[System]
---

Appearance

Aged 90 | Male | 6'3 | 192 lbs

Tall, dark (not really), and handsome, or at least he considers himself as such, Benjamin sports dirty blonde hair and gray eyes. He stands on the taller side of things and has a fit figure, pale skin and long facial features giving him a rather serious look. His choice of clothing is usually simple and comfortable, preferring comfort over style, although he can dress up for the occasion if need be.

Personality
The only thing anyone needs to know about Benjamin is that he will become the next Lord of House Eve.

Benjamin comes off as a taciturn, stoic figure. That is most definitely not what he is, though it amuses him that he can have that appearance if needed. He is passionate about everything he puts his mind to, whether it be his fighting ability or endeavoring into the political world. There is very little in this world that phases or frightens him, believing that fear should serve as a motivator to improve oneself. He does, however, keep his wits about him and reacts accordingly to most situations.

While not as serious as he looks, so long as he keeps his mouth shut, he can keep that appearance up to the point that he really can be the neutral Eve he's expected to be. Instead, Benjamin is every traditionalist's nightmare: frighteningly progressive, looking solely to the future while wanting to get rid of outdated rules, and more than willing to inflict radical change if and when it is needed--and in his opinion, this world needs it sooner than later. That being said, he is smart enough to know going in with torches and pitchforks won't accomplish anything except further fighting, instead hoping he can change the system from within.

When it comes to mages, Benjamin believes their fleeting lives require guidance. Just because they aren't around long, however, doesn't mean that they shouldn't be respected. On the contrary, they very much exist as vampires do, even if they are a little frail for his taste.

Benjamin is known as the young troublemaker of the house; where most stick to the common Eve stance of neutrality, he feels that keeping that mindset is precisely what led to the house's current state. What needs to happen is change, but seeing as how he's outnumbered, change needs to come slowly but surely. While he does have sympathy for Count Lutheran, he is aware of the vampire's struggles and feels he doesn't have what it takes to properly control the rest of the family.

Bio
Benjamin always had a tendency to stir up trouble in his youth, despite being raised to be proper and poised. He liked to ask questions, he liked the freedom to do as he pleased, he disliked being told what to do, and he absolutely hated having to show 'respect' to those that often did not deserve it. Fortunately he also hated getting punished just as much, learning to keep his words to himself and keeping up the image of a proper gentleman. His family is one of the few branches that has managed to hold on to both dignity and wealth, leading to a proper upbringing and the freedom to lay out his own path--though life would show him his privilege sooner than later.

The first instance had to be at a meeting in which a mage had corrected their vampire on something. He never did remember what the information was, but he couldn't forget the way it was dealt with: a direct smack across the jaw, with absolutely no one batting an eye to the contrary. 'It was deserved' was the common consensus, followed by a shrug and a change of topic whenever he inquired. He was told that was not how mages should be: they should be seen, but not heard. That was just the way things were, but it never did sit well with him, his protests and questioning reaching a head when his own father had to get involved to stop him.

For some time Benjamin was quelled until he met Delia, a mage belonging to Duke Gethin. Their meeting was entirely on accident, with Benjamin stumbling across her while looking for his mother. It was the first time he had met a mage not belonging to his immediate family, but the two got along well. The bruises lined around her neck had gotten his attention, but she was able to successfully evade his questioning and distract him with a much too pleasant conversation. By fortune the baron was conducting some business with his father, and Benjamin insisted on going along despite being deemed too young to properly understand. The woman was rigid next to her baron during the meeting, a strange mask of neutrality that greatly contrasted the warmth he had encountered before. It was all too obvious that despite never laying a hand on her in front of them, the abuse the baron gave was apparent in the ever so slight flinch anytime the baron raised his hand.

After the meeting he managed to borrow her, asking if she was being treated badly, but she wouldn't give him any semblance of the rather obvious circumstance. Time passed and things stayed the same, and despite her warmth, it greatly disturbed him to know she was being treated in such a manner. In his foolishness, Benjamin would eventually confront the man, setting off an unfortunate chain of events that resulted in Delia's death. It was deemed an accident and swept under the rug, and aside from an obligatory warning from the Council, nothing came of it. Gethin continued to mistreat his mages, and Benjamin was shown just how powerless he was in the grand scheme of things.

Feeling responsible for Delia, he decided to dedicate his life to advocating to mage rights, finding a lot of pushback from the older generation. Rather than wait to get taken out due to his 'radical ideas', he took the initiative to undergo vigorous training, covering both long range and short range forms of fighting. His first encounter with an assailant proved that his paranoia had a place, but instead of getting shaken he actually found himself enjoying the tussle, ultimately disappointed when it ended. From that point forward made sure to divide himself between his training and his work, working slowly but surely to make sure he would see his goals through to the end.

Likes
Benjamin's passion has always been the thrill of battle first and foremost, having trained in several forms of martial arts. He values strength, both physical and mental, believing that without it very little can be accomplished. He enjoys sports of most kinds, or any physical activity, really. Traditional archery is a neat hobby he picked up around twenty years ago that he finds himself enjoying as of late.

Dislikes
Sitting still for too long tends to get to him, and while he understands education is important, he would rather sit out in the sun than willingly listen to lectures. He doesn't like the mistreatment of mages nor is fond of the idea that they are lesser. He loathes paperwork, often procrastinating unless he gets a streak of motivation. He also doesn't appreciate when he isn't being taken seriously; disrespect is more insulting than any combination of petty words or even a thrown punch to him.

Habits
He loves to play darts as it keeps his aim right. Whenever stressed he tends to go completely mute as he mentally drowns in his own thoughts. He's a bit of a slob; if it isn't important paperwork (and even that is haphazardly, if not at least kept securely in a safe), his personal possessions often getting lost or turning up in random places. He gets lost in his thoughts a little too easily, often spacing out at inopportune times during conversations.

Other
His forte is ranged combat, favoring bows and crossbows with an assortment of throwing knives often carried around. He does have a falchion dubbed Sigmund that was given to him after completing basic training. His ears are pierced to match his mages, each one wearing small silver studs with the Eve insignia engraved into them.

[User]
Amaris Marivaldi

Interacting with: Madalyn @Achronum

"Straightforward directions would have been preferred, as would have been some type of clearly marked path… but then this wouldn't be much of a test now would it? I hate to admit it, but sometimes the most effective way to learn is to dive head first into the deep end. Amaris had folded her arms across her chest while she and Madalyn had been talking, her tapping index finger an agitated contrast from her otherwise calm exterior. The anxious tick came to a slow stop as the countess inhaled slowly and deeply, exhaling the tension she had allowed to build. Now wasn't the time for her to panic, after all, they had only just taken their first steps.

Stay calm. Your role here is as a resource, a role you cannot fulfil properly if your mind is clouded by wayward thoughts. Stay focused on what can be solved and nothing more. The countess scolded herself silently before finally relaxing.

"I leave myself in your very capable hands, Maddie."

It was difficult for Amaris to proceed without her sight, her hesitant steps only serving to slow their already limited pacing for what felt like a long time. Eventually, as Maddie grew more confident in her ability to guide so did Amaris' confidence in her ability to be led. Still, having some semblance of perception would have been much preferred to the current situation.

As the path stretched on, the countess' thoughts wandered inward to the blood within. So far she had only learned how to trick the eyes into seeing something other than what was before them, but was it possible that there was a way to see through the spell placed on her? Would it be wasted energy to hope such a feat would be a passive one? Amaris had to silence the scoff before it had a chance to make itself known to her partner.

How childish.

Eventually the pair came to exit their initial path, the change in pressure alerting the blind vampire to the approach of a second clearing. This one was a bit different from the last, however, as the silence was broken by the sound of metal striking metal… no, that wasn't exactly correct, it wasn't as crass as that. With each brush of contact the metal sang to the space around them, each voice adding to the previous until a chorus had been born. Windchimes?

Her thoughts were confirmed as Maddie read the sign and described the scene for her, yet somehow the countess was still hopelessly lost.

"Neither do I, but for all we know it's just meant to intimidate and distract us. Let's just take a moment to pick this apart and figure out what we can before moving on. Hopefully that will help ease some of our uncertainties." Amaris began to chew excitedly at her lower lip as her mind went to work, careful to not break the skin like she had so many times in her youth. The first riddle might have been disappointing to her but this one? This is what she had been waiting for.

"It sounds like our direction is pretty clear, so this must have more to do with an obstacle we will face along the way. Is there anything in particular about this that stands out to you?" The countess was itching to pick the lines apart one at a time and analyze the many possible meanings they could have but the test was not hers alone. Normally Amaris would be disappointed in having to show such restraint, however this was a good opportunity to learn a bit more about her partner. Not only would she get a glimpse into the mage's thought process, but she might glean a new outlook on the puzzle before them if she halted herself from prematurely injecting her own bias.

