[System]
Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Background: Killjoy's past is a closely held secret that no one knows, not even those who've known him since he started his career seven years ago. One thing's for sure though, he's one damn effective gun-for-hire. He's known best for his record of more than 200 confirmed kills, something he shows proudly with the tally-marks on his armor, and of completing every contract ever assigned to him. His last contract got him indebted to Starfire Company causing him to have to work off the debt. He eagerly awaits for his ten-year contract to end so he can go back to working solo.

Personality: Killjoy's arrogant, but he's got a pretty good reason for it. There's no mistaking that he's one of the best at his job and that job is making sure his target is going six feet under. He isn't completely without morals though, refusing to do any job that involves slavery or the murder of innocents. He's also a bit of a pessimist, but he claims that that's only because he wants to be prepared for the worst.

Gear:
- Two .45 Caliber Handguns
- One Machete
- Various lethal and non-lethal hand grenades
- Body armor that can stop most non-sustained small arms fire
- Helmet with tactical display

Personal Ship:

The V-17 Cobra Dropship is a re-purposed troop carrier meant to quickly transport up to twelve. Killshot's since customized it for deep space travel, more maneuverability, and more firepower. There's also a small armory inside where he keeps his various weaponry (including assault rifles, sniper rifles, rocket launchers, etc.) for missions that may require something more than his handguns can handle. It's no bigger than a Black Hawk Helicopter of the 21st century.

[User]
As Babylon IV began its ascent, several XRF fighters broke off from the battle to try and intercept the transport vessel. They were only able to get off one shot each before being called back by their superiors, allowing the Babylon to only receive minor damage to its outer hull. The Alamo soon caught up with no trouble as the XRF had no reason to attack Sunfire vessels unless they were working directly for the Imperials. Both ships soon broke through Teta's atmosphere and escaped the siege below.

John activated the comm-link in his helmet to communicate with those who had gone toward the Alamo with him, "Lizard-guy, Ball of Lightning, and Other Cyborg, get in your fighters and make sure to protect the Babylon and the Alamo from anyone who might think raiding us is a good idea." Meeting Deraen in the hallway outside of the Alamo's bridge, the helmeted mercenary turned to the Andalite and said, "Way to think ahead there, big guy. I'll head down towards Engines and Life Support then." As he walked back toward the elevator to the lower decks of the Alamo, he shouted back, "Good luck, and try not to die."

-=-=-

After several hours of travel without incident, the inevitable finally occurred. A pirate ship, as large as the Babylon IV and the Alamo combined, appeared from behind an even larger asteroid. That's the most ridiculous looking pirate ship I have ever seen. John, whose datapad was connected to the Alamo's outer camera feed, could see the incoming hostiles and prepared for the incoming assault as several anchor-like tendrils shot forward, impaling themselves to the Alamo and the Babylon. "Damn it. Of course they've got anchors. For those of you who've never had to hold a ship off from pirates, this is a classic strategy of theirs. Those anchors are connected to their ship's airlocks, so that's how they're going to board. Our flyboys are the only ones who can disconnect us, though I doubt they're just going to let them."

As if on cue, a horde of around ninety fighters burst from the pirate ship's various hangar bays. In total, forty anchors connected the attacking ship to the Babylon and twenty anchors on the Alamo, each with countless pirates all traveling down the tubes to wreck havoc inside the ships.

[Assistant]
Johanna gritted her teeth, she knew something like this had been bound to happen. She checked her rifle once again to make sure it was good and ready. The Babylon shook as the anchor's impaled it's hull. They were gonna have a hell of a fight on their hands shortly, if the size of that pirate ship said anything, it was that there was a lot of pirates heading their way.

"Hey big guy, you ready?" She called out to Krull, might have seemed like a pretty stupid question, but maybe seeing just how ready the big guy was would psyche up the rest of them. Gods know they needed it.

[User]
<You as well, John Mason.>

Take off went without a hitch and Deraen settled in to wait out the journey. They weren't even out the system yet, passing below an asteroid belt, when the pirates appeared. Their attack was sudden and the Alamo had very little time to react thanks to the asteroids interfering with the ship's sensors. The ship trembled with each anchor lock-in. The Andalite remained at his post, waiting.

Deraen reached into one of his pouches, pulling out a piece of equipment and fastening it over the slitted nostrils that made up his nose. It was a gas mask of sorts. As predicted, it wasn't long before the pirates located the bridge and made it their target. A swarm of them appeared at the end of the corridor and Deraen sidestepped behind a bulkhead as they began shooting. When they were halfway there he tossed two canisters in their path, which rolled across the floor for a few seconds before spitting out a toxic red vapor. Caught off-guard and temporarily disoriented by the smoke screen, the pirates faltered. They gagged on the air and some of them pulled their own gas masks on, but the disruption was a large enough window of opportunity for Deraen to step into their line of site and mow them down with an automatic weapon. A human-made gun called a P90, as he understood, that propelled small projectiles called bullets at such a speed that they tore through flesh and bone alike. It was heavy, but the shoulder-strap helped him to hold it steady while two slender fingers activated the trigger.

