[System]
Edric Beaumont

Image Credit: Swietopelk on DeviantArt
General Characteristics
Nickname(s): Ed (Rarely used), Master of the Mystic Arts (Self-proclaimed)

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Race: Human (Elven ancestry)

Place of Origin: Overseas

Occupation: Hedge Mage/Adventurer (Unaligned)

Eyes: Electric Blue

Hair: Long, Greasy, Black

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 150 lbs

Build: Slender, Lean Frame

Complexion: Slightly pitted

+Traits: Eccentric, Clever, Inquisitive

-Traits: Power-Hungry, Enigmatic, Unconventional

Family: Ellara Beaumont (Twin Sister - Deceased), Alec and Jeane Beaumont (Parents)

---

Life
Warlock, pagan, conjurer, necromancer. All these charges and more has Edric Beaumont been accused of in the seventeen years he's inhabited the mainland. An outlander from the East, past Brevyon's far gray shores, Edric's reputation as an occultist and mystic has garnered him awe, fear, deference, and hatred from the common folk. Ill of fate and fortune, few have forgotten Ellara Beaumont's passing several years before; fell victim of a disease incurable by salve or potion. Divine punishment, some claimed: retribution from the heavens for Edric's ties to sorcery. Others were of the mind that Edric killed her, himself; carving out her heart and feasting upon it to appease some demon of incomprehensible malevolence. Or worse, even, performing sacreligious experiments on her corpse in the pursuit of forbidden knowledge.

Still, few made these accusations known beyond hushed whispers and rumored half-truths as he walked by, rightly hesitant to arouse the wrath of a sorcerer. Yet, Edric either ignored or did not hear the murmuring of the townsfolk, associating with others as little as possible. Almost never remaining in a single place for long, Edric's arrivals and departures were quiet, without announcement or celebration, yet many claimed that he carried the cruel hand of fate with him like a brand, dooming those around him to suffer misfortune.

An adventurer by trade, Edric was accompanied always by a single great gray wolf, a creature as loyal to its master as any trained hound. The wolf seemed to shimmer with every step, looking corporeal one moment then transparent the next, as though its constitution was a billowing of smoke.

His travels were in pursuit of the arcane, seeking out old caves, tombs, and ruins for enchanted relics to hoard somewhere unknown. His journeys took him all across the country, though he avoided Brevyon for obvious reasons, remembering all-too-well the treatment of mages even by those back home across the sea.

Yet, even now his motives are unreadable. Whatever incentive drives the spellcaster forward is as aloof and incomprehensible as he is, leaving the gossips and rumormongers to answer for him.

---

Personality
A bohemian in both appearance and mannerism, Edric is offbeat and eccentric; a darkly mysterious sorcerer with a near-fanatical obsession with the occult. Disheveled and unkempt, Edric's general flouting of social norms and conventions have attributed to many of the wild accusations charged against him, no doubt steeped in his association with the unnatural. Though generally courteous and polite, Edric possesses an uncanny ability to put others on-edge with his odd demeanor; eerie, humorless smile; and sharp, penetrating gaze.

Clever and inquisitive, with a insatiable thirst for knowledge, Edric has devoted the last seventeen years of his life towards plundering tombs and ruins, seeking lore and enchanted artifacts. In contrast to many wizards who spend their days locked in towers committing hundreds of tomes to memory, Edric favors firsthand experience and practical application: focusing on versatility and a diversity of spells to wield at his disposal.

Deeply introspective and contemplative, Edric styles himself as something of a mystic: prone toward sage-like quotations and general observations of the world around him that range from practical to nonsensical, with little correlation between the two. Unfortunately, this aspect of his personality has done little to assuage the commoners and peasantry, who find Edric's ramblings unsettling and esoteric.

But behind the surface of Edric's character hides a darkness, one that all who wield magic must strive to control - a hunger and lust for power; a dash of haughtiness and arrogance; the burden of guilt weighing heavily upon his shoulders; and the loathsome, suffocating feeling of inadequacy.

---

Skills
* Versatile and resourceful mage, adept in several schools of magic
* Experienced, seasoned aventurer
* Capable swordsman, able to engage most foes up-close when necessary
* Skilled alchemist and potion-brewer, well-versed in plants and ingredients.

[User]
Arendal Nevarth

---

Normally Arendal was not one to wander anywhere close to Brevyon. There were certain dangers associated with the area, and the closer that one got to the border, the less likely you were to find anyone but humans or those strong enough to handle whatever occasionally trickled out of Brevyon. It was not a welcoming environment, the shadow of death still having purchase over the land. He knew that it was foolish to really fear any of it. The dead would stay dead, and the living he was more than capable of handling. Above all, there wasn't much of a reason for him to be near Brevyon.

Except for this time. A small favor for a dwarven barkeep that he was fond of, and did odd jobs for whenever he passed through that way. While he had been rather reluctant to go in the first place he agreed. All he had to do was deliver a letter and a small sum of money to one of the dwarf's relatives that was working on opening a shop and needed the investment to get started. He had been paid in advanced, and he hadn't picked up any jobs while in the town, so he had decided to start off in another direction and not linger around.

It had been a while since he had stayed anywhere for longer than a week. In recent months all he had done was go from town to town running errands for people, or just travelling. There had been a desire to move. A restlessness had formed inside of him, and it was something that he still couldn't put a reason or name to. Being aware of it yet not understanding the reason was irritating. So he decided that he would go along with the urge. There was little else he could do.

For the most part the weather had held up, and he got a good ways from the village. When the clouds began to appear in the distance he knew that he was in for a storm. There wasn't time to turn around, and he really didn't want to gamble making it back in time. So he began to look for somewhere dry to stay as the clouds slowly crawled closer and closer across the sky.

It didn't take too long for him to spot a ruin in the distance, though he couldn't tell if it would make for decent shelter or not. Still, it was the closest thing around and he didn't have time to be picky if he wanted to avoid the soaking that a storm would give him.

[Assistant]
---

---

Damon Tardif

---

---

It was a slow walk back, bogged down by storm and wind that broke against him with every step. Yet there was a ritual calm, the stillness of a successful Hunt. And the mark of it: a bloody scalp held between Damon's fingers, staining his glove crimson. Should one travel back to that spot, they'd find Caulfield's corpse, maimed by Damon's handiwork, left to nature. A return to the fold.

Even from his vantage point in the woods, Damon could see the distant lights of Warren ahead of him, a welcome boon to the road-weary traveler: promise of safety and rest. But Damon felt no such comfort - rather the anxiousness of uncertainty. With growled muttering, he steeled himself and pushed forward. The people despised him; but he despised them right back. The cowards wouldn't dare muster more than a rumored whisper or wandering eye in his direction. None of them had tasted blood, felt the thrill of a true Hunt. They were like sheep: docile, complacent. And he a lion amongst them.

But this was once his home, its people his people. The community he had grown up in. But he had changed in all-but-name, and that's what they hated him for most.

Emerging from the border of trees into Warren proper, Damon saw a sea of faces both old-and-new. Travelers, merchants, seeking food, beds, other commodities the village offered. And its people more-than-willing to oblige. Damon carved through the modest bustle in a beeline towards the inn, that great fortress. It was no grand mead hall, certainly, but the inn was one of Warren's largest buildings, and, as some in town believed, one of its oldest. Built by Warren's first settlers, it was said: as hardy and strong as they were. The people of Warren prided themselves on that, their sturdy, simple nature.

Stepping onto the porch of the inn with heavy step, the idle chatter and conversation around him seemed to slowly fall to silence. Even those inside could hear the sound of heavy mud-caked boots on old wood, and somehow, someway, they knew who had returned.

With wide motion, Damon swung open the door and stepped foot inside, bringing with him the chill of death from outside; its frigid, fearful wind. The loud and boisterous talkers stopped, some even mid-sentence, and turned to see their fear realized; the moment they laid eyes on his leather-scale armor and scarred helmet.

"You're not welcome here, Hunter! Blood sheds where you step!" A single voice arose from behind the bar, possessed by a fleshy, bosomy woman in a loose apron. Stepping out onto the floor, the woman raised a wooden spoon with the same ardor a knight would draw a sword, and though lacking in stature, she fearlessly craned her neck to stare Damon down.

There was silence first, a palpable tension that left all but the most drunken patrons at the edge of their stools as they wondered how the Hunter would react. After only a few seconds, Damon snorted abruptly, letting out a wry chuckle at the woman's expense. It could be seen in her face, a brief flash of confusion that this wasn't the reaction she was expecting.

"You've known me since I was at my mum's teat, Myrna. Least you could do is use my name." He finally said, moving past the doorway - and her - towards the seating area. "Besides," he stopped, "if I were here on work-related business: you'd know."

Myrna weakly raised her spoon, as if contemplating attacking him with it anyways, but she soon resolved against it, letting her flabby arm fall to her side. "Getting mud all over my floor." Was the last thing she grumbled before heading to the back for a broom.