[Assistant]
---

"The riddle says the game starts when they're whole again, so I'd assume something stupid is gonna happen after we do this, but it doesn't give any directions we can go on otherwise." Max responded as he switched his own block to his armored hand. Better to just guide both in magically to be safe; he wasn't quite sure how perfectly syncronized they'd need to be for the test to consider them 'in tandem'. The vambraces moved of their own accord, raising both their limp arms upward and, after a quick glance by Max confirming they were aligned with the holes, tugged their hands forward to fit the blocks snugly into their assigned slots.

"Okay, now five paces back," Max instructed as he followed his own advice, all the while watching Eris' movements for confirmation. Ideally, even their steps should be syncronized, but that was a lot harder to do when Eris couldn't see and he didn't have nearly enough metal present to just puppet the vampire's legs like a marionette. When they were both in position, Max turned his gaze back toward the magic bird feeder in front of him. Best case scenario? This opens a neat little portal to the finish line. Worst case? He didn't even want to guess; the only thing this school had really taught him is that even his most pessimistic predictions could be exceeded at any moment.

"Alright, ready? Three... Two... One. Oceleusi Picon."

---


[System]
Ignore the obvious axe.
Apparent Age: Middle-Aged
Gender: Male
Nation: Grado
Class: Knight
Weapon Mastery: C
Level: 4
Background:
Griswal hails from a standing line of once-famed knights within the Grado military. There was previously some element of prestige to be had within the family, even harkening back to Grado's ancient lords. Such things have dwindled to but a speck in the wake of Grado's disaster - yet, still, they live on to serve proudly. As true to the nation's role in the safety of the Fire Emblem, Griswal as a soldier was raised and trained in sturdy defense. Employed as a guard for Grado Keep in the face of the nation's dwindling military, Griswal saw little battle against anything beyond the now-common monsters of Magvel.

During Jehanna's call to war, Griswal was deliberately held back from combat, fearing that any front-line battle could not be won in the long run. Surely enough, Jehanna brought the fight to the capital within days. When it was decided the Fire Emblem was no longer safe here, Griswal was one of the first volunteered for its escort by none other than General Nero, his superior. While Griswal himself found no reason to refuse, he would only later realize the consequences of this...

Personality:
A gruff, but respectful individual. He talks and thinks with the hard, confident tones expected of a knight of his caliber. While prideful of his prowess in combat, Griswal is not quick to anger nor easy to turn to violence, and would much sooner berate someone else for seeing excessive gore or death as a solution. He's also something of a stoic when it comes to emotion, and doesn't find himself pursuing things like romance, vengeance or adventure.

Griswal has been rendered somewhat cynical and sullen by Jehanna's waging of war over the Fire Emblem. The very mention of these occurrences can lapse him into this foul attitude, and bring with it a lot of pain. However, Griswal remains ferociously serious of his role as a protector knight, and would do his very best to protect his trusted allies and innocents. Above all, Griswal is a sworn guardian of the Fire Emblem, bearing his armor and crest with dignity in spite of the hateful men and ruthless creatures who would bear down on him for it.

Plot-Susceptive: Yes.

Equipment / Items: Iron Lance, Vulnerary

R-button Summarization: A proud knight of Grado heritage. Stoic, but empowered.

[User]
Ret grimaced watching the soldier fall, maybe all this killing has gotten to him. But he quickly reminded himself that they were the ones who attacked first, showing them sympathy was unreasonable - they would have shown him none. This was to save the world. Right?

Right.

So he grunted and shrugged it off.

Seeing how poorly the enemy ranks were treated by their own side, Ret felt a pang of indignation - he glared at the one who just raised his weapon against their own soldiers.

"Kill fat one, maybe little ones run." In the wilds, killing off wolves who attacked - caused their remaining members to flee. Especially killing the fatter ones first. It seemed that Ret no longer considered morag human.

[Assistant]
"I'm...I'm fine," Archibald said as the initial shock of his arrow release left him. Turning to the young healer, he flashed a somewhat faked smile. "I'm completely fine, no need to worry," he said as he smoothed his hair over the right side of his face. No-one needed to know. 'Why do you hide yourself?' the voice rang again, 'be true to your desires!' With an intense internal effort, he gagged the voices and once more locked them in the back of his head. No-one needed to know... Closing his eyes, Archibald took a deep breath and steadied himself. The initial sweat had dried up now as a cool breeze blew past. They were nearing the entrance now.

Opening his eyes, a wide smile appeared over his face. "Alright you sons of bitches!" he shouted to Aiph and Darius, "just a few more leagues and we're home free! And the only thing standing in our way is Morag!" This elicited a cheer from Aiph and a a small grunt and spit from Darius. "Let's show him the same hospitality he showed our boys a month ago!" Archibald hissed with little malice, his hand resting on a particularly colourful looking arrow. For every enemy, Archibald had a special arrow made for them. In Morag's case, it was a cruel creature. With an easily splintered shaft and a hooked, barbed bone head, this thing was meant to shatter upon insertion...and stay there. It wouldn't necessarily kill him, but it would most definitely hurt. The voice rose up to the surface again as he fingered the rough raven feathers of the fletching. 'An eye for an eye...' For once...Archibald agreed. The torture and murder of one of his men would not go unpunished.

He and the Spike Guild leader were very much opposites. Archibald was carefree and fun loving. Morag was cruel and greedy. Archibald commanded his men through respect, camraderie and friendship. Morg ruled by fear and an iron fist. As such, it would only be natural that the two would meet each other in combat sooner or later. Dashing forward, his cloak flapping behind him, Archibald cleared the wall and came into view of the guild leader. "Oi! Morag you pox-ridden, ponce brained, limp wristed sheep fondler!" he yelled across the distance separating them as he pulled his hood up, "I've come to repay the hospitality you showed my boy last month!"

[User]
After the immediate battle had settled with the surviving enemies retreating and hiding, Alvin gave Griswald a sideways smirk. "Well that was easy, should only be a couple more men standing between us and escape. So, you, me, and Marwood." He said looking over to the other prince and raising his voice a little to get his attention. "Shall advance forward with our lances and hopefully make short work of them and hightail it outta here." He finished with a final nod to Marwood and Griswald.

"Shall we?" Alvin gripped Medea's reins in his hand and urged the wyvern forward, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the man with the spiked mace. Behind him he heard one amongst his company call out.

"Oi! Morag you pox-ridden, ponce brained, limp wristed sheep fondler! I've come to repay the hospitality you showed my boy last month!"

Alvin turned and saw the archer who had been helping them escape, so he was a streetlord of some kind? His experiance in surviving the outside world would prove invaluable, so Alvin put on his best lord face and stared Morag down. "So, you've grieved my friend have you? I 'll tell you what, stand aside or you'll be wyvern food." The threat delivered in an ice cold voice uncharacteristic of Alvin. If anyone who knew him had heard him they'd be shocked at the pure malice in his voice. "And I assure you, she's quite hungry." He added, patting Medea's neck who let out a low snarl for emphasis.

[Assistant]
It seems that the Spike Guild had made bitter enemies merely by their pressence this day, Archibald swore and alvin threatened morag, past grieviences rose to give the wronged ones courage.

But Ret was a simpler man, he just hated how morag treated the poor soldier. It might be because of this, that he started to pry his attention from morag, feeling that both the archer and dragoon's enemity would suffice, that he noticed the hint of a spear sticking out beside the wall in front of them.

An ambush?
Ret's brow rose at the notion, quickly he dipped his right hand into a satchel of iron dust and brushed it against his tome - pulling ambient electrons onto his palm. Stepping forwards past the frontlines, he deftly reached out to grab the hidden enemies' spear by it's handle in an attempt to stimy any retaliation, and with his other hand, deliver a charged fist to where he thought the soldier's face would be.


[System]
Age: 16

Gender: Female, but looks male.

Bio: Arman grew up traveling, village to village, never settling anywhere. She was the story keeper for her troupe, telling stories for her keep. They are currently stopping by in Crosshaven for a little while, before they plan to move on. Arman hides the fact that she is a girl. When she was little she was picked up from the roadside and has been with the travelers since then.

Who is the Seer?: Another traveler, someone, she respects if 'he' exists. She has heard of 'him' in legends and one of the first stories she read was a piece of poetry about 'him'. She would also like, if possible to be the one to record the seer's story, and tell it to others. (But for that matter she quite likes telling anyone's stories, if they will let her.)