The pirates screamed and fell bleeding on the deck. Deraen noticed they were all humans, but it wasn't unusual for pirates to go marauding in groups composed exclusively of their own kind. As he stepped over the bodies one of them rose up behind him, and must have assumed that since Deraen was facing forward that he could sneak up on him. Of course, it's impossible to sneak up on an Andalite since their stalk eyes allow them to see in all directions at once. Without so much as pausing mid-stride Deraen whipped his tail back and stabbed the pirate through the chest before he could think to fire off a shot.

<Be advised: air contamination in Sector 2.> He broadcast his thought-speech for his crewmates, if any of them came to help him they would know what to expect. Deraen put another canister in hand and continued down the corridor. Another wave came at him shortly and he gassed them like the first group, slaughtering them at his leisure. The next wave was ready for him however, almost all of them wearing their own masks and all of them firing at once. He ducked into an adjoining passageway, pulled the pin on a plasma grenade, and threw it around the corner, counting each second until detonation. Before the explosion had cleared he was out again to finish off any survivors.

[Assistant] Jay's had drifted his ship into a patrol pattern around The Alamo for the more peaceful part of the trip, when the large pirate ship appeared, anchored both the Babylon and the Alamo, deployed upwards of ninety fighters, and sent over a massive boarding party he just sighed and murmured "of course" and turned his ship to head behind the Alamo to avoid the fighters. He powered the shields on his fighters ram and as he maneuvered behind the Alamo and came around he ignited the afterburners and rammed strait through at least seven of the anchors connecting to the Alamo, making sure he kept closer to the Alamo using it's guns for cover from the fighters. Several of the pirate's fighter were tailing him as he came back around toward the cruiser aiming to take cover in the range of the Alamo's guns again.

[User]
On boarding the Alamo, Valian went to his ship to make sure everything was in top shape. Checking the controls, engine, weapons systems, shield, and other myriad of finicky bits that go into making a ship operational. Normally the sort of thing you want done before you're put in a situation where you might need to take off at any moment, but Valian saw himself first, not as a contracted employee of Starfire, but as a pilot. It was a matter of pride to him that he would notice if something was wrong with his ship. The only reason he was checking was because he'd learned the hard way that it's best to be careful.

Much to his surprise, Valian had finished checking his systems before anything happened. It stayed that way, until the one of the ships' pilots decided to pass by a large asteroid. How large? After practically leaping into his ship's cockpit, Valian pulled up some pictures from the Alamo's outer camera feed, and saw one large enough to hide a ship bigger than the the Alamo or the Babylon. Alright, what's the deal here? Even if we were trying to avoid standard flight paths, what idiot chose to pass so close to an asteroid that big? There's so much empty space out here... That train of thought died as soon as he saw the ship that was hiding behind it. When he did, he couldn't help but break into hysterical laughter. "That is the silliest fucking thing I've ever seen!" His mic was off, so his team-mates wouldn't have heard his outburst unless they were passing through the hangar at the time—he wasn't that loud.

His laughter ceased as soon as he heard the anchors hit. The fact that the pirates, idiotically silly carrier ship aside, hit him like a freight train. His grin did not leave his face, but it turned from one of mirth into one of malice. "Alright. So, ninety ships? Could be worse. Wonder how many of them will be dead before this is through." Wasting no more time, Valian brought his ship out of the Alamo's hangar. Since the pirates were still a good distance away from him, he whipped his ship around with his many RCS thrusters to take aim at one of the anchors on the Alamo with his energy beams. He didn't get the chance to see if he hit his mark though—the pirates had arrived, specifically a group of three.

Damn, they're faster than I thought. While he may have tried to get in an attack of opportunity on the anchors, John was right—they wouldn't be letting him cut those anchors. He dodged around the enemy fire, and took shots of his own at his assailants, the flash of his ballistic gun visible just under the Starbolt's nose. One pirate took a hit in the cockpit—taking the pilot out and sending the ship spiraling out into the void—and another in the wing, rendering it largely inoperable. Prioritizing speed over shields? Interesting. Might even be a pattern. Sure would make my job easier.

Valian glanced down at the anchor he'd shot at, and it was severed, the pirates already in transit tumbling out into the void. He looked towards the pirate carrier, only to see more ships heading his way. Well, let's see what this fleet of eighty-eight's got any more surprises for me.

