[System]
Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Armoured I Unarmoured

Sergio stands at around 5'11", certainly taller than a lot of his compatriots, but his figure is more so enhanced by his armour, which tends to make him look more imposing. He has an interesting demeanour outside of combat that can't be masked by plate armour, an elegant and emotive style of body language that is still tinged with a trained and experienced sense of alertness. He also makes a point of keeping strong eye contact in conversation, even if armoured. His eyes are a fiery orange, and his hair a blazing red, and he tends to keep his hair long and in a bushy ponytail when not concealed in an arming cap. While not egoistic, Sergio takes pride in his looks, and this shows in his clear skin and well kept hair, where other Knights would have servants pretty them up, Sergio has always taken care of his appearance when out of combat. He has a few scars, but his most notable is a large dark red diamond shaped mark across his abdominal region, rarely seen due to his tendency to use battle wraps.

Personality: About as flowery in demeanour as he is practical in mind. Sergio is a warrior above all else, admiring strength and ingenuity, as well as honour. He also values presentation and appearance, believing a Knight's duty is to look the part, as well as act it. Pious but by no means preachy, he follows the codes set by his religion and order but does not let them enslave him. Contrary to the more strictly defensive doctrine used by some Mayonite zealots, Sergio believes that the best way to protect the good from the evil is proactivity - put simply, the best defense is a good offense. This attitude and his appearance earned Gherardesca his title of "Knight of the Harvest Moon", which he embraced in kind. However, his thirst to prove himself as a teenager left a chip on his shoulder that, whilst not visible from an onlooker, affects him in his downtime. He notably dislikes communal meals and prefers to eat alone.

Brief Backstory: Sergio della Gherardesca was born in Southwest Thaln, the first and only son of a family belonging to a minor noble house of the same name. He speaks little of his childhood, only with a fondness and sadness in his eyes when of his father. What is known is that he made an excellent impression on other noble families as a teenager, charming them with his humour and presence, but his mettle was truly tested during the War of the Red Flag, where he was called into action as a squire for a noble of a house of a much higher standing. During his first battle - inside a fort in which they were being besieged he was shocked to realize that the Knight he served was utterly ill equipped and trained, refusing to make plans of attack and resorting to playing passive - a decision that cost their forces heavy losses when the enemy began to cut their supply chains off. Half starving, Sergio disregarded his orders and assembled a sortie of men to raid the enemy camp, the troops in question gladly accepting an actual point of authority. The raid was a huge success, routing the camp and buying enough time to receive proper reinforcements. However, although the troops applauded Sergio's lead, he was given no commendations for the battle, and to his utter disgust, his actions were credited to the Knight he served. Upset, but now emboldened by the knowledge of his purpose as a warrior, the young man fought tooth and nail during the war, often ignoring the wishes of his useless master and earning the love and admiration of the men he served, his natural charisma raising the morale of the troops massively.

The war forged a strong and fierce leader out of the growing man, and even though he was never awarded a Knighthood for his actions during any of his battles, at the end of the war, he was finally given some minor lands around his ancestral home, and became a landed Knight in turn. After the war he continued his efforts to protect the people that other hand-me-down nobles had failed to, and often led militia to destroy slaver rings or defend against Orc raiders, slowly but surely gaining a true reputation, and sometimes even working with Reonite Paladins to achieve the same goals.

A few years later, his great service to the Kingdom earned him the eye of the Iron Rose Knights, and he was extended a formal invitation, to which he gladly accepted, seeing it as the fruits of his hard work.

Equipment: Sergio wears plate armour into battle, which consists of dark silver metal and some leather elements to help with flexibility, as well as a red fabric tabard across his shoulder. He generally carries a dark silver heater shield, two painted crimson horizontal stripes across the front, with him along with his favoured weapon, his warpick/axe. One side is bladed while the other end is pointed, and he wields it in one hand along with his shield. As a backup he carries a rondel dagger for close quarters.

Skills: Excellent in both one-on-one and general skirmishes, and excels further with crushing weapons in particular. Generally he can use anything bladed, but two handed weapons pose a challenge for him, and he is wholly inexperienced with ranged weapons. He can also play piano proficiently.

[User]
The knights' return trip was uneventful, despite the prisoners they were transporting and their prisoners' former captives. The former had no morale left to speak of, with their leader decisively crushed and the veterans either dead or reminded just how large the gap between even experienced soldiers and a legendary knightly order could truly be. The freed prisoners, on the other hand, only strained their resources but temporarily, splitting off along the trip to return to their homes where possible--or to at least salvage what they could, where the bandits had destroyed more than they took. The knights' own injuries had been light for the most part, and whilst some care was needed to transport the injured, it neither demanded haste nor slowed them any further.

Aimlenn had been built long, long ago, construction having begun shortly after Thaln itself was founded. In spite of the country's embattled history, the capital had never wavered, never fallen. Its tall, strong walls held fast. Aimlenn, among the people, was known as the fortress-city, as the white-grey stone walls, lined with sturdy towers, were a sight known far and wide across the land.

The immense steel and wood gate stood before them. In this time of peace, it remained open, and Fanilly led her knights through it.

The streets bustled with activity, merchants transporting goods, citizens going about their business, and as they headed in further, nobility and the rich with their entourages of guards, maids, and manservants walking the street. What was universal to all these people is the glance they cast up as the Iron Roses entered. Many, especially the average citizens, looked on in awe as the knights of legend proceeded in, taking with them what could only be those bandits who had hurt and killed so many.

The guards, many of them soldiers of Thaln, cast dark glares towards the prisoners.

The stone fortress that was home to Aimlenn's garrison and prison soon received the bandits. Their fate was essentially sealed, an execution would greet them. Barring some sort of sudden reprieve (which seemed highly unlikely, to say the least), they were set to die for their murders and thefts.

Onwards, the knights went, winding through further streets and towards Candaeln, situated near the royal castle. Once a purely defensive building, over time it had been modified, and its most obvious defensive feature remained the moat. The walls themselves, although thick, had far too many windows, many with stained glass displaying roses, to truly be a defensive structure, and gleaming blue tile covered rooftops that may once have been navigable battlements.

Some took the horses around to courtyard's external entrance, the part of the building that most retained its old function as a site of war, whilst others entered the building on foot, through the main doors and under the iron rose itself. Inside, they were greeted with floors of spotless wood, clean and varnished; the walls carefully plastered and painted over. Throughout, relics of the past were artfully arranged--the weapons and armour of prestigious knights, portraits of captains past and other notables. Rare was the hallway or room that would lack any adornment, even if a strange number of landscape paintings could be found mixed amongst them all.

Closest to the entrance, in a place of honour, was the Saint's Blade, the Starlight Sword, Bane of the Vos Korvungand. The sword that had taken the head of Meryn the Kinslaughterer. The weapon that had pierced the heart of Volkstraad the red dragon. The silvery, almost ethereal-seeming blade of the Starlight Saint of Roses, lay carefully locked inside of glass case. The blade was strong, but elegant, a sharp tip and a razor edge with a star-shaped crossguard.

Soon after they entered, the captain and various knights split to go their different ways, an order of rest granted. Of course, no sooner had the captain gone to attend to her own matters, a courier arrived at the entrance, bearing a message...

---

Tyaethe

The vampire was particularly glad to be done with travelling and out of the sunlight, having been carefully angling a parasol for a good deal of the return trip as the weather grew fair and bright. With little in the way of unpacking to do, Tyaethe took but a few minutes to change into casual clothing before returning to the same spot anyone knew to look for her.

Within the halls and rooms of Candaeln, there were numerous bay windows offering a sight over the courtyard--some gave a particularly unimpressive view of the smithy's work (fortunately, it was mostly the kitchens that had to deal with such clamour), whilst others looked over the gardens nearest the chapel. Some, however, gave a view over the main courtyard itself, the clear space most often used for sparring or training of one kind or another. One of these windows lay in the former gatehouse turned entrance hall, within easy sight of the founder's sword and armour. In fact, the position of case and window made it easy for anyone occupying the window seat to see that the sword was there.

What really made it stand out, when the knights were otherwise engaged, was how none of the other seats in the building appeared to have acquired quite so many mismatched cushions over time. The rest of the time, the most notable thing about it was likely to be the vampire that could be found there, either watching out the window at the knights training, or keeping a constant guard over the relics that lay within.

It also made it the ideal place to leave missives intended for the paladin. In this case, a carefully sealed letter, with her name marked both in the common letters used by the various kingdoms and the old elven script Talderia had derived it from. She raised an eyebrow at it, but set it aside to read later, pulling herself onto the seat as always and tilting her head slightly to keep an eye on the sword.

