewing a pair of gloves for the princess. She made them made them with soft suede, and used colorful silk thread to embroider Madeline's favorite flowers along the outer edges of them. The finishing touches were the silvery saltwater pearls stitched along the cuff. Luckily needlework, and embroidery were something Isadora excelled at, so the gloves looked beautifully well made, and fit for a royal lady.

Isadora's fever had broken last night, and she felt completely fine by morning, so she was given permission to participate in today's festivities. Before she and the other handmaidens helped the princess dress in a beautiful frilly yellow gown, Izza had handed Madeline the gloves, and wished her a fun filled day full of celebration. During the feast Isadora had happily mingled among the many guests. Anytime she came across a man who was planing on competing for the princess's hand, she would quietly go back to the princess and point out the many suitors, tell her what she found out about them, and of course add in her own opinions.

She did try her best to stay far away from any of the Hylands, as she didn't really know which one was Lord Emerin. Apparently her biological mother Olinda had written a letter to Lord Emerin a year ago, telling him about the dirty secret of house Evanthe, and that his bastard daughter had not actually died at birth 15 years ago, but was alive and had become the oldset daughter of house Evanthe. Izza had always wondered weather he believed the letter or not.

Two years ago when she had found out the truth herself, she had hardly believed it. Everything Isadora was was basically a lie. Growing up thinking your a noble lady of house Evanthe, and then finding out your actually the product of a drunken night between a servant girl, and the notorious skymaker, Emerin Hyland, sounded more like a joke then reality. But after all was said and done, Izza was just another Hyland bastard. By the time the feast was nearing an end she brought forward the gifts from her mother to the royal family, and then stood with her fellow handmaidens to toast the princess.

---------

She had had a bit to much honey mead during the feast, and was thankful that all she had to do now was sit and watch the tourney. The drinking had made her more light headed and bubbly then her usual self, but only those close to her would be able to tell the difference. She watched as many young ladies went to sit closer to the front row, with favors in hand, ready and waiting for any of the knights to ask. She looked over her shoulder and smiled up at the princess after one of the more handsome gentlemen came strutting out in shiny armor. He had been one of the few she had approved of, and gushed about to Madeline.

[Assistant]
Lyra

The time passed agonizingly slow for Lyra. She was constantly watchful, her eyes darting around and her hands shaking. The moment she spotted Lady Julia Lyra hurried away as fast as she could to hide. She did NOT want to face that woman. She wondered if Lady Hyland would have her drawn and quartered or simply remove her tongue. She prayed that the woman would let her explain that she had done nothing to encourage such attention from her son. In plain truth such attention terrified her to no end. He couldn't be serious, no matter his claims otherwise. She was simply not worth it. For multiple reasons...

Lyra's head jerked up as the sudden roar of the crowd startled her. Trystan Hyland had ridden onto the field. His eyes locked with hers and she gasped, stumbling backwards. Why did he do such things to her?
Overcome with embarrassment, Lyra's face turned red as she fled the stands. If anyone tried to stop her she would say she was going to refreshments for her lord and his family.
Turning a corner by the stables, she sagged against the wall. She covered her mouth with one hand and tried to breathe through her nose. Calm even breaths.

If he kept up this ridiculousness she would have be forced to tell him the thing that she had not spoken off in years. The incident that she desperately tried to erase from her mind, but continued to haunt her in nightmares that had her waking up crying many nights. Please God do not let him force me to say it aloud, she thought.

Or perhaps she wouldn't have to tell him... perhaps she would tell his mother, to get her to see why she had to keep her son from pursuing Lyra. It would likely get her tossed from her position as a servant of the family, if not the keep itself. Mayhap another family would take her in as a servant?
But if Trystan won the tournament then none of it would matter. He would marry the princess and that would be that.

(@anyone who wants to stumble across her)


[System]
Appearance:

He's doesn't look nearly as muscular looking
Race: Human
Class: Arcane Brawler
Main-Hand Weapon: Unarmed
Off-Hand Weapon: None
Secondary Weapon: Dagger
Armor: Cloth
Powers: Heated Hand: By channeling mana into his hand, Separ can heat his hands up till they are as hot as a small campfire. The effect doesn't last all that long, but it does hurt quite a bit if you get punched with it.
Gut-buster: Separ throws a strong punch towards an opponents gut and sends a small shockwave of energy through them. The shockwave itself doesn't do any damage, but it does have the chance of causing nausea in the opponent. A particularly lucky strike may even have Separ's adversary throw up on the spot. (slight damage increase, may cause nausea)
Flurry of blows (stance): Attacks an enemy rapidly at the cost of accuracy.