[Assistant]
A group of ten pirates walked out of the elevator that led to the hallway to Engine Control and Life Support. So far, their progress had gone unimpeded and the crippling of the Starfire vessel would go off without a hitch. As they turned the corner though, one lone figure blocked the pirate's path. John leaned against the wall, spinning his handgun on the end of his index finger. Noticing the ten marauders in his peripheral vision, he grabbed the grip of his pistol and, in one quick motion, loaded a full clip into the gun while grabbing his second, still holstered gun, and fired both at the intruders. Several .45 ACP rounds tore through the little to completely unprotected bodies of the pirates, dropping them to the ground. As each of them collapsed the shooter mentally counted each kill. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten... Damn, I was expecting more.

"Well, you guys weren't any fun," the helmeted merc said as he approached the bodies. He picked up a small headset off one of them and spoke into the microphone, "If you want to take this ship from us, you'll have to try a lot harder than that." He looked over at the elevator and, sure enough, it began to move back up to pick up more targets for John. Under the helmet, he let out an unseen smile. Better not disappoint.


[System]
Appearance: img08.deviantart.net/03cf/i/2016/329/e..
Age: 25
Race: Imperial

Items and gear: Silver sword, steel dagger, mixed leather and steel armor pieces to get a medium armor set.

Abilities: She can cast flames, if that's okay. One-handed, lock picking, speech and destruction if flames is allowed.

Job: Helena runs the makeshift Helgen Inn, sheltering and feeding people for a very low cost, considering the city's condition.

Bio: Helena bought the Inn after everything was destroyed by the dragon. She loves meeting all of the adventurers and treats them with as much hospitality as she can, especially with such bad conditions. If someone isn't so friendly, however, Helena won't hesitate to fight.

[User] Valrona looked around at what was left of the great city of Helgen. The dragon had basically destroyed the poor town to the ground. That was about a week ago. She looked around as she nailed up another board down on the floor of her shop. She was to be soon finished repairing her shop back to working order. Yang walked up to her licking her cheek making her smile. "Good girl." She said smiling. Yang was her best friend and a damn good hunter. As she finished with the floor, she stood up and opened her shop door to look around the town square. She wondered what everyone else was doing to fix up the place. She knew that once more of the place was secure, she would gather people up to probably go on a quest. She hoped it would be sooner or later. She could feel herself starting to go stir crazy. Yang sat down in front of her looking around and sniffing the air. Yang has been a bit shook up ever since the attack. Valrona ran her hands in between her ears to help her relax.

[Assistant] Wolfgang Vestenheimer paid the builders from Falkreath the final amount of money that was owed for the construction of the new headquarters for his new holy order, which he made a mental note that he still needed to come up with a name for. Wolfgang turned to gaze at the building, it was a wood and stone building that was small compared to the churches in the main holds of skyrim or the monasteries of cyrodiil, but it was nonetheless an impressive sight considering what it was and also not to mention in comparison to the rather decimated landscape left by the dragon Alduin. Wolfgang pulled a silver flask off his belt and sprinkled some holy water around the outsides and as well as inside the building, ensuring its divine protection from the Gods.

[User]
The smell of freshly cut wood hit Ardashir's nostrils a moment before he saw a nordic lumberjack bring his axe down on another piece of wood. The argonian had just scored a kill in the woods of Falkreath and was on his way back to Helgen. The town which had been destroyed by Alduin was still recovering, the rebuilding going slowly as a result of the civil war and dragon attacks. It was good to see new construction, especially when it came to buildings which might attract pilgrims and other visitors. The more traffic Helgen got, the faster it would recover.

Careful not to step on any of the splinters which littered the ground, Ardashir carefully made his way past the holy site under construction. While some Argonians in this land used footwear, his tribe never bothered with it. Then again, this wasn't Black Marsh. The often-cold weather sometimes made him regret coming here, but he knew that he had no choice. It was warm enough for now, and he had to get this deer sold for its meat and hide. Then, he might have enough coins for an extra drink tonight, preferably by the fireplace of the town's inn.

[Assistant]
A week ago the dragon Alduin attacked Helgen, bringing death and destruction. The news of the return of the dragonkind, previously held to be fantasy creatures in tales, rippled swiftly through Skyrim. Felix, a young novice adventurer, packed his belongings and left Riverwood for Helgen immediately upon learning the event. The journey proved far more time-consuming than it should have been, with bandits, wolves and the temptation of treasure from caves dragging Felix behind.

When he finally arrived he found Helgen feebly recovering from the catastrophe, with the townspeople busy rebuilding their homes and shops. A female elf opened the door of a shop, which appeared to be an average general store just repaired. Felix decided to give it a try. He needed information, friends, materials, food and rest.

