[System]
Basic Information
Species: Human, Elf, Dwarf, Kossith
1
, Awakened
2
, Spirit
3
, Golem
4

Age:
Gender:
Class: Mage, Rogue, Warrior or any combination of the three
Appearance:
Curriculum Vitae
Specialisations: Any combination of those available in the Dragon Age universe. A maximum of five can be selected and at least one of those should be from the same class as your character.
Notable Traits: Does your character have any quirks, mannerisms or habits which make them stand out from the rest of the population of Thedas?First Trait:
Second Trait:Flaws: Character defects, past injuries or other details which may hamper your character during the adventure, or act as plot hooks for me to work with.First Flaw:
Second Flaw:
Third Flaw:Skills: The main abilities your character tends to rely on the most. The list needn't be exhaustive as all characters with be presumed to be able to perform basic actions automatically.Backstory
Biography: How did your character end up where they are today, working for a ragtag mercenary company seeking work across northern Thedas.
Personality and/or Motivation: Who is your character and what drives them to continue living the life of a mercenary.
Player's long term goals: Whether your character's aim in life is to rule a kingdom, become the richest person in Thedas or breed a prize-winning nug, this section lets you set a goal for them to try to live up to.
Relations: Whether your character is associated with any of the others in the party, with any characters, groups, gangs or official organisations of note in Thedas. All characters are assumed to be associated with the mercenary company we're playing as, and have worked with the Inquisition recently, so these needn't be included.
Secrets: Is there anything your character is trying to hide from the rest of the group, or which they themselves are not aware which could affect the party in some way?

1 - The big creatures who are the main followers of the Qun and generally refer to themselves as "Qunari". No distinction is made here to to whether your character is Qunari, Vashoth or Tal-Vashoth and this should be noted in the 'Relations' section below.
2 - Darkspawn follow of The Architect which has managed to regain a portion of its own willpower. It's upto the player to decide just how much willpower they have, but the character should at least be sentient and self-aware.
3 - Any creature which originated in the Fade, or magical creature born Fade-touched would be considered to be a Spirit. No distinction is made as to whether they are a friendly spirit or an aggressive demon and the player should give details of this in the rest of their profile as appropriate. Possessed characters should only be identified as spirits if the spirit is the dominant personality for the character, as with Justice.
4 - Players should note whether their character is an ancient golem from Orzammar or one of the 'new' golems created by Branka using the Anvil of the Void during the events of Dragon Age: Origins.

[User]
"Were you talking to me?" 'Etta asked looking up from her examination of the fish for a moment and turning her head around in puzzlement. "Oh, right... sorry, mind wandering there for a second... umm, where was I? Oh yes, if we're going to be heading into the Free Marches, I'd really love a chance to stop off in Tantervale. I've heard there's an arcanist there who's developed a new form of magic called technomancy, where she uses machines to help channel magical energies. That should prove to be an interesting diversion, shouldn't it..?"

For a moment the dwarf looked around at her fellow companions before her eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment before turning her attention back to the fish splayed out in her lap. "Fascinating, forward momentum induces pressure on the gills, aiding aquatic respiration..."

[Assistant]
"Well I'm not saying we go vacation there or any bullshit like that! It's just...you know what, let's just say it's personal shit, okay," Fredrick said to Cassius, "And, hey, I can fucking handle myself, okay? Any fucking tevinter mages that think a one armed elf is easy pickings will learn just how fucking misinformed they are."

He paused.

"Okay, no, Tevinter would be fucking dangerous and that's probably a thing I should just do on my own later. Forget I opened my stupid fucking mouth about that bronto shit."

His only response to Gerald was to raise his middle finger at the mage.

Mangy approached Henrietta, looking on in interest. He listened to her ramblings, and barked as she talked about the fish.

"Mangy, somehow I don't think she's going to start giving science lessons to a fucking dog."

Mangy whined.

"Just don't fucking bother her. She clearly wants to do her own thing."

Mangy growled.

"Maker fuck, Mangy, fine! I'll let you try to get fucking science lessons from the crazy ass dwarf! I'll just be here, listening to the mages fucking scare each other with stories of Orlesians and Antivan Crows."

Freddy turned his head away from Mangy, and Mangy returned his attention to Henrietta, and watched as she examined the fish.

[User]
"You're so pleasant." he teased Fredric.
"Your decorum is so pleasant... I wish I could swear every time I open my mouth, unfortunately I don't have a bad temper." He somewhat stared blankfaced before turning back to the mage.

"In short, everything I said was correct and you gave additional exposition to further my point... duly noted. And I thank you for such wisdom." He bowed his head just a bit as a sign of acknowledgment and respect. Still, he did feel this man was cold and calculating by the tone of his words.

It didn't take him long to walk over to the rather curious dwarf who's curiosity rivaled only his.
"And what is it you are up to... A fish...?" Cassius stared slightly stupefied that her curiosity was sated on a fish. Yet... he never really thought of aquatic creatures,so in a way he was a bit more invested for some reason or another. Life was sure intriguing to him to say the least.

[Assistant]
Walking back out of the shadows, fastening his pants as he approached the fire, Martin moved over to where the mapo was lain out and quickly started to scratch out details onto the parchment. "Right, so I think the majority agree we head for the Free Marches. And there's three possible routes we could take, depending on where we want to end up..."

Orange - Land routes; roads, paths and cross country. Purple - Deep Roads.
Blue - Water routes; rivers, canals and lakes. Green - Imperial Highway.
Big Red Spot - You are here!

"The way things are right now it's a matter of choosing between Starkhaven or Kirkwall, since the tensions between the two cities mean it would be an arsehole's squeeze trying to get from one to the other without having to answer a hell of a lot of questions about our intent. We'd most likely get strung up as spies before we made it in sight of the walls."

Pausing to give a nod in Henrietta's direction Martin tapped his dagger down on the river in the middle of the Free Marches. "If we're heading for Tantervale, then we should look to press on to Starkhaven, traveling along the Minanter River. Otherwise there's the coast or mountain routes leading us to Kirkwall."

With a quick glance over his shoulder, back into the darkness from which he'd just emerged Martin reluctantly added, "There is another route as well. An entrance to the Deep Roads not too far from here which could get us to either Kirkwall or Starkhaven a lot quick, and a... reliable source tells me the tunnels are being kept clear by an ally of the Grey Wardens, so it should be safe enough to travel in relative safely. And by that I mean we'd likely get attacked by darkspawn once a week, rather than once a day."

Sitting back down Martin gave a moment for the information to sink in, letting the Company make their own decisions as to what the best option may be without his interference swaying their choice.

[User]
The mere mention of that city's name sent a shiver down Gerald's spine. He had left with reason and to go back to it so soon? No. Not now.

"The city of chains is not a place we should go to. Rivers and water would hinder us in getting there. Besides what is there to gain there? Nothing. Go to Starkhaven. Zealots and worms live there but they probably could afford to pay us more than a city still rebuilding from events that happened there." Gerald said plainly as he stirred his soup.

"The deep roads though as I said are fraught with unknown mysteries. The Red Lyrium could be down there and that is what drove many templars to madness. We'd do well to avoid the deep roads as long as possible. Besides I don't intend on getting near a darkspawn. I enjoy my freedom as it is without the need to become a grey warden. Whatever happens to wardens is directly linked to dark spawn and while they are on the surface now in some places they are still in bulk in the ground. The dwarves we fools to dig too deep and too greedily into a place long forsaken by many. Just because the wardens say they are clear doesn't mean they are. Or have you forgotten what the Inquisitor told the people the of the world about what they thought they were doing at adamant? Coerced by a cultist thought to be their salvation."

[Assistant]
Cassius simply rolled his eyes as Gerald's complaints. Though some were valid, and understandable, but being part of a mercenary company to his understanding was about taking risk for big rewards. However, he knew very little about Wardens other than they were very respected. The Blighters however he had grasp on.

"I see the deep roads as very minimal in terms of danger from what I can evaluate. The leader here stated that the Wardens cleared out the roads a great deal. One encounter a week as well as discovery. And if you see something dangerous, you don't touch it. You wouldn't jump on top of the fire. Would you?" He smirked a bit.

"On top of that, it is more dangerous above land where wild life,spirits,highway men,bandits and assassins are likely to strike you. Darkspawn are the lesser threats when there is the probability of those other threats I listed." He folded his arms.

"Besides... our lovely dwarf friend here would be able salvage and rediscover things useful. It honestly seems even less risky... lack of weather, meaning you don't have to worry about being rained on, snowed on, hailed on, lightning for all the metallic items you have. But..." Cassius pursed his lips a bit.

"You'd also need to prepare more supplies. Less likely to be stolen at that. Also. No Tornadoes to worry about." he joked.

[User]
Gerald scoffed and smirked at the comment made by Cassius uninterested in his rather sad rebuttal.

"But why pray tell would an assassin target us? And what do we fear from bandits or spirits with such a large group. Besides Inquisition forces may be encountered on the way and they could help us as opposed to hoping we don't run into darkspawn. Bandits and highway men are fodder unless they're remnants of the mages or templar rebels. Fodder we can kill with ease. If we go along to Starkhaven then we will be going along the highway most likely. We can gather supplies from passing merchants. I'm not saying I don't trust the warden efforts. BUT I do question how much they really did do and how effective it truly has been. King Cailin thought his men could clear out the darkspawn at Ostagar and now he's dead. An army led by Loghain Mac Tir a hero and veteran. If that man saw little chance in the wardens with an army at their backs I see little reason to see how successful they were without one. I say take the route more traveled and hope we get a profit in Starkhaven if not we can at least make a name for ourselves there more so than Kirkwall which stands in The Champion's shadow. In the end I doubt we will find anything else than a quicker travel pattern and danger. If the wardens cleared out them so thoroughly anything seen as remotely valuable would need be in the hands of the infamous Legion of the Dead who actively helps them. I see little gain outside a possibly quicker travel path through the deep roads to Starkhaven...or Kirkwall..."