[User]
While people knew the Seer was in fact in town, there was still general confusion about exactly who was the Seer as there were more than a few travelers on the road. Of course there were the clever ones, like the somewhat bashful shaman who had just taken a seat beside what he probably thought was someone akin to the man on the proverbial hill for shaman and wizards. It was rather annoying really but the Seer realized that this one had a part to play in the story at hand. The Seer sensed a few more presences that would play a part in the forming tapestry, the threads were there now it was time to string them together and then decide which branching path to take.

"Our name is of little import I am afraid but I can assure you my age is beyond the least needed for a drink that mind." The Seer said, speaking to the barkeeper. "Now this young man here," the Seer nodded in Argo's direction, "is going to pay for my meal, aside from the honey-wine of course, I have foreseen". The Seer was of course lying through the teeth and had not seen if the boy was going to pay for his meal because of his powers, this was simply called fabricating your own future. Still in a way the Seer was allowing Argo to feel more comfortable in talking, since the boy was silent as a dead mouse.

The Seer ignored the person who had just come in to lean on the counter for the moment, a more pressing matter was at hand. The aura the Seer had noticed before on the road was now in the establishment and had a wild side to it, different from the 'wild' side of a drunk patron. It was entirely too easy to follow the source to a rather wild looking young woman who was entirely unused to civilization it seemed, not that one would consider Crosshaven exactly a huge source of civilization. The Seer locked eyes on her and motioned with eyes only, that and a look filled with authority despite the Seer's rather deadpan expression. The Seer had powers of persuasion beyond normal men, though in reality it was but a simple trick of presence that few had mastered, message did not have to be spoken to be understood though the Seer decided to speak anyway.

"Come here child we have business to discuss." A few patrons turned their eyes curiously from the Seer to Niana, unsure of who she was or what was happening. Mostly the Seer just did not want Niana to slink off after getting a whiff of some not so great civilization, it would be better to figure out where this piece fit in the upcoming tapestry.

[Assistant]
Arman trudged into the town alongside Ryan, heading for the local tavern. There was no better place to sell herbs and spices, and also the best place to ask around for the town healer. "The Niirborhood Tavern. Well they're not from my neighborhood." Ryan joked pushing through the door, followed closely by an eye rolling Arman. Steping inside she gagged. It wasn't like the smell was new to her, but after being on the road for so long, she had grown used to the clean air. But she would adjust, just as she always did. She followed Ryan up to the bar, where he snagged a spare seat, and she stood behind his shoulder, as usual, waiting till he gestured to a seat next to him, leaving a short gap between her and a pair of others a few stools over. When the barkeeper finally got to them Ryan nodded to the man, "Hello sir, can we get a drink? Two ales, please." Arman growled silently and smacked him round the head, "Fine, fine, one ale and, …do you have any milk?" Ryan amended his request. "Also, when you aren't busy, I'm selling herbs and spices, along with a few interesting odds and ends. Would you be interested?"

Arman was listening to every conversation, at least every one she could hear, paying attention, hunting for a story, interesting things like that. When the, was that a boy or girl?, called across the tavern to a wild looking girl skulking near the entrance, she swiveled her head, watching everything she could. Paying as much attention as her tired self could.

[User]
Lucas stared wide-eyed as customers poured in to his tavern. First, Argo graced the establishment with his presence, a peculiar young man who was studying medicine or something-or-other. Then, more and more came right after: about five other people in total, some from town, one who looked like a traveler, and one- Oh, Hell, what does this girl think she's wearing? For God's sake, she's in a public place!

Running a hand through his dark hair, Lucas began trying to serve each one of his new customers. Firstly, the gender-bent one who asked for honey-wine. The individual claimed that Argo would be paying for the meal, which was a little strange since he just walked in... "Argo!" He yelled across the noisy tavern. "Hey, are you paying for this guy's meal?" Lucas mentally winced as he threw out a gender-specific title, but shook it off, figuring that maybe "guy" would register as unisexual as well.

Lucas then looked towards the traveler, who he hadn't ever seen around town before. He looked a little lost, like a child in a crowded market. In fact, that might have been the truth, come to think of it, that might have been the case. Lucas ignored him for the moment, and two other people entered the bar: two more travelers of whom he hadn't ever seen. Before he got to them, it was time to address the skimpily dressed girl. He started to walk towards her, but stopped as the gender-less customer called out to her. He quickly stopped the individual before he got up. "Uhm, excuse me, you look like you two know each other," he gestured to the female. "Could you tell her to cover herself up a little more properly? This is a tavern, not a brothel." Already he began to see regulars gawking at the girl, and he rolled his eyes.

Next, a couple more travelers he hadn't seen before wandered in to the tavern. They approached the bar and took their seats. They ordered two ales originally, but one smacked the other in the back of the head and changed his order to milk. "Alright, coming right up, you two." He began to fill up a cup of ale and a cup of milk, listening to one give him an interesting offer. Apparently, these two strangers were salesmen, offering herbs and spices to him. "Well, I'd be happy to buy from you two fine gentleman. I should have plenty of money to buy after today," Lucas agreed, gesturing to the crowd. He heard a bell ring to the right of him, and a small plate was sitting on the bar with and small sandwich and a bowl of vegetable soup. Ah, that's for... he picked up the plate and set it down where Mr. Nameless was sitting before she got up. "One meal for the one who ordered it! You didn't give me your name!" He pointed at those sitting around the nameless one's seat. "If you guys touch his meal, you'll lose a finger."

[Assistant]
Niana could feel eyes on her. She could feel the gaze of many patrons drinking in her immodest visage. She had hoped to blend in, but clearly blending in with a forest and blending in with humans was an entirely different beast altogether. She pressed herself against the far wall, like a cornered cat that was hoping to slip through the wood and out into freedom. No such luck for Niana though. Someone pushed past her and she felt and drunken hand grope her chest. This was degrading. How did people live like this? She felt like she had thrown herself into a cage. Her hand felt her bone knife and she remembered her purpose. The Seer.

As the thought made its way through Niana's mind she heard a voice call out to her from across the tavern. Wha-? The Seer's eyes locked onto Niana's own and she felt oddly calm. Not entirely at ease (she never felt she would be in this place) but her mind was at least calm for the moment. After a moment of deliberation Niana pushed herself off from the wall and slinked through the crowded tavern up until she was finally face to face with the Seer.

[User]
It was not even a full minute after the shaman entered that the tavern picked up its activity by a significant margin. The light grumbling and gentle laughter that had filled the place previously was now replaced with a much louder, more joyous variant. The day was dragging on and more people were coming in, though what really surprised the shaman was the way the occupancy of the tavern seemed to almost double in the span of a couple seconds. Surely this was the work of some otherworldly force, after all, was it not said that where the seer traveled many were drawn close along behind? It was Lucas, the barkeep's, voice the finally broke Argo from his revere, reminding him of other things at hand which required his attention.

"Hey, are you paying for this guy's meal?"

The shaman nodded in the affirmative, still a little slack in the jaw. He watched in silence as the seer went on to converse with a few others before finally lodging his request. "Great seer," The shaman took up a rather reverent tone, as if speaking to someone who was by far his superior, "I am an apprentice in the shamanistic arts, though you probably knew that. I have come seeking advice and training. I wish to know all that you can teach me." When the seer's reply was not immediately forth coming Argo allowed himself to at least take stock of the newer members of the bar, in particularly the crudely dressed woman near the back of the room. He recognized her from his work in the fields and with herbs, often caught glimpses. Still, he'd not really bothered to give her much interest until now. She was so out of place?

Gazing back again at the seer to see if they would grant his request the shaman found again, sadly that it had not spoken. Assumedly it was more interested in its sandwich and honeywine at the moment. Still, it would give Argo a chance to run damage control, especially after Lucas' latest request to 'tell her to cover herself up a little more properly'? Rising, the shaman-in-training made his way over to the scantily-clad female, removing his light poncho which he then offered to her. "It would probably be best to cover yourself, miss."

[Assistant]
The Seer had gotten the wild one's attention and soon they were face to face. Her appearance did not bother the Seer in the slightest but many of the others were quite taken aback by her appearance, even calling her a 'whore'. The Seer now had a few things to juggle: food, those around the Seer, and of course the honey-wine. The Seer kept Niana in that mystical gaze and somehow managed to also procure half a sandwich and a glass of honey-wine. The Seer also had an adoring fan in the next seat who decided to go ahead an offer the girl a poncho for herself. The poor thing looked healthy but she was quite out of sorts in this environment, still, the Seer appreciated the help from the side.