"Easier to clean than blood." Damon replied, more to himself than anyone else, accompanied by another quick hoarse laugh as he spied out a table for himself. He avoided the mass of stares and glances towards him, from residents who already knew of his reputation, and newcomers wanting to find out.

What he did see that caught his eye, however, was a young woman who seemed to be looking right back at him. It was a different look from the others, as though she had been looking for him. He wasn't sure how much she could see past the eye-holes of his helmet, but they seemed to maintain that gaze for a few seconds longer than typical, perhaps trying to read the other's expression.

Finally, Damon simply nodded once at her, and walked away towards his own table.


[System]
The Mundane
Age: 17

Sanctum City: Hasta

Description: Nicole is a girl of average height, a slender build, and irrepressible good cheer to cram inside it. Blue-eyed and always grinning, her sharp features are framed by scarlet hair, cut fashionably to the bottom of her neck with bangs that occasionally fall into her eyes.

Hasta is one of the world's most fashionable Sanctum Cities, with all but its poorest denizens dressed beautifully in casual, flowing fashions and bright colors. Nicole is no exception, although she does her best to dress fashionably casual. Whether oversized hoodies or cropped tops, tight jeans or her school uniform's skirt, one of her only sartorial mainstays is the peach colored tassel scarf she's almost always thrown haphazardly around her neck. Sometimes she'll top her head in a cute little beret.

Personality: A laid-back and cheerful girl who always tries her best at everything. Nicole may not be the most zealous fighter or the most charismatic presence, but she's a stabilizing force among what may otherwise be a chaotic ensemble of students. She exudes a quiet calm about most things, a playful energy often expelled through practical jokes, and a willingness to laugh at herself and others. She's grown up into a fairly privileged life and tries to keep that knowledge in the back of her mind, so it allows her some measure of empathy for other girls who may not have had it as easy as she did. It makes her a solid, unifying presence among friend groups and just a generally good time to be around.

Though she plays it close to the chest, Nicole is a deeply idealistic, romantic girl, with notions of true love and eternal good vibes that she tries not to espouse too often. She has a headful of dreams about some kind of nebulous "better life," although what that life would be like and how it would be an improvement over her own free-flowing existence is something she hasn't quite figured out.

Background: Nicole was born among the upper middle class of the beautiful, fashionable, (sort of) sunny Sanctum City of Hasta. One of the cultural capitals of the world, her childhood was cosmopolitan and largely peaceful, with a large pool of friends across all walks of life. Her parents did what they could to shelter her through much of her childhood, but they were politically active people, often taking up the causes of the downtrodden and unfortunate who were unable to share in Hasta's joys. Eventually, as she grew older, Nicole came to share their passion for altruism.

For a time, like most girls, she dreamed that she was a secret princess - some long-lost member of a Duodecim family, someone who could achieve great heights and make a difference in a scary world. Eventually, she had given up on that dream and resolved to make change in meaningful, realistic ways somehow. It was realizing her magical potential at the age of thirteen that helped give her a sense of wonder again, made her dream of stopping Voids and serving as a paragon for all the world's helpless - someone with the power to make people listen.

Having decided her dream was worth pursuing once again, in a decidedly more fantastical direction this time, Nicole applied to Nova Lux Academy with stars in her eyes, and was overjoyed to be accepted.

---

The Magic
Armgaus Name: Twinkling Scarlet Emerald

Gladius:
Vedfolnir
A blued steel sabre balanced to Nicole's hand, with a small, polished chunk of red beryl at the hilt. Its size belies the potential reach of the blade, as combined with her Elementum Nicole's slashes can seem to extend three times longer than the length of the blade would suggest.

Parma: Nicole's eyes and hair glow a brighter orange, her skin begins to twinkle slightly, and she wears an all-white ensemble of her normal beret, a midriff baring top and shorts, with thigh high boots and a holster.

Elementum: Wind

Elementum Abilities:  In keeping with her elementum and her own breezy personality, Nicole has a great degree of agility and levity, often joking that she can dodge any attack thrown at her as long as she's not feeling lazy. It may not be an entirely empty boast; though not a particular powerhouse, her agility makes her a capable duelist with her sabre. She can also use her ability to make great leaps, bordering on sustained flight if she can keep her concentration - although doing so obviously limits her effectiveness in combat.

[User]
---

Upon finally catching up to Nicole, Dana had helped Penny calm the panicking redhead down a bit, before agreeing to follow the fashion-conscious Hastan to a local clothing shop. No sooner had they walked through the door, then her team leader had begun searching for the perfect swimsuit with an intensity that was both comical and more than a little concerning… After all, Dana herself was certainly no fashionista and she had never really understood why so many girls were so obsessed with how they looked. The cheerful Norban felt perfectly comfortable with herself just the way she was and didn't see the point in pretending to be something she wasn't just to fit in, or impress a member of the "popular crowd" so much that they'd want to include her in their circle of friends. If people didn't like her for who she was, then they really weren't the sort of people she'd want to be friends with in the first place.

Then there was price tag to consider. Although she had grown up in a fairly wealthy household, Dana had never let her prosperity go to her head. Instead, she had used the resources she'd been blessed with to help those who were less fortunate. Knowing that she had spent a small fortune on a designer dress, handbag, or swimsuit when so many people were struggling just to eat was something the kind-hearted girl could never be okay with. Besides, while her clothing choices might have been cheap, they were comfortable and looked nice, at least in her opinion, and that was the important thing, wasn't it?

Thus, when she boarded the Assurance the following day, Dana was garbed in a simple, bright yellow bikini and jean shorts combo that perfectly mirrored her sunny demeanor. Placing her hands on her hips, the cheerful Norban surveyed the various goings on, a brilliant grin quickly spreading from ear to ear. Although she'd never been to a party quite like this, and especially not one on a luxury yacht, the bundle of excited energy that was Dana Noel knew one thing for certain- this was gonna be fun.

"Wow, Aiya! This is really some boat!" Dana noted when their host welcomed them aboard. "I know ya just wanted to see Nicole again, so thanks for lettin' us tag along!" she added with a playful wink, while putting her arm around Penny. "I'm sure we're gonna have a great time!"

The two hours that followed saw the bubbly Norban bounce from group to group as she took a self-guided tour of the opulent ship. She knew some of the other guests, Cara and Priya, of course, and Noah, too, but the majority of the cadets were new to her, and the ever-friendly Dana wasted no time in getting acquainted. Yet, even between making new friends and making sure Penny wasn't totally freaking out, she'd still managed to find time for a harmless prank. Having retrieved a chocolate bar from the travel bag slung over her shoulder, the mischievous Ars Magi had removed the wrapper and nonchalantly thrown it backwards over the side of the boat and right into the middle of some unsuspecting swimmers. Still, even with all the dancing, games, and overall wild revelry, Dana couldn't help but feel that something was missing, and once she'd realized what it was, she wasted no time in seeking out Aiya to address the matter.

"Hey, Aiya!" the grinning Norban called with a wave as she made her way over. "Where are ya hidin' the water guns?!"

[Assistant]
---

If Dana was able to go in a simple choice of beachwear, Penny had no such luck. The bespectacled Siscian, not exactly a social butterfly and still getting used to the big-name parties that Ars Magi frequented, chose a one-piece swimsuit that would not have been out of place in the pre-Void time period known as the 1930s. Needless to say, the red-haired fashionista took the choice as a challenge, and dragged Penny (with the help of a few store assistants; the mousy little brunette had a death grip on the wall and had to be pried loose) to try on something "more suitable for the occasion". The result was Penny finding herself in a two-piece she felt would induce either a heart attack or frothing rage in her parents if they ever found out. It was a sea-green bikini with white and gold trimmings, complemented with criss-crossing lacing across the back, but the modestly-minded Penny only felt that if she shows any more skin, she'd be arrested for indecent exposure.

Arriving at the bay, Penny is amazed to see the yacht waiting for them. She thought this would be a small party with a half-dozen people on a boat; instead, it's a fancy mansion on the water with about two-dozen people, with loud music and bright lights everywhere. She cleans her glasses to make sure she's not seeing things.

"I'll say," Penny adds, still stunned by the size of the thing. Initially, she feels very self-conscious about her swimsuit, but then realizes some of the partygoers are wearing things bordering on the outright scandalous. Plus, it makes her realize Nichole was right about the "granny suit" she had initially wanted to bring along. Not that it completely removes her self-conscious feelings about her suit.

Penny had been to quite a few social gatherings since she arrived at Palmyra, what with the socially-conscious Nichole as her guide. However, a mosh pit and rock music club was a place where one could find anonymity and privacy in the teeming masses by sheer volume (unless they were supremely unlucky). A private party on a yacht was a place where anyone could and did stand out by simply being there, and Penny feels very out of place next to nobility and military crème de la crème, and very conscious of her (unwilling) choice of swimwear.