[Assistant]
Listening to them talk Martin plucked his pipe from his mouth and bent forwards with a moan. His age was getting to him and all this resting and shifting around was making his bones ache. "Remember boys, it's just as dangerous on the surface with the bandits, wild beasts and pox-filled whores as it is down in those tunnels. At least down there you know you're sticking your knackers in a blender, rather than only finding out when the pus starts to seep."

As he spoke he shifted in his seat slightly, his hand tugging at his codpiece as the unpleasant memory of a dwarven nurse looking up at him with amusement in her eyes as she applied the hot coals to places hot coals should never be applied.

"As for others from the Inquisition, most are back in Orlais and Ferelden right now. I wouldn't be relying too much on their help unless we send riders out to fetch them."

[User]
"Is it me... or do I hear whining?" Cassius put his ear out in a rather mocking display.

"Fodder? Ugh huh...ugh huh... Arrogant I see and a narcissist... got it. Not wanting to find lost materials an alchemist or a Smith could use... check." He rebutted.

[Assistant] "Though how much I despise the underground the Deep Roads is a good choice. Wouldn't it be a short travel time if we took the Deep Roads?" Lian asked sitting forward and resting her chin on her fist. Her gaze was still focused on the fire, except for the occasional glances up at the rest of the group. "I put my vote towards the Deep Roads." She said with little enthusiasm in her voice.


[System]
-Current: Suzanne Magistri

Age:
-Death of Past-life: Died at 76 Earth Years
-Current: 19 Earth Years

Gender: Female

Appearance:
Past:

Current:

Weapon(s):
-Past: N/A
-Current: Smoke Bombs (If available)

Magic capabilities of past and current: In both lifetimes, Dahlia/Suzanne were always Clerics. They preferred to heal rather than to fight. Whenever in close combat where fighting seems inevitable, Dahlia would use invisibility magic to run away from those who are close to fighting her. In the life of Suzanne, however, she knows spells that can weaken the strength of her enemies, allowing her to over power them and let others take care of it (Although she has never overpowered a Demonic being since she has never encountered one).

Job/Class:
-Past: Cleric for the Achaean Army
-Current: Currently looking for job, living with Parents

History of Current: Suzanne grew up almost with a silver spoon. She participated in Beauty Contests for children and normally win in the top three, is a Straight A scholar student, and follows The Golden Rule of Respect so you can kinda say she deserved to be spoiled. What made this worse is the fact she's an only child. Once her father died at 18, her mother encouraged Suzanne to start applying for College or look for a job. She decided to go the job route and search by going to the festival near the Bell Tower (Although she's a little late). She hasn't received a single vision nor dream of her past life.

History of Past: Dahlia grew up in a not-so-stable home. With her parents constantly fighting, it would cause her to always be outside of the house to avoid being caught in their fights. It was during on her walks when she was 8 years old when she met Eric Drone. Eric Drone had got his foot caught in a root of a tree, so Dahlia had helped him out by pulling up the root. Since then Eric and her have been close friends. Then when Eric grew up, he joined the Achaean army. Dahlia plead for him not to join, but Eric refused since he loved his country almost above all else. Only thing he loved more than the country of Greece was her, but he felt protecting Greece was in the same aspect of protecting her. Since she couldn't handle the thought of losing Eric, she too joined the army as a Cleric. She learned the arts of Healing Magic fairly quickly and soon was a great asset to Eric's survival, until Eric felt that she was no longer needed and convinced the head General of the army to relieve her of duty. Angry by this, Dahlia went home, packed up her things, and moved out and decided to live in her own home. A week from then, Dahlia would die a horrific death of burning from Greek Fire. As she suffocated and burned to death, she saw a figure toss something into the fire and chant a phrase she couldn't hear over her own screaming.

Name: Edward Æthan Stone

Age:
-Past: Died at on his 50th Birthday
-Current: Currently 18

Gender: Male

Appearance:
Past:

Current:

Weapon(s):
-Past: N/A
-Current: N/A

Magic Capabilities of Past and Current: Edward had extreme proficiency in Water Magic (preferred it's Ice counterpart) in his past life. That still continues into his Current life, except not as good since he doesn't have full memory of his past life.

Job/Class:
-Past: Medieval Jurist for the English Monarch
-Current: Lawyer

History of Current: Edward since he was a kid always wanted to be part of the government. Name any government position, and Edward at one point of time wanted to be it. His recognition of past memories only made his passion more extreme. He requested to drop out of school and go to Law school at 16. When the school think he wasn't ready, they gave him a test colleges normally give students to see if they can be certified to practice law. To the school surprise, he passes but not with flying colors. Local Universities immediately attempted to admission, but it wasn't until Yale mentioned a Full Ride Scholarship for the Legal Academy that he decided to go to college. In two years, he remembered most of his civic practices in his past life and learned American law, just enough for him to take the test again and pass with almost a perfect score. He became the youngest person to ever become a professional lawyer. He is now being sent from his professor to investigate an incident at the festival and see if he can get his first case of his career. Edward has also remembered memories of his past-life using Magic, but has only used it against dummies and never had any true experience fighting with it.

History of Past: Edward in his past life was born into royalty. Always wanting to have decisions just, he grew up having the profession of learning the law and learning to detect lies through facial movements. He became the Holy Empire of Helisum's King's Jurist in the court of Law. He was there to witness Vincent's banishment from the Kingdom and was the main reason as to why Vincent was even considered for punishment despite his contributions to the Kingdom. Maybe Edward had reasons beyond that of Draculi or Jealousy? His reason for causing Vincent's banishment will only be known to past-life Edward, or anyone else that was involved in the banishment.

[User]
Linia gave a sweet smile to Jessica. "Well the first thing that's most important when using magic, is that you have to accept it. Not worry about hiding it from others, that's when it becomes far more powerful, after that start experimenting with it." Linia said as she held out her hand, a magic circle appeared, and then so did a ball of light.

Cinia took the notepad and pictures from Eric and started to flip through them. "This is wonderful, thank you." Cinia gave a smirk as she picked up one of the crystals. "I need to see how well those reincarnations fight now." Cinia said with a smile as she placed the crystal in his hand. "This will return any creature of what it was in it's former life. Now from what I have been able to see, there is a chicken at the petting booth in the fair. I want you to throw this crystal at it. The chicken was a T-rex in it's previous life and should pose a rather great threat for them." Cinia said. "Try get a video of it while your at it, though in this day and age, there will be others doing the same thing, just act like one of the crowd." Cinia instructed. "I need to work on some more things while I'm at it, Oh and if you see a woman named Cia, let her know that I'm watching her." Cinia added.

[Assistant]
*4 hours before the Festival*

Suzanne sat and got dressed ready for job hunting. "Don't forget honey that you don't need to be afraid to look for Magic Guilds! They are perhaps the most friendliest group of people you will ever meet!" Suzanne's mother said, downstairs of their home. Once she finished getting dressed, she grabbed her umbrella and headed downstairs. She saw that her mother had already made Breakfast. "Awe you shouldn't have! Hehe... thank you!" She said as they exchange bows before kneeling down to eat. For that morning they discussed on job opportunities and the do's and don'ts to interviews. Once the meal was finished, Suzanne got ready to bike down to the festival, since it would take approximately 4 hours to bike there.

*4 hours of biking later*

There it was, the Festival of all time! It seems she missed the opening speeches, but that's fine since she was primarily looking for a job. It was then when the crowd suddenly dispersed and ran toward the ringing Bell Tower. With the crowd clearing, she saw a fight! Really? Should have expected this... fights always happen in carnivals and festivals... She thought to herself, but then realized it wasn't just any fight. She saw a soldier get it's neck sliced while another one beaten with a weapon that materialized from nothing! The guild! This is what my mom must be talking about... I hope this was just a demonstration... She thought to herself while she approached the scene. The dead demonic soldiers and a wounded person on the ground. "Oh my!!! Let me help you with that..." She said to Aria as she used White Magic to heal the minor cuts on her body. From the looks of it, it didn't seem like she had any major wounds, which was a good thing to hear. "Are you okay?" She asks Aria while she lifts her up.

---

*Scenery is a local Airport near the Bell Tower*

"That plane was a bit close to that storm... but I guess since I'm here I should pay no mind to the insolence of the pilot." Edward said to himself as he picked up his bag from the pickup lane and proceeded out the doors. He wait by the curb for a taxi. He then got a call from his professor. Edward turned on the bluetooth and replied, "Yes? Oh hey Professor... So request to be sent to the county's festival and dropped of at Cinia's office? Okay. What do I say to them? Ask that I was sent here for an internship with my client either being her or Eric Drone? Alright. What if they say no? Okay... cool. Talk to you later professor!" Edward said responding to his professor then ending it with a closure. The taxi came and Edward gave the address. The trip was already paid for, so he didn't have to use any of his pocket cash.

Eric gets to the festival to see it desolate. "Thought this was supposed to be a festival? Where's the people? Oh well, I'm sure they can tell me!" He said as he approached the door to Cinia's and Eric's office, only to find the 'Closed' Sign on the door. The sign also mentions they will be back shortly. "I guess this is fine... I'll wait." He said while he sat down in one of the outside Guest Chairs. Once seated, he sees a group and two dead bodies. Is this what the professor meant by I will get a case soon as I get here? I hope he didn't plan somebodies murder... He thought to himself wile he waited.