The barkeep was a bit miffed at her appearance but he would have no complaints after what the Seer did next. The Seer took the poncho from the young shaman's hands and instantly put the garment on her. "Alright young one, I have at least an idea as to why you are here. For now do not leave my side until I have heard the story." The Seer commanded quite sternly, getting down to business. "As for you young shaman," The Seer finally acknowledged the young man who wished to learn all the secrets the Seer had, "keep your eyes and ears open. Observe and you may learn something." The Seer then took a quick break to down some food and drink.

"As I am currently dining by all means explain your request in full. By coming to us, you have interwoven your life's thread with several others in this room for a span. Now speak." It was impossible for Niana to back out now, her fate was interwoven with that of the Seer since she entered the Tavern.

Almost as an afterthought the Seer reached inside it's garments and produced the necessary coin for the drink and placed them on the counter.


[System]
Nickname: Ran

Gender: Male

Age: 2,532

Physical Description: Dark skin, as is normal amongst his people, as is the snow white hair from not having seen the sun for his entire life. He has more muscle than the typical elf, sacrificing agility for brute strength. Unlike most drow, his eyes aren't the deep red that has come from adapting to the darkness. His eyes were a light yellow, almost golden in color.

Attire:

A plain white tunic with dark blue pants is normally what comprises his casual wear. It varies if he chooses a black cloak with this outfit.

Pure black armor crafted from a mixture of metal ore and obsidian found deep within the caves that the drow call home. It depicts scales, trimmed with a deep blue dye.

Personality: A quiet man of few words. He doesn't like to be the first one to speak, preferring to listen than initiate conversation. Despite that, he has been found to be very vocal when it comes to things that he finds unjust. When it comes to morality, he is very passionate. Other than that, though, he makes it incredibly hard to allow others close to him.

History: Nathe was born to two drow warriors, both training hard to be included in the dark elven army. At least, they did until his mother became pregnant. He was brought up as any drow was, trained in the art of war and taught the horrors of humans and the naivity of the forest elves. The difference between him and the other drow, though, was that the thought never sat right with him. He tried to research on his own, but any books available to him were written by the same prejudice drow that suggested these severe outlooks. So, he had no real luck studying up on the true history.

That was, until he met one of the elders of his sect of dark elves. The man claimed to have been alive during the first great war with the humans. He talked to Nathe about the way the drow used to live, as one of the elves, before they split into dark and forest elves. He explained the drow's concepts and why they chose to leave Elwyn's grace in favor of Inioch's. He also spoke of how he failed to change the drow as he wished to when he left as a brash youngling. It was all very radical, but it aligned with what Nathe had suspected for years.

He spent centuries under this elder's tutelage, learning everything he could about the old life and the forest elves and the humans. He continued to learn until the elder passed on. It was a sad day, the last of the knowledgeable drow having passed. This cemented Nathe's plan of action, though. He adopted a nickname, calling himself Ran and hiding himself from his drow bretheren. He left the cave systems, moving back to the surface. He had learned all he could from speaking with the elder. It was time for him to experience the above world for himself and his lost brothers and sisters that still hid away in the forest.

Weapons: Ran's primary weapon is a longsword and shield. He has a second sword at his side and a dagger tucked away as well, in case he loses one of the primary weapons. His true secondary weapon, though, is a longbow.

[User]
An armory? Now, that was interesting. The forest elves were rumored to be spineless cowards, hiding away in their forest. Most thought they had a few soldiers, but nothing to warrant a standing army. An armory would prove otherwise...the elves produce enough weapons to need a separate storage for them. Not that it was too surprising. By the look of Mel's swords, they had clearly figured out how to forge weaponry. The steel wasn't fine enough to be dwarven make and he doubted highly that they would do business with the humans. That left precious few others to provide them with weapons. He had always assumed these forests would discourage any sort of forge from being used, but it seemed he may have been wrong in that assumption.

As he was introduce, Nathe stepped forward, a wince coming as he felt his wound irritate again. Despite his earlier provocative comments, his knees bent and he all but collapsed to the ground, keeping himself upright on one knee, his other bent a bit too much to be a proper kneel. "Your..." He paused a moment. "My apologies. I don't know what you call yourself now. It is a pleasure to meet you, though, leader of the elves." It was said in a pained voice, clearly having trouble keeping this stance with the wound in his side.

[Assistant]
"And you." the leader responded in turn, inclining his head politely. His eyebrows rose as he took note of the wound in the Drow's side. "That's a nasty wound you have there, it's not usually our way to injure others in such a manner." at this Mel was given a rather scathing look of rebuke. Ducking her head in apology, the she-elf mumbled.
"He startled me, I did the best I could to mend it but it will probably take a few days."

"Which brings us to a point." the older elf continued. "Exactly what would a Drow be doing in our lands?"

[User]
Nathe hesitated before answering. What was the best option here? Honesty? There was a huge chance he just wouldn't believe him. Lying could dig him into a deeper hole, though. He honestly wasn't sure what he should do in this situation. Instead he bowed his head respectfully, deciding to test his luck. "I would ask that you not be so harsh on her. My people would have responded in kind, I'm sure," he stated evenly. "I'm honestly just satisfied that I was left alive. Traveling here had a very real chance of ending with an arrow through my head rather than a sword in my side." He didn't sound hurt by the thought. He was simply stating a fact.

With a small sigh, he offered a smile to the leader. "As to why I'm here...curiosity. I tire of our dark caves. I wanted to see what the forest elves had to offer," he explained. "That's the simple reason to it. I don't believe elves and drow have to be at each others' throat. I come alone for that belief. No armies or soldiers. I am fully and utterly at your mercy and I willingly put myself into that position."

[Assistant]
"You have strange views for a Drow." the forest elf replied, raising an eyebrow with some scepticism as to whether he was being fully truthful. It would be the first time a Drow had any interest in their way of life since the divide had happened all those ages ago in the days of Inioch and Elwyn. "Whether or not you speak the truth, you are certainly not fit to travel in your state. I propose that you stay here with us until your wound heals adequately. Then I will make further judgement on what we will do with you. If you give us little reason to believe you a threat, perhaps I will grant your request."

At length, after some further considerations and discussion between the forest elves present, it was concluded that they would not trust Nathe to have free reign to wander about their village unsupervised, for fear that there was a chance of him bringing harm to any of the other elves that dwelt there. Feeling somewhat responsible for his predicament, Mel immediately volunteered for the position.
"He's more likely to trust me." she explained in a hushed voice. "I helped him once. It may keep his mood a bit more...amicable."
"Very well." the leader agreed, waving a hand in Nathe's direction as if to dismiss them. "I will leave him to your caretaking, Meliya. Nonetheless, despite his surprisingly good manners I still caution you to be careful; Drow are unpredictable."

"I will keep my guard up, sir." the she-elf promised, bowing respectfully before she returned to Nathe, directing him back towards the door. "Come, I will take you to the infirmary."

[User]
The drow remained silent as the decision was made. He nodded to Mel, struggling back to his feet. He offered a half bow - as much as he could manage, at least - to the leader once more. "Thank you for your mercy, sir," he offered softly. This was going better than he had thought. He might be under watch, but they chose the one person who might actually relax with him. It was his best shot at getting an inside look at how the elves worked. Besides, the blond beauty was much better company than the distasteful soldier he had met.

As the two left the meeting room, he offered a small smile to his savior. "Thank you, for taking responsibility for me," he said softly. "I...don't know how your people work, but I was worried to the treatment I would receive from your soldiers..." Every now and then he would wince once more as a surge of pain hit him, following the woman to the infirmary. He was doing his best to ignore the pain, though. He had had worse. He wasn't going to let that stop him. "So...you're name is Meliya? It's a pretty name." Despite the hushed tones that the elves had used in discussing their prisoner, he had excellent hearing, just as all elves did. "My name is Nathe. I don't think I properly introduced myself back there."

[Assistant]
"Nathe?" Mel echoed, smiling faintly back at him. "That's an interesting name. Well, it's good to meet you, Nathe." she paused as he winced again, concerned that he was hiding most of his discomfort, though he seemed to manage to hobble along fine enough. They were nearly there, after all. His thanks surprised her, she hadn't thought Drow were awfully fond of politeness, in truth it was the last thing she'd expected from him.

"You're welcome. Most of the soldiers aren't too bad," she assured him, holding the door to the infirmary open for him when they reached the building. "They've been drilled to be wary of your kind, we all have. But for the most part we try not to resort to violence, if it can be helped."

[User]
Nathe offered a small shrug. "I cannot say I blame them," he replied. "We have never been the most peaceful with your people. You have had every right to be wary of us. Though, I think that is true on both sides." He returned her smile. "We have both been taught to be wary of the others, but I believe it foolish for us to decide how an entire group will act without any type of communication. An...unpopular opinion on both sides, I would think." He paused a moment, seeming to decide how much he should share with the woman. "If someone doesn't take that risk, no one will. I just happened to decide to."