Fortunately, with Dana acting as a personal chaperone helps alleviate her anxiety. Between the Norban's encouragement and endless optimism, Penny finds herself slowly easing into the party, feeling more and more at home. Though Penny does use one of her towels as a cloak or dress to alleviate the worst of her appearance concerns.

Then there was the chocolate bar prank. Penny initially assumes Dana was just indulging her sweet tooth, when the raven-haired Ars Magi just discretely tosses it overboard.

"Wait, Dana, why did you-" Her protests were cut short when she sees where Dana threw it, and Penny has to fight hard to suppress her laughter, biting her lip and quickly following Dana to get away before bursting into laughter.

"Dana, you can be nasty, you know that?" Penny wheezes between gusts of laughter.

"Of course," Penny sighs, though she's smiling in amusement. "Not a party on the water without water guns, huh? I think we should find out if there are any Water Elementum here, get them to join our side in... well, whatever you're planning."


[System]
Rank (If applicable): Commander

Species: Sangheili

Appearance (for his armor, at least):
Height: 7'10"

Skills:Vael bears the title of a blademaster, and with good reason. He also has general combat experience befitting his many years of experience, and has a long history of leadership.

Preferred Weapons/Equipment:
* Type-1 energy sword
* Type-25 plasma rifle
* Type-57 carbine
* Active Camouflage

Background: Vael 'Virisusai is an old and experienced warrior, having already held the rank of major at the start of the Human-Covenant war. For him, the war had been an opportunity both to strive for the honor and glory of victory, and to serve the will of the gods. Early in his career, there was nothing that had set him apart from other ambitious Sangheili warriors. He did not have any particularly exceptional skills, nor an enlightened strategic mind. What he did have was the ability to survive, and to learn every lesson he could take in from every battle and skirmish.

Over the course of the war, every facet of Vael's skill as a warrior was honed to a fine edge. From simple aim, to his ability to keep a calm mind in the chaos of battle, Vael became a more and more deadly presence on any battlefield. Victories, and especially defeats, shaped his judgment and leadership ability just as much as his personal combat skills. Like many of his kind, he preferred to kill in close quarters, especially with a blade. In both fighting against the Humans and countless hours of training and sparring among other Sangheili, he learned the intricacies of using a blade in a variety of contexts, and against different opponents. Given his people's respect for swordsmanship, it was this accomplishment, perhaps more than the others, that most helped him to ascend the ranks of the Covenant. In the end, it was not accident, nor fate, nor genetics bestowing natural talent that created the warrior Vael became. It was pure, earned experience.

In the closing years of the Human-Covenant war Vael had ascended all the way up to the rank of Zealot, and in the final months, he had remained on High Charity after accepting an even more honored position. He was present when High Charity arrived at Installation 05…and present when the San'Shyuum wholly betrayed the Sangheili. Being stationed on the Covenant Holy City, he was a part of some of the thickest of fighting against Jiralhanae-led Covenant forces, then later the Flood as it infected the city. Ultimately, he did escape the parasite and went on to join the Fleet of Retribution to cleanse Earth of the Flood. From there, he took part in the Battle of the Ark, which finally put an end to Truth's Covenant.

Following the end of the war, many Sangheili returned to their homes, to their clans. Many of those allied with one faction or another, but Vael did not do so immediately. His life had been one of honor and war, but most of all service to a faith he now knew to be a lie. Shortly after the Battle of the Ark, he secured a small ship and simply…left. He was not seen in Swords of Sanghelios space, nor that of the UNSC. With the exception of a single re-fueling run on Squala, it was as if he had vanished from civilized space.

Then, after a year's absence, Vael suddenly returned to Sanghelios itself. He pledged his service and loyalty to the Swords of Sanghelios. Given his history, he rose quickly through the ranks. However, those who knew him before the war would have saw some changes in him. He was more reserved, both in terms of speech, and in a more cautious, calculated style of leadership. Perhaps the most notieable change is that, while he still kills his enemies without hesitation, he no longer shows the same eagerness to take glory in battle. He no longer demonstrates his pride in his kills, nor intentionally seeks the most challenging of foes. Despite all of this, his effectiveness has not diminished. He continues to be an honored warrior among the Sangheili, but for those who knew him before, one cannot help but to wonder what else has changed within him. Despite this, he has been chosen for the Aegis Team as a Sangheili warrior with enough skill and experience to be comparable to a Spartan.

[User]
Vael 'Virisusai

---

Vael's meditation was interrupted by a visitor at his door. Naturally, he had received few since he had been staying on his planet. Some of the younger members of his team had chosen to indulge some of their curiosity on this world, but Vael himself had been content to keep to himself. He suspected that ONI had anticipated he and his team would behave just as Vael had been when they offered them the freedom of movement befitting a guest. It was for that reason that Vael did not mind allowing his team to defy their expectations and do as they willed. It would certainly cause some irritation for their handlers.

In any case, Vael allowed his guest to enter his quarters. The room was entirely unchanged from its state when the Humans had assigned it to him, apart from the large covenant storage crate near the back of the room that contained his personal belongings. He listened in silence to everything the Spartan Ben had to say to him, then stood himself to his feet once he was finished. Even out of armor, Vael still towered over the Spartan. Across his body were many marks of his long military service. Scars from gashes both deep and shallow, plasma burns, and the remnants of more than a few gunshots. Even were Vael a mute, his body alone could weave a compelling tale.

At first, Vael simply stared down at Ben with a stare that was hard to read. Even after he spoke, it was hard to say if he was being judgmental, or merely contemplative. "You say your job is to punish insubordination and cowardice? You require this…deception and secret orders merely to punish the unworthy within your ranks? I still find myself confused on how your people have become so competent with the limitations you cast upon yourselves. But it is no matter to me what you do to your own people. Share whatever information your superiors have deemed necessary. You need only make sure to stay your hand against my warriors. If any should prove themselves unworthy of our ranks, then they will be mine to punish, not yours."

[Assistant]
Ben-E218

"Oh, don't worry. I'd never attack a Sangheili in our group for those things. The UNSC's authority doesn't go that far, even though ONI seems to think that it should interfere with whatever it wants. For the record, I've always admired your people's ability to get things done. In any event, the information in question is that my standing orders supersede any particular directives I am otherwise assigned to on a mission. My superiors believed that you needed to be privy to this in order to explain my long periods of seeming absence. What I do is something my people- the human race- needs very badly yet cannot bring itself to admit. By necessity, what I do must be done off the record. The truth is a luxury my species can't afford. We're too weak to handle it, to paraphrase a centuries-old movie my people made."

Ben looked at Vael's armor, still unused. The armor was in a crate, but it was a container which Ben had seen before in Covenant barracks.

"And on one minor note, you may want to put your armor on when you absolutely don't need to have it off. God knows there are plenty of people who have it out for your species after what happened during the war. Like at Harvest. Or Reach. Or even Earth, although I suppose we should thank your people for glassing that part of Africa, since the Flood had landed there and anything to stop them was warranted. Rest assured that you're being watched by ONI even now, but that doesn't mean they're looking out for your safety."

 "For the record, Harvest was glassed by the Jiralhanae. Not that many people care to draw that distinction, although I suppose most people lump all of the Covenant in as equally culpable for those glassings, regardless of the facts."  Phong kept his speech limited to Ben's systems, so Vael didn't hear that.

[User]
Spartan Lucas Ryker

After finishing up cleaning his weapons, the SPARTAN-IV could only stand to be in the quiet for another few minutes before, with a groan, he geared up and headed out. Well, specifically, he grabbed his knives and his pistol and headed out. Once his door was closed to his room and the lock had engaged, he turned to his handler as they approached and shook his head. "ONI can stuff it, Sergeant. And be sure to tell them I said exactly that when you have to report that I wouldn't allow you to accompany me on MY home planet." The handler, stunned by the way Lucas bluntly handled his approach, doesn't even try to follow him as he heads for the room of Aegis' Swords commander, pausing just in time to hear the SPARTAN-III finish his sentence.

"Rest assured that you're being watched by ONI even now, but that doesn't mean they're looking out for your safety." Ryker's snort likely caught the attention of the pair as he joined Ben in the doorway.

"Lad, if that isn't the understatement of the day, I don't know what is." Offering a bow to Vael, the SPARTAN-IV removes his helmet and offers a smile to him. "If you're up for it, Commander 'Virisusai, I was about to head down to the seaboard for some fresh seafood. Thought I'd stop by and see if you wanted to join me."

[Assistant]
Vael 'Virisusai

---

"My superior instructed me not to mention the parasite while on your worlds, since your leaders hide the reality of it from your people. I do not know why they feel that ignorance of the threat will protect them from it. Vael remarked.

Vael was not sure whether to be irritated or relieved by the arrival of Spartan Ryker. He had been content with the silence of his meditation, but it seemed the time for that had passed. He had permitted the Spartan to assist with many of his missions during the time since the battle on Sarcophagus. In truth, he had not expected the idea of Aegis team to survive, but he did agree with it in principle, for he believed in the Arbiter's principles. He would not be here if he felt otherwise.