"Hi. Is this your shop?" He couldn't think of any novel way of starting a conversation, thus the dull question for the elf.

[User]
Casimer Demetrius-Kahn - Helgen

His exhaustion hung in the air, forming anew with each coughed up breath.

Perspiration clung to his skin despite the bitter chill; the stench permeated the air. But his swollen muscles still strained themselves to retrace the same arc, commencing each revision with a huff and ending with the distinct clatter of metal on metal. Too proud to have asked for help, his entire frame heaved with exertion at completion; tired hands dropped the hammer he'd guided with expert precision. He took a careful step back across the length of wood he stood on and examined his handiwork: it was a start. Having spent the largest part of the week since the attack re-establishing the wooden beams that had, at one stage, supported the non-existent roofing, he moved to reinforcing the construction with steel:

Whilst not an intended part of the initial design, Casimer had decided the times demanded it nonetheless. His house - no, his home - for the last quarter of a century had been decimated in the attack: the roof had collapsed beneath the intense weight of the beast, and with that the first floor had been wrecked; the interior, otherwise, had been gutted with fire. The walls, thank the gods, had been saved the devastation he had witnessed enacted on other buildings.

With slow, purposeful, painful movements, he descendant the ladder he had established to the ground floor. Beneath his feet was the entrance to his former basement-cum-storeroom, now basement-cum-storeroom-cum-entire living area; entrance covered with a reinforced steel trapdoor, as to deter thieves during a time when he had an actual business, it had been left unaffected by the attack. It was his home now - it had to be, or he would be left to sleep in the open air. But he stepped across that space, and to the door; drained beyond the capabilities to think, mind disorientated and lacking focus, he huffed down the fresh, Northern air, with the same sort of enthusiasm he might have afforded to a breath that was his last.

[Assistant] Cedus finished the last blade he'd need to sell to a store. It was a dagger, a beautiful thing. He would probably charge less than it was worth. His whole goal was to help the town. As soon as he got here, he'd found an anvil and got to work. Cedus admired the dagger before placing it in his pack. Satisfied, he walked into the inn and bought a night's stay.

[User] Jo'marash was walking through the woods on his way back to Helgen. He had been searching for new ingredients and was now on his way home to see what he could do with them. As he entered the gates he saw the beginnings of a new Helgen. He could hear to tools of the workers and the hammer of the blacksmith. A warrior from Cyrodil had built a big stone building and a local wood elf had opened a general store, and then he came to his own shop. A small wooden building that was far from finished, he didn't have the time to build it himself and he didn't have the coin to hire someone to do it for him. When he entered he was met by the pleasant (at least to him) smell of Khajiit cooking. He sat down at the table and started browsing through his books looking for info on the ingredients he had found.

[Assistant] Corinth whistles a tune as he heads into Helgen. He looks around and finds a spot perfect for farming. Setting down the handles of the wagon he drops his sack and starts rummaging through it. "I have that deed here somewhere... Aha! There it is." He pulls out a paper and reads it again. "One property deed for Helgen.. So long as we man guard house and make a farm... I can do that easily. Made them back home..." Putting the paper away, Corinth takes his greataxe and straps it to his back, then heads off to look at the inn to get some information on the newly rebuilding town.

[User] Valrona smiled as a male Nord walked up to her asking if this was her store. "Yes. Welcome to the Helgen General Store. Come on in. I am sure I have what you are looking for." She said as Yang sniffed him wagging her tail. "My name is Valrona and this is Yang." She said as she held the door open for him to show him the supplies she had. Along the walls there was shelves with different types of food, books, small weapons, arrows, and pretty much anything else someone could need.

[Assistant] Helena swept rubble off the porch of the mostly rebuilt Helgen Inn. The rooms were rebuilt, except a few holes that needed patching up. The ground had many burn marks and cracks. Other than these imperfections she was open and ready for business. A room was cheap, but she warned wanderers that her prices would go up when the city was rebuilt. People walking around the slightly repaired Helgen brought a smile to her face as she swept.

[User] Corinth walks up the woman in front of the inn. "Hello there, friend. I have been sent by Jarl Balgruff to aid in protection of the town. I was wondering what you could tell me of the place." He smiles, giving a wave. "The name is Corinth. Corinth Frozen-Hammer."

[Assistant]
Ardashir got a good price for the stag he had brought down, and sure enough, had sufficient coin to spare for an extra round at the inn. He went there, careful with his tail as he negotiated his way through the crowd. He smiled slightly, happy that Helgen once again had crowds at all.

He entered the inn and looked around, seeing if there was anyone he recognized.