"Well, that should be the last of the rebels cleared, or at least all the soldiers," the girl reported, sighing, "We even got off lightly on the casualty front, for all that the bandits managed to capture a griffin. Still, I don't like the order's chances, Elly; we've lost too many veterans. If the new lot don't shape up soon, they're going to be in real trouble if something like Maglad shows up, or we get badly outnumbered..."

[Assistant]
Loser

Serenity shook her head, but it wasn't as if Dame Katerina was looking to begin with.

The song faded from her heart, replaced once more by the crackling of flames, the death-twitches of the beast, and the false remorse of bandits and bastards.

She wrenched her hatchet from the griffin's skull, inspecting its edge for nicks with a disinterested gaze.

Not her kill.

...

Resplendent!

Serenity paraded alongside the rest of the Iron Roses, her armor gleaming once more in the brilliance of sunlight. She wore her helm still, but with her visor up, the knight's brilliant eyes matched the sky itself, an azure offset by flaxen bangs and fringes that framed her noble face. A knight was a lion, and a lion had to look good. Ever-gallant, she smiled at the commoners that had flocked to enjoy their victory march, her gaze just focused enough that it could be construed that she was looking at an individual while she swept through the collective. The people of Aimlenn had reason to celebrate, after all. A flawless victory over the Bandit King, even with an inexperienced commander and the retirement of most of the old guard prior to this, was cause to celebrate.

It was good that the corpses of the fallen were wrapped up and placed discretely in a separate wagon. Better that healing magic allowed for injuries incurred to be hidden beneath sparkling plate and polished boots.

Sir Rickert was dead. Dame Shanil was missing.

A flawless victory, nonetheless.

Off on the other side, Serenity caught a glimpse of the griffin's plumage, pinned to Sir Fleuri's helmet. Loyalty to Reon, and loyalty to the Iron Rose? No, beyond noble pretensions, it appeared the Flower remained.

A smirk surfaced. It was a bright day, but still, it was cold.

...

"Dame Morianne."

The approach had been sudden, a storm broiling into being from once-clear skies. Serenity had waited just long enough for the knights to scatter before she strode towards the elven troubadour, cornering her before slamming a hand against the wall, inches away from Morianne's elongated ears.

A thunderclap, with a gaze like frozen lightning, though her facade remained composed still.

"You are a talented artist and a caster of repute," the younger knight spoke, her voice low. "But I've no interest in being the object of your spellsongs. Save them for someone who...possesses more idealism than battle sense." A pause, a slight loosening of expression. It would be easy enough to envision the most appropriate candidates, under such descriptions. "Please."

If there was nothing of import that Morianne had to say, Serenity would retract her extended arm, take a step back, and smile.

"Ah, and good kill."

With that, she spared not one more glance as she strode for the smithy.


[System]
Species:
 Rothian

Race Name: Rothian

Home world: Rothia

Average height: 7.9 feet

Description: Long lived reptilian, egg-laying humanoids who are large and, while they appear relatively slender, have a high muscle density. They are bipedal with digitigrade legs and a moderately long and muscular tail, though they maintain a very straight posture. They have thick scales, giving them a minor amount of natural armor. Their hands have four clawed digits, while their feet each have three clawed digits. Compared to humans, they have less defined shoulders with thicker and longer necks, as well as a raptor-like head. Scale colors and patterns are highly variable among the population. The only noticeable external difference between males and females of the species are that females have a distinctly feminine body shape. (Similar in appearance to this.)

The technology which the Rothians use is highly advanced, boasting strong energy shields and armor plating which is both impact and heat resistant. Their soldiers wear different armor based on their role, but in general, they use lightweight plated armor made from synthetic materials that is designed to hinder mobility as little as possible. Personal energy shielding is standard among all Rothian soldiers. Their ranged weaponry, which have the same curved an flowing aesthetic as their ships and structures, their weapons are often considered large in the hands of most of the other races.

Height:
 8' 2"

Age:
93

Gender:
Male

Rank:
None

Appearance:
Srath has dark grey scales covering his entire body, except where it fades to black along his back and the top of his head, and lightens along his front and throat to almost white. His eyes are bright blue and almost glow in contrast to his dark scales.

Possessions:
5 Person ship, 3 crew 2 prisoners, capable of medium range jumps.

High Damage energy weapon with a non-leathal setting.
Light body armor with small personal shield.

Skills/Abilities:
Decent pilot, very good with pistol weapons and hand-to-hand combat, very good investigator and liar. Lots of experience and has contacts everywhere.

Personality:
Srath has a strong sense of honor, it drove him to his current profession of bounty hunting. He has also taken mercenary type jobs from communities for problems that GMC was unwilling to pay for. He has also been known to run emergency supplies due to his desire to help. Has issues with arrogant individuals who are apathetic to their mistakes, they tend to end up with broken faces around him.

History:
Srath was orphaned at a very young age, he doesn't remember his parents well and has no other family. His birth parents death was never solved. He was adopted by a human family as his parents had moved from their home world. Once he'd grown up he applied to GTC security, once hired he began looking into the file on his parents death. While working for GTC he became frustrated with the work as he was unable to do any real good. Once it became known that he was looking into the death of his birth parents he was fired from GTC.

Still wanting to help people he used what he'd learned while working in GTC to do what they were unwilling or unable to do. Over the course of the last fifty years he's been hunting down criminals and pirates and handing them over to local GTC authorities for a modest fee. Most of the equipment he has belonged to the people he caught, not all of it strictly legal. Even his ship was a gift from a very grateful shipyard owner who's daughter had been kidnapped by pirates.

Once his adoptive parents died, he officially moved to his ship. Preferring to call it home than any of the planets under the GTC.

[User]
Jeremiah's dilated eyes widened even more as Lou yelled at him. The adrenaline pumping through his veins quickened and his heart pounded, but instead of running, he stood there by the panel. If there was going to be more disruption, he at least had to ensure the ventilation systems wouldn't breakdown if hit or molested in any way.

 He bit his lip and shoved his tongue in his cheek as he started to resplice a few of the wires behind each other, creating backup flows in case one were to shut down. He picked up the discarded steel sheet panel that he had ripped off, dug into his suit for nails, and quickly hammered it into patches over the most important coils. With an intoxicated smile he wiped his hands, then quickly turned on his heel.

 His drugged legs launched him to the vehicle in a second splitting sprint, and with a heave, he slid into his seat, slapping the driver's seat in front of him, "let's go!"

[Assistant]
Altenia Tower

 Craig listened to Ailens words and fell off the edge of his bed to the floor, surprised by the sudden change. It wasn't what he was trying to get at, not at all. What he was trying to get Ailen to realize that was that people die, no matter what we do and there is nothing we can do about it; that we have to take the bad with the good and enjoy those moments of happiness while we have them. Sighing deeply he looked up and stared blankly at the ceiling. He figured there wasn't much he could say right then to make him understand. Maybe sometime on Earth would help him, at least make him see that a short time around someone you cared about was better than no time.

"I will but you aren't transferred yet, Silvia has final say," was all he could think to say. Rising from his place he looked out the window and saw the storm raging on, hoping that Silvia was alright but locked in the mines, what chance did she have? "When Srath contact me, I will let you know, until then, continue as normal," he said as he stepped out his doors and made his way to Silvias room. He used his override and entered. Searching for what seemed forever but found nothing. Did she have it on her? If so, it would complicate matters. Sighing he walked back out and secured the door before checking that Tristan was still under lock and guard before making his way to the docks to see if he could find Srath.

The Safe Room Of The Resistance

"Hurry!" Silvia screamed as she felt her strength giving away quickly, she didn't know how much of the cave she was holding up but it felt worse than catching a transport without crystal aide. The blood had quickly gone from drops to a steady trickle as she gasped for breath; her eyes swirling like the storm above and her mind feeling like it was being ripped apart by the increased sounds of the crystal song. Sweat dripping from her body as her muscles burned she began to scream in agony. It was cut short as she felt Jun'Kramas hands on her and pulling her out of place in midair.

"No!" she tried to say but nothing came out as she was flung into the Resistance Room and hit the ground hard, rolling a few times in the dirt before she ended up sprawled out on her chest with her head buried in the dirt. Slowly she lifted her head; her face smeared with her own blood and the dirt of the mines as she looked over and saw the Jun'Krama holding the door closed while the mine shook around them. He had just saved her life, risked his own. What the hell was he thinking? If she had had any strength left she would have asked but her mind was still swimming from the hum of the crystals and her body was fatigued from the entire ordeal.