He nodded in thanks as they reached the infirmary, entering in first and waiting for her to follow. A drow walking in alone would be a cause for alarm. He did not need their medical teams being put on edge by his presence. It would at least be a little more bearable with his guard accompanying him.

[Assistant]
"And quite the predicament it has put you in, hasn't it?" the she-elf pointed out with a raised eyebrow as she slipped in after him, letting the door swing shut behind them. She wasted no time in finding an unused chair for him to rest on, sure he would be glad to take the weight off his side as it was clearly ailing him still. Her head turned as another familiar voice spoke and one of the healers approached them.
"So, the rumours are true then." a soft chuckle escaped her. "For a moment I was unsure whether to believe it, but then I had to remind myself that you do take after me."
"Mother please." Mel grumbled in embarrassment, turning her head away. "Don't make a scene."

[User]
Nathe's eyebrow rose in curiosity as he heard the exchange. So her mother was a healer. He suppose it made more sense then. Why this one elven woman was out in that clearing so early in the morning. He hadn't expected anyone to find him when he passed out in the woods. Though, now that he was here, this conversation was starting to interest him for entirely new reasons.

"Does she, now?" he asked curiously, a pleasant smile coming back to his face as he eased himself into the seat offered him. He was grateful for the weight being taken off his side. "Is that a reference to her patching up a stray in the woods or talking to the unsavory sort of people?" He knew it was a shot at his own race, but he figured the elves would appreciate that. He wasn't so full of himself that he couldn't make these jokes. Most drow were unsavory, in truth. It's why he never fit in well there. It didn't mean he thought them the monsters that he assumed the elves made them out to be.

[Assistant]
"The former." her mother confirmed with another light chuckle. "Although I suppose the latter could be debated upon, I would not put it past her."
Mel scowled and mumbled something under her breath in protest, she had more common sense than that even if both her parents seemed to think otherwise. Perhaps that point of view was due to her constant unwillingness to simply accept facts given to her by her mentor (or indeed her father) as a youngster, but she tried to brush it off as simple curiosity.

"Curiosity indeed." her mother scoffed. "If that is what you wish to call it, then I will not argue with you."


[System]
Identity: Franklin Isaiah St. Jopling (Not publicly known)

City of Operation: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Appearance:

Age: 41

Gender: Male

Superpowers: None

Skills/Talents: Frank is fluent in both English and Afrikaans, and he always has interpreters on radio standby to deal with any other languages. He possesses substantial experience with a myriad of conventional firearms and artillery, both aged and advanced. He is trained in the operational roles of several combat-oriented vehicles, including air and sea units. He is knowledgeable of various methods of unarmed combat and how to counter them, but not so much as to utilize them offensively. Lastly, he is naturally adept at utilizing extreme interrogation techniques to acquire information from those he or his men have apprehended.

Equipment: On his own person, Frank is always equipped with a TAR-21 tactical assault rifle and a Taurus Curve handgun (both properly modified to suit his preferences), proper and plentiful ammunition for both, a Kevlar vest concealed beneath his custom-painted combat wear, and proper communications equipment to get in touch with his men. Readily available to him are all the weapons, vehicles, and manpower the Sunflower Group is comprised of, though he understands how much is too much in any given situation.

Weaknesses: Frank does his best not to let any kind of weaknesses show, whether they be mental or physical, but he does have some to note. He can't stand someone who's bested him multiple times, taking their very existence as a challenge that he will pour all he is and more into overcoming, to a rather unhealthy point (such an example would be Joe Magarac). Besides this fault in his personality, injuries he has sustained during repeated violent encounters in the past have left his lower spine and right leg permanently damaged, having required extensive surgery to keep from being rendered useless. As such, most of his general lower body movements are slow in action, and he is incapable of moving any faster than at a quickened walk.

Psyche: Frank considers himself a few fair things - cunning, adaptable, devilishly charismatic, and a brutally effective businessman. Disputing such considerations with him would be unwise. Frank is out for fun and profit, with blood and mayhem just being side products of his efforts. Ever since the incident that made him the leader of the Sunflower Group, he has harbored a deep resentment for anyone and everyone with super powers, magic abilities, so on and so forth. He doesn't care how much good they can bring about the world, or how much people look up to them, or anything really. He is absolutely hell bent on capturing and selling off of as many as he's capable, by whatever means he sees as the most effective, entertaining, and profitable.

History: Frank was born somewhere in South Africa in the year 1974, to a mother and father whom he has neglected to share any recollection of, if he even has any information on either of them. Sometime after he reached adulthood, he served in an English-owned private military company for many years, receiving extensive training in many appropriate fields, slowly rising in the ranks until he was practically one of the leadership. The PMC, known only as the Sunflower Group, was cemented in the human trafficking market, operating mainly in several areas of South Africa. Their forward operations reached as far the US, Brazil, Afghanistan, and western Russia. While relatively small compared to other groups at the time, they were well equipped and organized, and managed to keep themselves afloat for a good while. That was, until, an incident in 2012, when a group of prisoners with super powers almost killed every last one of them.

The exact details of the incident are unknown, but the entire leadership of the Sunflower Group was killed, as were most of their collective manpower stationed in South Africa at the time. Frank and a small cadre of soldiers survived throughout the incident and successfully retaliated against their attackers by utilizing overwhelming firepower. Once it was done, Frank was named the de facto leader of the Sunflower Group's remaining forces, and reestablished contact with forward operation parties. After a period of recovery, he elected to indefinitely postpone their operations in South Africa and most of their other occupied territories, and move everything to the United States, where global chatter labeled as the "hotspot" of superhuman activity. Fortunately, around the time supers and magic users came about, so did demands from no-names and shadow governments for captured specimens, with the offers reaching far higher than any human would ever be worth. Frank, with newfound hatred for all things superhuman, decided this was the perfect wagon to jump on to get the Sunflower Group rolling again.

The remaining Sunflower Group members now operate in small pockets around the eastern coast of the US, armed with a multitude of equipment they managed to smuggle in. While they are still attempting to recover their collective manpower lost during the incident, currently numbering at only a few hundred strong, they are still very much active in the relatively fresh superhuman trafficking game. Frank, spearheading the effort up from on operating base in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is determined to make as much of a profit off of the suffering of as many supers as possible, no matter what kind of destruction it causes in the long run. The Sunflower Group's activities have since led to Joe Magarac, the local top dog in terms of superheroes, to catch wind of their crimes and attempt to combat them. And for the most part, he has succeeded. Conventional firearms have no effect on the man of steel, and he shrugs off explosives with ease. Frank and Joe have quickly formed a rivalry, with Magarac recognizing Frank and the rest of the Sunflower Group as a very serious threat, and Frank determined to subdue and sell off Magarac to the highest bidder.

So far, the Sunflower Group's efforts have yielded a fair number of captures and respectable profits. But a certain invitation that Frank himself received has brought up the possible opportunity to expand their operations further inland, or at the very least, see if there's a potential threat that knows anything important about them. To St. Louis he is called, and so to St. Louis he will go.

[User]
---

The Scarlet Mistress

---

Morrigan hated plans.

She hated plans. Even with first class amenities, she hated it. It was unnatural for things without wings or magic to fly.

The people on the plane were annoying too. Crying babies, people clicking on their weird computers, others talking loudly on their cell phones.

She opened her book and spoke, "Chainthe silentio" and the entire plane was silent. No one spoke, no child cried, the stewards went about their business with a smile on their face. Everyone just sat there in silence.

This was how you flied.

---------------------------------------

Finally arriving in St. Louis, she decided how she would get to the funeral home in question. Perhaps she could teleport there and scare everyone. Maybe summon a large snake and ride it there. No, she decided, too much chaos would cause trouble. She didn't want trouble. Yet.

She walked outside where taxis were lining up. One man leaned against his, "Hey gorgeous, need a ride?"

She merely smiled and nodded. "Hop in then." he said.

She did so and they started driving. "Where to lady?" She gave him the address and he looked at it quickly before putting it down, "Someone close to you die? Sorry to hear that. My sister just lost her fiance. Our families going through our own struggles, you know how it is. It's a bad world, he got shot, some gang business. He was a good man. Lost too soon. I told my sister, I told her look, things happen. And when.."

Morrigan spoke up, "Do you know what it's like to feel your blood boil inside your body? Do you know what it's like to feel your skin rip off delicately? Do you know what it's like to bash your head against a wall countless times until your brain spills out? If you keep talking, you'll find out. Now drive!"

The man sat and drove in stunned silence as they pulled up to the funeral home.