In the time that they were working together, Vael had treated Ryker exactly as Tar, Yalu, or any other warrior, giving him no trouble, nor special treatment. That said, he had not made a habit of socializing with anyone under his command, and he wondered what Ryker hoped to gain by making this suggestion. "Is this a custom of yours I am unfamiliar with, or is there something else you wish to accomplish? The staff of this building already provide me with food."

[User]
Spartan Lucas Ryker

Ryker shrugs, roughing his hair with his free hand. "You could say it is a bit of a custom of humanity in as a whole. Before we took to the stars and encountered the Covenant, military units often became a small family, as they came to rely and trust each other explicitly both on and off the battle field, and as a result, they'd often do things such as going to meals together and other activities to build trust and cohesion. I figured you'd appreciate the chance to get some fresh air too, since I'm pretty sure you've been in your room far more than I have."

The SPARTAN-IV glances down the hall, where Vael's handler was sitting, talking into a cell phone and he sighs. "I can also get you a break from ONI's little watch dogs, if only for a couple of hours. Both Major 'Suumko and Commando 'Mdalak have been spending their time out amongst the city. Though personally, I think it's because ONI didn't think they'd actually spend their time outside of their rooms."

[Assistant]
Vael let out a low hum. "You may expect what you like of your customs from your own soldiers, but I warn you against expecting the same of me. I am here to fight for our alliance, not for cultural study."

As much as he might have preferred solitude, however, there was some reason for Vael to want to leave. From what he had heard, it did seem more likely now that Aegis team might become a permanent unit, but Humans still confused him in many ways. Some of their behavior reminded him of Unggoy in how pointless they seemed, yet he could not deny their effectiveness overall. He worried that it would be unwise to simply deny that which he did not understand.

"Although, if my leaving would be to the irritation of my 'handlers'…"" Vael grunted. "I suppose that would be an acceptable reason to go."

Approaching the large crate on the other side of the room, Vael unlocked it to retrieve his armor. Inside the container were essentially all of the personal effects that Vael cared to bring with him, though it was packed quite tightly. The largest objects were armor pieces, but it was not just his usual armor that was contained within. Alongside the normal armor he was retrieving, the others would be able to glimpse an older set. Pragmatically speaking, it was of higher quality than his Swords armor, but it was not what he chose to wear. Aside from armor, there were also other objects from his past, but most of those were not visible from the angle at which the Humans were looking.


[System]
Age: 23
Nationality: Sioux (for convenience sake)
Profession: Tribal warrior, hunter, shaman by heritage.
Apperance/Clothing:

Combat Skills: knife fighting, blind fighting, archery, wrestling, fist fighting, shooting, mounted archery.

General Skills: Riding, cooking, swimming, fishing, tent making, clothing making, skinning, plant identification, tracking, running, herbal medicine, poisons, wound care, smoking, psychic voyage/getting high.

Languages: english, sioux, small amount of other tribal languages.

Weapons: bow and arrows, large knife, bola, hand gun.

Possessions: Tribal shaman.

Personality: Nature loving, peaceful, pensive, respectful.

History: Ashtar was the first son of the tribe shaman. He learned the ways of his people but his visions told him that he must leave them for a long journey. He would like to see peace between all tribes, even white ones, and tries to generate that influence in his travels. He spent time as an ambassador when he was very young to the immigrant Europeans and learned their language. He recently lost his father to a mysterious illness, but since then his father has spoken to him in dreams, telling him to seek the walking spirits...

[User]
The wafting smoke of the saloon was merely an immediate reminder of Mark's earlier encounter. His pant legs swished softly against his bare legs, only adding to his memory of his feminine antics. A sly smile dipped and turned the corner of his mouth into a happy hook as he leant against the wall of a private booth.

 As the man stood smugly amid the clambering and chatting of gruff and dirty patrons, the faint chill of a pistol's barrel seeped through his clothes as it pressed against his back. Mark opened his palms and the gun was pushed into him, "Sit," the intruders voice commanded.

 Marks smile grew and he slid into the booth, a tall bald man with buggy eyes plopping into the opposite side, pistol in hand, and ready to fire. The doctor shook his head and folded his hands in his lap as he got comfortable, "Paul Blake."

 "Mark Twain," Paul nearly spat.

 A slim man dressed in the almost clean white shirt of a bartender stopped abruptly in front of the booth and Paul slipped the gun under the table, still aimed at Mark. The deep black pencil mustache of the tender waved as he spoke, "get you fellows anything?"

 Before Paul could tell him off Mark raised his index finger, "Vodka Martini."

 The man furrowed his brow and started to walk off. Mark patted the leaving man's elbow and he stopped. The slender man turned back to Mark and the two locked eyes. Mark nodded his words, "shaken, not stirred."

 After a long and uncomfortable stare, the tender slipped back into the crowd. Mark huffed at the encounter and turned to converse with Paul like they were long lost friends.

Before Mark could sneeze a word through the irritating saloon smoke, Paul reiterated the reason they were sitting with a scratch of his iron sight against the under of the table. Mark feigned surprise and used the momentum to wrap his fingers around a cold pistol that hid in his pocket.

 "So, I heard what you did to the gang," Paul started. Mark pointed his pistol slightly from it' pocket and he shrugged. Paul shook his head, "you never were planning on giving that necklace up where you? You might as well have jettisoned your life."

 Mark laughed, "I can pay for the loss of funds, you all can sit happily with that."

 "All? You mean me, you will give me the necklace and the money," Paul hissed behind his teeth. Mark opened his mouth in shock, :I don't have the money with me."

 "Then that's too bad," Paul chuckled a raspy breath, "you know I've been waiting to kill you for a long time now."

 Mark smiled, "yes, I'll bet you have."

 Paul's face froze as he heard a faint click of a hammer, and before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a loud bang puffed smoke from under the table and belched a bullet into his chest. The man slouched over face first onto the table with a groan.

 The other patrons looked over for a moment, but after hearing gunshots outside, their attention was quickly shifted from the man who clearly shot first, to the unknown rabble outside.

[Assistant]
Maeve had been working at the Saloon for longer than she would have liked. It isn't that she didn't like the town, on the contrary. At first glance Brogden was just another hovel in a long line of shit holes leading from civilization to wilderness, but it had grown on her. There was something about this place that attracted some *interesting* individuals, and it definitely wasn't dull. No, she was just disappointed that she had yet to attain what she came here for. She was thinking about all of this, her elbows leaned against the bar with a practiced smile on her youthful face that denoted a naivety uncommon to these parts.

She blew a somewhat curled tendril away from her face as a bottle and a couple of glasses were slid her way. She wrapped her fingers around the neck of the tequila and grabbed the glasses. She turned towards the patrons, just noticing how busy they were becoming. Other than a quick expanding of her eyes she seemed unfazed by the bustle and slipped between the roughians with a skilled bounce in her step. She dodged a chair that was swung haphazardly by a drunk while quickly glancing at what cards she could see from the poker table while turning her hip out to dodge an excited arm.

"Maeve! Maeve!" She could hear Tom beckoning from behind and turned to offer him a wink before continuing on her route. "One minute darlin'," she called back to him over her shoulder. Her voice was honey sweet and almost like a song as it floated through the noise. She heard a commotion starting outside and glanced towards the window. There was definitely something brewing. She deposited the whiskey and glasses to a table of gruff men who were laughing about something. Maeve slipped her little fingers around the closest man's lit cigarette and traded him a kiss on the cheek and an endearing squeeze of his shoulder. The man may have blushed a little, but it was hard to tell beneath his sun kissed skin.

Her hips rocked as she walked towards the window, pressing the cigarette between her lips and taking an inhale. She could make out the Sheriff now, and some others. Was that John Henley? She curled back the curtains and nestled against the window frame, dragging once again from the cigarette as she watched the events transpire outside. It was John Henley, but there seemed to be a mob, perfect. Her first honest smile of the day crossed over those lips. She had little care for the Indian they were parading about and simply saw this for what it was, a good old lynch mob. She wasn't blind to the plights of the disenfranchised. She was Irish for fuck's sake, but what could she do? Enjoy the chaos. This would be the second shooting today. Yes, Brogden was growing on her.

When she watched John Henley, her John, get shot a small gasp escaped her and she leaned her weight against the window. Not a single person seemed willing to mourn the man in the street, but for one brief moment a grave expression crossed over her features. Under her breath, in a voice distinctly crueler than the one heard earlier came a, "Son of a bitch." She tossed the cigarette to the floor and crushed it between her heel of her boot.