Skills: Fighting Unarmed: Separ Kurel is skilled at fighting unarmed. His fists and feet are a deadly weapon.
Immense Focus: Separ Kurel has a large amount of focus, and is not easily distracted during battle or any other task that involves an attention to detail or a large amount of concentration. (See Weaknesses)
Mobility: Separ Kurel has no trouble moving or fighting on uneven/unstable terrain unless the terrain is extremely bad.

Weaknesses: Larger Opponents: Separ has trouble harming any creature that is more than twice his size. Punches and kicks just don't seem to be as effective.
Scared of the undead: Separ is both afraid and repulsed by undead creatures such as (but not limited to) zombies, ghosts, and ghouls. He oftentimes will refuse to go near one of them unless it's a desperate situation. He finds them to be unnatural, and will easily get distracted by them, especially if they're rotting and/or targeting him specifically.

Personality: Separ is an alright guy. He's nice, decently reliable, and likes helping other people out, though at times he can be a bit lazy, opting to relax and do the work later if it's something he considers unimportant. He loves the thrill of a good fight, but doesn't go out of his way to actually start a fight unless he has an actual reason to do so. He loves all kinds of food, and will happily chow down on most dishes. Flirting woman may cause him to become a little flustered, as he does not know how to react to their advances.
Background: Separ Kurel was born to your pretty standard family. He was an only child and lived happily with his parents. They weren't rich, but they weren't poor either and could afford a little luxury now and then. As Separ grew older he decided that he'd like to be an adventurer. Thoughts raced in his head, ones of him fighting dragons and demons, saving peoples lives, and the like. Of course once he was finally old enough, Separ realized he couldn't decide on what path to pursue. The path of weaponry, or the path of magic.

A few weeks had passed without any progress on what would be the best profession to choose. One day Separ witnessed a fight though, one between an unarmed man fighting off one magic user, as well as a swordsman and hammerman. The unarmed man's movements were graceful and fluid as he dodged, weaved, and countered each and every attack. Separ immediately was entranced and thought about becoming a fist fighter for a moment, but quickly realized he could still be easily killed with just plain fist fighting. However at that very moment the magic user charged up a particularly powerful fireball as the unarmed man was distracted punching and kicking the hammerman. He quickly turned around at the sound of the fireball and instead of dodging it his hands seemed to glow a bluish color as he punched the fireball breaking it apart with his magic power. At this the other three men surrendered and the man went on his way back home. Separ could hardly believe his eyes and after a moment of reminiscing about what had just happened moments ago before running after the man and begging him to teach him how to fight. The man agreed to give him a few pointers in exchange for beer money which Separ happily paid. The advice the man gave however, was rather shallow leaving Separ wanting to learn more. The man realized Separ was serious and decided to become his teacher for free (and more beer money)

The training was long, tough and arduous, but it eventually paid off as Separ could now channel mana into his body and limbs and fight decently using only his body. He was now ready for an adventure.

Other: Arcane Brawler spells are sophisticated enough so that they don't burn their own clothes off. (Separ actually lost quite a bit of money replacing his clothes when training.)

[User] Suddenly, guards started running through the streets. Upon first glance, one would assume they would be running after someone and most likely the people who caused trouble at the local tavern. But the guards kept running, and as they drew closer, you could tell they weren't running after, but away. Screams started to fill the streets as kobolds (small dragonfolk with no wings), goblins, men wearing chainmail and black tunics, and even an ettin (two-headed giant) started to swarm the village, destroying and slaughtering everything in sight. The goblins set fire to the stands and the ettin destroyed many houses and even the tavern. A dark silhouette of a man on a horse could be seen amongst the smoke in the distance.

[Assistant]
Furnace furiously pondered the meaning and intent of this group.
He saw them break, tear and burn the stands, carts and houses.
Two huge heads sharing one body came storming past him, massive flail in each hand.
As he crashed trough several stands at once, splinters and raw materials flew trough the air.