Slowly she brought her knees in and rested her forehead on the cool ground, her body still shaking uncontrollably as her arms wrapped around her waist. She was in agony, both mentally and physically. The only salvation was that the room was indeed cutting back on the song of the crystals. It still ripped through her but it was manageable for now. Coughing slightly, blood came from her mouth and her tear ducts. She had done a number on herself, it was completely self-inflicted but she had done it out of reflex to give him a chance. She hadn't once thought she was going to survive the ordeal and the last thing she had expected was him coming to her rescue.

Weakly her head turned as she rested her cheek in the dirt, still holding herself and trembling as she heard him laughing, wondering what was so funny but she didn't have the strength to ask. As he finally introduced himself and gave her his true name she was able to manage a small smile. "Karras," she whispered. "Thank you," she forced out before she rolled onto her back and stared towards the ceiling, seeing it was dented from the weight of the collapsing mine and groaned deeply. Had they just truly saved each other or just given themselves an open grave instead of one under crushed earth.

Silvias eyes slowly drifted close as she rested her hands in the cool dust on the ground, trying to regain her strength but it would not come for a while. It was one thing to do smaller shields, to move a person or even a ship with the aid of her crystal but what she had done would have been taxing under the best circumstances. Her chest rose and fell slowly with each breath she forced into her lungs, her muscles still burning and her mind was aching. She hoped she didn't have to attempt that again anytime soon. She wished the lights were out so Karras couldn't see her weakened like this but the room had its own separate generators and was self-contained; so there she lay in her weakened and bloodied state for him to see.

Outside The Mines Of Altenia

Lou and Marx kept screaming for Jeremiah to hurry up and get in the vehicle, but it seemed he had other plans. They didn't know what he was up to but whatever it was seemed important to the engineer. After a few moments he came barreling towards them and landed in the open seat. Lou didn't wait any longer and pushed the vehicle as hard as he could as it spun around and made a break away from the front of the mine. It wasn't a moment too soon as another bolt of lightning hit the face of the mine and it all came tumbling down to the ground, there was nothing left but rocks and debris.

Thankfully everyone had seemed to get clear of the path of the falling rock but not by much, there were a few injuries that the other Moles were grabbing and tossing into other vehicles. Marx turned around in his seat and watched it happen, his eyes widening as he sat there in disbelief. "Sil…." was all he managed to say as he watched the collapse; there was nothing he could do at that point. The storm was raging on.

"Moles to Altenia Tower…..We just lost the mine…." Lou said through his com to the Tower. "Heading in, one known dead, several injuries, will be there shortly. Pulling out until the storm passes," he said before cutting the com. Gwen leaned back in her seat and covered her face with her hands unable to say anything.


[System]
| Nicknames |
 Olly

 | Gender |
 Female

 | Age |
 25

 | Old World Occupation |
 Fire Fighter

 | Equipment |
 Olivia stands at 5'10 with a muscular build and various freckles over her body. Her hair is cut short and curls that frame her face, she tends to wear it loose or up in a bun when needed.

---

 | Class |
 Arcane Duelist

 | Equipment |
 Medium Armor, mostly leathers and furs with only metal arm and knee plate armor. She has a longbow and two curved short swords that she mostly uses.

 | Magic |

* Illusion
* Conjuration

---

 | Personality |
 Olivia is calm and level-headed by nature. She tends to worry over other people before herself and helps those around her who need it the most. Mothering those younger than her, she keeps a watchful eye for those who tend to be a little more problematic and impulsive. While she doesn't mind caring for others, she does become hot-tempered when people around her don't listen to what she has to say. Olivia tries to be friendly with the people around her, treating people like she would like to be treated.

 Stubborn and determined, Oliva can be hard to compromise with or change her mind. While she enjoys analyzing and thinking ahead to have a well planned out path she can still be quick to adapt and form new plans for the sudden changes. Of course, that only applies when Olivia is under pressure. When out of trouble she struggles to accept change, for example, losing a friend or getting lost in the city.

 | Biography |
 Olivia grew up in Los Angeles and joined the Navy when she graduated and served for five years as an Avionics Technician after finishing her training. Olivia didn't enjoy her years in the navy much due to the distance she had to be away from her mother, but it was the only quick and secure way she knew in order to provide money and security. When she was 21 her mother passed away leaving her and her older brother alone. At 22 she left the navy and moved back to LA with her brother.

 After the navy, she had a hard time finding a steady job that paid well enough to save up for her own place. She waited tables, worked at retails stores, and even fast food restaurants in order to save enough and get her own little place in North Hollywood where she finally applied as a fire fighter. She was been working for the department ever since. Her life was looking up until one day she woke up in a beach, of all places, wondering how the hell she got there.

 | Other |
 Call her Olive and she still punch you.

[User]
Alice The Trickster ~ Face In The Sand
-DIRECT INTERACTIONS-

Something was strange.

Alice, smacking her lips in her sleep, slowly stirred awake due to a light voice and an odd texture in her mouth. Her eyes slowly opened, the world still mostly dark regardless. Scanning the small area within her view, her mind processed what was in front of her by having her hand grope the ground beneath her; Her fingers sank through, similarly to... Sand. This thought lead her to the realization that she was face first in the sand, and that what was in her mouth was surely sand also. Her teeth pressed together due to being curious, hearing a sound that almost resembled static as the grains shifted between her teeth.

Yup. It tasted bad.

Pushing herself up, the girl began coughing and attempting to spit out the sand in her mouth. Awh, god. How did she manage to get sand in her mouth? She didn't remember falling asleep on some beach; She was in her hotel room, reading travel guides! They were so boring that she ended up passing out; She hadn't decided where to go yet. She managed to stop coughing her lungs out long enough to look up at her surroundings: There were trees. And the ocean! And... Some guy.

A small scowl crossed her face. Damn it! She didn't want to go to the tropics; Too much sun was bad for her cute complexion! And if this was the quality of the hot manservants around here, then she could only offer three and a half stars at best. Maybe four if he was nice, but she wasn't making any promises.

"I have no--" She was interrupted in the middle of her response by coughing more sand out; God, her throat was itchy. She might have been hallucinating but she almost swore a small crab popped out of her mouth with how hard she just coughed. "I have no idea where we are." She answered, sitting in the sand in front of the obviously panicked man. Honestly, she was freaked out, too! Was she kidnapped? Is this like that T.V show where that plane crashed on the island? Was there going to be a big smoke monster?

She thought she might start crying in a minute, but kept her composure for the sake of communicating with the makeshift manservant.

"Last thing I remember was reading some crappy travel guides. I wake up and my lungs feel like they're half filled with sand!" She rambles at the man for a moment, blinking in realization as she stared at him. This was all oddly suspicious, wasn't it? Was she dreaming? If so, it was disappointing this was the best she could do; She could almost mistake it for a nightmare!

"Wait a second." She added, staring at the manservant. "Are you real?" She asks, tone swaying between confused and serious. To further her seriousness however, she reached out, offering her arm to him. If he pinched her and she woke up, then crisis averted. But if it was the other way around, this could actually be really, really bad. She had to know.

"Pinch me." She requested, bracing herself a little bit for it. She'd dock her score from 3.5 to 2 stars if he didn't go through with the request.

[Assistant]
- Sebastian Masters; Out of the frying pan... into a new world -

 Sebastian was no stranger to perilous situations, his investigative reporting had taken him from the slums of some third world country to the middle of a warzone in the middle east and still he had always held his nerve around danger, but what was happening to him now had him more then a little shaken up.

 The last thing he could remember was crashing out of exhaustion on some dingy hotel mattress, the only sounds being the broken air-conditioning unit and his own exasperated breathing, but now for some reason he could hear the soft sound of waves rolling onto a beach, he could feel the warmth of a mid-day sun and summoning the strength to open his eyes slightly he could see the bright blue sky above him. Not knowing what was going on he decided to believed this to be a calming method his mind was using to deal with his recent stress, all be it a strange one as he never really liked beaches, however his peaceful delusion was then shattered by the sound of people talking close by.

 Quickly sitting bolt upright in the sand his eyes shot open, darting around quickly scanning for danger but only finding two other people sitting in the sand talking, with others still laying around on the beach, at this point his journalistic side kicked in and he started to analyse the situation, with no idea where he was, how he got their, or what was going on, he was going to need to do something so getting to his feet he began to walk over to the two others sitting up on the beach all the while trying to prepare himself, ready to do the one thing he hated to do, rely on others for an explanation.

[User]
Jacob Wheeler
~To whom it most concerns~

 Something wasn't right.