She got out, didn't pay and took out her book. She spoke a spell and the man drove off. He would be fine, she didn't want him dead, as annoying as he was. She just told him to keep driving and not stop. He'd end up somewhere else entirely, but he'll be fine.

She walked into the funeral home, book in hand, should things go sour.

[Assistant]
The slush alternatively crunched or squished under her feet, which she hated. When she moved fast, the surface under her feet didn't matter; it seemed she barely touched it. She'd been running earlier, ever since dumping the stolen car at the state border and that had felt good, stretching herself, being able to run. She eyed the building dubiously and checked her watch. She wasn't late, but evidently other people were already in the building. And some outside too. She knew a grunt when she saw one.

Cassie shoved her hands in her pockets. The right touched the reassuring stubby feel of her handgun, the left, claws half-extending, brushed against the invitation that had brought her here.

~~~

The invitation was propped up against her cap. Her fucking cap. Nobody touched her cap; nobody. She read the invitation through twice, her lips tightening. A conference. Huh. She considered it carefully; could this be a trap, something set up by Redlame and his new friends? Cassie shook her head. He wasn't smart enough to arrange something that complicated. Anyway, it's not flashy enough for him, the dumbass.

She'd binned the plane ticket and stolen a car instead; maybe that was stupid with the airport practically on her doorstep, but there was the risk that her claws might set off the metal detector wand at the airport, and thinking up some story which explained why her hands were making the wand beep wasn't what she did – she couldn't be bothered. Besides, in a car she wouldn't have to risk some fat greasy fuck sitting next to her.

She stopped the car at the border, shrugging into her leather jacket as she got out. Her breath plumed out like smoke as she considered the sky. The western horizon was still a rich, royal blue, but the east was grudgingly allowing the sun to assert itself; the dawn was almost colourless with just the faintest edge of pale pink as a concession to the sunrise. A tight smile pulled her lips back as she sucked into another lungful of cold air and started to run.

~~~

Cassie regarded the two sets of goons in front of the building. She could start shooting before they knew she was there, but why bother when she could get in before they could stop her? She stretched and ran towards the building, her pace no more than a moderate jog to her. There were no gunshots, no shouting. She heard a voice from behind exclaiming "Where the hell did she come from?" when she was at the door. Then she had twisted the door handle and stepped inside.

I didn't expect this. She felt a surge of something like claustrophobia at the sight of the people inside. Her claws slid out inside her pockets. She took a steadying breath and let them slid back under her nails. You can deal with this, it's cool. You just weren't thinking so many people would be here.

She glanced around at the others, raising an apparently disinterested hand to flick her hair back from her face. A couple of balding villainous types, a couple of dark haired women with red eyes – they could be contacts, but she didn't think so - a woman dressed in clothes that probably cost more than the car she'd borrowed earlier, a shorter blonde woman, and - holy shit, he looks like Godzilla's little brother! A huge freaking dragon man; she'd seen him on the news, fighting some flying chick. A flying chick who had joined up with Redlame. He went up several points in her book for that alone.

She took another look at the others. Actually a few of them did look vaguely familiar. She looked at the woman in the demon costume. Have I see her on the news or in a soap opera?


[System]
"Can you see it? The brave path to my victory... Its so clear to me now."
Gender Male
Age: 15

Appearance: A ray of sunshine is tantamount to Meruem's appearance and overjoyed spirit. Physically he stands slightly beneath other males of his age-group, straddling the line between 5'8" and 5'9". Not that his height matters in the slightest, even a giant would have a hard time convincing him to back down from a goal. Normally he holds a perpetual glint in his large lapis-hued eyes, simultaneously daring and cheering on those that look into them. Brown, stylized hair makes it easy to point him out in a crowd--along with his atypical manner of wearing a orange headband, its perhaps his most notable feature.

Personality: More than a tad loud, energetic, and overly-confident, Meruem has been compared to the typical shounen-type character. It can be embarrassing for him, showcasing the effortless manner in which a tinge of red can paint his face. Despite this, he usually goes along with any setbacks, meeting them with a wide smile. In the not too far-off past he use to be very timid; always crying and filled with paranoia of those around him. Nowadays he finds that unappealing habit of crying still hard to throwaway. Though it happens less often.

Because of his past, he rarely devalues anyone for the faults they may have. They could be the worst scoundrels and he'd simply remind them they still had plenty of time to change. Along with this comes the obvious negative reflection of being too forgiving. He believes as a hero, his place is only to inspire hope and bravery, never fear or trepidation. Because of "certain events" he places a large weight on his shoulders, aspiring to become the next Symbol of Peace.

Quirk: IM Gravity (IM 重力) - Meruem is capable of imposing his will onto gravity. Being a fifth generation quirk-user, through a predetermined cocktail, he's been given a monstrous power. He's capable of manipulating the gravity within his sights. This includes the ability to push, pull, levitate, and crush. For some reason when utilizing his quirk, his eyes loses all color, bending into the iris as if it was a black-hole. He has a 10 minute limitation for using his abilities before having to recover for a minimum of 10 more minutes. Without adequate rest, each usage after the first reduces the time-limit by 2 minutes and increases the recovery time by 2 minutes as well.

Reason: Meruem couldn't remember where or when he had, but once before he heard someone say, "Anyone who has a continuous smile on his face conceals a toughness that is almost frightening." That rung true for him, it resonated soundly and surely in his heart. When he was a tyke the other kids condemned him for his lack of control. His quirk, which controlled gravity was a nuisance to them. For awhile he was forced to be homeschool, all the while thinking himself a monster. He withdrew into himself, resenting his parents, his quirk, and who he was. That was until Urvaity and, for reasons, Lemillion had appeared at his home. Invited by his parents supposedly. Urvaity displayed the positivity behind Gravity in typical airy manner, how it could be used to save and inspire. Lemillion imbued him with a spectacular heroic spirit with powerful lecture. Since then, he's aimed to be the next Symbol of Peace and has through trial and error, perseverance and boldness, conquered his past.

Favorite Hero: Uravity & Lemillion

Skills: Meruem is a firm believer that resolve and bravery can conqueror any hurdle. He has unfathomable amounts of both but the skill to rely on his instincts, almost animal-like, tends to be where his combative prowess comes from. Due to the hurdle his quirk presents to him at midnight, to prevent from relying on it too much, he's trained his body tirelessly, producing an heroic frame. While not proficient in any kind of martial arts, he is quite the scrapper.

[User] Lucas just kinda slumped into his chair, thinking about how Haley must think he's creepy for just calling her cute out of nowhere like that, he kinda ignored the others around him.

[Assistant]
Aki Kagami slipped into the room quietly and took the first seat she saw in the front row, organized her pencils and notebook on the desk, then let out a quick sigh of relief.

Not as early as I hoped to be, but certainly not late... I don't think I could bear running behind on my first day! There are so many aspiring heroes here, and if they thought I was some sort of slacker... I don't know what I'd do then!

She turned around and looked over the other students that had arrived before her, analyzing them as best she could based on appearances.

Let's see... Anyone who wears a headband like that into class is going to put their all into hero work. That guy looks like he's "too cool" to be in class, so he must be confident in his abilities. There's one other girl here, blushing already... Though I'm not surprised she's already attracting attention. Anyone who tries to hide their figure like that must get way too much of it. And that guy... looks like he wants to melt into the floor right now. Wonder what happened to him?

[User]
Haley watches Meruem walk into the room and she quietly groans as yet another boy walks in. She can't help but smirk at his cocky attitude and already can't wait for a shot to put him in the ground (literally). She goes to say something but stops as she sees the door open again, she crosses her fingers and prays that its another girl. She let out a silent sigh of relief as her praying paid off, tho this girl was rather short almost definitely a head shorter than Haley herself.

She quickly turned back to Meruem now ready with a retort to his challenge. "I'll make sure it's not to easy for you. And the name's Haley." She has no idea what this kids powers are or how good he is at using them, but for some reason she feels that she could take him. She isn't sure if she's overestimating herself or underestimating him.

She smiles to herself before she notices Lucas slumped in his desk. Poor guy... She can't help but feel a little sorry for him, she is used to boys trying to chat her up but this guy seemed even more embarrassed then she was. She then looks back at the short girl and gives a little wave. And finally she sets her gaze back on the door waiting and wondering what hero was going to be their home room teacher.

[Assistant] A voice in Aki head says:  sit you to the boy next the girl. You can you have fun whife him.