[User]
Jessica opened her palm and focused. Just remember... accept this magic and be open... She thought to herself. A ball of light started to form in her palm. "Oh my I'm getting it! I'm actually harnessing it!" She said while the light got brighter because of her happiness, suddenly another vision popped up.

"...I mustn't use magic ever again *sniff* not if it keeps betraying me like this..."

The light suddenly disappeared from her hand and Jessica flinched. "I-I'm sorry... had another vision. They have been more frequent since I met you guys!" She said focusing on her magic again. She eventually got the light back onto her hands. "Okay... what now?" She asked Linia.

---

Eric looked at Cinia in disbelief. "So this will get us a Dinosaur... A T-Rex to a chicken is surely a devolution..." He said to himself. He gripped the crystal and put it in his pocket. He proceeded to walk out, when suddenly he saw someone sitting in his chair. "I believe you are either for me, or Cinia. Well I got some reporting to do so let me alert Cinia." He said, then popped his head into the office. "Ciniaaaaaa! Somebody is here for you..." He had yelled across the room. He then closed the door and sneaked behind the bushes until he was behind a big bush behind the petting booth. Alright Eric, time to turn this place into Jurassic Park! he thought to himself. He then pitched the crystal like it's baseball and it hit the Chicken. The Crystal suddenly shattered, but the fragments dug itself into the chicken, meta-morphing it's flesh into that of a Dinosaur, more specifically a T-Rex. It started to roar and headed towards the group near the Steam-Punk booth.

[Assistant]
Linia smiled at Jessica's progress. "That's good now imagine the light taking different forms. From there you can get creative." Lini said, that was untill she heard a large thud and then a roar. Linia turned to see the large Dinosaur. "Really?" She asked as she held out her hand, a shovel was summoned into it again. "I hope the rest of you are ready." Linia said to them as she held her shovel in front of her in a protective stance.

Cia meanwhile still kept her distance, she didn't want to interfere in this as others knowing that she was also a reincarnate was not something she needed everyone to have knowledge of. She had clients to take care of after all.

Cinia meanwhile nodded to Eric as she walked outside. "Can I help you sir?" Cinia asked as she approached the man on the bench. Cinia currently had her sunglasses on as to make sure no one saw her eyes, many could recognize her on her hair alone honestly, but the sunglasses helped alot when hiding her identity.


[System]
23
Bio: This young prince is set to be King of a small Arabic kingdom named Azkaban in a few short months, as his father recently passed away. He has always been covered in his parents riches, but was missing a part of his life, he could never quite figure it out; After all he could buy anything he ever wanted. At a young age he was trained in sword fighting, but never got a chance to use the skills, since he was always followed by guards.

[User]
The smells of the market in early morning were the best. Where the breads were just being done and cooling, the spice mongers getting their special cargo set up in their stalls. And people everywhere mingling to get what it was they desired.
"Stop thief!" Yelled some guards. A slim female figure slid into a side street a grin on her lips. She knew this city inside and out having been a street rat all her life. Natalie couldn't afford to buy anything, how could she when she'd been abandoned by her family a long time ago? No WAY in hell was she about to go to Madame Shiva's place either. She was not for sale for anyone. Not for any reason. Even if at times it had gotten very tempting, she'd somehow rallied and gone through the horrible time. How, she was never sure. She climbed onto the roof tops to avoid further capture, still running and jumping from one to another. She had a tiger to feed, as well as herself.
"Gotta steal to eat, gotta eat to live." She muttered to herself, the only rule that she had during her years.

[Assistant] The prince was usually not allowed outside the castle gates, but he hated being inside all the time. He wanted to mingle with the poor and befriend those who live in his kingdom, so when he became king, he would be able to help his kingdom thrive. As he was roaming around he met some very interesting people. He was broken out of conversation with a younger boy, when he heard a commotion. He heard a the distinct voice of one of the castle guards, yelling about a thief. "Samuel, I have to go." He said to the young boy as he sprinted towards the commotion. He had to be sure to stay out of the guards sight, because he was not supposed to be out in the city. Sneaking through an alley, he caught a glimpse of the guards chasing a slim girl.

[User]
"Come on guys! Give a gal a break?" Cooed Natalie as she slid out of sight from some of the guards. "It's just a bit of meat. You really do not want to starve my house guest. Besides I can't afford it, you've never caught me, can't we let bygones be bygones?" She teases as she pulled down some fabrics to cover the guards still after her trail. She stopped to catch her breath and felt the eyes on her and she turned her head spotting the ill hidden man near by. He was dressed SUPER fine in all those silks. She felt both longing and a little bit of hatred for what the man represented. The rich who wouldn't even spit at her much less make sure those like her -the cold and starving- had anything.
"Go to Madame Shiva for entertainment." She snarled and climbed up the other building to get to her home.
"There's the street rat! Up there! We will catch her this time!" It was their honor if they didn't and yet she had always proved illusive.

[Assistant] The prince genuinely wanted to help, but undoubtedly had no way of doing so, without being caught by the guards. She was invariably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. There must be some way he could help her. He moved cautiously about the alley ways, keenly watching her jump the roofs expertly. Maybe he could follow her to her home. While moving through the local streets and alleys, he bumped into a vendor. "Watch were you are going!" the vendor yelled. As the prince turned to look at the innocent man he replied gently "I'm so sorry sir." When the vendor realized who it was he apologized profusely. "Don't worry. I just ask you one thing." The vendor looked at him in anticipation. "I was never here." The vendor nodded as the prince ran back into the alley way. He had lost track of the charming girl. Sprinting through the alleys he caught a glimpse of her again and again followed her.


[System]
Age: 25

Appearance: Connor is a rather unimpressive person, being of average height and build. Muscular enough for people to believe that he is in the militia, but not so muscular that he looks more of a brute than an artist. He has ginger hair, cut short to militia standards, but it still licks at his brows and collar of his shirt. As if nature had decided to make him look like distilled-Irish, he has bright, green eyes.

Occupation: Artist/Militiaman

Personality: Some might call him a coward, but Connor prefers to describe himself as being more discerning as to the types of risks he is willing to take. Who cares if his reputation suffers when he runs from a fight he's absolutely confident of losing? As long as he is in one piece and is able to function properly the next day, it's all fine by him. Besides, he never puts himself forward as a warrior; he's an artist first and a soldier second. A very, very, very far second.

He is rather open with his thoughts, though that has less to do with lack of tact and more to do with having lived much of his adult life on an island faraway from civilization. Sometimes it may even appear that he is talking to himself, but he's not crazy. It's just a method he uses to prevent his train of thought from derailing, though from the disjointed thoughts that comes of his mouth, it can be hard to believe. Just trust in that he knows what he's doing. Most of the time.

History: An Irishman living in Scotland while serving an Englishman trying hard to be Scottish. Don't worry if that confuses you; sometimes Connor feels the same as well. Born to an impoverished Irish family in Victorian-era London, to say that Connor had a rough childhood would be an affront to the phrase 'massive understatement'. If the other - usually English - street urchins didn't make his life hell, then the deep-seated against the Irish, especially Irish Catholics like his family, did. If a day went past without him or his family being wrongfully accused of a crime, or he did not have to run away from anyone, Connor would have taken it as a wonderful day.

In a rather roundabout attempt to show others that they were a good, British family, Connor's father pressured him to join the army in some capacity. The best outcome would be that Connor would be sent off to fight in some faraway corner of the globe for Queen and Country, and his father would be able to proudly say that at least one member of his family was doing some good to the British Empire. Connor, however, wanted to have none of that. He loved drawing, and usually spent whatever spare time he had sketching out scenes from his life onto whatever scraps of paper he had. Soldiering was not for him; Connor wanted to be an artist.

After several arguments and failed attempts to physically pull Connor to a recruitment office, he and his father settled on a compromise. Instead of joining the regular force, Connor would join the territorial army. He would never be sent overseas, and as long as he pretended to be sad about it every time a war broke out, he would still appear to be a good little patriot. Even better, Connor had to option of choosing where he wanted to be posted, and he chose to be sent to the Shetland Islands, or as his father called it, the 'arse of the British isles'.

It was a perfect life for Connor. The Shetlands were faraway from the mainland enough that he was rarely ever called for service, and as long as he fulfilled his yearly requirements of showing up to prove that he could still fire a rifle, stand in a file and fight alongside his regiment of fellow misfits, he was left alone. The islands were also quiet, and provided no shortage of scenery for him to sketch, and eventually, paint. It was not long before his talents were noticed by a rather wealthy local who then hired Connor to produce his works of art for various auction houses. The money, while not amazing, was good, and Connor felt himself believing in the whole 'luck of the Irish' thing.

Oh, if only he knew where he would wake up.

[User]
Observatory.

Sidwell spun at the noise of the voice but was already throwing his arms to his temples with a pained face, blotting out the sensory world. The lordling had not even yelled, but his fragile, dreamy sense of calm had cracked and was shattering under the angry, questioning torrent. "Oh mercy," he gasped, dropping to his knees, an imperfect prayer position on the hard timber, and the prayer was already spouting. "Et dimitte nobis debita n-nostra sicut et nos dimisimus debitoribus nost-t-tris," he murmured rapidly, only slightly breaking the latin rhythm as the prayer ground to a halt at its end. 'And forgive us our debt as we forgive our debtors'. Mildly appropriate for Hell, but the teenager in finery was not quite Satan.

The questions Sidwell had heard were foreign to him, but even as they spoke a meaning was assembling itself out of them. Complete memories of words in perfect Frankish, as if there had never been another language. Voice, tone and and accent were all preserved to the finest, most human detail.