 That was the story of Jacob Wheeler's life in recent days, but now it was in regards for a less metaphysical issue. He wasn't in his bed in his tiny one-bedroom apartment like he was supposed to be. He was out in the field again, sleeping in the sand! Licking his dry lips Jacob pushed himself onto his knees, his gloved hands sinking into the dust. A strange hat, an old-fashioned looking thing which'd been perched awkwardly on his head fell off from the sudden movement. He stared at the odd bit of headware, amused by its peculiarity and recent position on his head. He knew where it must have come from. He'd been attending Mardi Gras on the North Shore in Louisiana last night, out on the lakeshore. He must've bought it at some point during one of the themed parades from a street vender. The hat was oddly well made for something one might buy on the corner, and looked worn and tattered, and stained even. Jacob hoped he hadn't wasted too much money on it. The amount of alcohol he'd consumed would explain his lapse in memory of the purchase, and his current sleeping arraignments out on the beach.

 The thought of money in mind he patted his back pocket, groaning aloud when he found no reassuring bulge. Wallet's gone. He checked his other pocket. Phone too, and his keys. Everything was gone, and he was alone on a beach, who knows where with no money, no car, and no way to call for help.

 Jacob felt the sharp sting of despair when a murmur of voices behind him alerted him to presence of other people. He could have shouted aloud for joy as he turned quickly, standing up unsteadily to ask if any of them still possessed their cellular devices. As Jacob's unsteady eyes roamed over the local area his beer tinged breath caught in his throat at the sight of the strangest little creature he'd ever seen. It was like a large rat, but with seven tails, eight legs and fur that flashed dull red, then blue, then yellow. Jacob blinked, rubbing at his eyes and looking again. It'd vanished.

 Deciding he was still a little drunk Jacob squinted at the other people, real tangible people assembled near by. Half dozen or more of them scattered about in similar states of confusion and groggy consciousness. Ignoring the arrangement of robes, armor, and weaponry more out of a refusal to acknowledge the oddities then not, he addressed the nearest and most awake person he could see.

 "Um hi, I'm sure we're good friends after last night, though I can't seem to recall your name...?" Jacob scratched his head, brushing sand from his blonde hair. "Anyway, do you still have your phone by any chance? I seem to've lost mine..."

[Assistant]
"I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."

Olivia's 24-hour shift had been pretty shitty, to say the least. The last four hours had been occupied by a drive-by, and her team was the first on the scene. While it wasn't rare to see these kinds of incidents in some parts of LA, it was something that Olivia would never get used to no matter how many years she had lived there. Luckily the victim of the drive-by had only been hit by one bullet in the arm. While she was not train fully trained as an EMT, her partner was, so she helped him as best she could while the police and ambulance arrived. Police statements and all the formalities came after the victim was dealt with. Oliva usually didn't get this kind of calls while her 24-hour shifts. Most of them were of people who fainted, broke something while falling, or just false emergencies so at the end of her shift she was pretty beat. She had been planning to grab something to eat before going home, but the last call had really done one on her, so she headed home and straight to bed with plans for a big breakfast in the morning.

However, her big breakfast had been canceled as she stared up at the blue sky and listened as waves hit the shore. Wait. Sky? Shore? Beach?! Oliva shot up and looked around frantically, sand flying around her and falling from her hair to her shoulders. "Wha -- " She looked down to see her usual boxers and tank top were replaced by some kind of leather garments... Was it armor?! What the hell going on? The last thing she remembered was falling asleep to the image of big fluffy pancakes, and now she could feel sand inside her strange clothing. Fucking hate the sand.

"Anyway, do you still have your phone by any chance? I seem to have lost mine..."

Olivia's head turned back to look at some strange people in strange clothes talking to one another. "Hey! What the fuck is going on? Is this some kind of joke?" Oliva shuffled to her feet quickly, groaning loudly when sand slipped into her leather boots and began to stomp her way to them. Had she been kidnapped on her sleep and brought to the beach? This particular beach didn't look like the ones in LA. It was far too pretty! Maybe Laguna Beach? No no! This wasn't real! How could someone drug her, kidnapped her, changed her clothes, and send her to a pretty beach in one night?

"You got a phone dude? What is going on? The last thing I remember is sleeping in my bed, and now I'm here in some kind of LARP clothes." Olivia could tell they were just as confused as they were, and she knew there would be no answers from them. Didn't hurt to try, right?


[System]
ALIAS('s): Darsby
STATUS: Living
SPECIES: Human?
GENDER: Male?
AGE: ???
HEIGHT: 5' 10"
WEIGHT: ???
BUILD: Lean-Lanky-Thin
RANK: ???
OCCUPATION: ???

BASIC PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: He's attenuated, pale, entirely covered in various ebony tribal tattoos up to and including the neck, numerous lengthy blade-born scars, and holds lean muscle in quantity's just thick enough to not look emaciated. His hair and eyes are generally a somewhat luminescent rose pink, the X scar just above his right eye is of the same color. Said scar is the only piece of tissue with such an oddity. Darsby's scars cut through his numerous tattoos as if having occurred after getting ink-work done.

BASIC PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION: He's most easily related to an apathetic college student during finals week who's will to live was lost after discovering their GPA is ruined due to failed exams.

BASIC ABILITY DESCRIPTION: He can hide his presence with alien cigarettes and teleport objects from one place to another, I guess? Maybe he can sense strange magics?

BASIC HISTORY DESCRIPTION: Unidscovered

PICTURE:

[User]
'Well.. She understands instruction.' Darsby grins to himself, knowing the value of someone who can understand commands far exceeds that of a needlessly rebellious free-thinker. His eyes, imbued with complex magics, steer from left to right for observation of a fading barrier. Blouth alpha's trap their prey in invisible cages few can detect. Luckily, escaping the barrier is always as easy as eliminating the nearest alpha.

Darsby spins on his heel to turn into following Anora. He feels his sealed body quake in protest to the sudden movement, tremors surging upwards from either trembling knee. "Crap.." He mumbles to himself whilst taking a moment to deliberate over his present situation. Circumstance dictates healing is less essential than escape, using whatever magic stores remain to achieve this goal is paramount. Blouth aren't our pair's only worry; there will undoubtedly be influential earth-based organizations coming to investigate this magic-filled event.

"Lestiess-Lestuary" Grey smoke permeates the air surrounding Darsby as ethereal words pass into conscious space near him via supernatural speech. His body merges with the smoke, splitting into several surging tendrils of cool mist. These flowing masses rend the air in passing through the window Anora shattered. Said grey mass reassembles itself into Darsby's familiar form once having emerged from the hospital.

"We're taking one of these metal wagons. You're piloting." Darsby speaks quickly, weakly gesturing with his gun towards the nearest parking lot. He begins to hobble in that ordered direction, his bare feet softly pattering against pavement and grass.

[Assistant]
For a heart-wrenching moment, Darsby did not follow Anora. The inside of the hospital became a black hole lurking beyond the window in comparison to the sunlight blaring all around her. Sparks igniting over her tense fingers. She took a step toward the window, preparing to jump back inside to see what kept him, multiple grim causes for his delay running through her head in an instant.
 She shouted in surprise and stumbled away from the window when tendrils of misty gray smoke rushed through the broken glass. Her sparks turned into glowing masses encompassing her hands, licks of sparkling purple, gold, black curling up her outspread arms in anticipation.
 A solid figure quickly began to form out of the mist just beyond the spray of glass shards. Not knowing what to expect—the Blouth? An Alpha? Darsby?—the glow in both her powers and gaze intensified with the pounding of her heart.
 "Darsby!" she breathed through a heavy sigh of relief. Her powers extinguished and she hurried to his side.
 It took her a heartbeat to realize what he meant by 'metal wagons.' She blinked at him when it set in. "You want to steal a car?" She asked as he began hobbling away.
 She glanced back at the hospital as the first hint of police sirens whispered through the air as they raced to the aid of their comrades. Comrades who had quickly fallen. None of them had any idea what they were up against. None of them stood a chance. With herself no longer in immediate danger, her conscious finally got a word in:
 What about everyone else?
 "Darsby, wait!"
 She reached a hand out toward her backpack as she ran toward Darsby. In the blink of an eye, purple mist surrounded her pack and it shot into her open hand, Anora catching it by a strap. She quickly caught up to him before he reached the nearest parking lot. She reached out to his non-weapon wielding arm with her free hand.
 She expected him to evade her touch as he had before. To her surprise, her hand closed on his upper arm, her grip gentle, yet firm. She stepped around him to stand in front of him, hoping to make him face her.
 "I'm not going anywhere. We weren't the only people in there." Releasing him, she gestured to the hospital, unwavering determination in her gaze. "They have no clue what's in there, let alone how to stop them! We have to help. Or…" She paused, taking in his weak, tired form. He had definitely reached his limits. She took a deep breath. "Or tell me how to stop them, and I'll help."
 Though the idea of facing those things alone made fear churn in her stomach, she refused to let it sway her decision. Her powers may not have worked on Darsby, but they had worked on the Blouth, which was enough for her. There was no telling how many people were in the hospital, how many potential victims those monsters had at their disposal to eat or take as hosts, or whatever else they did.