She didn't really care about John, not personally, but her employers cared about something in his possession. She'd been working on him for weeks, trying to get him to let it slip where it hid the money. Her next plan of action had been to threaten his family, but, now…

"Maeve!" This time it wasn't Tom, but her boss calling her out of her dark daze. She forced that smile back onto her lips and turned back towards the bar, bouncing that way as if she hadn't a care in the world. Her mind on the other hand was flickering through ideas like a Queen through jewels. One of them might work. She could get close to his friends, his family? There was a mention of a daughter. Should she start watching immediately to see if anyone slips out of town? She'd already come to the conclusion that he had buried the money somewhere to the South West. Who were John's best friends?

"The gentleman in the booth," the tender slid a drink towards her across the bar and gestured to Mark Twain. She could see some ancient bartender's guide cracked open and a slight furrow on her boss's brow and she shot him a questioning look. He shrugged. "Vodka Martini? I gave him a beer with a shot of whiskey in it. Shaken, not stirred." He smiled a little at this, obviously proud of himself. Honestly, she wasn't sure what a Martini was either, and they didn't stock vodka, so she returned his shrug and grabbed the foamy drink, heading towards the man in the booth.

It wasn't until she was about three steps away that she realized the man sitting across him was dead. Seriously? John Henley was dead and now there was a dead guy here? She'd thought she'd heard a shot earlier, but she had assumed it was some weird echo or something. 3 dead today. Her step didn't hitch a bit as she sidled up to the table and stuck a thumb towards the dead guy. "Your friend seems a little beat," she said with a sweet giggle, poking his shoulder for effect. She set the interesting drink down in front of him, leaning in and showing just enough cleavage as she bent and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, nothing threatening. Her eyes were focused on his own and they seemed so sweet, except for a quick flash of what could have been a stern threat. It was so brief it was hard to tell for sure if it really happened. "You should take him somewhere else." She stood back up and released his shoulder all the while thinking: if I have to clean that shit up...

[User]
As the mob cried out for supposed justice and the blood of what was probably an innocent man Grace and the two men beside her stood and watched. There was nothing that any of them could do. The accusations flew, only to be cut off by the words of the sheriff. A faint smile pulled at Grace's lips, though the woman was very sure that no matter what he said blood would still be spilt. The mob was far too riled not to attempt their sick sense of justice. Just as she expected one of the many townsfolk gathered drew his gun but before he could even pull the trigger it was shot out of his hand with a bang.

Grace's brown eyes widened in shock, first looking about on the ground for the marksman responsible, but when she glance up at the saloon windows she found the suspect. It was a woman with a rifle. She didn't really put her race, which was obviously a blend between a Native American and European. What really intrigued her though was the weapon in her grip. From where she was standing she did not have a great view of the particular rifle but from the street below she could tell it was nowhere near new.

A gun could tell a lot about a person and just from the blurry glimpse at the weapon Miss Baur knew that the woman used her weapon often. Most likely she used it for her job, which could be several things, but whatever it was needed something more powerful than a simple hand pistol.

The young woman was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice that the crowd, save for Johnny, was gone. All she knew was that suddenly she heard another shot ring out. Her gaze widened only for a short gasp to leave her lips. Johnny now lay in the dirt, dead as a doornail. As much as she hadn't care for the now deceased man she was still saddened by the loss of his life.

Without a word to her father or Johnathan Grace stepped out into the street. She watched as some strange man picked up the corpse and slung it over his shoulder. Grace looked over to the man who had been so wrongly treated as she approached where the three men stood. The two men she had left behind did not follow, only watching in confusion as she stepped over to the Sioux Indian.

Grace glanced away for a split second to get a good look at the other stranger, catching the quick glint of a gun on his person as well but not getting a good look at it. She quickly looked away, casting a sympathetic smile at the Indian. "Are you alright?" she inquired, facing the stranger yet not turning her back to the saloon. Part of her wondered who that mystery shooter was and if she needed any gun repairs.

[Assistant]
Ashtar couldn't believe what had happened. Now that he was safe, relatively, he used his hands to pull off the rag mouth gag and then used his teeth to get his hands free. Grace came over to him. He looked up at her brown eyes, a face framed by long brown hair, and felt so relieved at her friendly features. It somewhat surprised her when he answered in clear English, "Thank you. Yes, I am alright." He got up, facing toward the direction Angpetu had been shooting from, looking for her. "That woman saved my life. I knew the spirits did not lead me here to die." He looked back at Grace with a genuine smile, Johnathan and Mr. Baur were behind her. The sheriff was also still present, giving Cyrus a look as he picked up dead John Henley.

"I am Ashtar, Lakota. Your people call me Sioux and give me the name Dreamwalker. I did not come to steal women and rape corn. I am a friend." Ashtar looked about, ambiguous to his incorrectly quoted verbiage. He was tall for an Indian. He was only a young man, yet strong, with a smooth, aesthetic face and hair as black as the feathers entwined in his braids. He smelled of fresh air, horses, and plants. He could have been a warrior, but lacked the terrifying facial paint and demeanor. He must have had some other primary occupation.

The sheriff came over with a knowing swagger. "Young man. I believe these belong to you. Now I'm going to have to keep this here pistol, but you can have the rest of your things back. Jus' be advised to keep that bow on your back while you're in town." He leaned in with a slightly lower voice as he handed Ashtar back his knife, bow and quiver, and bolas. "It makes the whiteman get all edgy." He started walking back to his office. "If you have any questions about the law, I'll be in my office. The last thing I need is more work to do."

The native took back his things and started putting them back on his person. "Friend, you have a kind spirit to come speak to me. That is a great blessing, and it will be repaid. I wish to know your name, and also, I wish to thank this woman above who saved my life." Ashtar stood out front, in view of the saloon, amid the several people lingering about. He stared at Angpetu, making clear he knew what she had done and was waiting for her.


[System]
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Race: Human

Appearance: Slender with an ample bosom, Cecilia stands proudly at 5'10, her very countenance exuding the sense of someone who's accustomed to being noticed. Her pearly complexion and vibrant amber eyes can frame her appearance as either cute or mature depending on her expression, and her hair, a pale lilac that turns silver in the right lighting, is left long enough to trail down to her waist.

Height: 5'10
Eye Color: Amber
Hair Color: Lilac

Personality: In a word, Cecilia is forceful. Though technically a runaway now, she still has the presence of a daughter of nobility, overbearing and accustomed to getting what she wants. Her emotions show freely on her face, because she fears nothing at all (except for the eventuality of being caught by her parents' knights and being dragged back home). Bright ideas come to mind easily, and her personality is such that she works to get everyone else on board with her when she's gotten interested in something. The more the merrier, and Cecilia doesn't particularly mind who's on board, so long as many are on board. A natural socialite, it seems odd at first that she would have escaped the ballrooms and opera houses of the aristocratic elite to muck it out in the mud as a solo adventurer/fashion designer, but there is a thread there still.

There is nothing natural about being a socialite in high society; Cecilia has only felt free and unemcumbered when chasing her dual dreams of wearing fancy dresses and slaying evil monsters. If she can accomplish the former with her own efforts, there isn't exactly much reason for her to stay around the mansion, no? She does miss her friends though, even if they were probably only pretending to be friends in order to curry favour with the Tonitrus family. Ah well, life's a journey, and a solo one at that.

History
The Oligarchy of Illiserev stands at the center of the world, not because of any divine ordnance or kingly command, but because they were the ones who drew the best maps, the ones who established the most illustrious Cartographer's Guild on the continent. Adventurers know Illiserev as the Forge of Explorers. Merchants know Illiserev as the End of All Paths. The grand Cephora Mountain Range upon which Illiserev's capital city is built at the base of feeds a network of rivers that stretch out towards the rest of the continent, and this forms the backbone of Illiserev's trade. With well-paved roads leading towards the kingdom and fast-flowing rivers leading out from the kingdom, the merchant-aristocrats of Illiserev boast wealth that would make the nobility of other nations green with envy, and the dozens of trade agreements Illiserev has between various kingdoms and principalities has shielded it from military conflict. Though various religious or knightly orders may be displeased with the cutthroat machinations of the wealthy merchant-aristocrats, no one has yet to truly act upon their displeasure: some small evils can easily be overlooked in favor of the pleasures and novelties brought forth in the wagons of Illiserev's wagons.

Cecilia Tonitrus, thirdborn daughter of the illustrious Duke Sarkuz Tonitrus, was never all that interested in the schemes and politics of her peers, however. Charming and generous, with a penchant for reading heroic tales, the young lady was pampered by her servants and guards growing up, taken on excursions throughout the nation. Her father didn't particularly care; he focused his attention on his heirs, Cecilia's older siblings, leaving her to do as she wished. So long as she didn't bring shame upon her family, the thirdborn was allowed to indulge in whatever her spoiled self desired. She threw grand tea parties, learned arts both martial and arcane, decked herself in beautiful dresses she'd discard the day after, ran amok through the estate grounds, and was generally the weirdest mixture of a dainty lady with fine taste in clothing and a rambunctious tomboy who thought herself as invincible.