A cautious lift of the head to look at his speaker again. Not in the face, of course. "My, ah, my la- Liege," he addressed, unsure of the sex of his fellow damned soul but unwilling to stare. "Your friend is named Innocent, of the Sidwells. I believe I am dead, but I do not know."

[Assistant]
Map Room

Tommy had been dreaming of beer....lots of beer. A fountain of it, he and his buddies filled their glasses and clinked them together and sang and old hymn.

He awoke with a startle, not the way you want to end a good beer dream, the floor that he was sleeping on scratched his back, like bark...he knew bark, he was a lumberjack! Had he fallen asleep in a tree again?!?! The room spun with sleepyness before he finally came to. There was, what seemed to be a boy with a tail and cat ears...a woman threatening him with a hammer, and a young man with glasses. In situations like this, Tommy was more in the "Wait and See How It Plays Out" camp...but given the circumstances that he had no clue where he was or who any of these people were, he felt the need to say something. He stood up, a tall man, when he stands up people notice.

"Now let's just wait a minute here." He said in his deepest voice, "First....why don't we lower that-there hammer real slow. Secondly, where in the name of maple syrup and whiskey are we, and what is going on?

[User]
Map Room

"We're all trying to figure out where we are. So far it's a pretty safe bet that we're on a ship." Deciding that it would be better not to trapped in a room with strangers Chris opened the door. The wind rushed in and the loose maps strewn about began to flutter around. Not seeing that as a critical thing he took a look outside.

Out in the open the scene looked slightly familiar, from what little he knew of ships, but as the room already showed it was not ordinary in its own right. His observation was interrupted by flying paper. He had misjudged the mess the wind was creating and closed the door a bit so they would at least have the light without so much of the wind. "Sorry. That was a bit more than I expected. I was also kind of expecting it to be locked so that's weird." With better vision he looked about the room again. The flash of metal on the shelf caught his eye and he walked over to it but waited on reaching for it. He still didn't know enough about these people so better to be cautious.

[Assistant]
Engine room

So she was right he was a solder, she still did not know from where. Just because a person talked in an accent it did not mean they currently lived there. She was just going to have to wait until he gave some sort of clue where he lived. She was a little surprised that to hear that he was also an amateur artist. For some reason she did not think that someone in the military would be into anything like that. Then again she did not know anyone in the military.

"Well my book The Reaper's Lie is on the New York Times Best Sellers list right now. That would be the one I am most known for. It's being sold in many countries right now so it should be available in any book store."

She personally did not think she was that well off. She had been careful about spending her money. Her second book was not out yet and she did not want to risk not having money if it did not turn out as good as the first. "It makes enough to get by. I really don't want to go back to school to be an accountant. Being at a desk all day is not the life for me. I'd rather go to a park and wrist a novel any day."

She took a look back at the two sleeping members. She wanted to make sure that they were okay when they got up. If they were anything like her they would start thinking the worst right away. The last thing she needed was a fight occurring and someone getting injured. She doubted the room had a first aid kit anywhere. So when she saw that there was one sleeping body she looked around.

She saw the girl on the other side of the room. She was hold something that she could use as a weapon. "Hey put that down. You're going to get your clothes dirty. I've already tried the door, it's locked." She then pointed to the horn. "We're waiting to hear a response for the speaker here. Maybe someone can come and let us out."

She hoped that was enough to get her to drop the weapon and come join the group, she doubted it. She barely trusted these guys, but right now this was the best opportunity to get out of this place. Or at least find something to eat.

[User]
OBSERVATORY

"Mhm?"
 Dakota rolled over slightly. He was roused by the soft murmur of voices. It was probably his mom on the phone. He rolled over the rough bark, reaching out onto the bedside table to shut the lamp off -

There was no lamp.

 Dakota quickly snapped out of his blind groping. He was on the floor, not in a bed. And what's more, he was supposed to be leaning over Karl's cage, feeding the Siberian husky doggie treats, not... not whatever the heck this was.

 His leg began to quiver and his heartbeat began to quicken as he was hit with the frightening, abrupt realization that he was not at home. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but something told him that wouldn't be a smart move. He subconsciously felt his headphones resting on his neck. His eyes followed the wires to his pocket, and pulled out his iPhone. No service, no WiFi -

Dakota grumbled under his breath as the battery icon gave way and the screen turned black. No battery.

 Slowly, he brought the shattered pieces of his resolve together, taking a clearer note of his surroundings. The faint rolling and bobbing of the floor indicated that they were at sea. The wood looked like it had aged quite a bit, but it seemed... living, uncomfortably reminscient of the belly of a great beast. Looking around, Dakota noticed the brass telescope and the domed ceiling were clues that the room was an observatory of a sort. He involuntarily made the sign of the cross. He wasn't Catholic, but it helped still the nerves.

Suddenly, his observations were interrupted by the sudden outburst of noise. A quivering middle-aged man, a girl in Egyptian garb speaking in a foreign Arab-ish language, and a burly tattooed Caucasian man with a considerable amount of facial hair. Dakota took a deep breath as he tied his thick winter hoodie around his waist - were these people his captors, or fellow prisoners?

"...Uh.. h-hello? Who are you?"

[Assistant]
Now that Connor thought about it, the writer's accent did not match any of those that could be found on the British isles, or at least those that he knew of. Her mention of New York was what made Connor guess that she was an American, and that simply added to the mystery of their presence in the room. Whoever, or whatever had brought them here certainly made sure that everyone came from different parts of the world, and if Connor was willing to entertain the idea, different periods of time as well. He had decided that the clothes everyone else wore looked far too strange and different to be from any part of the world that he knew; even the French probably did not dress the way the other two did.

Still, Connor decided to keep that theory to himself for now. It sounded ridiculous and silly even in his head, and the last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself. There were still parts of the world unknown to him, like the deepest parts of Siberia, the central Asian plains and Canada. That made for a lot of places the other two could have come from. "Ah, I apologize. I haven't heard of that book." Connor said sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "I don't think there was a bookstore on the part of the Shetlands I lived in, and we only do get books every once in a while from the steamers that roll through every week or so."

He cleared his throat. "But New York? I hear that it's more Irish than Ireland nowadays. Can't say I'm surprised. The English are doing grand ol' job in making us leg it for the New World." He said with a grin, and was about to ask about what the writer had meant when she said that she was going to school to be an accountant. As far as Connor knew, that was something you learned as an apprentice, not something you could master by simply flipping through a book. However, he noticed that her attention had be drawn by another person who had woken up.

The other girl looked terrified, though Connor could not say he blamed her. He could tell that she too had come from somewhere far away - the newspapers and tabloids had been filled with news about the ongoing war in some nation in the middle east, and if he ignored all the traits that were obviously added in for propaganda purposes, the girl more or less fitted the description of someone from the region. Or, at least according to Fleet Street. "Don't be too afraid, we're all friends here." Connor said, though he kept his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword bayonet. He nodded to the other two with him. "They haven't tried to lynch me for being Irish, so I'll vouch for them."


[System]
GENDER: Female (she/her)
AGE: 19

APPEARANCE:

BACKGROUND: Daughter to a carpenter and a poet, Ardonne was steeped in the fantastical from an early age. She was one of the few girls in her hometown, the village of Bresh, to become fully literate before her tenth birthday; a precocious habit that stuck to her psyche like glue and became one of many damning marks against her. Her father needed a woodsman, not a daughter, and reared Ardonne as such. Her mother valued the virtues of femininity and oft imparted lectures and lessons to smooth the roughness of her eldest's character but only found purchase in deciding what Ardonne would read. Her weapon of choice in securing a steadfast daughter was the fairy tale and with it, the enchantment of the forest heightened to extremes. Ardonne never demonised the woods for taking her father at the tender age of twelve because of these tales.

The wilderness and the thrill of its stalked borders fascinated the youth and became a symbol of escapism, of paternal guidance, and of immeasurable danger. In her father's absence, Ardonne brought hares and even the odd doe to the table. In the hardships of famine during winter she scraped the lichen off the cairns and chopped the firewood herself. She stared into the depths of the North road and waited to be acknowledged by its fearsome resident, figuring herself as less of a damsel and more of an errant knight. These fancies were dashed quite swiftly with her mother's remarriage and though Ardonne revelled in the beauty and allure of Bresh's transformation for a springtime wedding, the veneer faded into the tight grip of patriarchy. Her younger half-brother was the golden child and placed before her in most aspects of life. Ardonne started to find a bitter satisfaction in the sting of the false father's palm on her cheek because, to her, it signified a step in the right direction. Make no mistake - the villagefolk regarded the biligerent Ardonne as churlish, coarse, and airheaded. She was being stubborn for the sake of stubborn and chased her childhood to its ragged edges. She spent too long replicating her fairy tales and clutching to the ghost of a brave but foolish carpenter who underestimated the horrors in the woods and it was widely believed she'd go down the same path. What Ardonne perceived as mystifying solitude was simply her peers' aversion to her surliness. What she saw as daring skirmishes along the forest borders were dangerous and stupid forays into hostile territory. The only benefit to her gambols came in a sometimes bloodied burlap sack and went unacknowledged into the meals for a few days after, and her shirking of her familial duties resulted in the dictation of her future without her input as she was too busy traipsing in mud to notice.

When Ardonne did notice - when Bresh readied itself for a grand springtime festival, her measurements were taken, and a middling merchant man often frequented her home - she took to her heels and found solace in the one place she'd always flown back to at the slightest instance of discomfort. Only this time, in her typical fashion, she submitted her fate to whatever lurked between the branches; wholly disregarding the very real and not-so-fantastical stories from whoever was lucky enough to crawl out of its murky depths.