[User]
"Hello, Corinth, my name is Helena and I own this inn," Helena introduced. She let the broom lean against the wall and held out her hand for a handshake. "This is Helgen. It was attacked by a dragon a week ago, during an execution. A group of us has gotten together to help rebuild the city to its former glory." She saw a new customer enter and decided it would be a good time to reenter the inn. "If you need a place to stay, my inn is very affordable, especially in the current conditions. Once the city is rebuilt, the prices will rise some, but rooms are a steal now." With that, Helena went back in to Her inn.

Helena found Ardashir and smiled at him, remembering him from his earlier rounds. "Sorry, we just have the basic ales for now," she reminded him, now standing behind the counter. As far as food went, the prices were about the same as any other inn.

[Assistant]
"Alright, Helen. Just one basic ale." He sighed, setting the coins down. Whiterun had a supply of fine argonian ale, but that was quite a walk from Helgen. He wasn't a fan of the roads in Skyrim. Too cold and hard on his scales. Not nearly warm, soft, or wet enough. Still, he gave a smile as she set the drink down on the counter.

"Thanks." He took a sip of the drink, and looked around the inn, hoping to find some new faces. His hunting could only take him so far. There were several ruins nearby, and he wanted to see what could be found in them.


[System]
Age: 25

 Gender: Female

 Race: Naga (attempting to transition to another race through magical means)

 Class: Artificer

 Personality: Fieri Angharad is haughty and opinionated, and almost religiously believes in the superiority of magic over all other things. Fieri Angharad has spent decades working in a secluded university, away from all humanoid contact, and is exactly as desperate for affection as that implies. Beneath a thick veneer of contempt, Fieri Angharad is close to a child in terms of practical experience and romance. For some odd reason, Fieri "Diamond-Tail" Angharad insists that everyone refers to her by her full name, nickname and all. Thanks to a hostile environment outside of her birthplace and an inability to cope with it, Fieri is ashamed of her current state of being, and is seeking to change it as soon as possible. Due to this, Fieri gets flustered if her most prominent physical traits are exposed or accentuated.

 Fieri was born in the bustling town of Cartus Magnum, located in the western portion of the nation of Ithillin. Fieri's parents found work as porters and washerwomen in the prestigious university that largely encompassed the town's workings. Cartus Magnum University was a mage's college dedicated to teaching practical magic and hard sciences, and held a stable of fantastic teachers to facilitate this. People from across the continent came to the town almost exclusively to either work for or study in the university, and Fieri's family was no exception. Fieri's father was, rather controversially, a tenured Senior Wrangler, who very narrowly avoided being fired for an ill-advised fling with Fieri's mother, a migrant washerwoman. Unfortunately for both Fieri and her father, Fieri's mother abandoned the both of them almost as soon as she was born, moving on without even a word of warning. With no knowledge of how to raise a child and no wife to do it for him, Fieri's father did what he always did: let the university handle it. And so, Fieri's upbringing was brought entirely into the hands of the university's servants, professors, and students.

 Fieri spent almost the entirety of her life within the confines of the university. Educating the young Fieri was a pet project of most of the university's faculty, who found an unceasing audience in the cheerful naga. As Fieri grew, so did her wealth of knowledge. Mathematics, philosophy, theology, herbology, and artificing all opened their gates to Fieri. Thanks to her father's extensive connections with the university and Fieri's minor status as a staple of the university's live-in entertainment, Fieri was afforded the faculty's level best in education, for no charge-- after all, any money taken in for her education would go right back to her father.

 At the tender age of 18, a startling idea crossed Fieri-- she could be learning to have a job! Startled and mesmerized at the prospect of having to work to earn her daily bread, Fieri nervously opted to follow a career in artificing-- utilizing advanced magic to enchant mundane objects into powerful tools. The idea of making her job trivially easy without even needing to expend too much mana was immensely appealing to Fieri, and she threw herself into her studies with gusto. Fieri studied like a madwoman, egged on by her father, and very nearly graduated at the top of her class at the age of 24. With her magical potential unlocked through rigorous training and studying, and a bevy of spells and enchanted objects at her belt, Fieri... promptly attempted to return to her life of lazing about the university and looking smugly at the students. It was at that point that her father gently but firmly encouraged her to go find a job elsewhere, and politely informed her that, if she continued to stay at the university, she would be arrested and convicted for vagrancy. With no small amount of bitterness, Fieri moved out of the university, and set off into the world. Fieri now wanders aimlessly, searching for odd jobs and helpful servants.