That changed, though, when the Tonitrus heirs were slain, assassinated. The culprit committed suicide rather than risk capture, and suddenly, Sarkuz decided that he could not be so lax with his children. Before the grieving period had even passed, the amount of guards that oversaw the protection of his children practically tripled, and suddenly, they weren't able to go anywhere beyond the walls of the main estate. Cecilia hated that. She hated it even more that the whole business of the assassination was swept under the rug by her father, who still valued public opinion enough that he chose to keep quiet, rather than appear as an incompetent protector to his peers in asking for their aid. As those emotional wounds became scabs, scars, Cecilia's sense of suffocation grew and grew. The freedom in her childhood was no more, even though she should be more free as an adolescent, and she yearned for it enough that she wanted to scream.

Instead, she waited, watched, memorized, reconsidered, and pulled everything together. Her freedom was selfish and inconsiderate, an act that would only cause her father's hair to whiten further, but she would pursue it anyways.

One night, she slipped away from her estate and ran as far as she could.

She never stopped.
Level: 20
Class: Spellblade
Profession:
Seamstress [Novice]
Performer [Journeyman]
Stats:
Strength (STR): C
Vitality (VIT): D
Dexterity (DEX): B
Intellect (iNT): B
Wisdom (WIS): D
Charisma (CHA): C

List of Immunities:
N/A

Resistances:
Lightning

Weaknesses:
N/A

Equipment:
Ensorcelled Spear - A winged spear, 2.5 meters in length. Well-made and finely balanced, with arcane conduits inscribed upon the haft to let it function as a spellcasting focus.

Blasted Wand - A wand made from the branch of a lightning-struck tree, or so the maker of it claims. Relatively cheap, but serves its purpose as a back up.

Combat Dress - Customized for greater aesthetic flair by Cecilia. Though it looks much more visually pleasing, it has the functionality of well-made leather armor.

Travelling Boots - Sturdy boots that increases the movement speed of the wearer. An adventurer's staple.

Skills & Spells:
Returnerer - Passive. All objects thrown by Cecilia, if empowered by her magic, will return to her hand after striking their target. Travels at the same speed they were thrown at, and takes the straightest path possible, accounting for terrain but not accounting for moving objects.

Storm's Boon - Empower one's weapon with lightning, increasing damage and adding a paralytic effect that increases with each consecutive hit. When thrown, the weapon discharges residual lightning on impact to create a small blast, before flying back into the wielder's hands.

Zephyrus Aria - Surround one's self with a flowing armor of wind, redirecting physical blows and ranged attacks. When released, generates a burst of wind outwards, blowing everyone around one's self away. Does not protect against energy-based magical attacks.

Lightning Bolt - Unleash a bolt of lightning from one's hand or spellcasting focus, capable of sundering all that lay in its path with thunderous force. A powerful spell with a steep cost, but most definitely Cecilia's trump card in terms of destructive power.

Accelerate - Enhances speed and perception, making one faster and more precise. Don't leave home without this.

Double Jump - Jump in the air twice. Useful when platforming.

[User]
Vani's eyes were racing from Carpenter to the sword gradually melting through the horned girl's fingers. What...the hell was happening anymore. Nothing made sense. And, now that he got a good look at him...that scout was wearing armor that looked like it definitely wasn't from the Empire. Were...were they fighting the King's men? They were beyond screwed. BEYOND dead. They were completely, and utterly, without a doubt or shred of objection, dead as a doorknob. But, maybe a doorknob could get them out of this situation. At least, that's what Kaze's statement about Vani's shield being a "bulwark". The word "bulwark" rang in Vani's head for a moment as he looked to his battered and pierced shield, and, just as Kaze started pushing the lot of them, he came to a realization.

...Bulwark...was a pretty fancy title. One that made him feel really, really important and confident.

Not because his shield was needed. Because VANI felt needed.

"Leave it to me!" he would say, bolting from Kaze's reassuring (and rather forceful) push on the back and dashing forward in order to follow the path that Yeena and Sarafeye had blazed, charging forward beside Annabelle just in time to see the soldier's leader smack that poor girl across the face, only to...

to...do absolutely nothing. Vani was quite confident in his ability to take hits, but...that looked like he'd just fakely swatted at her. But the way his arm moved, and stiffened at the end, that blow was full-on, and met as if he'd just slapped a boulder and acted surprised. Vani was not confident in his boulder slapping ability, but he was pretty sure that nobody on the planet could take a slap to the face that easy. Maybe this girl was some secret powerhouse, with a physique so strong that she broke grown men over her knee, and ate mountains for lunch.

...Man, that concussion was making Vani's internal omniscient narration really strange. But, they were still surrounded. Looking to the demon wielder at where she stopped, Vani immediately stepped back behind the corner while the soldiers' eyes were on Yeena and Serafeye. He didn't like these odds...but it seemed that Annabelle had a plan of sorts. But instead of having Kaze toss her up, Vani made a "shh" motion and pointed to his shield, crouching and hanging it over his head for her to step on. He'd launch her up with it as a springboard, letting her make a softer landing than she would have falling from the height that Kaze could throw her. He assumed. Kaze looked like he could throw Vani in full plate down an alley and bounce him off the wall so hard he came back halfway. ...He just hoped that the two girls in the alley were safe. He was certain that the fair elf with the attractive features wasn't some immortal un-slappable mountain of a woman, and his hands shook a little imagining innocent women getting hurt in this.

"Lolan, if you can hear me...please...let the innocent make it out unscathed, and let the wicked fall to your judgement. I am ever your sword, and my strikes shall call your voice down," he prayed, head bowed in silence while waiting for his spring-bulwark to be used.

[Assistant]
Kaze blinked when it seemed like everyone was about to go in different directions. Still, he ushered those in front of him to follow the busty elven woman, the jester, and horned girl. Vani picked up his own pace, chasing after the women and male ahead, but the girl asked him if he could throw her to the rooftops. "Remember there are archers, girl." He said, but Vani positioned himself to act as the springboard she seemed to desire.

More sounds were coming from behind, there was the unit ahead, and the leader of the squad ahead decided slapping someone full force would get him what he wanted. When someone was kneeling and defenseless, pretty much submitting, you didn't attack them because they said something you didn't like.

A low animalistic growl emanated from the behemoths chest as his eyes widened. His pupils turning to slits as a red miasma started rising off his body, his barbaric Rage activating. Reaching over his shoulder he grasped the handle of his huge blade and drew it before blitzing down the alley-way. Despite his rage he did still move around the others of the group instead of bowling through them.

It took a lot to enrage the reptilian man, except for certain actions. Like striking someone actually submitting since there was no reason for it. It honestly didn't even register that the woman hadn't taken any damage, just that she had been hit. Skidding while drawing his weapon back he swung the giant cleaver as if it were a great-club. A full body double handed swing as if he were aiming for a home-run combined with some of his skidding momentum at the man who had ineffectively slapped Serafaye.


[System]
"It was nice working with you, pal. But justice needs to be served."
Age: ~8 years

Gender: Male

Originates From: LISA: The Painful RPG

Personality: Harvey has a malicious streak a mile long, kept in check only by his sworn oath to uphold the law. His inborne hatred of humans often leads to him deliberately misrepresenting them in court, but this will not stop him from helping those in need.

Dandy Boy: A powerful gun... for weak men. This submachine gun sprays hot death without ever needing to reload, but is wildly inaccurate.
Mid-Life Crisis Hat: This really... STOPS attacks. It's something we all go through at some time. A ratty but stylish hat with a red band and a wide brim. Barely protects against the cold, let alone bullets.
Metal Shield: A STOP sign with most of the jagged metal removed from the backside and replaced with a ratty leather strap. It's not very protective or comfortable to use.
Harvey's Magic Briefcase: The mark of a genuine lawyer, this toaster-sized briefcase carries an infinite supply of pre-written, magical paperwork. The arcane jargon scrawled all over this mountain of documents has a number of mysterious effects on whoever it touches. The paper it's written on is razor-sharp and impossibly aerodynamic, too.
Water Gun: Harvey is part-archerfish on his father's side, and can spit water with enough force to cause heavy bruising and break bones. Harvey can freely alter the pressure of his water gun, ranging from what it normally is to a refreshing mist of cold saliva.
Slander: Harvey can sling fistfuls of insulting letters at his enemy, both infuriating them and causing nasty papercuts.
Wrongful Accusation: Harvey can pass out impossibly convincing and impossibly sharp legal documents accusing his target of heinous acts they did not and possibly could not do. This leads to much confusion and blood loss.

Restraining Order: Harvey can slap his target with a legally-binding restraining order, forcing them to hesitate when they next attack him. Inexplicably works even on creatures that have no concept of law or morality.