Deconstruction

It dawned on Furnace what they were doing. They were harvesting materials for the forge.
He saw creatures armed with swords and clubs run to the creatures from the village and hit them until they stopped screaming.
Was this a fight? Or could they also harvest life?

 "A life is cut short so another can begin. Lives are lost in the forest of life to allow the young to grow."

Was this what the tired girl had predicted?

Either way, Furnace was exited by this development. Much to learn.
And in the spirit of learning new thing Furnace took the wrapped package from his back and let the cloth fall to the ground.
With two hands and significant effort he held aloft an orcish broadsword.
It was about his size and looked right at home between the flails, blades and axes of the newcomers.
With care and calculation he mimicked the lumbering brute's movements as he rand after him, then past him, then into a stand.
With as mighty a swing he could muster he brought the heavy blade down upon the wooden board.
The thin plank snapped instantly, causing copper and tin trinkets to fly everywhere.
As Furnace was showered in shiny but function-less pieces of metal he looked behind him at the two-faced giant, looking for confirmation that he got it right.

[User] The ettin was about to slay the little one when he had suddenly attacked on of the stands, this caused the ettin to think that the little one was one of them and so he nodded and continued his rampage.

[Assistant]
Furnace trembled a little as he regarded the judging eyes of the towering creature.
The ettin nodded approvingly. He did it right. He was learning so much today!
Happily Furnace followed and continued to smash barrels, poles and carts along with the brute and a growing group of other creatures his size.
They did the same. When he jumped, they did. When they struggled to reach up to the thatched rooftops with their torches, he kicked a barrel over to them so they could stand on it. This was going great.

That moment he remembered the barkeep, and how he had displayed so much fun cutting the friend collector, clearly he loved a fight.
As they were near the tavern Furnace ran ahead of the band and smashed the wooden door open.
He pointed inside and yelled at the rampaging group. "In here! There's good fighting and food in here!"

[User]
As Vis walked out of the bakery, sixteen coins lighter and with 8 loaves of bread under his arm, screams echoed out from the other side of the market and people started running away from the direction of the comotion. The owner of the bakery, a woman in her thirties steppes out to see what was going on, Vis turned back to the bakery and ushered as much people inside as possible, he turned to the owner and yelled over the commotion, "Ith there a bathement thoo thith bakery?!"
She thought for a moment and nodded, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him to the kitchen, she pointed to a large slate preparation table, "It's under there!" she yelled as what was going on outside was getting closer. Vis groaned with frustration and pushed all his mass against the table, whincing as it grated across the floor, exposing a dusty trap door. When the table was no longer obstructing it, Vis opened it up and climbed down, it was large and could easily hold everyone in the building. He climbed back out and yelled into the main room for everyone to get into the basement, they did as they were told and when the trapdoor shut and everyone was inside, Vis pushed the table back over the hatch and he heard rough voices from the front room. He drew his rapier and escaped through the back door, he'd be back for the people in the basement.

[Assistant]
Even moments before the attack Alula's soft and comfortable smile suddenly turned into an expression of extreme horror. She took stumbling steps away from Carver. She appeared to double over slightly, frantically pulling down her hat and covering her eyes as if she was trying to block out the horror filled visions.

"Misfortune does not come in drops it comes in storms. I can see the clouds gathering upon the horizon"

This voice was different from her normal, lazy, speech. But it was also far different from the commanding and dominant voice. This one sounded calm, almost wise and knowing. But the voice didn't match Alula's expression of pain and dread. Her entire body seemed to be shaking, a bright glow emitting from her eyes and from a source within her robes.

She spoke in a grim voice, suddenly looking up at Carver with fear. She could see the monsters on the horizon.

"Please ser Paladin you have to go! Something is coming it's not safe here!"

It was strange, she didn't seem to be talking about the monsters destroying the town. She nearly collapsed onto the ground, gripping her staff in an iron fist. "And when it comes they will come."

[User]
Furnace noticed the iron friend and tired girl still standing where he last left them.
They were looking at him. Or they were looking at the large group of creatures working hard on harvesting stone, rock and coal. Or the disagreeing cries of people running and hiding everywhere.
Why did they do that? Was it part of the harvesting ritual?
Furnace waved at Carver and Alula.