[System]
Age: 30

Appearance

He has crimson tear tattoos going down from his to midway in his cheeks. His head is normally shaved bald or to a close buzz. His eyes are golden. He stands at 5ft 8in

Backstory: Hector was born in Herwen, a small desert nation across from Vrent. The people of Herwen (identifying themselves as The Chosen) are largely nomadic, travelling in tribes, with one central holy city (Harchan) that all the tribes go through and a port city (Turocan) for outsiders. They pride themselves on surviving the harsh desert of their land (which they call the Whispering Wastes, on account of the nigh constant wind shifting the sand and making it 'whisper') without aid from newer technology (anything beyond steel) or magic.

Hector, being born a mage, was an outsider from the first time he drew in breath. The local tribe leader drew a small drop of his blood and added it to the clear juice from the Ferchun cactus. If the juice remained clear, he was normal. As it changed to a vibrant purple, he was immediately marked as a mage, and immediately given his tears of shame, marking him as someone the Gods had deemed too weak to survive without the aid of magic. To make up for this weakness, he was constantly told growing up, he would have to do something great for his tribe. What classified as 'something great' was conveniently left vague and unexplained. As a mage, he was disliked by his fellow tribe members at best and despised at worst. He was only slightly better than a slave. They still used him and his skills, but they despised him for it. he was trained, fed, and sheltered, but only grudgingly. He was a weakling, but apparently a weakling they could put to use. If they needed a source of light, Hector was there. An unlimited source of arrows to help fend off enemy tribes, bandits, or hunt? Hector.

Hypocrisy, he noted, was something his tribe had no problems with. As the years went by, his skill with his magic and weapons only increased. Many times, Hector thought of running off. Escaping. Leaving the bastards he called a family and making his own way. But where would he go? The Whispering Wastes were harsh enough with a tribe, without a tribe he would surely be killed. If not by the desert itself than by some other tribe that didn't trust strangers with the Tears of Shame. Still, the thought was never far from his mind.

His opportunity came when they visited the city of Turocan. He doesn't know why his tribe was visiting there, they rarely told him anything aside from 'do this or do that, weakling.' What he did know was that one could get very easily lost in the crowds. One could easily get on a ship and one could easily get away from Herwen. The temptation proved too much for him. One, two and three steps into the crowd and he was gone, walking as fast as he could without attracting attention towards the docks. What happened next was a bit of a blur. He remembers pounding terror and adrenaline, straining his senses for the sounds of alarm and running feet. None came. He made it to the docks and sold what he could (basically everything except for the clothes on his back, his bow, his pipe, and his dagger) for passage to Vrent.

Hector hates boats. That's all there is to say about the ship passage.

When he landed in Vrent he spent a few weeks just getting used to the culture shock. It was..cold. Green. Mountainous. Surprisingly quiet. People actually didn't despise him for what he was or the tattoos he bore. There was the despised technology everywhere, making people weak. Soft. After a few weeks of wandering around he managed to fall in with a mercenary company. They were like his tribe, only they actually saw his magic as an advantage. He didn't get close to anyone, but neither was he despised. A few years with the mercenary crew and he had adapted well to the new continent and country. It was fairly easy, when word of someone in Leek's tavern offering a lot of coin for willing bodies and adventurers came, to leave his mercenary company. He'd already abandoned one tribe. What was one more?

Skills:

-Skilled Archer and knife fighter. Hector was always sent into fighting. If he died, there was no loss. If he didn't, they still won. He only gained more experience with his mercenary company.

-Can create things out of fire, typically arrows (with the same piercing power of steel arrows and all the added bonuses of being fire), but nothing larger than a baseball sized ball of flame in his palm.

-Basic field medical skills. If they were in Herwen, Hector would be able to quickly and easily find plants to help. As it is, he can bind a wound and stitch it together, and a few herbs in Vrent.

-Jury rig repairs. Hector can repair most damages with what he has on hand.

Equipment:

-Dagger

-Bow

-Pouch (Which contains some odds and ends Hector takes from where ever he's been. A rock from his homeland, a nail from the ship he was on, so on so forth.)

-Coin purse ( One Halfshield, three Farthings)

-Full Water Flagon

-Pipe and enough Saral (a herb found in Herwen, which serves no other purpose than to relax the user) to last him a few months if he continues to ration it.

Misc. Details:

-Hector despises the newer technology, something he picked up from his tribe. It's unnatural, even more unnatural than his magic.

-Hector can't keep himself still while lying. He fidgets. Tapping his fingers, shifting his weight from leg to leg, tapping his foot, etc etc.

-Hector gets violently seasick.

Geography: The actual range of the nation Herwen, across the sea from Vrent, is hard to define. Essentially a small nation in a large desert, Herwen has only two cities. Aside from these two cities (Harchan and Turocan), the Chosen are scattered about the Whispering Wastes (what they call their desert) moving in nomadic tribes from Oasis to Oasis. It is impossible to draw borders, as the Chosen have no reason to make any and wouldn't recognize them anyway, with their wandering.

The holy city of Harchan (where it is claimed the Gods first placed The Chosen) and the port city of Turocan are the only known areas where one can consistently fine the Chosen in large numbers. However, outsiders aren't allowed into Harchan, making Turocan (named after the Tribe who serves as the face and 'government' of Herwen) the only place where some form of trade and diplomacy can take place. The Turocans decide what trade is allowed, what foreign expeditions are allowed, and so on so forth. Given Herwen's size, lack of unity, and desert wasteland status, it isn't any wonder why the Turocans deal with very few foreign nations.

Harchan is ran by a Tribe of priests. They bring all the tribes in for peace and prayer, healing wounds, resupplying, and generally being a sanctuary against the Whispering Wastes. Since it is not magic or new technology, and even the strongest of men need sanctuary from time to time, it is accepted and well used.

Culture: While traditions and practices vary from tribe to tribe, three basic things remain the same. All the tribes believe that the Gods (remaining nameless and featureless) saw how weak and soft the rest of the humans were and created the Whispering Wastes to challenge and make humanity strong. They Chose people from all over the world and put them in the Wastes. 'Without magics or creation's of man to aid you, you will survive and be strong. You will be ready for when we drown the world in sand and heat.' With that decree, the Gods disappeared. The Chosen have been surviving like that ever since.

All tribes also despise magic and newer technologies. They see the former as the Gods deeming someone too weak to survive in the Whispering Wastes by themselves, and they see the latter as weak people trying to make their lives easier. How to deal with each of these varies from tribe to tribe. Some execute mages and technology users immediately. Other's mark them with the Tears of Shame so that all will know that they were too weak to survive in the Whispering Wastes without aid.

If it is not immediately shown that a person is a mage, a drop of blood is drawn from the person in question and dropped in the juice of a Ferchun cactus. If it turns vibrant purple, they're a mage. If it does not, they're not a mage.

The third thing is gender equality. If a woman can be as soft and weak as a man, thus the Gods have said, a woman can be as strong as a man. While there are certainly roles where men gravitate more naturally (and vice versa) and tribes where they ignore this rule (going both ways), most tribes seem to obey this rule. Even in Turocan.

[User]
A lither, lighter figure than that of either the previous applicants or their Ventus patron was next to slip its way into the bar, albeit the pace she kept somehow made her strides seem longer; leaving a rebuffed Conrad little time to offer pleasantries. "No." she'd pre-emptied, severing the barman's sentence short and coursing passed him to the corner table, having held Eolas squarely in her sights since her arrival.

Stopping with that same abrupt manner Brevana flicked a waiting seat from before her, motions deft enough to do so quietly as it found a place top down upon the nearby table. "I will prefer to stand." she thrummed, R's rolling over the statement as something in her eyes denigrated those assembled. A slight pivot of gaze let the woman regard both Bakk and Haljon in turn, a gesture that seemed more calculation than courtesy. "You are fortunate I've arrived." the southerner stated as flatly as her accent would allow, as if voicing her opinion of the others.

"You may begin." she'd consent, a bit more brass spoke into the terse sentence as it fought to be heard above the loud crack an idle palm squeezed from her knuckles. Worldly that he was the ex-Vidril needed no introduction to deduce her origins--and so none were given--her suede ninirri and sternly set jaw revealing her to be a warrior-savant of High Atoll. As for the Venar and the Northman (Whom she'd noted held the uncommon distinction of being the taller of the two) they were offered only what cursory exposition could be beheld. She was a warrior, to that much a lattice of scars would attest along the length of each arm, and an old one at that if the white snaking through her brown curls were to be believed. It was only her eyes that could cast that into doubt, bright bits of brown nested in a sea of sun yellowed sclera like hard facets of mineral. Irregardless she seemed less than equipped for whatever undertaking was about to be proffered, bare of even the basic essentials travel or turmoil would demand.