Legal Jargon: The most mysterious of all of Harvey's paperwork, Harvey can throw documents loaded with information so irrelevant and boring that it magically saps the strength of whoever touches it. Causes heavy fatigue and deep papercuts.
Several years before Harvey was born, the human race lost its women. Nobody knows who or what took them, only that they disappeared in a literal flash. Civilization devolved into violent tribalism almost immediately, with many people resorting to rampant drug abuse, sexual deviance, and mass-murder to stave off depression. Under mysterious and probably scientific circumstances, a new race of sapient creatures arose: the secretive Fish-People. Harvey, obviously, is one of them.

Though he was born a Fish-Person, Harvey was raised by humans, and even managed to find education as a lawyer. Of course, law school doesn't truly exist in the post-gynocalypse, and Harvey's law degree is mostly just bunk written on the backside of a porno mag, but that hasn't stopped him from acting like a lawyer at all times.

Bored out of his mind from managing petty human cases, Harvey retired to a secret village of Fish-People hidden deep within the swamps of Olathe, his home country. It was there that he met the man who would change his life, Bradley "Brad" Armstrong. Brad had run into some trouble with the Fish-People, having stolen their sacred map of Garbage Island, and Harvey took it upon himself to defend him in court. Brad certainly didn't help things, loudly stating that he wanted to have raunchy fish-sex with the judge's wife. Or, at least, that's what Harvey said Bradley wanted to do to the judge. The fact that neither Brad nor Harvey could speak Fish-Person didn't help matters much. However, thanks to Harvey's legal genius, Brad was let off the hook, and graciously allowed Harvey to join his gang in the search for Brad's daughter, the last female human on Earth.

Adventuring with Brad was quite difficult. They were up against the biggest, baddest gangs around. Han Tsunami and the Bathhouse Boys, Buffalo Van Dyke and his football team, the Bloodmoon Mountain Amerindians, Hawk Hollywood and his actors, the Eternal Wrestling Championship, the Gale Motorcycle Club, man-eating Joy Mutants, and even the all-powerful Rando Army. Many lives were lost, and some of them were from Brad's gang. Things took a turn for the worst when Brad managed to cobble together a boat to Deserted Island, where his daughter had fled. Instead of allowing his gang to follow him, Brad took the boat himself, leaving Harvey and the rest of the gang behind.

Brad's betrayal shook the gang to the core, and only three people, Harvey included, were loyal enough to cobble together their own boat and follow him. When they met up with Brad again, they had discovered his true motives for finding his daughter. Instead of wanting to use her to give even a slight glimmer of hope for the human race, Brad wanted to lock her back in his basement for the rest of her life, forever safe from anything that might hurt her. At least, safe from anything that wasn't Brad. Infuriated and offended, Harvey joined his two remaining comrades and desperately tried to stop Brad from forcing his daughter back into a life of isolation. Shortly thereafter, Harvey died.
Fun Facts: Harvey's favorite food is "Green Paste", a Fish-Person delicacy made of mostly organic ingredients.

[User]
"Well, guess I gotta start walkin' someway, might as well be north..." The Engineer takes one step forward before suddenly hearing a rock fall to the ground behind him. With reflexes like lightning, he spins around and shoots behind him, only to see not a soul there. He looks around, confused and finds a rock at his feet and reaches down to pick it up. "That's odd, rocks don't just fall from the sky, so I wonder who threw it."

He looks up to see 2 figures in the distance. "Well, I sure am glad to see some people, maybe they know where in-" he stops after staring at the figures, a large fish thing and what appears to be an angel. He hesitates not knowing what those things are or their intentions, but decides to walk their way. "Only people for miles around and they're a giant fish and what I think can only be an angel." He continues walking "Good news, if they aren't friendly, looking at the fish I've got meals for a few days." he chuckles at his own joke. As he gets closer he sees the fish holding a stack of porno mags. "What even... Did someone switch my lenses with Pyrovision or something?" he takes off his goggles, wipes them off and looks at the scene in front of him, no difference without the goggles, so he puts them back on. "This is gonna be a long day." he says continuing on.

As he gets close, he readies his shotgun for anything that may happen. He scans the two things to see what they are. Thinking about it, seeing neither have a gun, he decides to take charge of the situation."Hey!" he shouts at them, drawing their attention, "Y'all better tell me where I am, else I got a shell with your name on it!" he hopes that they fall for it and tell him without a fight.

[Assistant]
Jake....Susannah...Ka-tet...

The words floated ephemerally through the sleeping mind of the gunslinger. A restless sleep has overtaken him this night, but only after a long day of marching with his party, his ka-tet, dusk til' dawn. They walked the path of the bear reverse, in order to find what they were looking for. This night, no matter how ordinary it seemed, was destined to be different. Radiant rays shined warmly onto Roland's face; the light warmed his skin as he lay upon a patch of lush green grass.

Roland's eyes forced themselves open as his subconscious mind warned him of his foreign environment. His piercing blue eyes darted around his field of vision, revealing only the sky to him. Last he checked, he was sleeping under a tree-line with Jake, Eddie, and Susannah whom, upon sitting up to scan around him, he discovered were no longer present. The old gunslinger immediately performed a roll to a crouch from his prone position as deftly as any adept acrobat could. He would look up to see the powerful form of a starship lowering itself to the ground. From the bottom of the ship was lowered a tall figure clad in an impressive, and alien to Roland's eyes, suit of armor. A few feet away from the landed ship was another figure. A dark haired man who appeared to be armed with a sword much too large to perform in any kind of balanced duel. Today was already shaping up to be strange, and he had been awake for less than 2 minutes.

 Suddenly aware that he had been in the open among possible adversaries for a second too long, Roland leaped horizontally as far as he could to the direction of the forest border where a group of bushes was situated. He would stretch his body out lengthwise and land into a deft roll as to place himself in the thickness of said bushes. From cover he would observe the two strange beings hoping that they had not seen him yet. Roland longed to know how he was taken from his ka-tet and where the hell he was, but he had a feeling Ka had brought him here for a reason, and all gunslingers knew that Ka was not to be questioned much.

[User]
The last thing that Ainz remembered is that he was in a meeting with the Floor Guardians, developing a plan on how to gather more information in the world he was in, and tuned out of the plan a few minutes after the meeting started. He never recalled of how he got outside of Nazarick, he assumed that it was some sort of Prank of the twins, but the twins would never do this. They were too afraid of doing something like this. Albedo and Shelltear would've gotten mad at them if they had. He stared hard at the skies before he gave a huff and laid there.

Figuring this would take too long, he needed more information of the New World that he was teleported to, he sat up. The first thing he noticed was that The Tomb of Nazarick was nowhere to be found, and again, he figured that it was still a prank. However, what changed his mind again, was that he heard someone. A few someone's really. He glanced at the few someone's, not really sure of how they've, or even himself, gotten there in the first place. He wasn't really to sure his they were going to react once they've seen him, he wasn't sure about anything now.

He had seen so much, yet he couldn't comprehend on how to perceive of the humanoid fish hybrid, the Angle he could, but the humanoid fish hybrid? He shook his head and laid back down in his imprint in the grass. He hoped that they wouldn't notice him, then again, he could cast a spell on himself to vanish, but that would be rude. The next best thing was to pretend to be asleep... He could do that... He can pretend, he... Remembered that his new body did not need what his former self needed. So, as long as he pretend to sleep, these fools can assume that he was either dead or sleeping. Well, he is dead to begin with, but that's beside the point.

Jumping from one reality to another and then to another was soo much for him to understand. He wanted to go back, back to his reality, but he would need to gather more information on how too first. Life wasn't fair for him, and it usually isn't fair to him to begin with.

[Assistant]
Harvey watched closely as Kieri instigated his master plan of heaving small rocks at the only other person in the area. His plan seemed to bear fruit when that same person turned around and began raving to himself about angels and fish. It was obvious to Harvey that this poor man was a Joy-addled lunatic, which was only reinforced when he promptly pulled a gun out and tried to mug them.

Harvey had been in this situation several times before. In most cases, he'd wait for Brad or one of the other guys to kill them, then he'd rifle through their corpse for Mags. Harvey had a feeling that Kieri wouldn't be of much help in bringing him down, and that this guy wouldn't have anything worth taking anyway. Harvey realized that someone would need to defuse the situation. Someone with a knack for talking to people. Someone with a law degree.

Harvey pulled a random document out of his briefcase and staring intently at it. Away from the sight of the others, the document began rewriting itself. Extrauniversal mechanics, impossible to explain properly, worked tirelessly to forge a document that would seem entirely sensible to whoever read it. Harvey gave his paper a brief once-over and nodded firmly.

"Sorry, pal," Harvey said, tossing the paper over to the Engineer's feet. It sheared a few blades of grass short as it passed through them. "I'm under contract. Shooting me won't end well for either of us."

Harvey waved his hand nonchalantly, while secretly reaching for Dandy Boy, which he had hidden underneath his briefcase. "I'd strongly suggest you lower your gun, now." Harvey said, grinning pleasantly. "You don't want to upset the big guy, do you?"