[Assistant]
Suki glanced over at Separ, before nodding. "Yes, I was about to go an search for supplies to purchase." A complete lie, but on the other hand, she didn't have to tell the man what she really was planning on doing. However, before she could accept or decline his offer of accompanying her, the destruction occurred.

Quickly turning around to look in the direction of the noise, she noticed the creatures rampaging through the town. Knowing she should run, and just abandon everyone else to their fate, she ended up glancing at Separ. Could she also abandon her newfound companions? They might get in her way, but they might also be of use in dealing with the church.

As she was pondering, she noticed the hazy image of a man on horseback beyond the wall of smoke. Perhaps he was the key to this attack? "I'll be right back." Quickly speaking, she ran down the nearest alleyway, taking many of the winding turns rapidly. she never slowed down, until she had reached her destination. Although looking like the dead end of every alleyway, this one was on she had visited earlier. Quickly reaching into one of the crates, she pulled out her scythe.


[System]
Nickname: The Gentleman Mage

Race: Human

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Appearance: Slim and lanky, Dren has short grey hair in an unkempt style, usually hidden by his hat. His hands bear a number of small scars and burns from his alchemical work. His eyes are an emerald green. He also bears a number of small cuts on his chest and stomach from a number of alchemy accidents.

Weight: 180lbs

Height: 6'4

Frame: Slim and tall.

Personality: Sly and smooth, Dren is something of a wordsmith and could talk a man into selling him everything he owns. Something of a manipulator, Dren tends to use another person's words against him. This can make him somewhat obnoxious. He holds himself in high standing and is very prideful, often acting posh or upper class despite the truth being anything but.

Job: Alchemist

Fighting Style: An amateurish boxing style, otherwise just wild scrapping.

Weapons from strongest to weakest:

Trice Majestos Cane: A black walking stick with a gold bottom and rounded orb at the top, emblazoned with three star symbols on the hilt. Whilst normally functioning as a walking stick, the cane also has potential as a magic catalyst and is Dren's primary form of defending himself. He supposedly made the cane himself and no-one has been able to prove him wrong yet. He also named it.

Item stock: Dren keeps a healthy supply of support items from his travels and a few he whipped up himself across the lands and makes use of them in tough situations. He also keeps a light supply of grenades which he particularly enjoys the use of.

Anelace: A slightly long silver dagger with a hand guard that Dren keeps at his belt. He rarely ever uses it, save for the occasional duel with a swordsman. He keeps it hidden under his cloak and his skills with it are lacking.

Armors/Outfits:

Red Hat: A large wide brimmed red hat with a white feather stuck into it. Dren uses it to cover his face and hide it.

Red overcloak: A large red cloak that Dren wears over his other clothes. Once again, it's used to hide Dren's appearance and also acts as a nifty place to store his wares and items. It also looks pretty cool when blowing in the wind.

Ragged robes: Beneath the cloak, Dren's clothes are not particularly special. They're functional and cover his form but they look shabby. He keeps them hidden at all times to keep up his appearance.

White gloves: These cover Dren's hands at all times to avoid showing the few scars and burns he's received from his alchemical work.

Familiar:

Familiar: Royal Rat Vanguard

Familiar Abilities: Grants Poison and Earth defense. Decreases fire resistance.

Movement Type: Ground, walks and runs, can climb structures.

Familiar Size: Tiny, very nimble and agile.

Relic Weapons: Blowpipe styled cane with ivory rat head top.

Relic Armors: Dren's red cloak and hat become battered and brown versions of themselves, seemingly crawling with rats.

Trance: The Red Phantom

Dren's limbs warp and extend outward, turning him wraithlike in appearance. His speed is doubled in this form, which assists in flinging his spells. His mind also becomes set on nothing but attack, losing all his intelligence.

Pros: He wields strong black magic, though he relies on distraction tactics and befuddling his foes to win the day. He also keeps a helpful stock of items on him at all times. He is also highly intelligent, allowing him to think on the spot in tight situations.

Cons: Dren has almost no physical forms of defending himself and in terms of physicality, is quite weak. Not to mention his reliance on items can leave him running out mid battle and his distraction tactics only tend to work against single opponents.

Background: Originally born in Treno in Alexandria, Dren was born into a life of poverty in the slums of the city. He had to work hard to keep his family supported, taking whatever job he could get and working as much as he could. Whilst working, he discovered he had an eye for spotting compatible materials for unique concoctions, beginning his experimentation as an alchemist.