It was the way she moved that made her seem dangerous.

[Assistant]
Ren had that feeling again. It was the same feeling he had when leaving the military service and that cursed Alchemist Guild. It was like standing at a crossroad. There were two paths now, enter or leave. Somehow he had the impression that this suspiciously small decision would change the course of his life. As if he did not have enough changes already.
Many months ago he had arrived in Vrent and the city had overcome his expectations. It was overwhelming indeed and although it held promise of greatness and wealth, Ren had not succeeded in finding a reliable source of income.
Now he was staring at the entrance of the Fish Rest Tavern. His hand was still resting on the wooden door when it was suddenly pulled open from the inside. A Vrentus stood in the door-frame looking down on him, then he muttered something about humans always being in the way, pushed Ren aside without any effort and disappeared into the muddle of people who frequented the docks.

Ren was now staring at the open door and past it into the tavern. It would appear that the door of fate had just swung open. He stepped into the taproom and the door closed behind him. The decision was made.
Ren took a brief look around and immediately spotted the small group of odd people sitting and standing around a table on the other side of the room. The centre of attention was a Ventus, this was certainly the one he was supposed to meet. Eolas.

"Step one. Easier than expected." Ren muttered to himself while walking towards the table. The bartender greeted him with a welcoming smile, but Ren just made a quick declining gesture. He did not feel like drinking anything right now.
As was his habit, he put his hands in the pockets of the black coat he was wearing. Upon reaching the table, Ren realized that the other people were heavily armed. The short sword hanging on his waist seemed awfully small right now. However, he was not here to fight, but to talk.

"Ren Evath. I assume you are Eolas?"


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 21

Career/Class: Courtesan/Duelist

Physical Description: Camilla is a medium sized woman around 5'5. She possess the slightly bronzed skin, angular features and dark hair common among Tileans. She has the smooth clean lines of a classical statue and the lean musculature of a dancer. Every part of her seems artfully contrived, as though she stepped from the canvas of a master painter. Camilla moves with deliberate grace which is appropriate to her profession.

Mental Description/Personality: Camilla is a fiery impetuous young woman. As a child she was selected from among orphan's for her physical beauty and raised to fill the role of Courtesan in the decadent courts of her native Tilea. Among her studies were poetry, dance, repartee, song, politics, literature, art and sword play.

Camilla is out of place in rough and dangerous situations, and although naturally adventurous and curious about the world she is no heroine. She has a fiery temper and has a tendency to act rather than to wait if given the chance. While technically trained with the sword, Camilla's education is that of the stylized art of the sword rather than the rough and brutal style of real combat, while she is perfectly comfortable fighting a duel to the tough for the entertainment of a crowd, she had little experience with real killing.

Camilla has a passing devotion to Randald and Shyalla, although she tends to focus on the world in front of her rather than the world beyond.

[User]
"Em!" He cried, his attention momentarily diverted as he pinned the skaven-mage. The thing saw its opportunity and bit into his arm, drawing blood and making him cry out in pain. The skaven would regret that, as his eyes fell fully on the thing and the vermin quelled beneath his gaze. It was less than a second before Amal had it on its feet and his dagger pressed to its throat much like Emmaline's attacker, only his dagger was not immobilized.

"Wait wait you fools!" The skaven cried to its comrades streaming towards them. Uneasily they stopped, tails twitching in irritation. As the battle raged on, Amal pressed the dagger more firmly against it. "Give me a good reason why I should not cut your throat and bleed you on the ground." He asked it in Reikspiel, nearly as broken and uneasy on his tongue as it was with the Skaven's own grasp of the language.

"Hold, stupid man-thing!" It said, wriggling in agitation. "Please listen! The orb controls the city. If I do not handle it soon, everything could blow sky high! Unpredictable! Big big explosion cablooey!"

Behind them the orb grew more volatile, the lightning within it growing brighter and larger. Amal glanced back at it, and his eyes went to Emmaline. He wasn't going to let anything happen to her or the Lizards if he could help it. Forming a quick idea, he clicked his tongue twice. Out of his sack poked the carpet curiously. Amal's grip on the Skaven relaxed for a moment, letting the thing breathe out in relief.

That was before Amal picked up the fat rat in his hands and lifted him over his head.

"You wish to handle this thing!?" He cried to the rat now squirming in terror.

"Kill kill the man-thing! Hurry hurry!" It screeched, but he was too late. Amal placed his foot on the wall of the well and tossed the skaven below just under the orb, its screams echoing as it fell an uncomfortably long time. lizard and Rats clawed and mauled one another, oblivious to what was occuring. The Skaven who had halted looked to one another, confused. Amal grimly picked up the Sorcerer's staff in both hands, and wound up. An instant before the staff struck the orb, the rats realized their doom.

FWACK

The Orb wobbled, trying to stay aloft as cracks began to appear on its outer shell. The light seeping out of it in increasing frequency. Amal had not stuck around to watch, having hopped on the carpet to speed over the battle that looked to be dying down. The Skaven seemed too preoccupied with filling the square, but the Lizardmen had suddenly begun to ignore them. They knelt before the Orb as it began to glow like the sun, bowing their heads. Amal didn't know if they were suicidal or if they knew something the Skaven didn't. He zipped over to Emmaline and grabbed the immobilized arm of the would-be assassin, cautiously moving the arms away from her neck. He held out his hand for her to take.

"Are you going to stand there and look beautiful alone, or will you join me on this magic carpet?" He asked her easily.

In the background, lightning the size of tree trunks began to discharge across the town square, originating from the orb. It cut through the Skaven like so much chaff, missing the prostrated Lizardmen by mere inches in some cases, bouncing from ratmant to ratman in a furious assault. As precise as it was, the lightning struck and sundered stone, causing buildings to collapse in its wake. Little did Amal know(though Emmaline could rightly guess) that the light had won within the orb. Amal striking with the staff had caused it to oppose the stave's darkness, increasing the light and fulfilling its purpose.

[Assistant]
Emmaline leaped onto the carpet as it soared free of the fray. Bolts of jagged energy were tearing from the shattered orb, blasting apart rock and stone in showers of flaming debris. Chunks of the cavernous roof above began to fall like great daggers plunging into the city below and flattening buildings, lizardmen and skaven alike. If Sotek had won the battle it certainly didn't seem like any of his worshipers were going to be alive to savor it. Well as the High Priestess of Asapth until told otherwise, Emmaline certainly intended to outlive the combatants below.

"There!" Emmaline yelled pointing at the tunnel through which the Skaven had come. A score or so of the creatures stood hesitantly in the mouth of the tunnel not brave enough to race to the aid of their betters but to scared to flee. Emmaline summoned up another scything bolt of golden light leaving a dozen smoking sets of skaven feet as the carpet raced through the opening and into the tunnel beyond. The interior of the tunnel was twisted by the bite of the boring machine. The tunnel narrowed rapidly as the infernal engine had obviously had no way to dispose of the spoil but had ground it down so that it settled into a smaller space. Behind them came a collosal boom and flash of light that almost seemed to make the walls of solid rock transparent. A great cloud of dust raced down the tunnel behind them like the wake of a bursting dam but with a final burst of speed the carpet outdistanced it before slowing to a coast and then settling to the tunnel floor.

Emmaline looked back the way they had come, her expression as stricken as though she had just been told that Midsummer Eve had been canceled.

"All that gold," she bemoaned wringing her hands together mournfully.

"Don't worry so much," Amal managed sounding a little glum himself, "It isn't a total loss." With a flourish he pulled a golden dagger with a large emerald in its hilt from his bag.

"That is hardly the point!" Emmaline objected before producing a pair of gem studded torcs from her own garments.

[User]
The tunnel still had some faint light which gave them just enough to see by. Amal wasn't certain if it was from the lightning back where they had come from or a light source up ahead. All he was certain of was that Emmaline had managed to outsteal him, producing two torcs before his eyes. He shook his head. "You amazing northern woman." He marveled and kissed her so thoroughly she dropped the torcs onto the ground, her leg popping behind her.

They couldn't stay where they were though, and unless they wanted to go back into a cave-in or worse, angry Skaven, they needed to move forward. Amal picked up the torcs and placed them in the back with the dagger and the now rolled up carpet. They really needed to find a way to get more mileage on it, Amal thought.

"Follow me and keep your head low," Amal whispered to his companion, and she produced a very soft light in her hands just in case things went completely dark. Amal nodded and turned, leading the way into the darkness. He had the short sword and dagger in hand, moving almost like a desert sidewinder as he crept along the cramped, newly made passageway. Crushed rock mixed with dust and jagged stones that had stayed upright from the imperfect design of the skaven contraption's drill.