[System]
Age
27

Gender
Male

Appearance

Personality
Focused, methodical and ruthless, Kolya is a consummate hunter and excellent problem solver when working. He takes great care of his subordinates, no matter who they are, acting as something of an older brother to his troops. When off duty he is markedly different, with a perpetually relaxed smile and an easy-going sense of humour. One of Kolya's favourite past times is having a couple of (dozen) drinks with Alexandra's other minions.

Bio
Since the collapse of the old world order, there hasn't been much travel among normal humans. Between regular patrols from the magical girl city states, opportunistic banditry and the constant battles between low ranking magi, the neutral zones between cities make for a dangerous road. And yet communities can still be found amid the lawlessness, hardy folk who can protect themselves. Far to the northeast of Germany is one such settlement, founded by the breakaway crew of a old Russian warship. Nova Prussiya is a hard place, with little arable land or decent fishing zones. Much of its livelihood comes from various successful bandits and mercenaries, often former Russian soldiers and sailors; with a large cache of modern military hardware and the technology to produce more, many Nova Prussiyans have made a name for themselves as Witch hunters. A select few have gone even further, hunting the magical girls that have caused so much grief for the world. Kolya Lukoshenko was once one of these men.

A former Russian naval infantryman, Lukoshenko was an accomplished hunter when decided to leave his home and strike out deep into the German interior. Spurred on by rumours of human resistance factions, he intended to hire himself out as a fighter; indeed, with a total of three magical girl kills to his name, Lukoshenko was one of the best. Armed with the tools and knowledge of a professional hunter, he entered the city of Aurora as a hitman. Working underground for several years, Kolya's impressions slowly began to change; the people he fought for were weak, cowardly and his enemies strong. More often than not he found himself paying his respects to his magical foes even as he finished them, saddened by what he must do for humanity's sake. After years of murdering teenage girls in the name of so-called freedom, perhaps it was inevitable that he would crack.

On the day of his eleventh kill, Lukoshenko had an encounter that would change his life forever. The eleventh was a pretty little thing, barely into her teens; by this point, every kill he made sent Kolya to the bottom of a bottle, but this one weighed more heavily on his mind than any other. She had been very young and confused... and she had begged for her life at the end. It hadn't mattered to his employers of course; they had issued the bounty with their usual glee, no doubt cheering over the death of another little tyrant. What Kolya hadn't known was that the girl had not been on her own. He only found out after the fact but the girl's partner soon fell into despair, creating an especially violent Witch within the heart of the city slums. Many died in the ensuing violence, innocent and otherwise. Having taken it upon himself to atone for his actions, Kolya set out to destroy the beast and restore order, only to find himself preempted by a magical girl; unlike every magi he had met so far, this one had tried to protect the innocent slum-dwellers, more than could be said for his erstwhile employers... The things she said, the conviction and compassion in her voice were enough to sway his already conflicted loyalties. They parted ways peacefully and although it would be several months before they met again, he was now bound to the fate and will of Alexandra Hertz.

Once Alexandra completed her coup and solidified control over Aurora, Kolya quickly came out of hiding to swear loyalty to her. He now serves as Alexandra's closest non-magical aid and a senior commander in her human army. His military training and experience hunting prey both magical and mundane make him an excellent attack dog for the Aurora City Authority regime.

Allegiance
Aurora City Authority, but loyal to Alexandra Hertz

Skills
As a former soldier, Kolya is proficient with various modern weapons and combat tactics. His time as a hunter and mercenary, as well as the specialist equipment he uses gives him an edge when fighting Magical Girls; he is one of a very few who can stand toe to toe with a magical opponent. Outside of combat, he is also an excellent information gatherer and organiser, with a network of informants that stretches across the city. Kolya is also a rather good cook, specialising in sweets and patisserie.

Weapons
RG-6 Grenade Launcher. Instead of firing explosive grenades, Kolya uses specially designed incendiary buckshot rounds in his RG-6, essentially turning it into a massive flaming shotgun, ideal for fighting both Magical Girls and Witches.

Kolya maintains a good stockpile of different weapons, switching them out as the situation demands. Sometimes he will use an assault rifle, other times a sniper rifle; he also had a large amount of explosives stashed away, just in case.

Other
While most of his subordinates are badly trained militia, Kolya does have a handful of hunters from Nova Prussiya on his payroll. These men and women are ruthlessly efficient and can handle Magical Girls far better than the average grunt.

[User]
It was obvious that Kyubey would have grinned had he been able to do so, or had he felt the sort of emotion that prompted that sort of action. He had chosen her for a reason after all, just like there was a reason behind everything that the Incubators did. Maria would just have to figure out what it was along the way.

Kyubey hopped down off the bookshelf, sitting in front of the wheelchair as he watched her with unblinking eyes. It seems to be a magical girl, he said at last, providing some information. Normal humans would find it incredibly difficult to do what they appear to be trying to do. If a Noble is involved though, it is only indirectly, given that you yourself have no knowledge of any illicit magical research.

Another seeming mental shrug then. I would provide more help, but they have done quite a bit to hide their activities from our attention. They had just been fortune that the impact of the ongoing experiments, whatever they were trying to do, had been easier to pick up. But it still left no clue as to who was doing it, much less what they were trying to do.

---

Lukoshenko's arrival wasn't entirely a surprise beyond the exact time of his arrival, when he did show up. Alexandra had been expecting him, since she insisted on receiving general reports so she could keep up to date on the state of her nation. She would not let herself be overthrown like she had done before, and she would not allow her nation to fall in dire straits. Aurora would be maintained as it had been, if she had any say in it.

"Enter," she called, and Lukoshenko would find the door unlocked. that would permit him entrance into the tastefully decorated penthouse, not ostentatious in its display of wealth but rather subtle about it. It exuded power and an aura of strength that was made to either intimidate, or to console, depending on the intentions of the person who entered, and Alexandra was glad that she had found that particular decorator.

Kolya would find Alexandra in the living room, relaxing on the couch with a glass resting nearby. Caroline stood in the corner watching him, though there was less suspicion than had he been someone who hadn't proven his loyalty. She was not a permanent fixture at these meetings by far, but it appeared she had nothing else to do at the moment.

"So, how fairs our border today," she asked once he came to a rest, having earned her full attention. Relaxed though she might be, she was all business nonetheless.

[Assistant]
"It's okay Kyubey, you don't need to worry. Leave it to magical girl Maria to save the day!"

So he's going to expect me to comb the entire city for some crazy bitches messing around with their magic...as expected of him. Though Nobles aren't directly involved I'll bet my storage of grief seeds that they're secretly backed by one. Now I'll just have to check which one of them would resort to such idiocy.

"Let's check the map. That is always a good idea when investigating cities," Maria said as she smiled. She opened up a map file on her computer that she has tampered with herself to show different colors and lines on different parts of the map.

[User] "Adrian," Eponine said, "relay to the other search teams that before speaking with the magical girl, they are to report their position." Her reason for this was so that if the team that found her was wiped out, the rest would know where it had happened. In fact, every team she killed would leave a trail potentially pointing out her next destination. Still, as they continued to follow leads, they saw no sign of her. Eponine hoped that none of the people they had spoken to had lied. If they had, she would have to flatten their neighborhood as an example for what happened to people harboring fugitives. If there was no dishonesty, then Eponine's search cordon should be tightening slowly, and they would all either eventually meet each other in the middle with the rogue having somehow managed to slip past; or the rogue would be discovered and a fight would most likely ensue. Eponine activated her magical girl form, pulling out her warhammer, ready to activate her 'field of absolute terror' at a moment's notice.

[Assistant]
Chloe didn't have to be paying much attention to realize that her time was limited. The rooftops could provide a potential out when it came to people searching for her - regular humans had trouble traversing even the narrowly packed city rooftops - but when she thought about it, what was she really going to do? Run through the city giving these folks a wild goose chase? Kill everybody involved, spawning more havoc?

"...Not the worst ideas in the world, and they sound kind of fun..." But no. She had told Oscar that she was finished avoiding confrontation, and that still held true. Not that she wanted to get shot again. Her mobility was already hampered by one wounded leg. She didn't relish the idea of having to walk around town doing a handstand because of bullet holes in both legs, though again, it sounded just a little fun.

Chloe transformed without any particular flair, and simply stood her ground. She was far enough away from the safehouse that nothing should be traced back to the people there, so it was time to meet her maker.

As the group drew closer, her suspicions were confirmed, seeing a magical girl heading their ranks. That made sense. Five humans didn't do the job, why send anything less? The girl in front of her looked a bit younger than Chloe herself, and was wielding an impressive warhammer. She had to compliment the girl on her taste in weaponry. That wasn't a tool made for fixing things.

As the girl approached, Chloe held up a massive armored hand in greeting, signaling that she didn't intend to fight. At least not right away. "Hey lady. You're the hound they sent to track me down, huh? Well, I guess you did it, so good on you. Here to take me to jail, then? Or kill me, maybe?"