MOTIVATION: Some short weeks prior to the group's venture into the forest, Ardonne decided that she found death in the jaws of the Beast preferable to life in the arms of the Province. That said, her ambitious escape attempt is distorted and romanticised by her choice in literature; it is far more likely that her dreams will be met with a narrow escape or a rude awakening.

GEAR:
-A yew shortbow with a quiver containing 15 arrows.

-A butcher's knife, wholly unsuitable for combat due to its one-sided sharp edge and utilitarian blunt-tipped shape, but heavy enough to be used to skin and dress animal carcasses.

-A field guide for local fauna and flora in the Faro Province, dogeared and kept in a waterproof leather satchel on her belt.

-A bedroll and mess kit.

-Two flasks of water and a bag full of smoked rabbit, dried blackberries and chanterelle mushrooms. Chunks of stale bread.

[User]
Galia Guardstrike

 Galia had nodded at everyone one at a time. They looked experienced. A bowman, a cleric, a spearman, and a masked man. They all looked capable enough. However, the fact of the matter is that no one here has had any real combat experience for the last ten years, and appearances could be decieving. They could all be wormfood within the next few days for all she knew. But Galia wasn't going to die, she was going to win. There was no other option other than coming out of that forest alive. Perhaps the others here had nothing to lose or everything to gain, but Galia had everything on the line. If she failed...she couldn't fail.

 "My name's Galia Guardstrike," she said, voice low and hard, glaring at the North Road. "My goal is to kill the Beast, and collect the reward. I'm not leaving the North Road until I do." Galia held the handle of the sheathed sword at her hip. Her fingers impatiently tapping the wood in a wave pattern, the steel pommel glowing dimly in the light of evening sun. Galia didn't mind repeating herself for whoever else came. Her name would ring of it's given nature, not one chosen by parents or by oneself, but one earned through combat. A title of mercenary making.

 There wasn't much else to say, not yet, anyway. She did recognize some of them. Mort, the hunter. Zahir, the guard, with that funny little mask of his. She had seen him, as Eleanor had dragged the Practicioners around Feros Province, and that little town he protected spoke fondly of him. The others she didn't recognize, but Feros Province was a bigger place than one might imagine. She had come to see it has home. Infact, Galia hoped to spend the rest of her life here, once this was all over. Feros Province wasn't the problem. The North Road was.

[Assistant]
"Aye, the beast has to go." Heddwyn uttered as he looked over the woman.

She was fierce. Strong-willed. He had known many like her in his time away from his daughter as he walked the low roads throughout the province. He hadn't heard her name in his travels, but that didn't mean she wasn't important. Her surname did seem strange to him; the kind of name someone would create for themselves, but etymology was sometimes strange, it could've been a proper surname for all he knew. It was a large and peculiar world.

"If introductions are in order, I'd be Heddwyn."

He decided to not lead with his own surname. House Brythendale wasn't a large house nor one native to the people of this particular province. Besides, he liked blending in among the commonfolk. His eyes moved toward the huntsman and the others who had arrived after him, curious about their own names. Perhaps they would share vocations, but he imagined they would have much time to talk once the sun set. They would need to make camp soon enough. The woman who took stance to be the leader of the group did not seem the type to want to waste daylight.


[System]
Age - 29

Gender - Male

Bio - Lucas comes from a town a little ways down the road from Cross-Haven, where his parents own a locally famous tavern by the name of "Your Friendly Niirborhood Tavern." Their service is fantastic and incredibly quick, with their only being three people employed: Both of Lucas's parents, and a single cook. Their business was their pride and joy, and ever since childhood, Lucas was captured by the devotion his parents showed towards their business, and aspired to run the store some day.

Lucas helped out around the tavern, and eventually was considered to be a fourth employee by everyone. He learned much from his parents, and eventually became skilled enough to open his own tavern in Cross-Haven by the same name. Business there, although a little slower due to the smaller size of the town, was well, and lived up to the reputation of his parents business in the town over. Lately, however, it had come to Lucas's attention that his father had come down with a terrible sickness. Due to this, his normally cheerful and eager-to-please attitude has waned a little bit.

Who is the Seer? - Lucas has heard of him/her, but doesn't believe in The Seer. Upon mention, he usually will laugh and reply with: "Hell, we can all see, can't we? I don't see the big hoopla over it."

[User]
The tall amber grass swayed as Niana stalked her way through the field. She reached a clearing and slowly pushed a stalk out of the way and peered out onto the road. There was a cart. There was a farmer on that cart, as well as a man (or a woman, Niana couldn't tell). Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that this person was the Seer. The Seer that people had been discussing for weeks in the town square when Niana had been watching. The Seer that would help her find those men that had killed her family. She growled at the mere thought of them, her teeth bared. She watched as the Seer got off the cart and headed in closer to the town of Crosshaven.

The feral girl retreated and sat back down amongst the grass. She closed her eyes and listened. There was the rustling of the grass with the wind. There was the call of distant birds. There was also the steady beat of Niana's own heart. But.... there was something else. Something farther off, like the tapping of shoes on the dirt road. The Seer? She peeked out of the grass again. No it wasn't the Seer. She turned and faced the other way. Sure enough she could make out a man's silhouette. She darted back into the grass and creeped in his direction, away from the town to get a better look at him.

By the time she made it close enough to him, he had sat down. Niana also noticed he was clutching a bag. He seemed to be at ease on the road, so she figured he wasn't from around here. She clutched her bone knife and wondered what to do.

[Assistant]
Argo had spent a considerable portion of his morning in the normal fashion, out amongst the hills and forests of the perimeter of Crosshaven in the pursuit of plants, herbs, roots, and all other manner of psychical remedies. His self-training in the shamanistic arts were progressive considerably. In the path few months he had begun experimenting with the effects of different plants on different sicknesses, be they animal or human, and had taken to keeping a log of his findings. Today the routine had continued to some moderate success. Some days the herbs were low to the ground, hidden amongst the grass and difficult to find. Today a few choice samples poked up from beneath the forest floor and made themselves known to them; they were collected promptly. Bag filled with the necessary items it was not even mid-morning by the time the shaman returned, retiring to his quarters near the outskirts of town.

Argo spent the rest of the morning in religious prayer and observance. He had learned the proper rites and rituals from passing travelers who were more than happy to pass on the information in return for mending a broken arm or healing a sick animal. Small bits of tobacco burned in an incense jar on the far side of the room; it was the only suitable leaf he could find around these parts of the world. Retiring after his hour or so of worship the shaman decided to go into town to check up on the population. As their principal healer and religious icon Argo had become an important if not truly prominent member of the community. It was during his journey into town that he caught word of the Seer's arrival.

For weeks now there had been rumors and speculation and all manner of tall tales which related the supposed powers, abilities, personality, and appearance of the legendary mystic. It was said that those who conversed with the Seer found either great or terrible fortune and so, it was with these portents in mind that Argo moved towards the center of Crosshaven with an intention of seeking the mighty mystic out.

[User]
"And so then... And so then - Hoo!... So then I said to him, 'what do you mean, we're all out of gin? I put the order in last week!'"

The Niirborhood Tavern was alive with loud, hearty guffaws as Lucas Niir hit the four listeners with his punchline from behind the bar. Lucas, laughing with them, wiped away a tear, and continued washing a dirty glass. "Let me tell you something, Lucas, those jokes won't ever get old!" One of the listeners complimented. Lucas just shrugged. "It's my job to keep you folks happy and full. It looks like I've done a good job of both." Besides the four men, there were about two others sitting at two different tables. One cracked a grin at Lucas's joke, but the other stayed stoic, watching the door intently. "Hey, can I get you fine folks in the back anything?" Both looked back and denied the offer.

"You got anymore good jokes, Lucas? You know I come here just for 'em!" Lucas stepped back and placed the glass he was washing on the shelf behind him upside-down, next to a row of other sparkly clean glasses. "Sorry boys, maybe tomorrow," he responded. This was met with a chorus of moans and groans from his audience, and he waved them off like flies. "Oh come on now. I've got work to do. And hey, you guys best be getting some work in, too. These drinks ain't free, not by a long shot."

[Assistant]
As the Seer had walked along the route he had sensed a presence nearby; however it did not seem to be hostile so the Seer ignored the presence and continued toward the 'heart' of the town. The Seer could feel several pricklings down its spine, not hurtful ones, more like gentle proddings. The Seer knew what these signs meant, the fates were once again bringing some rather integral characters to the stage for another grand play. Unlike what the stories said, the Seer could not in fact control the events and information that flowed into his mind from outside his knowledge. The Seer did have visions to be sure but trying to make any sense out of them was sort of like interpreting a dream, even if the image was clear the meaning could easily escape. Thankfully the Seer had quite a bit of experience with this strange gift and therefore was quite good at figuring things out. It appeared there would be a few intersecting stories in this village that the Seer would be a part of.

The large young man unloading the supply wagon, the traveler behind him, the presence that the Seer sensed, already a few of the pieces were starting to become apparent. Course a few pieces to the puzzles were just that, pieces, the Seer would put the picture together eventually, now it was high time to get a drink and some food. The Seer looked for the nearest place to get some refreshment, it appeared 'The Niirborhood Tavern' was the place to go. The Seer idly wondered if the owner had purposefully decided to mis-spell neighborhood to make it specially or if he really thought that was the correct spelling but that was but a small mystery that did not deserve to be found out.