[User]
Ink
Seth twitched and lazily looked up at Izayoi. He narrowed his eyes to have them focus before he ran his two fingers across his cheek. It didn't get rid of the oil on his cheek but add to it. He moved his hand back and looked at it and cursed, "Shit." This woke him up and he sighed as he reached down and unzipped his duffle bag. He proceeded to look through it as more metal clangs came from the duffle bag. He took out a ruby red combination wrench from the duffle bag and placed it on his desk before he continued to search. As he did he removed more tools from his bag like Wrenches, hammers, screwdrivers, and other tools one would find in an auto body shop. He let out another sigh, "Always on the bottom."

He removed the container of Clorox wipes and began to whip down his hands until the grease and Oil were completely gone. He then used a signal wipe to remove the oil from his cheek. After that, he chucked the dirty wipes into the garbage at the back of the class before he wiped his wet hands on his pants. He realized he had wiped them on more grease and oil and cursed again before he did the whole process over again. He then used the wipes to clean his pants. His pants were not clean of grease and oil, but now were stained with bleach, but he didn't seem to mind that.

"Thanks, man," Seth said to Izayoi before he continued, "Forgot I worked on Mrs. Rose's car before coming here. Names Seth." He extended his clean, Clorox smelling hand towards him. he then looked around at the class room and had to blink a few times.

"Whoa, where did everyone else come from?" Seth said not realizing he had been asleep while everyone came into the class.

[Assistant]
Aki started slightly at the sound of someone's voice in her mind.

What? That was... It must have been some kind of telepathy.

She pulled a makeup compact from her shirt pocket, flipping it open and using its mirror to scan the room behind her. She stopped on Augustus, watching him just long enough to copy and reverse his Quirk for good measure.

Please stay out of my mind... You should use your power to fight evil, not snoop on your classmates' thoughts!

[User]
I work out. Come we can talk by the way, you and your Quirk is interesting.
Come sit down to me. We can certainly grow stronger together. Where did you know I was?

[Assistant]
Meruem Kiryu - @LeamonZest89

Hardly anyone had offered him their name. Only one brave girl and that little courtesy was enough for Meruem to take an interest in her. He chuckled playfully before performing his signature movement; a loud SNAP! of his fingers echoed, his left hand was pointed in Haley's direction. "Now that's brave, Haley. I hope to meet you on that bold path one day."

His attention was soon elsewhere, wholly ignorant of those that refused his request. Not that he resented them. No, he was used to being ignored by others. The chaos that was his brilliant-self took time to get use to. Even he recognized that. The brave youth reached into his bag and pulled out a hand-sized notebook. Within those pages were the names of heroes, people, and villains alike; some struck through with a deep red line. Right beneath the last name he had written inside it, some villain who had caused a ruckus overseas, he scribbled what he believed would be Haley's name: Hailey of UA.

He snapped it closed before settling it back into his bag. Just one more person to leap over.

Now he impatiently waited for class to start. He slouched back into his chair, fidgeted with his orange headband a tad, then begin twiddling his fingers; playing with their roughened conditioned with that courageous gleam in his eyes.

[User]
Haley's attention is taken away from the door when she hears metal objects being placed on a desk behind her. She goes to turn around but she intercepts Meruem signature move half way through her turn. She smiles at the boys enthusiasm nod nods to him. "That makes two of us." She then slowly shifts her gaze to where the metal noises were coming from, to her surprise there's a desk covered in screwdrivers and wrenches.

She turns back to the front of the class not really sure what to think. Who brings wrenches to class? Haley is puzzled by her own question and tries to distract herself by looking at the door and thinking about who's going to be there teacher.

[Assistant]
"Settle down class" Came an eerie, impressively low voice that carried through the entire room without any real sense of where it had originated from. Suddenly, behind the podium a silhouette began to float up, eventually revealing a long-faced (literally), man with grey-blue, transparent skin and a less than satisfied frown. As he became tangible again he pulled papers from under the podium and pounded them on the surface before him to straighten them out. After a long moment to take him in, it became apparent who he was: Wraith. Wraith was one of the heroes created through the newly attempted heroic recovery program. This was a system that rather than imprison villains who escape again and again they conduct an intense background check to see what made the person go into the world of the villain, in Wraith's case: a destructive home environment. From there they offer to help them in return for the villain turning into a hero. Wraith was the staple of this, becoming their mascot of sorts. After only a month of therapy was he changed and willing to give up many of his terrible habits.
"Alright class, settle down" He growled almost intimidatingly. He stared them down angrily before stepping through the podium. If it was no already apparent, his ability was to turn him, and a spare few other items intangible, though in doing so he puts a strain on his mind and is unable to interact with his environment. Placing the papers on the first student's desk before them all was a paper blank save for one question: 'what is a hero?'. Straightening his grey suit and pants, similar to what the students wore he slowly cranked out a smile that looked almost painful.
"I'm your teacher, my hero name is Wraith but please, call me Mister Walker. Now then, We'll go down the line and say our names, our quirks and a little something about ourselves, how does that sound?" He spoke, and despite his appearance and how low his voice was, it was smooth and calming like a father consoling its child. It had a pinch of sorrow in it as if he felt that he was doing wrong to these students, but perhaps that was yet to come. Regardless it was covered by his stoic lack of any other emotion.
"I'll go first for you all. My name is Xavier Walker, my quirk is called ghost as it allows me to move through things and I enjoy cooking, now then, who is willing to go next"


[System]
Gender : Female

Age : 28

Appearance : Mostly normal Darcsen appearance traits, with visible muscle and hair kept in a ponytail, but with a decent amount of curves and some bust. Has a missing upper left canine, and some chipped teeth around the missing tooth. Stands at a little over 6'2

Rank : Private

Class : Shocktrooper

Weapons and Equipment : Mags M10, 2x B Type M1

Personality : An actively social person, despite her Darcsen ethnicity, and is very outgoing. She tends to not let things get her down, but when they do, she doesn't let them keep her down for long. Skye will actively try to socialize with those that express Darcsen hate. She has a deep sense of community, and will do the best she can to keep groups of friends together and help them work out problems.

She isn't a normal Darcsen by personality standards, and does also find her self getting hot-headed at times.

Bio : Skye lived a normal life, or at least what was considered normal for a Darcsen. She went out of the house often, and talked to many people. Most people in the settlement she lived in liked her for her incredibly social behavior, and bravery to talk to anyone in general. She made friends with a lot of people.

Going through school and training wasn't too hard for her as she had quite a number of friends to talk to and help.

Though during school she did get into trouble, getting into a fight with someone who took their Darcsen hate past words. Skye was ignoring the girl as she kept making discriminatory remarks towards her, but it didn't take long for the girl to come over to Skye and physically hit her, then complaining about how her hand will smell. Skye retaliated with an equally powered hit. Things quickly escalated afterwards, leading to her losing a tooth, and chipping those around it. She'd get into more fights, but none would have the permanent aftermath as her first.

Once she was eligible, she signed up for the army, becoming a Shocktrooper and being given a unit. She wasn't all too surprised that not all the members of her unit were accepting of a Darcsen into the unit, though it seemed she wasn't the only Darcsen in the unit. There were at least two others. She stayed with that unit till she was moved to the militia due to apparent personnel shortages.

RP Sample : (Pre-enlistment) Hot. That was one way to describe the past week. The summer sun never helped when she helped her father with blacksmithing. Forge heat, heated metal, hammering away at the malleable metal. Hot.

"Skye, how you holding up with the heat?" Her father spoke loudly over the sounds of his hammer. "Need a break?" He joked. She smiled and shook her head "Heat didn't kill me yesterday, won't kill me today!" Skye yelled back, her father laughing hard "You'll make a good blacksmith yet!." Skye focused back on her canvas. This was to be a decorative sword, though Skye made them sharp regardless with a tag saying so. Right now it was just a ingot that was red hot on the edges and white hot in the center. She began to shape it, which took a couple of hours. Hours of hammering, cooling, reheating, with sharpening, hilt attachment, and detailing at the end. Skye did all this with a smile on her face, knowing that if the Army didn't accept her, she'd still have something to come back to.

[User]
Emmaline Muller

Not 40 minutes ago, Emmaline's body was burning as though someone had stuffed a pile of hot charcoal in her arms and lungs.

Not 30 minutes ago, Emma had doused those flames in freezing cold water. If she spared any, even her tears might've froze if she stayed any longer than the few minutes she could endure.

Not 25 minutes ago, Emmy was practically cooking her esophagus with piping-hot ham and bread. She could still feel the grains of sand crunch between her teeth, courtesy of yesterday's training course. Thank God there was cold milk to down it all.

Not 20 minutes ago, Muller was naked in front of both men and women in a tiny barracks for over the 24th time. By now, it was nothing to be concerned about, nothing unusual for a leaving private to go put on the freshest equipment possible. Nobody explicitly cared, and neither did she.