When his parents passed away at the age of 15, Dren began stealing in order to further his new career, selling his concoctions and items wherever he could to make as much coin as he could. Once he finally had enough, he left the city to explore and sell his potentials somewhere else. He achieved moderate success and the recipes he learned helped him in a number of tricky spots.

When he returned to Treno, he was desperate not to slip back into a life of poverty and knew he had to gain favour with the lords. So, he purchased his robe and hat, hid his hands in gloves and began grooming himself into a makeshift lord. He got better and better, hiding his poor appearance and currying favour with powerful individuals slowly but surely. His skills as a mage earned him the nickname "The Gentleman Mage" by his fellows, finally allowing his transformation into a member of the high class to be complete. At least, that's what it looked like.

[User] Dren was intrigued as his ear picked up the pair of voices. Dren was not usually a nosy sort, but something about it just piqued his curiosity. Perhaps because it sounded like shady business? Either way, before he truly thought the idea through, he found himself rising from his seat and approaching the door he heard the voices stem from. He stood with his back facing the wall and leant over slightly, taking a slight glance into the room beyond. He'd only need a peek, then he'd duck back in again and continue listening. Of course, were he spotted, he'd think of some excuse. Surely they'd bow to his noble appearance and assume he was someone of importance.

[Assistant]
Hitori had followed the Guest, it wasn't difficult; all he had to do was smell him out and Lumiyans were uncommon enough that he could track him relatively easily. It was when he found his quarry that he instead noticed he wasn't the only one there and made his form a little less conspicuous. He became one of those small dark fellows with the pointed hats that he found off-putting for the most part. The Disguise was nearly perfect, the only thing was he had large teal fox eyes instead of Gold orbs like the Black Mages typically have. He quietly walked up to the Other person who seemed to be eaves dropping on the Lumiyan.

"What are we Watching." He Whispered to the Other Spy as if he already knew him, casting a subtle beguilement of charm to make this other person less wary of why a random black mage is asking him such a question.

[User]
Dren's head spun to face him as he quickly backed up and cleared his throat. Great, he'd already been seen by someone. He cleared his throat quickly and held his cane tightly as he faced the stranger.

"Nothing whatsoever!" he said quickly. "I simply overheard voices and took a brief glance. I was not watching in the slightest." he scoffed at the black mage, though never questioning why he too was there. Right now he just needed to make sure he was fooled by his appearance.

[Assistant]
Voices were heard from the stranger- He leaned against the door without making a sound.
Some upstanding people I see... Rather than call them out, he merely listened in a bit.

One of the voices sounded familiar- just masked a bit, and this bothered him. He was not one for being stalked or followed.
Hmm... Sounds like two yuppies speaking, except one seems spooked... I bet it was the radio conversation he was listening to... It has to be a "he" based on the voice. I can always rest later... But it would be amusing to unlock the door and sneak out the back window."WHERE DID HE GO!?"  He internally chuckled as he was in thought analyzing the situation.

There was a small click on the door that could be heard by Hitori and Dren. It sounded like someone was about to exit, yet no one came out. To them it could seem like an invention.

Regardless if he chose to enter, he was already at street level- He had already left.

"Returning to extraction." The male spoke in his communication device.

"Alright. Over and out." A lady responded.

___________________

In the Castle, there were several individuals giving gifts to the Princess, in which case some of them were rather plain dresses to unusual patterns that did not impress- but She no less expressed gratitude.

"It would have been nice if an Oracle arrived." A man in a grey and white garb walked forth- he had unusual metallic boots that were particularly spiky at toes. His hair was slicked back into curls- it could however be inferred his hair was normally spiked at a medium length.

"Sir Daironus, Judge under the Grandanian Throne and councilor of Foreign affairs. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Spoke the queen. She seemed rather surprised to see someone so far from the east to come on such a day as this. The princess however seemed uneasy based on how her eyes could not seem to fix onto him.

"My lady, I've come on behalf of the Throne, the councilmen and women, the good country, and it's people to formally wish a happy evening upon this fine Princess who is worthy of the Baton for this fine kingdom." He smirked as he held a sword, holding it in it's diamond sheathe.