"Where do you think this leads?" Emmaline whispered after close to an hour of skulking. What Amal found strange was that the tunnel had led into a more natural cavern that moved (if he had to guess) southward. It was larger than the tunnel and it smelled of rat, but so far no skaven as of yet. Not even a squeak or a whimper. Like as not what army was here had all gone straight for the Lizardman Temple City. Lot of good that did them.

"Hopefully some place where I can steal from someone more pompous and civilized." He said, indicating her to follow him after a quick look around. There were some smaller holes leading upwards and downwards, but Amal sensed following the main 'road' would work best. Soon he even felt a small flow of air on his face, and it sped his heart to hope there was an exit. "Do you smell that?" He asked her. He answered before she could. "Humid air..."

A faint screech was heard in the distance behind them. The sorceress jumped but Amal clamped her mouth shut with his hand before she could scream, letting her calm down for a moment. "It seems some rats have picked up our trail." The thief said, his voice filled with such calm deathliness and trepidation that it would have made anyone's skin crawl had they not been used to him. The cries and chitters of the rats did not seem to be made of any large number, which still did not bode well for them. It could be a 6 to 1 fight and they could be wielding the strange green weaponry they had seen in the city.

Minutes sped by and the cavern curved upwards as the two fled, growing smaller and smaller until Amal felt very frightened that it would be too minescule for either to fit through. But it was just large enough to squeeze out of one at a time. Amal motioned for Emmaline to go, the moonlight above them serving as a beacon of hope. The screeches were terrible close now and one could even hear their claws scraping along the cavern floor.

"You first." She said.

"Do you trust me?" He asked her, holding his hand out. It was a strange question, coming from a thief who had done many deplorable things before her eyes. But oddly enough, he had a trustworthiness beyond any man in her life previously, and she took his hand. He smiled, and helped her climb up. Her arms reached out, the rocky hole hugging her hips. Amal pressed against her feet, her body popping up out of the hole and she flopped on the ground.

She found she was on a grassy hill among a copse of jungle trees, overlooking a port town that wafted with smoke beside the sea. Smaller frigates and caravels bobbed within the harbor, and it surprised her so much she almost forgot Amal below. A bag filled with their provisions was tossed through the opening, nearly smacking her in the face. Scrambling to the hole, she reached down to help him up. Her hand extended into the darkness, and was grabbed by a tiny clawed hand.

Suddenly a skaven's head poked out, its nose twitching as it looked at her. It opened its mouth, but rather than making a sound, blood seeped out and it slumped back down into the hole. Scrambling and yips followed until at last Amal's hands burst through the small opening, grabbing the sides and yanking his cut and dirtied body out with a will. Another skaven attempted to ascend, but at that moment the sun peeped over the horizon and quelled its bravado, sending it back into the darkness below.

"Another vacation sounds good." Amal groaned.

[Assistant]
The two adventurers stumbled down the low grassy hills towards the settlement, nestled on the dividing line between lush emerald jungle and cerulean blue sea, the steep pitched roofs and smoking chimnies of the port seemed at once alien and out of place and the only reminder of something recognizable as civilization. Long moles reached out into the ocean constructed laboriously of stone which had been hacked from the nearby hills over the years, slowly replacing what must have initially been wooden versions created from the greenish jungle timber. A palisade wall with a stone foundation ringed the place with towers to twice or three times the height of the parapet at regular intervals. Beyond the walls were fields of crops that stretched from the town to where the base of the hills made the terrain too rocky, but beyond the occasional tool shed there were no permanent structures beyond the wall. Emmaline had to imagine this was because the settlers knew they weren't safe if they ventured out beyond their fortifications. Having just left the company of Lizardmen via a Skaven tunnel Emmaline could appreciate the feeling.

The gates of the port stood open although watchful men in the towers and on the walls kept an eye on them as they approached. The pair made quite a sight, scratched and filthy with dirt and blood and dressed in the tattered remains of sailors clothing. Never the less no comment was made as they entered the dirt streets beyond the walls. As expected from the number of ships in harbor the streets were crowded with sailors and traders from a dozen different nations. Bluff Imperials cried the virtues of barrels of ale from Middenheim, Tilean silversmiths hawked buttons of polished steel, Estalian bravos swaggered and drank on the verendahs of wine shops. There were even a few hooked nose Araybians peddling brasswares and candied dates. Sailors from every nation rolled drunkenly from taverns to brothels, good naturedly for the most part, though occasional drunken altercations were taking place. These impromptu displays of fisticuffs tended to attract gamblers more interested in betting on the outcome than joining in however.

"Hey blondie, I got a gold florin for you if you are looking for a good time!" a slightly more prosperous looking sailor, perhaps a ships officer, called, staggering drunkenly towards Emmaline. Amal smoothly interposed himself and shoved the fellow away, though not before Emmaline caught a wiff of the sour wine on his breath. The Aryabian shoved the fellow away sending him staggering into one of the brothels none the worse for wear.

"I suppose we will need to sell one of our prizes for money," Emmaline mused looking around for a goldsmith or pawn shop that might do. Amal laughed and produced a leather purse he had lifted from the sailor.

"Whatever for?" he asked before taking a gold florin from the pouch and handing it to Emmaline.


[System]
Female
28

How summoning works
Novice summoners require self drawn summmoning circles, but as a summoner gains more experience
with summoning, they begin to become able to summon without the drawn circle. However, drawing the
summoning circle still is valuable, since drawing the circle causes the summon to be more stable.
List of summons:

Xal: Wind Element, medium sized wyvern, flight, fast medium damage, can be rode by a
single person

Salise: Light element, small fairy-like imp, healing, slight debuffs to enemies, light up
dark places

Gorgon's Eye: Dark element, a red eye about the size of a human fist, floats in the air,
temporarily sacrifice summoner's vision and movement to see through the small mobile eye, if the
Gorgon's eye meets its gaze with a target, the target is dealt a brief blindness debuff,
Gorgon's Eye can also inflict a temporary freeze effect on weaker enemies

Zin: Lightning Element, large wolf-like beast, medium speed high damage attacks, can be rode
by two people

Frict: Fire Element, red ogre, very slow massive damage attacks, can move large objects

Man of War: Earth Element, humanoid with four arms, about 7 feet tall and very muscular,
high speed medum damage attacks, brawler style. Most inteligent summon, a summoner needs to prove themselves
to him before he will allow them to summon him.

Jessie possesses little magic beyond her summoning, very basic protection magic, just enough to prevent her summoning
from being interrupted. On top of that, she has a spell that allows her to convert living creatures that are
on the brink of death into new summons.

Born into a clan of summoners and quickly identified as a talent, Jessie spent most of
her life throwing herself into her studies. While most members of her clan used summoning as a
groundwork to base their studies of general magic around, Jessie forsook other forms of magic and
thew everything she had into her knowledge of summoning. Her devotion to summoning eventually gained
her the ability to summon an arsenal of powerful creatures whereas most summoners only summoned
simple critters and elementals. Eventually, Jessie grew tired of living with her isolated clan and
ventured out to see the world. She traveled around for a while before returning home to Wanaka,
New Zealand and taking up snowboarding.

Jessie is a studious type, always marveling at new information. While her practice is focused on summoning, she has done plenty of research on other forms of magic, to learn how it works, despite having no interest in doing it herself.
Active, inquisitive, and adventurous, Jessie doesn't like to sit still for too long, and is always eager to explore
new places and try new things.

[User]
"Ah, I see you caught the result of one of my latest experiments. I really thought I had cleaned up better." replied Travis as he examined himself an any more traces of soot, "I'm sure you're familiar with runic spells, are you? I've recent came into possession of a tome detailing the ancient knowledge of writing runes. Interesting stuff, though I'm afraid many of the alchemists at the time were not familiar with modern science."

Just as he finished, Travis reached over to his portable trunk and sat is flat across his lap. The chest itself was not too terribly cumbersome for its size but was surprisingly relatively light. Pressing his thumbs against two ports of the central lock, Travis divulged slight portion of his mana into the lock which unlocked in response, swinging its smooth rounded cover upwards. Within the opened chest was a shroud of blackness, devoid of any shred of light and masking its true depth. Travis dipped his entire right arm into the carry-on abyss, betraying the chest's flat height in comparison to his arm. He soon retracted his right arm and within his hand was a small clear case with a small parchment of a rune printed onto it.