Not 18 minutes ago, the lancer was breathing in alternations of warm, dry air (the mess hall) and humid, cold air (outside). Now it was just stuffy (in the APC). Stuffier than a stuffed turkey on Passover.

God, it was stifling hot inside the blast suit. While Emmaline's hairs clung to her face, she had the pleasure to observe her allies clad in much lighter outfits. The ruffles and puffs of their suits had nothing but free skin and flesh underneath. As for Emmaline? Plates, upon plates, upon plates, upon plates...

...even if it was an anti-infantry lance, Emmaline felt a little obnoxious for lugging around so much equipment. Look at that sniper there - see how quickly he could move, or those scouts? See how small, yet effective those weapons were?

...wait, what was the fun part of being a Lancer again? How co-

Right. The tank.

Speaking of which, she was inside something akin to that. An APC was the name, right?

Just to make her point, Emmaline made a long, almost exaggerated sigh, which promptly broke into a light, cheery hum of a jig from her hometown. This wait could be long if no one else was coming...

[Assistant]
Private Elise Louque

Elise had eaten too slowly and been left with the darcsen of the group, only to have a superior officer recruit both herself and the darcsen to the same squad. Oh that was just great. She should have left instead of answering him. She'd been about to get up and leave, but now that would be complicated. If she disobeyed a direct order from a superior she'd get in more trouble than any darcsen was worth, not that they were worth much to begin with.

"Yes, sir." Elise said with a cold tone, as she stared in front of herself and gripped the tray hard. She got up from the table after he'd finished speaking, placed her dishes with the others and left the mess hall. Hopefully the enemy would be aiming for the darcsens so she wouldn't have to deal with any for long. She didn't want to think about how that might end.

She quickly retrieved her few belongings from the barracks, then got her sniper rifle and headed towards the garage where she had been told an APC would be waiting. Elise climbed into the APC and waited for the others to arrive, but didn't say much once they had or when the APC begun to move away from the base. There'd be time to get to know some of them later. At the moment she was in a bad mood due to the sudden, random deployment with undesirables.

[User]
Sergeant Harald, Gallian Militia

'You're alright lass, don't worry.' The Sergeant tried to sound reassuring as he checked over Durandal's head wound, keenly aware that he had no damned idea how to treat it. He tried waving a can of ragnaid over it, just in case. 'Should have been wearing your helmet, Private.' He tapped his for emphasis. 'They can take a good hit, provided you're lucky.' Not that Durandal could be called lucky, after having a house collapse on her... But she seemed to have herself under reasonable control. He pulled up a chair and set in for a long night of watching her, making sure she didn't drift away into sleep. Seemed the best thing to do at the time.

---

0635 1st April 1935 EC
La Haye Sainte

Fortunately, it had been a quiet night. Harald's greatest fear had been an Imperial counter-attack in the early hours as the rest of the squad slept, but the road remained mercifully empty. Flicking away the the umpteenth cigarette of the night, he leant over to check on Durandal once more. She had stopped replying an hour or so ago, but didn't look like she had lost conciousness or anything; in all likelihood she had just fallen asleep after what, for her at least, must have been a brutal ordeal of a day. Not many soldiers lose their entire squad and get drafted into another for a serious firefight in the same day. He lay the back of his hand across her brow, testing her temperature; more or less normal. The others wouldn't be up yet, not if they had any smarts. And that gave him time to prepare some brekkers.

An hour later, the first of them started to filter down into the wrecked kitchen, where Harald had commandeered the auger. 'Morning kids. I reckoned you could all do with a decent meal before we start work; hope you like beef.' Stocked full of fresh cut wood, the auger held two pans; one contained a thick looking stew complete with thickly cubed meat and vegetables, while the other was just hot water. 'Grab yourselves a mug; the owner left some tea and I'm sure they'd love to donate to the war effort.'

Private Alonso Bons, Gallian Militia

Why do I always get stuck with the meathead... Lack of sleep had worn away at Alonso's already frayed nerves, leaving him nervous and twitchy in the back of the APC as they trundled back off toward Le Haye Sainte. He tried not to look at the recruits they had picked up, unsure of how Carn had elicited their help. Maybe he didn't want to know. His gaze rested resolutely at foot level, praying the time passed quickly in the crisp morning air. It didn't. Eventually the silence proved too much and he ventured a peak at the four new soldiers. Another Darcsen... At least there were no foreigners this time. After a long second, he tried to start a conversation. 'So... You guys uh, you seen much action?'

[Assistant]
PFC James Hunt|Le Haye Sainte

Despite his best efforts, James didn't fall asleep until about an hour before they'd had to be up and the sound of others moving around woke him quickly, his initial reaction to sight up down the road and look for Imperial soldiers. Then he realized that it was time to get up and groaned. He hadn't had so little sleep since the Imps first pushed over the border to invade Gallia, when his unit was frantically retreating after loosing their outpost and the Imps were right on their ass. Valk today's going to be long. Standing, he nudged Celeste into wakfulness with the butt of the damaged sniper rifle. "Hey, Corporal, up and at 'em from the sounds coming from next door. Smells like food too." Not waiting to see if it actually worked, he carefully steps over her and heads for the house, stepping in and setting both rifles to one side of the doorway before joining the small line that had formed for the Sarge's food. Hell yeah, real food! Plus it meant James could save his special stash.

[User]
Private Zeal Ashart

---

His depressing flopping and general inactivity, however, was soon interrupted by the appearance of an older soldier, a red-headed musclehead who apparently was using his position as Squad Leader or whatever to pick up girls as well. Letting out another bleating sigh, Zeal got off his ass and allowed himself a moment to admire the two freshly recruited members of his new squad.

Well, actually, no, there wasn't much to admire at all. One of them was a Darcsen that was way taller than himself, while the other one, despite having a rather fine derriere, looked like a psychopath with her albino nature. Not exactly people that Zeal felt like he could get comfortable with, but hopefully the rest of Squad 4 was better than that? Putting his hopes in his heart, the ashen-haired male when back to his quarters and picked up his stuff. It had already been packed the day before in anticipation of this, and, without any further delay, he strapped on his backpack, made sure his gear was in place, prayed that he wouldn't get blasted to bits by a tank on his first day, and marched out.

There was a small gathering of recruits by the APC, and after the red-headed recruiter hopped in, Zeal was quick to join him, finding himself a seat by the wall. There was a stony silence within the metal cage, but, well…whatever. The others were probably feeling nervous as well, with the whole war business still not having concluded.

Before he knew it, Zeal was chewing on his leather gloves, contemplating the meaning of life.

[Assistant]
Celeste
The nudging from the rifle gave Celeste a tiny jolt of energy. But it was enough to prevent her from falling asleep again. And a minute or so after said nudging, she stumbled up, taking another two minutes to wake up enough to walk. Picking up her lance and rifle and moving into the intact house, only to drop it near the entrance. She rubbed her eyes as she entered what remained of the kitchen. "Beef? Interesting breakfast option." Celeste said in a tone of voice that matched her tired demeanor. "Better than anything I would have expected though."

Skye
Skye couldn't help but feel some relief when the man came to recruit them and a guy from the cafeteria. The pale skinned girl she was left to talk to wasn't much in terms of excitement or conversation. And was also glad to be pulled into a squad that needed people, rather than be put in a squad that was over-encumbered. Though the mention of an APC perplexed her, the only combat capable vehicle she had seen on base so far was a tractor with a machine-gun attached to it. How did they manage to scrap together an APC? Or is it simply a truck with some thin metal plates? She mentally shrugged, knowing she'd get her answer soon enough. First things first, to get my gear together and meet at this APC. "Alright, I'll get my stuff together and meet ya there." She said in answer to the man.

Once she had gathered her gear, she made sure to quickly move over to the APC. Surprised to see it was a repainted Imp APC. "Ya got nerves if anything to have acquired one of these." She smiled at the man. Skye then took this chance to look at the male that was recruited from the cafeteria as well. Fairly frail looking, and made Skye a bit concerned for how he'd fair in combat. But she then noticed the Lancer, probably a recruit from a different part of the base. Looked like she had a fair amount of muscle on her as well, given the fact she was encased in plates of metal.

She could feel the relative unease and general dislike of her. And Skye knew full well why too. Darcsen hate, no matter the degree, was usually present where ever she went. But that's not what was bothering her the whole ride. It was that no one was really talking. Her foot tapping to resonate her unease. The only sounds came from the APC and the surrounding environment. But luckily, someone spoke up, asking if anyone had seen action. "I've seen a bit. Not much to warrant me a medal, or even the right to say I'm a vet. But I was in the army and fought on a front or two." She answered, looking at the person. Though it seemed she was the only one to really respond, looking around at the others, warranting a small shrug.