 Equipment: Fieri Angharad is equipped with a variety of self-made magical tools. The weapons underneath are poor-quality, but the enchantments on them are made with love. Fieri's arsenal is as follows.
* Staff of the Diamond-Tail: a university-provided magical focus, that allows Fieri to store and release large amounts of mana. In effect, it is a battery, for intensive magical works. Thanks to the wonderful efforts of the university's engineers, this staff is also capable of drawing mana from ambient sources. In broad daylight or in the light of a full moon, the Staff of the Diamond-Tail regenerates mana very slowly. The staff is also quite sturdy and hurts to be hit with. It is currently filled with several days' worth of stored mana.
* Knife of Lacerations: A standard household bread knife, enchanted to unleash a blast of concussive force exactly the size of its blade on impact. It's useful against unarmored, unexpecting targets, but nearly worthless against armor.
* Bag of Holding: Fieri's thesis project. This is a simple leather satchel, enchanted to magically shrink down anything placed within it. Even thought it is about the size of a traveller's pack, its carrying capacity is about the size of a shipping crate.
* Mana Battery Kit: The mainstay of Fieri's repertoire, this is one of the only things that cannot be made by an artificer. With this advanced piece of magitechnology, one can handily replicate the effects of the university's staffs in a smaller and less powerful form. The kit takes any stone, metal nugget, or gemstone and fills it with mana. These mana-filled minerals can then be inserted into an artificed object to make them usable for non-mages. The more valuable and conductive the material used, the more mana the resulting battery can contain.

 Abilities: Fieri's magical powers are based around utilizing mana in its raw and pure form. These abilities are relatively expensive to use mana-wise, but can also draw from her staff's reserves.
* Mana Bolt: Fieri is capable of projecting a bolt of pure mana at her opponent. The bolt is relatively effective against uncovered flesh, and causes moderate to severe burns on contact. Against large amounts of mana, the bolt reacts violently and explosively.
* Miasma: Fieri is capable of venting large amounts of vaporized mana into the surrounding area at once. The mana, while not strictly toxic, is almost unbearably hot and temporarily interferes with any sources of magic. Prolonged exposure to Miasma results in severe nausea and disorientation. Fieri is not immune to the Miasma's effects.
* Artifice: The gross sum of Fieri's life and Fieri's true calling, this is what Fieri is best at. With a generous amount of mana, a targeted object, and some imagination, Fieri can enchant anything. The more valuable the object is, the easier it is to enchant. It takes half an hour to a day of concentrated work for an Artificing to be completed, and the resulting object must be charged with mana to function properly. What Fieri can enchant is limited only by her scientific knowledge and imagination-- if she can logically conceive of a way to make a ring capable of teleporting its wearer, Fieri can enchant one to do it. Researching and developing new enchantments takes time, mana, and plenty of test subjects. A list of enchantments Fieri currently knows follows.

	+ Emit Force/Absorb Force: Phenomenally simple, this enchantment is designed around converting mana into directed kinetic energy, either to work against incoming blows or amplify them.
	+ Emit/Absorb Heat: Exactly as simple, this enchantment is designed around emitting large amounts of heat or absorbing large amounts of it. With some more sophisticated supplementary enchantments, the weapon appears to emit flames or bolts of frost from it, though the effects are the same.
	+ Discharge/Absorb Mana: This enchantment is explicitly required on every Cartus Magnum Artificer's products, for safety reasons. Upon being discharged, the enchanted object immediately releases all stored mana in a single blast that, at higher levels, overloads other magical items and causes extreme burns. Upon its Absorb function being activated, the object briefly draws from any source of mana directly connected to it.
	+ Feather/Burden: A simple and efficient enchantment, used widely across the continent. When active, the enchantment actively lifts itself (or pushes itself down), making carrying heavy objects significantly easier. In most cases, Feather is attached to armor.
	+ Grow/Shrink: A strange branch of enchantment explored by few, the effects of these enchantments are directly tied to the current size of the object affecting it. When activated, anything touching the enchantment will be either shrunken or grown to a predetermined level. At the same time, both its volume and mass change, allowing for even heavy objects to be carried with ease.

[User] "Um... Miss Palayen... don't you think looking so angrily at everyone might drive them away?" the already pre-recruited nun wondered, continuing to sit beside the diminutive paladin and very carefully keeping hold of her drink. Unlike the alcohol-averse paladin, Sophia had no real dislike for it... not that she wanted to get inebriated before a mission, but it would have been unsightly to sit in here and not order something. Plus, unlike her more dangerous companion, the harpy really didn't like drinking milk. It was one of those things her people had absolutely no ability to procure naturally, after all.

[Assistant]
"Please, Lady Tanya," said the third occupant of the table. "Such behaviour will do little but draw the attention of unsavoury sorts!" he advised. He was tall, almost abnormally so, and his handsome face was framed by his longer-than-regulation hair. He had a small glass of a red liquid in front of him and had been sipping on it all eve. If he had earned the ire of his companions while doing so, well, he gave every indication that he didn't notice.