Beatrix walked over casually as The Judge held it out to her, grasping it before taking it over to Princess Garnet.

"Quite a lovely sword..." Garnet mumbled, somewhat uneasy around weapons.
"Do not mistake it for an ornament. It is quite sharp, the general would be able to train you effectively. She who has slain over a hundred of the world's finest men in war." He smirked sharply.

"The legends are not as everyone always exaggerates them to be- Your grace." There was an uneasiness that projected off of Beatrix to this man.

"None the less. You're a powerful women. But I'm not here to just give a sword and a bow to everyone."

"You're here for an Oracle that does not show itself." The Queen interrupted.
"That is true, and quite perceptive. Truly a worthy -"

"Don't sit here and mock me and pretend I can't see through here you slave mongering man! Even if there was an Oracle here on such a day, no one would present one in your presence. You'd just have a crew of slavers waiting for when he or she leaves to take them back to your Lavish country. And I won't have that attitude in my kingdom. Trading materials in fine, but not trading lives." Brahms smile went into a sour expression that emanated a fierce aura.

"I... I see." The Judge seemed to be at a lack of words.

The Queen simply smiled. "Bow and be on your way."
The Judge somewhat rattled as he did just that.

"I'll not have my daughter be exposed to such a toxic society and way of living. No daughter of mine." Brahne exclaimed as he was out of ear shot.

"My lady. Tantalus should be arriving within the hour." Beatrix spoke as her working eye shifted from the doorway to the Queen.

"Hear that Garnet? The tension will be gone soon, and we can laugh and cry at a performance that truly is said to be worthy of praise."

"But mother, remember when critics praised ' Bogarat and the Lonely Man'?"
"We don't speak of that in any circumstance, ever..." The Queen frowned as if her face became a lemon at the thought of such an abhorrent performance. They however were expecting a grand one.

[User]
The Black Mage disguised Hitori shook his head with a Huff, "Well now that you were 'Not Watching' the Lumiyan is escaping." Hitori pushed Dren out of the way and made haste to catch up with the Lumiyan Guest, he had questions that needed answers and wanted to know what happened to the other Lumiyans. He also wanted to know what the hell they were speaking into and getting orders from since they clearly were not working alone.

It was then Hitori Caught a glimpse of the Lumiyan and shot forth one of his Steel Ribbons to pierce his Quarries Shoulder, "Not Getting away this time Moonchild."

[Assistant]
Dren yelped as he was pushed aside and fell down onto his back. He got up with a slight growl, adjusting his crooked hat and watching the Black Mage rush after the individual he'd spied on. It didn't concern him, ultimately, he'd peeked out of mere curiosity. But considering how this fellow was reacting, it'd probably be a good idea to tell someone.

Dren made quick for the nearest town guard and informed him of what had occurred, pointing him toward where the pair had run off to.


[System]
Rowan Childe {29M}

Spiritual ⚝ Vegan ⚝ Perfectionist

Bicurious ⚝ Junior Communication Major ⚝ Veteran

Song: Blackbird - Fat Freddy's Drop

Rowan is an older student and a veteran. He spent 8 years in the Marines before going back to school on his GI bill - unfortunately, average grades in high school meant he was only accepted into BCC. Though he was one of the "lucky ones" who never saw actual combat, his time overseas changed him. After experimenting with psychedelics during his first year at BCC, he had a spiritual awakening and has cut most ties with his old life.

Now a nonviolent vegan, he is still struggling to find his place in the world and figure out what direction to take his life in. He doesn't feel like he's almost thirty, and rarely divulges his age, preferring to blend in among the younger students such as his flatmates. With his trademark dreadlocks and bright blue bicycle, he's a memorable figure around campus even though he rarely attends parties and has few close friends.