"Here, have a look-see." said Travis, offering the small case to Yuno to examine, "I have the rune confines as it is, apparently, very sensitive to mana - in fact, it doesn't take any large amounts of it to even cast. The rune itself creates a combustible by-product of heated gases ignites once it comes in contact with oxygen. The resulting explosion, as you can see, was much more powerful than I anticipated but very mana-effecient at the same time. I created it as a means of a plausible getaway countermeasure and as a creative trial using old methods and current knowledge.

Seeing another patch of soot, he quickly brushed the dusty stain from his shoulder, "...But I suppose it would be perhaps a bit, overkill."

[Assistant]
"Never a dull moment." Nemo replied as he placed his hand on Raiya's shoulder and activated the teleportation card. Encompassing both of them in a bright white X shaped flash.

The spell took them straight back to the place he used the initial teleport: by the table in the kitchen. There wasn't much of a sound, but the same bright flash from before might of gotten someone's attention. "I have returned from my trip! I'd say everything went swimmingly." Nemo called out as he grabbed a chair and sat down, waiting for Felix. "I hope you don't mind, but I was feeling a bit lonesome after all that time in Mamertine. So I found a new pal to be my plus one for this mission. Build my social skills up a bit. Increase my ability to work in groups. I'm sure you can agree that will do me good." He rambled off with a grin.

[User]
There was a bright flash and Raiya could feel the familiar pull of spacial magic. After a brief moment, Raiya was standing in a comfy lodge. Raiya was feeling a very odd vibe coming from the cabin. It was fully furnished, and seemed to have many amenities. This freak better not be getting any perverted ideas. Raiya thought as she examined the room.

That's when she saw him. The specter. The phantom. The ghost she refused to acknowledge existed, and that's when it all started coming together.

---

Felix was still undergoing a panic attack even after there was a flash of spacial magic in the room. But when he turned and saw the leather clad, black-haired, Japanese tornado tha was Raiya, a whole different wave of panic washed over him.

"YOU BROKE A CONVICTED MASS MURDERER OUT OF MAMERTINE PRISON JUST TO GET ME TO JOIN YOUR STUPID CLUB!? Raiya broke out into a flurry of Japanese. Felix could only grasp every other word of what she was saying　but still got the general gist of it.

"I didn't break him out to get you. I broke him out because the parchment told me to. Him getting you was something he did on his ow-." A large sushi knife stuck itself in the ground right next to Felix's foot, any closer and he would have been in a large amount of pain. Raiya held her leather jacket open, revealing leather pockets inside that all hand sushi knives in them. She drew another one this one longer and pointier than the last.

"As if I'd believe a dead man," Raiya sneered. She reared up to throw another knife.

"I-i-it's true I swear. Tell her, Nemo. I told you to stay here and wait for the rest of the recruits." Felix stammered.

Raiya looked around the room and noticed other people. And though she was caught a bit off guard she didn't appear to be fully assuaged, as indicative of her knife still reared back in throwing position.

[Assistant]
Yuno glanced over initially at the presentation of a rune that Travis had pulled out. Having been in the field of study, it wasn't too difficult for her to understand the more complex sections of his rune once he explained it. Yet, being that it was more scientific and efficient than what most rune users use the design he had create was unlike most she had seen even despite her trained use of Rune magic . However, it answered the largest question on her mind about him being Untalanted. He knew how to manage his finite resource. While she can create a rune on the fly and not worry about her mana reserves if it was the start of a fight and she needed a quick save, he needed to meticulously analyze his runes as far as she could tell and possibly have them prepared all the way beforehand. Time and care into those aspects that someone like her wouldn't understand as much if she didn't need the same knowledge of her gems. "I'm sure some magic users might feel disturbed by having such a scientific approach to your tools. Much like how long ago philosophers and physicists disliked engineers for making their concepts become physical. However, I must admit even with the rune magic I do I haven't approached in the way you have and I am impressed. More so by the fact you were so willing to tell me all of this instead of hiding your advancements."

Looking back up from the rune she wanted to point out one portion of the rune that could have helped him be more articulate in the power desired from it. While not being the kind who would have created such an interesting rune herself, her knowledge of the field enabled her to find this feature and come up with a plan of action for the adjustment that may help out so he doesn't blow himself up in the future. "Truly fascinating though, but I think I see the point that became more powerful than-" she stated before the blur of interruptions came forth. Felix's arrival prompted her to look towards the man with a greeting smile and respond to him. "It's a pleasure to see you again. Recruiting going well?" she first replied before taking his description of Nemo. When he came back with a note she shook her head and confirmed what he likely just found out. "That note was there when I arrived. Rather odd to have left so fast when you were bringing back more people."

Then from behind Felix came Nemo's arrival which made her raise an eyebrow. More than one person was able to teleport like Felix just had? Felix's spell for that was already impressive enough, but maybe it was more common than she thought. Her train of thought derailed when Nemo came in with his own woman, and before Yuno could exchange a greeting the woman before he began to call out in her foreign tongue. Knives flashed through the air and Yuno was stuck in the confusion as to what she should get herself involved in or wait there on standby. Being a bit rational however she determined than an Arch-Magi can likely handle someone with only knives if it comes down to it despite her rage. Yuno let her gaze fall onto the more ravenous signature she caught in the room. Not having the mananalysis capabilities of Felix to determine why he gave such a feeling off she kept her eyes on the person who felt like the greatest wildcard in the room. The woman was outwardly angry and upset, but that man had been the one to bring her here with that smile. While to those who may glance at her see a slightly confused face her eyes returned to the analytical and piercing blue she had given both Travis and Felix initially. Her gaze turning to a downright glare briefly if Nemo paid enough attention to her before she turned away to reexamine the confrontation. Her mind still focused on Nemo's actions though.

[User]
The situation escalated quicker than Nemo had planned. But he had to admit that it was definitely entertaining so far. He almost felt bad he knew he had to do something to quench the fire that was building. Still in his seat, Nemo swiveled the chair into position and then used his boot to kick off from the table. It sent him sliding in between the two with an audible screech. The chair nearly teetered over but managed to fall back onto all four legs.

Now right in dangerzone, he put his hands up to try to signal them to stop. He faced the palm with the X on it towards Raiya. "Now now you two, let's just try to get along." He said as he put a silly over-dramatic accent onto his voice. He looked to the opposite person. "Give peace a chance." Nemo added before his voice turned back to normal. He looked to Raiya with a straight face. "He's not lying, while Felix was the one who told me about you. I searched you out on my own volition. You're only here because I want you to be." He explained.

"And even if it was him, that doesn't matter anymore. Or are you too drunk to remember our deal?" He asked.

[Assistant]
Jessie glanced down from her perch, the view of the snowy slopes before her filled her with energy. The snowboard route she was taking today was usually pretty popular, but due to the opening of a new slope, all the regulars were off checking out the scene there. She didn't mind not being among them though, since she had done the route raw and unflagged before it had been scoped out by the local resort's route setters.
Jessie lowered her goggles and put her earbuds in before putting a snug purple beanie on and pulling it down over her ears. She took an ipod out of her pocket, clicked on a ska music playlist, and tucked it back into a pocket and zipping it closed. She smiled as the music stared playing and jumped down from her seat landing snowboard first in the snow and beginning to gain momentum. As she zipped down the slope, the parts of it she loved began to rush toward her, and those parts were the copious amounts of ramps and jumps. Her smile grew as she went rocketing into the air off the first ramp. While airborne, she grabbed the side of her board in her right hand and pulled while shifting her body weight to the left causing an aerial barrel roll before she righted her position just before landing. Several jumps and several miles of slope later, Jessie skidded to a stop at the bottom of the slope. She pulled up her goggles and glanced up the slope as she undid the straps of her snowboard.
"Always more fun to spend time with you alone babe."
She said to the slope. She was glad to have had it as an empty slope again, when she had started snowboarding a couple years back that specific slope had always been pretty empty, but the past few months had seen a surge in its popularity. Jessie hoped with the opening of the new slope she would get more time on this slope to herself. She shrugged as she picked up her board and went to head home. She had run the slope a couple times already, and she had some things she needed to take care of so she bid farewell to the slopes for the day.
After a short drive to the bottom of the mountain, Jessie arrived at her home, the large manor her family and many others lived in. The manor was home to a clan of summoners that she was a part of, as she walked through the halls, she saw many of the clan's younger members running through the halls playing with small animal-esque elementals. She greeted several of them as the ran past excitedly chasing the small sprites they had worked so hard to learn to summon. Eventually she arrived at her room and stepped in, leaning her snowboard up against the wall. She removed her jacket and snowboarding clothing, setting it up, ready for next time. She got dressed in a pair of jeans, a tank-top, and sneakers before leaving her room and going off to the manor's courtyard where there were a pair of kids she had promised to give a little bit of summoning training to that day were awaiting her.