His name was Marc Ferrus, and he was also a Paladin. Armed with only his short sword and also out of his armor, he looked far more at ease here than his other paladin cohort did. Perhaps it was due to his gentle, easygoing nature. It wasn't hard to fit in with people. He had certainly made a lot of friends on the way here.

"Miss Sophia is right," Marc continued, nodding to their harpy friend. She was truly a noble ally in the fight for justice. "A gentle touch is required here. And perhaps a mite of shifty-ness." Did he really just say that? The honest, good natured Paladin who would never lie on his honour proposing something shifty? Well, he was standing up now, and moving towards the bar. Quiet words were exchanged between the barkeep man and the astonishingly tall paladin, before Marc turned to address the bar.

"Friends! We are embarking upon a great quest, but we have limited openings!" he boomed. "The first individuals we deem worthy for our quest will receive free drinks for the remainder of the eve! Truly a tempting offer, yes?"

That aught to get everyone's attention. Of course, all that talk about unsavoury sorts and Marc had forgotten it himself! Still, he'd see who rocked up.

[User]
Leander continued walking down the path, his staff making a small tapping sound every time he moved it further down the path. He was eager to find an inn, or at least some place with shelter, to stay the night. He had no interest in sleeping undefended, under only the night sky. As he walked, he eventually made his way to a tavern. Well, it was certainly better than the night sky. Leander grabbed his money bag and checked to see just how much he had left. Satisfied he had enough for a night's lodgings, he made his way inside.

Leander made his way past drunk adventurers and weary travelers to an empty seat at the counter. He was about to ask the bartender if a room was available when someone shouted something about the Prison-Castle. Normally, he would have ignored it. After all, it was usually a young fool who was lured in by the promise of treasure. What caught his attention this time, however, was that it was a paladin who spoke the invitation. Curious, he turned around to see who it was, and his eyes landed on a purple-haired woman of short stature.

Leander was rather curious as to why a paladin of all people would dare venture into the tomb of Mad King Haldric. After all, it was, quite literally, a collection of death traps and monsters. Plus, paladins weren't exactly known for being foolhardy. They must have some sort of mission. However, were they really so short staffed as to be forced to rely on the help of mercenaries? Or were the mercenaries merely cannon fodder? Either way, Leander was too curious to ignore this any longer.

Leander left his seat to approach the female paladin and her accomplice, as well as the other paladin who used a more... interesting method of recruitment for this mission of theirs. Leander had no interest in the alcoholic drinks, but perhaps he would join them anyway. "A paladin on a mission to the tomb of Mad King Haldric?" Leander asked Tanya. "I must admit, I am curious about this endeavor. Perhaps you will find it in your best interests to bring me along."

[Assistant]
Fieri Angharad looked up at the small, rotten palisade separating the supposed tomb of King Haldric the Eccentric, and undulated with anticipation. The tomb was uproariously popular, and many adventurers had visited it in the past. "The Breadwinner", they called it, thanks to its inexplicable supplies of meager wealth and self-replenishing supply of common foes to whet one's blade on. All it took to find the place was to line the palms of a nearby guard, forester, or farmer with copper. The path to it was very slightly overgrown, and the telltale depressions scattered along the path very clearly marked where previous bands of novice adventurers had rested.

With snakelike agility, Fieri wormed her way through one of the many holes in the palisade, and began the trek up the hill to the castle's ruined gates. All she knew of this place was that it was a reliable way to find easily-enchanted equipment, and that it was a favored haunt of the kind of person that would gladly leap headfirst into the wild blue yonder for nothing but some enchanted junk. The only hard part here, Tieri thought, is finding someone to do it. She thumbed the hilt of her enchanted knife, and slithered up to the castle's main gates. For better or worse, she'd find adventurers, and she would sell things to them.


[System]
Appearance: Valian is the shape of your average human male, barring his below average height. His hair is dark, and his complexion fair—but you are far less likely to notice any of this than you are his eyes, which are blue. That is to say, that he lacks sclera and his eyes are a solid, pale blue all throughout, barring his pupils—the lack of sclera marking them as prosthetics. If you catch him at a time when he isn't wearing his flight suit—a dark blue affair with a silver-colored alloy covering the seams at his neck, shoulders, and waist, and a helmet made of the same alloy—you'll doubtless notice that his right hand is mechanical. His sense of dress is ostentatious, consisting of a mix of purples and blues, including a dark blue waist-length mantle that he is rarely seen without. Occasionally, you'll catch a glimpse of his grey prosthetic legs at his ankles, as legwear meets footwear.