Relationships:

* Kalama Guynn: Roommate. Having only lived with Kalama for a few weeks, Rowan isn't quite sure what to make of her. He appreciates her passion for social justice and willingness to try his Vegan cooking, but found her messy breakup very disruptive to the peaceful energy he tries to cultivate around the apartment.
* {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Beta:
* {Unfilled/NPC} Roommate Alpha:

History:
Rowan is originally from Georgia and still has a hint of the accent, although he tries to hide it. He doesn't talk much about his childhood, but it wasn't the happiest. Although his parents both loved them in their own ways, they were strict and devout people with little tolerance for perceived weakness or failure. He was a sensitive child and his father took it upon himself to make Rowan "man up" with frequent hunting trips, animal butchering, and manly activities like football and JROTC.
Joining the Marines was as much to make his dad proud as to get him out of the house as soon as high school finished. Though he initially excelled and became close friends with the Chaplain, Rowan found it difficult to take leadership roles as he has little stomach for yelling at other people. During his second tour, his Chaplain was assaulted by her commander officer, resulting in her discharge and him being found not guilty at the court martial. This event rocked Rowan to his core and changed his opinion of the military for the worse. By the end of his eight years, he was thoroughly disillusioned with the military life and sought greater meaning.
He initially hoped to find it in education, but ultimately found it in frequent LSD, psilocybin, and peyote trips instead. It was in his first year at BCC that he cut ties with the military, his family, and his religion. Though he has felt more at peace since that decision, he has also been profoundly lonely - a largely self-imposed isolation, as he has very high standards for himself and other people, making him difficult to get along with at times.

Magic:
Knack: Rowan has the ability to sense immediate danger to himself. As a kid, he called it his "Spidey sense". Though this ability won't tell him the source of the danger, any threat capable of killing or seriously injuring him within the next couple minutes will trigger a burst of adrenaline and let him know that something is wrong. This ability has prevented him from getting kicked by riled-up farm animals, stepping out in front of unseen traffic, and swimming in the ocean with a rip tide.

Gift: Rowan has the ability to telepathically communicate in a limited capacity with animals. He can passively sense the intent of any animal within eyesight, and broadcast his intent to any or all animals within approximately one mile. While he cannot read their minds or control their actions, he can communicate basic concepts such as "I won't hurt you" or "this person is a bad person". After testing this on the campus squirrels, he used this ability to call a deer from the nearby woods into the student food court by broadcasting the intentions "I want to give you an apple" and "none of us will hurt you". The price of his Gift isn't too severe, but he is completely unaware of his surroundings while communicating with animals - he could be stabbed while communicating and not be aware of it until he returns to reality. Even once he does return, he is very disoriented once he comes back to reality and it puts a fog over his whole day similar to being hungover.

[User]
Under Construction for Necessary Retcon Warning Read This Post at Your Own Confusion

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 The alarm blared on the beside table almost begging for the person in bed to turn it off. Elysia groggily rolled over slamming the top of the clock. Looking at the time Ely groaned. After lunch, she had come home to rest before her next class but not for this long. Those stupid drawings. She still hasn't been able to get a full night's rest since they started. She got up from her bed to see two drawings laid on her desk one slightly crumpled. The first one she remembered drawing about a week ago. It showed her standing in Poor Yorick's and in front of her there was a table full of textbooks and some completely random objects. There were six dumbbells stacked on each other, a Hot Wheels with fire print on the side, a set of boxing gloves one being extremely worn down with the other looking brand new, a plush spider with dreadlocks, and a rat holding a Phillips head with a black grip. The drawing had one of those turning blocks that indicated dates on the counter but everything other than the day of the week was obscured. She had gone there last Friday but nothing stuck out to her that matched the drawing.

 What was really weird though was that the rat was identical to the one in the new drawing. In the top right was a street sign that she didn't recognize but a simple check of the phone would help with that. The center of the drawing showed her sitting on a park bench and beside her was that rat from the first picture. She looked back to the first wondering if it was more important than she had originally thought. She looked at the second to see if anything indicated when to be there. She saw nothing of the sort and got a little annoyed. Did that mean now? What were these drawings? It was so confusing. Grumbling to herself she gathered her things and left.

 Checking her phone she saw that the road wasn't too far away. She decided to go check it out. Her hope was that if she kept following these pictures she'd eventually figure out what was going on with her. It took a couple of minutes to get to the road. Finding the park bench was a little harder. She eventually saw a bench that seemed in the right position and the surrounding scenery was similar. The only thing different was that a guy was laughing on the ground by the swings. That was definitely odd. Ely didn't see anyone else around. There also wasn't a rat on the bench. Looking towards the guy Elysia's stomach started to churn and her hand began shaking. This park looked like no one had been here in a long time. Who was this guy? He seemed alone. Momentary doubt of going to the bench entered her mind, but the drawings hadn't lead her into bad situations so far. So, ignoring her gut instincts Ely, head down, walked over to the bench and sat down in the exact position designated from the picture. Avoiding looking at the guy she decided to pull out a sketchpad and began drawing the rat which had appeared in her past two drawings. Hopefully, this would help her be able to recognize it whenever it appeared.