The Seer entered the establishment without hesitation. There was a rowdy bunch in there already it appeared but the Seer was not bothered by some noise. From some of the conversation in the tavern it appeared the Seer's reputation had preceded the mystic. Still as was usual with such rumor one of the most important facts about the Seer was just plain ludicrous, the Seer's appearance. The usual rumors were that the Seer was a wise old man who showed wisdom on his wrinkly face, was in fact a gorgeous and well-endowed woman, or was in fact a powerful warrior that used his mighty magics to lay waste to creatures of darkness. The Seer never made any effort to correct the rumors as it allowed the magician to travel through most towns without too much trouble. Being always on the move the Seer tried not to stay too long in any one spot unless there was a reason to be and it looked like Crosshaven might just be such a place.

The Seer strode across the floor, almost making no sound when walking. The Seer made it to the bar and took a counter-seat with the men nearby. "Barkeep a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We wish to purchase a meal and a glass of honey-wine if available." Honey-wine a step up from most of the low end drinks but did not quite reach the levels of sophistication of the higher class, still it was not a drink a regular working man could afford very often. "As for the meal, we shall take whatever special you recommend to travelers in order to taste Crosshaven's flavor."

Even just sitting there and speaking the Seer gave off a distinct aura or...differentness. It was not exactly odd just different, course the Seer's looks helped tip it over to more of an oddity along with that particular way of talking. The Seer was capable of making people curious, weary, confused, and pleasant all at the same time. It really was quite a feat.

[User]
Arman groaned, slumping down on the seat at the front of the wagon. Rubbing her eyes, trying to clear away the bleary, fuzzy, vision. Silently she mouthed something, probably a rude word, but no sound came out. It really wasn't fair that she had to lose her voice NOW, when they were finally at a village after traveling on the roads for so long. Sighing she flipped open her latest book of legends, that she had bargained for a few villages back. The price had been steep, and she was wary, it was probably just another book full of common fairytales. But her life was these stories and so, even knowing she was probably being conned, she had traded out three rabbits, a pigeon, and a handful of coins. The rabbits she had caught herself, and Ryan had 'lent' her the pigeon so he would be expecting something back. He was her 'father figure', the man who had picked her up all those years ago, and she had taken his name, as was costmary in some regions, Ryanson, or Ryan's son, even though she was neither his son nor a boy. Ryan himself was driving the wagon, whistling cheerfully, to a tune in his head. Frowning Arman droned the sound out, burying her worries about her voice, and started reading from her book.

Have You Heard?
Have You Heard?
The Seer is here!
The Seer is here!
The Seer brings Miracles!
The Seer brings Death!

Arman sighed, this poem again. There wasn't anything wrong with the poem, actually she loved it, more than most of her stories, but as with most things, too much of something leads you to never want to encounter it again. This had been the first proper thing she had read, back when she was learning to read, piecing together the hastily scrawled words on their scrumpled piece of paper. When she had finally managed to read it, to read it all, she would then spend some time every day re-reading it, proving to herself that she could, that it wasn't a dream. Speaking of dreams; Arman jolted awake, wincing at the sore spot where Ryan had dug in his elbow. She mouthed a curse at him, but still found she couldn't talk. Glancing ahead she found they were at the edge of the town. Ryan stopped the horse, and Arman could hear the creak as the two other wagons behind them pulled to a halt as well. "Meet you back here, this evening, yeah?" Ryan bellowed at the other four as he hopped down from the wagon, grinning back up at Arman. "Shall we go conduct business, and see if there's someone who can help with your voice?"

[Assistant]
Lucas looked up from his audience and smiled at the young... Oh boy, I'm in for it now,Lucas thought to himself as he couldn't exactly guess what sex this newcomer was. She -or he- had long, black hair tied up in a neat ponytail, and at first sight the, this would make any sane person believe that this fellow could be a woman. But her face was so rigid and sure, unsmiling and straight that this patron could have been a man. And of course, men without ponytails weren't totally unheard of. Why, just the other day, Lucas had a man cone in who was under an occupation of a foreign name. He said he was a sam-ooh-something... Or maybe a rai-ooh-something? Oh, to Hell with it, Lucas thought.

After a fee seconds of searching for a unisexual pronoun for his customer, and a short second of hesitation, Lucas Niir smiled and nodded. "I don't think I've had anyone ask for honey-wine in quite some time, stranger. I'll see if I have any in stock, though. And just in case you've never come in before, the name is Lucas Niir. At your service, stranger." He greeted the mysterious fellow and turned around to examine his shelves of liquor, looking around for the specified drink. He certainly stocked honey-wine, but only near festival seasons. The folks that walked in to the tavern around these parts usually favored a more "manly" drink."Let's see... Hmmm... Ah, here we are!" Lucas pulled out a bottle of unopened honey-wine, ready to serve. He started to open it immediately with one hand, searching behind him for a bottle with his other. "Well, you're in luck. This is one of my last bottles."

As he poured, he thought about what exactly he could make for his customer. They had a limited menu at the Niirborhood Tavern; usually the chef Lucas has hired made whatever he could make, but because of his great skill in cooking, this was usually not complained about. "Hey, chef!" He called to a door to his right which led to a kitchen. "Think you can cook up a meal for me?" With that, he set the wine glass filled with the golden wine in front of the stranger. "Excuse me, but you're old enough to drink, right?" With a yes, he would let go of the glass for the customer's enjoyment. "So, what's your name, stranger?"


[System]
Dame Charlotte Encore,
The Duchess

---

Basics
Nicknames, titles, etc.:
"The Duchess" - One Hive City gang, The Gentry, is lead by someone referred to only as The Duchess. For the Duchess' protection, only a handful of people, The Counts, know their real identity. Said handful would know The Duchess to be Dame Charlotte Elizabeth Encore.
"Dame..." - As Charlotte's identity as The Duchess is kept secret, she poses as a Dame within The Gentry. This means that she can wield a minor amount of power among them without revealing her true identity. She is, however, expected to earn her keep like any other low-ranking member.
Age:
39
Species:
Human
Gender:
Female
Height:
5'5"
Weight:
136lbs

Appearance
As is custom among The Gentry, almost none of Charlotte's natural appearance is visible while she is. Excessive makeup veils the colour of her skin, an intricate mask covers most of her face, and a dramatic dress hides her figure. The effect is an appearance of wealth and power, as well as a certain kind of artificial beauty. Her appearance is often comparable to a porcelain doll, which is, again, a common feature among The Gentry. It creates a sense of anonymity, to the point where, with the changes in a person's outfit from day to day, it can become impossible to recognise one of the Gentry as one seen before. This adds another level of protection against would-be assassins - even if they were to discover the Duchess' true identity, it would still be very difficult to recognise them.
Behind all the makeup and masquerade is a very different woman, in more than just appearance. Modest, brown hair that falls just past Charlotte's shoulders, a slight build and pale blue eyes. While her public appearance is the ultimate display of wealth and confidence, Charlotte's private self is a more unassuming character. Certainly not someone you'd expect to be leading one of the most dangerous criminal syndicates out there.

Capabilities
Charlotte carries an estoc and a cinquedea (a thin thrusting sword and a long, wide dagger). The shorter cinquedea is used for parrying blows and trapping an opponent's weapon, while the estoc is used in attack, and is adept at piercing metal armour. Both are heavily stylised and look extremely expensive, in keeping with The Gentry's style. Additionaly, though Charlotte is not especially strong, she is an expert in wielding both weapons, and extensive use of two weapons at once has rendered her ambidextrous. Of course, Charlotte is intelligent enough to wear a layer of leather armour underneath her clothes. Even a noblewoman is better off discomforted than dead.

Personality
As leader of The Gentry, Charlotte is the ultimate representation of what a member should be. She is polite and well-mannered, and has an excellent poker face even before her manner of dress is considered. She practically lives her life by the idea that there is a time and a place for everything, but realising this means everything has a correct time as much as everything has an incorrect time. She'll use violence and deception in equal amounts: whenever it is the correct time and place. She'll show off just as much as she'll keep secrets: whenever it is the correct time and place. She is powerful, and wealthy, and she wants to be more powerful, and more wealthy. The method does not matter to her, she just wants to see her organisation succeed.

[User]
Kull seemed momentarily surprised that she had gotten back up after a bronze greave to the skull, but he quickly estimated that it had just been one of those strange, inevitable flukes which show up now and then, like a man born with boobs or a potato shaped like the Emperor's face. He wasted no more time pondering it. He waved his left hand dismissively, scowling. His other hand felt tentatively at his blinded eye, Kull grunting with disgust at his carelessness. He figured himself lucky it hadn't been his life, with how he had underestimated the big one's resolve. This one was determined too, yet... She seemed out of place, not like the brutish monsters that fought tooth and nail here on a regular basis.

"The F*CK you talking about? Get the hell out of here already. I'll have 'em open the bloody gate. Where did they pull you from, a masquerade ball? This is pit fighting, to the death, not some duel where I have to make a name for myself killing a bitch in a dress. What do you- *noisely snorts out a gob of blood* think you get if you win, other than a pat on the back and a ticket to dying another day here!? As if shit like that will make me a man? GO. Get back to your court or whatever, I'll make sure they ship you there like the pretty package you are. The Captain of the Crimson Guard doesn't kill girls unless they have glandular issues that make them look like BUNGWHOPPING MALES. Otherwise I'll look bad! Well, bad in a SHITTY way, not a BADASS way, got it!?"

He jerked a harsh finger towards the gate and began making exaggerated circular motions with it. The men manning the portcullis looked confused for a few seconds before they began hesitatingly winding the gate back up. It was surprising. The savage man seemed to have something akin to a conscience after all.

[Assistant]
"I'll admit, it's a tempting offer, but somehow you've managed to make me dislike you so much I'd risk my life for the chance to end yours."

Kull hadn't attacked. Typical. Still, Charlotte was uninclined to simply stand around waiting. She couldn't have her audience getting bored, after all. So, after taking a few moments for her vision to finish clearing, she moved forwards lightly and made her attack.