[Assistant]
Kyle Hishamie

Interesting Fact about the Salem Witch Trials. There were actually more people accused of being witches in the town of Andover than in the town of Salem. Although most of the accused witches were women, some men were also accused. A majority of the people who claimed to be "afflicted" by witches were girls under the age of 20

Kyle, sitting at attention in class, managed to finish writing down the notes from the lecture right before the end of class. With a small bead of sweat running down the nape of his neck, Kyle realized something about himself he had not known before. It has been years since Kyle sat down in a classroom, and even longer since he felt like he needed to jot down serious notes. It isn't as if the Salem Witch trials were particularly hard to learn about, but the sitting still amongst civilians and learning about something other than his MOS turned out to be slightly more difficult than he remembered. At times he found he needed to force himself to snap back to reality when he caught his attention drifting away from the professors words. In truth, Kyle had not paid too much attention in the beginning of class. Almost as if he had just arrived on the scene. It would be easier to concentrate too if extremely hard to remember details of somehow vivid but easily forgettable dreams had not been the subject of his minds attention span. Get your shit together soldier, Kyle had said to himself with quiet trepidation under his breath and in the middle of class, Think of this as just another battlefield. Except....if you fail you wont die...Ok not a battlefield exactly but still get you're shit together man

 His discipline and mental fortitude could only take him so far though. Kyle kept his mind awake and on point by taking several small and quick gulps of water from his water bottle that he had brought with him and powered on until the end of the lecture. Kyle had not spoken yet to any of his classmates, but at the sound of many people leaving together to go to a study group he stayed in his seat for a few moments after everyone had left. The professor could see Kyle putting his notes together and into the binder he brought and getting ready to leave so the professor paid him no mind. As Kyle gathered his things and stood slowly he began to think to himself. I should...go to that study group thing with the others it was an open invitation after all. I mean, what if I missed something important in the moments my attention was not where it should have been? Kyle began to walk towards the class door, Binder in one hand and water bottle in the other, when he stopped right in front of the door hand outstretched. But...I shouldn't bother others, they don't know me and everyone was.....well no matter. I should at least attempt to exchange lesson information with at least one of them. Kyle left the classroom and walked with a purpose, shoulders broad and head held high even if inside of him he felt the complete opposite. I may not be worth the time it takes to exchange class notes but I missed parts of the lecture, that's on me and I need to take responsibility.

 The dreams he had been having as of late continued to burn in an insatiably curious way in his mind. Kyle could almost make out certain parts but just as he would start to remember the details would vanish from his memory. It was beyond irritating to Kyle but he tried his best to push the thoughts out of his mind. He had fallen behind the other students and did not want to get lost trying to find them. It was mostly a straight shot, or rather the way to the destined location was easy to get to, to Poor Yorick's. Kyle had never been, but learning more about the city he was in by reading maps was something he did every time he moved to a new city or base. It helped put his mind at ease for in the event of an emergency he wouldn't be completely lost at least. Although.......his sense of direction left much to be desired. It took a fair bit of time but pretty soon the group of students he has seen leaving together and more were in view at least. Kyle was wearing a V neck dark blue, long sleeve shirt with black jeans and slip on shoes with black socks. Not the most comfortable thing to run in but as his physique was in excellent condition since he kept up his army training regiment after been released Kyle had been able to catch up without breaking a sweat. It simply took awhile, to the point where they were almost at their predestined location by the time he had caught up.

 Kyle had not seen the rat, the injured man, or anything out of the ordinary besides some minor distress that he had no idea the cause of. When Kyle was within loud voice speaking distance he spoke up hoping at least on person would respond. Howdy, Kyle said in a loud enough tone to be heard but not loud enough to be considered shouting, Im..Kyle..From class. I was hoping I could join ya'll. Kyle rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. Christ he hated talking to people. He was sure they would tell him to fuck off. He looked so out of place, a young muscular adult who just sorta came from nowhere. He had stayed silent the entire class so did anyone even notice him? Hopefully not.