Learning from last time, she avoided committing herself too much to it, so she could avoid a counterattack. Instead she moved forwards so that she could slash at Kull's neck with the very tip of the estoc, standing side-on and putting weight onto her back foot so she could dart forwards if he were to dodge back. The swing was small and quick, moving diagonally upwards and to Charlotte's right, stopping almost immediately after the intended point of contact, while her cinquedea remained where it was, ready to defend as necessary.

[User]
Kull had no intention of miming a cigar store indian, waiting to be crapped on by a bird. He'd wanted to make sure she was resolute to see it all through to the end before he went on the offensive. He whipped his gladius out of its sheath and brought it to a half raised position when she finished talking, and clapped his empty left hand to his right clavicle, the silvery glint in his eye all but broadcasting that he was ready to punish should she try to stop him from retrieving his weapon before she regained all her senses. She'd been asking for him to attack, and so he would.

He abruptly took a big left step forwards and tore loose his cloak, whisking it over his right shoulder and hurling it fluttering towards her upper body, a crimson curtain signifying the end of the show. Again he was acting on the most important rule of fighting. You can't fight what you can't see, unless you're Spiderman or something. After throwing it he'd weave to his left in case she tried stabbing straight through the cape on reaction, dipping after her so he could catch her if she tried to backpedal, not that she'd be so quick with a bad leg. His gladius could stab right through her leather, but from whence would it come? Her entire body was a target for his biting edge, each stroke liable to maim or kill. How she handled the cloak obscuring her vision was key to survival.

[Assistant]
Use of the cape in battle. A popular strategy in fencing, but always an annoying one. Typically one would simply move out of the way, as a cloak throw was almost always followed up with an attack. Besides, it's simply stupid to attack through, and leave oneself open to retribution.

Kull was correct in that an injured right leg would slow a backwards retreat from where he was now standing, as putting large amounts of weight on it would be painful. However, Charlotte could bring her right foot, which had been in front during the previous attack, back next to her left, turning her to face Kull's new position in time to duck the cloak before he continued to move in that direction.

The question, then was how to respond. Kull was undoubtedly stronger than Charlotte, so a close melee could not be prolonged in her favour, without an outside advantage. Yet, she could not reliably hit Kull with her estoc, without an outside advantage. Without an outside advantage.

A disgustingly brutal idea came across Charlotte. Not something she'd ever consider doing normally, but Kull had annoyed her, and it might be necessary for her survival. Without an outside advantage. What was her best advantage over Kull? His injury.

Dropping her estoc to the sand, Charlotte leapt up (two feet to two feet, keeping her leg in mind) from her ducking position and jammed her right thumb into Kull's injured eye.

Should her attack work, she would grin, and say to her opponent "You know what might have helped there? A mask."

[User]
It would've been brutal, had Kull not acted on yet another rule of combat. If you can't reach your opponent, then you can at least reach their reach. Quite frankly, it meant that if you were facing an opponent that was risky to attempt body shots on, you should go for their arms. Dame dropping her main weapon only aided Kull in his endeaver. He kept his head turned towards her, focusing his good eye on his opponent to keep from being blindsided. He reacted quickly to her counter, as if it were a jab during his regular barefisted sparring sessions.

The scarring on his face had mostly come from fist fighting, and so he well knew how to handle hands flying at his mug in a jiffy. He tucked his chin down, lowering his face so her thumb instead collided with his forehead, his raised and ready gladius flashing down to slice her arm in twain just below the elbow and send her hand skidding across the sand before she could yank it back. It was a strong, compact swing, his armpit not open and left vulnerable for any stabs, even if she had the presence of mind to try and immediately attack with her dagger after potentially losing much of her arm. If she tried defending with her dagger, the burlier gladius would be liable to pound it out of her grip and still give her a nice cut for the trouble with its greater momentum.

[Assistant]
So Kull wanted to cut off Charlotte's arm? It was a fair plan, but a doomed one.

First of all, Kull's comparison of Charlotte's attack to a jab was logical, except in one manner; while it would take momentum to deal damage with a punch, it would not take momentum to inflict the pain desired by putting force on the wound. Therefore it was a simple matter for Charlotte to simply slide her thumb down into Kull's forehead and into his eye. In fact, she probably could have adjusted course mid attack, but it was too late for that now.

The sword. The sword was still a problem. But, again, there was one mistake in his logic. High school physics: when pushing a lever, the further away from the fulcrum you are pushing, the less force is necessary to move the lever that far. The lever being the gladius, and the fulcrum being Kull's hand, this would mean that his additional force from momentum could be rendered irrelevant if Charlotte could meet his blade at the middle with the handle end of her blade, and, considering that the wide blade of the cinquedea was meant for parrying anyway, she could feasibly stop the gladius in its tracks. So, that was what she did.

[User] The reason Kull liked to take hits on the forehead? The forehead was hard. He'd messed up the knuckles of many fighters by letting them sock his brainplate. Dislocated knuckles, fractured metacarpals... Though it depended on how hard they attacked. She'd tried to jab at his eye, and might've ended up jamming her thumb good on his helm instead. That being said, she'd be able to slide it down into his eye, extracing a roar of pain from the man. It took his breath away, how much it hurt. It was very painful, yes, but not at all lethal and Kull knew it. He had to keep fighting for his life, had to kill the urge to cringe or pause to take a breather, had to own up to the pain and power through it. In a reactive flash, like when you slap a bee that's stung you, his left hand surged up to sieze her right hand in a crushing grip and wrench her off his grimacing face, twisting cruelly to lock her arm out to the side, all the while keeping his head turned enough to maintain sight of her with his good eye. He'd abruptly spit a fat gout of blood at her eyes, accumulated from his damaged sinuses, potentially making her flinch. He wasn't worried about her attacking with her dagger, though he was anticipating it. To do so she'd leave herself open, and Kull had many ways of creaming someone. It was her only remaining defense, and she probably knew she had only one shot with it.

[Assistant]
This might be a problem. Right arm twisted away, painfully - useless. Left arm free, but necessary for defending against that gladius - useless. Legs unable to reach any vulnerable targets, right leg in particular weakening - both useless.

And then Kull spat blood in her face. As he'd planned, she flinched. She didn't want blood on her mask, after all.

Charlotte's opponent was stronger than her, so freeing herself would not be easy. Her right arm's position was limiting her movement - unless she moved with it. She stepped in the direction he was twisting her arm, moving so that it was still trapped, but no longer painful, or in danger of breaking. It did, however, put Charlotte behind Kull, facing away from him. Hardly a suitable position to fight him from.

The best she could come up with from there was a sharp back kick with her left leg into the inside of Kull's right knee, in an attempt to unbalance him and possibly loosen his hold. Regardless, she quickly had to return her left leg to the ground, as she doubted that her right would be able to take her full weight for more than a few moments.


[System]
Race: Krogan

Gender/Age: Male; 351

Appearance:

Class/Specialization: Soldier

Weapons: M-8 Avenger, M-5 Phalanx, Omni-Blade

Powers: (Biotics/Tech/etc) Carnage, Cryo Ammo, Frag Grenade, Overload, Marksman

Affiliation/Occupation: Mercenary

Background: Varok had been born to Clan Thax - a smaller, but more intelligent clan during that time. While they were smaller than the clans of Weyloc or Urdnot, they made up for having more level-headed people than most clans. Making sure, to raise the few children they had to use their brain and brawn against their foes. They mostly stayed neutral during the various clan-wars that raged over the Tuchanka landscape.

Varok was the result of the usual policies of Clan Thax. Going as a mercenary into the world, once he was old enough. He has made himself a name, for being a good-enough mercenary in his works. Able in his job, fair in his payment and smart in his dealings.

Personality: Despite his brutish looking nature, Varok is actually quite intelligent. If he is treated with respect, he will return the same. Unless he is treated like a brute then he would reply in kind.

Other: Likes human chocolate.

[User]
Prisoner Holding Deck,
Citadel Docks,
22 Hours After Icarus Bombings

'At least they finally managed to cut off that incessant message' Tarrin thought to himself as he walked past the blank screen of a Galactic News Terminal. His team had been assembled, and as per the Council's instruction, they were sitting in the holding cells designed to detain prisoners who were being shipped off-world. Their gear had been placed inside the SSV Omaha, a newly constructed Alliance-Turian vessel in the same design of the Normandy. The official story would be a loss in power triggered the door opening, and the 7 prisoners made a break for it aboard the stealth ship that was awaiting deployment. Fisher and Hawke were supposed to be passing the message to the others, but to be sure, he was heading in himself.

The door to the C-Sec checkpoint slid open and the two human officers stationed there stood to salute.
"There's no need for that, officially I'm a renegade now, remember? You're both clear on your role in this?"
"Yes sir" the closest one responded.
"Well, cuff me and bring me in. Time is short"

He was escorted into the holding room and took a seat alongside Fisher.
"Status" he whispered to the human, keeping an eye on the cameras above them, waiting for the signal to move.
"All ready to go sir"
"Let's get to it"
The light above the camera flickered and went out, they were free to talk. Tarrin stood and addressed his new crew.
"You're all sitting here cuz you agreed to a job. Whatever reasons you had for signing on are your own. Consider this the moment you clocked in. In one minute, the lights will go out and that door's gonna spring open, when it does, don't hesitate, just run. We're gonna board that frigate and make for the relay. They're gonna shoot at us because they have to, but they will not hit. We'll discuss the mission once we're free of Council space. In the meantime, explore the deck, find a place to call your own. Now run like hell"

As he finished, the doors sprung open, and the crew moved out. The next 15 minutes were a blur of gunfire, blasting cannons, and way too many close calls for Tarrin's liking, but they finally hit the mass effect relay, and with that, their mission began.

[Assistant]
Reezan

As the alarms sounded and door opened Reezan could only feel tension, the door moving much too slowly. When the door was half-way opened he shot off like a bat out of hell towards Sena's cell, he yelled in Khelish, "Sena, stick behind me and keep up!" He quickly caught up to Tarrin, his light armor making up for his body's non-athleticism due to his sedentary position as a sniper. He figured if he stuck close to a beloved Spectre then there would be no way a bullet would come near him, and having Sena behind him gave her a shield in case of such an incident.

The smell of gunpowder was one he knew all too well but it gave him the adrenaline rush required to make this look real. Something bore into his shoulder, "Damn it!", Reezan exclaimed but pressed on. He covered his shoulder with his hand as he kept moving, I thought they weren't supposed to shoot at us! This was probably on purpose, maybe someone getting revenge for someone I killed, just another form of karmic retribution I guess. Blood began to pool under his hand as he rushed faster to get to the ship to avoid contamination.

Once on board Reezan moved quickly to the medbay to start his treatment for his shoulder. Well looks like I do need a patch job, he laughed to himself and seeked out Sena in order to fix his suit. After he was cleared he immediately went to the lower decks to find himself a rifle to call his own, his old rifle being confiscated that is. He chose his loadout and after the feel of a jump he came up to the navigation deck to discuss this 'plan' Tarrin was talking about.

[User]
Sena'Raan vas Alarei

Sena may have made a grave mistake. Up until now, she'd been a hostage of sorts, to the Batarian Pirates, to Octavus and his Turian crew, and yet ... even when she'd been "arrested" by C-Sec, she was viewed as a non-threat. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and they didn't real hold her culpable for her actions. That didn't fit this mission though, so she was arrested but no chargers were filed on her record. Amid the group of smugglers and pirates and thiefs, she was just there. When they began their less-than-heroic escape, she felt further out of place, she felt as alien as she had when she'd been kidnapped by Batarian's except this time she'd put herself in this position. Reezan's familiar suit sent a wave of relief over her, perhaps she didn't have to feel so alien after all. She did as she was bid and stayed close, bullets zipped by and she thought she'd gone mad- no, she was certain she'd gone mad. At some point Reezan got hit and and blood splattered on her visor in a fine mist. Even when they were on board and the airlock sealed shut, she still didn't calm down, adrenalin pumping. Reezan needed medical attention and she immediately began performing first aid and suit repairs for him.

"Oh I don't need help, I can patch myself up" Sena quipped sarcastically, putting on a mock-Reezan voice. "The mission hasn't even started and already I have to stitch you back together" her voice softened a little when she was certain the wound would heal, there was no guarantee Reezan would get away without an infection though ... hopefully it would only be a mild fever.
"I hope you know what you've gotten us into" Sena said, putting away the medical things as Reezan left.

She took her time to explore the ship, examining the engines with great fascination ... this ship was far more high tech than Octavus', far too high-end for her to ever hope to bring back to the Flotilla but she could learn from it in the mean time. The engineers on the engineering deck gave her queer looks and kept a distance until she asked a question about the drive core.
When it came time to find a place for her things, she selected quarters near the lab where she could study and examine weapons and geth and things.

[Assistant]
Varok grumbled at the sentence - when the guards were ordered to miss.

When they arrived at the experimental ship, he was likely hit thirty times somewhere.

Luckily his krogan regeneration, helped in fixing his wounds. While the quarians set themselves up in the media, he was stuck looking around the CIC. "So think there are any food here? Dextro and Levo?"

"It would be a waste of our mission failing because, the crew starved," spoke Varok, taking a look at the star-map. "Also your bad at giving encouragement."


[System]
John Jorgen
Nickname/Alias: The Historian, Professor, John
Race: Julliak
Age: 672
Ethnicity: What's an ethnicity?
Gender: Male
Appearance:

In their natural form, Julliaks appear to be very very tall (about 9 feet) bipedal humanoids with gaunt features, as though their skin were stretched tight against their bones. They have no hair to speak of, no mouths, and natural skin pigment ranges anywhere between deep blood red to albino white. All their eyes are green. Joniminum is a particularly light shade of red (but not pink!). Of course, that's his natural form as a Julliak, but he spends most of his time in the guest-friendly human form he shapeshifts into. In his human form, John looks like a male in his mid-forties with receding black hair styled straight back. No matter the time of day, he always has a five o'clock shadow. This form is six feet tall, well built, and always with a friendly twinkle in his eye even when annoyed.
Clothing: Black suit, dark blue button-up shirt, black tie.

In The Mind

Personality: Studious, wise, friendly, and engaging. John loves people and science. Used to be whole-heartedly devoted to the Galatec cause but only because he kept himself locked away in his labs and remained ignorant to the effect they were having on the people they "helped."
Likes: Computers, science, history, humanity, culture, legends
Dislikes: Wastefulness, malicious intent, tyranny, animal abuse
Fears: That he won't make a difference, his rangers being lost to battle, sharks
Quirks: Likes to shake hands when seeing someone even if they've met before, straightens his tie a lot

Where They've Been

History: Born on home world. Liked science and the idea of progress. Joined Galatec for great benefits and access to lots of research potential. Came to New Earth, studied humanity's history. Became enamored with human culture. Bad stuff went down. Faked his death and stole morpher technology. Setup base with Samara.
Talents: Computers, robotics, galaxy's foremost expert on the Morphin Grid, not bad in a fist fight.
Hindrances: Not good at coping with loss
Powers: Shape-shifting. Julliak shape-shifting is not nearly as fluid or varied as other forms of shape-shifting. A julliak needs to design a form on paper and study the biology, obtaining an understanding of all biological functions of the design, and burning a lot of calories making the change. It takes a lot of time and effort.
Equipment: Classified

Bonus Round

Quotes: "It's up to you." "Time to be a hero." "In the proud tradition of humanity."
Theme Song: Maybe later
Aspiration: To be able to use his studies for the beneficial progression of people everywhere, and to be able to come home again.

[User]
"Understood."

 The small arachnid was under his palm in one second and brushed off into the small bin next to him in the next before he was once again standing next to his charge. Surprisingly, he didn't actually kill the thing, but it was rather small and quickly scurried away as his charge began to settle so he was sure no one bothered to notice. The new arrival gave him a look but as she congratulated him later before leaving he was sure he was in the clear for the time being.

 He had been performing these small acts of rebellion ever since he had let the rebel girl escape again. No matter, there was no harm, and his actions only served to better the situation of the empire as a whole. Spiders killed other insects which meant letting one live would result in the benefit of his superior's later work ethic. Really though, he may have just been slowly coming around to a certain someone's view point after a rather hard shock to his system of beliefs.

 He quickly returned to standing next to his charge with hands behind his back and cold eyes scanning the area, the professional, silent stance of a sentry constantly alert to potential dangers. One of which seemed to be a stirring in his employer's nerves, killing spiders seemed to be his main task, something he noticed with each time she screamed for assistance.

 The current "bug elimination" had been the third time such an act was required by him, apparently there was more life in this hole-in-the-ground than the faces of the workers would have you believe. He was fine with it though, while skittish and afraid of everything around her, his newest charge kept him on his toes. But, as most of his time here had been opening doors and playing exterminator, guarding the Accounting Director was a simple mission, and he supposed that it meant the higher ups were trusting him more if he was being put in charge of the security concerning someone so entwined in their financial system. Yes, things were definitely going well for him. He could only hope that it stayed that way.

 "Was there anything else you needed mam?" He inquired coolly, piercing blue eyes never leaving their post of looking straight forward. It was strange how quiet the day had been, yes he was content with the situation but that didn't stop him from being naturally suspicious as hell about said easiness.

 He had a natural unease about his presence there. Yes, his work was easy but that seemed to be what was unsettling him the most. Perhaps it was him over thinking the situation but he was sure that, as his background included some combat experience, that his being requested specifically meant he was going to be putting down something or someone on a slightly larger scale than the average "creepy crawly". The small office, the lack of anything out of the ordinary, the fact that he was called away after stopping an attack on a Galatec employee, shouldn't they have placed him in the city? Or was it because of his accomplishments that his current boss requested him, was he here just for her peace of mind, she seemed quite skittish so that wasn't an impossibility.

 Still, he couldn't shake the feeling, he never trusted when things were going right.

[Assistant]
Oliver

*Huff, huff* Oliver could barely gather his breathe let alone lift this next red ore block. Three days was as long as he had been at Red Rock, but with the strain of work and not even being able to grieve his parents death made it fell like years. Receiving constant beatings, getting low amounts of sleep, and being chained up-many would crack and fall apart in those kinds of situations, but Ollie wouldn't give up hope. He had to push through. He believed someday something would change. He should be dead now, but fate gave him a second chance. It couldn't be just to work til his death, but he was starting to lose hope.

Working with Tommy was interesting. For some reason being near him slightly revitalized Ollie. He didn't know why, but he hoped that it was a sign things would change. Ollie was having trouble putting some of the ore in the hovercart when a Githkin snapped its whip at him. This caused Ollie to fall over, *Crap.* Ollie quickly got up before the Githkin could pounce. He lifted the ore above the side of the cart and dropped it in, *Come on. You can do this Ollie. Don't let them take your heart from you.* Ollie could hear Tommy singing from the small crevice he had just gone through; and instead of just listening this time, Ollie uttered the first words he had said in the past few days by singing along, "297 piles of rocks in the mine, 297 piles of rocks! Take one down, mine it out, 296 piles of rocks in the mine..." Ollie decided he shouldn't just work for himself, but also for the others around him. For people like Tommy.