Race: Human-Cyborg

Gender: Male

Age: 34

Background: Valian had a normal childhood, as they go. His family was of modest means, but made more than well enough to get by. He was born in a settlement on the moon of a gas giant just as it was starting to really expand. His father was a contracted pilot, flying people and cargo that, while not important enough to be afforded their own personal shuttle, still needed to get around. Valian was well-educated growing up, and very sociable. Time passed, and eventually Valian grew to adulthood. Since he had spent all of his young life around pilots—his father and his father's cohorts, some of whom were fighter pilots—and spacecraft, he had more experience with them than most non-professionals. As such, it was only natural that he took up a job as a career pilot. Specifically, he signed on with the Starfire Company.

His father had run some more illicit flights, so Starfire's less "moral" jobs were not an issue for him. Over time, this brought him into personal conflict, and he developed what skills he has in combat by necessity. His skill as a pilot led to his continued survival, and no insignificant renown within the company. He stuck by the company even when the odd offer came to turn over to the side of a competitor, seeing it as good business to stick with his path. He didn't know how right he was.

When Valian was in his late twenties, an act of sabotage in a Starfire hangar severely damaged Valian's ship and grievously wounded him—costing him his right arm, his legs, and both of his eyes. Valian was not irreplaceable, but he had a few friends on the station's medical staff, so they began operation. He was outfitted with cybernetic replacements for what he had lost. While there were a few people at the corporate side of Starfire that threw a hissy-fit, he was seen as a beneficial enough asset to be worth the cost. His ship was ultimately unsalvageable, but he was able to pick up the tab on a new one without taking too big of a loan (which has since been paid off). He wouldn't be alive without the cybernetic work, and he remains staunchly loyal to Starfire because of it—now out of a sense of obligation rather then business sense.

Personality: If there's one thing that Valian has leaned in his time in this galaxy, it's that there is nobody more important than whoever has your back. He is loyal to a fault, and will stand by his comrades no matter what. That said, he is rather jaded. While it didn't have a specific inciting incident, he has lost the belief that there is such a thing as a "good cause." As he would put it, "While there are people who support a cause out of selflessness or idealism, there are just as many—if not more—who would persue it for their own selfish gain. There is no such thing as a virtuous cause; a cause is only as good as those who pursue it, and any cause will have plenty of pursuers in it for themselves and in it for the cause's sake." This, in turn, has made him apathetic towards the conflict between the Xenovian Empire and the Revolutionary Front. In truth, he sees the whole war as rather morbidly comical, due in no small part to his tendency to find the humor in most things.

Gear:
* One High-Powered Energy Rifle, capable of the sustained firing of multiple blasts, and continuous fire for short periods of time. (Model: Class-8 Jovian Powered Beam Rifle, manufactured by the Jovus Industries Arms Manufacturing Corporation)
* One Cybernetic Arm, capable of more precise movement than organic arms, though of somewhat lesser strength; Right side. Linked Directly into his nervous system, operated without computing technology. (Model: Class-12 Neural-Motive Prosthetic Arm, manufactured by the NMS Corporation)
* Two Cybernetic Legs, capable of more precise movement than organic legs, though of somewhat lesser strength. Linked Directly into his nervous system, operated without computing technology. (Model: Class-9 Neural-Motive Prosthetic Legs, manufactured by the NMS Corporation)
* Two Cybernetic Eyes, capable of seeing over longer distance in sharper detail and overlaying information in his vision, as in a typical HUD. Linked Directly into his nervous system, operated without computing technology. (Model: Class-23 Neural-Sensory Prosthetic Eyes, manufactured by the NMS Corporation)
* A Flight Suit, capable of protecting against radiation exposure and planet-reentry/launch forces when in ships which are ill-equipped to handle such forces on their own. Also capable of defending against individual blasts from most energy weapons—but all but useless against sustained/continuous energy fire, and completely useless against ballistic arms and other non-energy forms of weaponry. (Model: V-Type Kalstein Flight Suit (Blue-Silver), manufactured by the Kalstein-Rothera Corporation)

While not possessing the hold size of most other cargo ships, the Agile Variant of the MK-III Stellas Cargo Ship's lower mass and higher number of Rotation Control System (RCS) Thrusters give it a maneuverability and agility unmatched amongst its ilk. While it came with a pair of low-caliber ballistic repeating guns, Valian replaced them with High Energy Sustained Beam Generators—capable of producing a continuous beam indefinitely so long as the ship is powered—and added a medium caliber ballistic repeating gun just under the nose. Additionally, the ship came with standard shielding technology, which Valian has upgraded.

[User]
Jay had managed to get most of the fighters of his tail but one very persistent pirate kept chasing him, as he dodged it's weapons he saw Valian's ship and was about to contact him for assistance when a bolt hit the fighter behind him, he quickly found out it was Cy above them taking out fighters with his ships weapons. He was grateful for the assist of course but he silently wished that the team was a little more coordinated between them, they might be able to handle these pirates like this but fighting a more competent enemy such as XRF regulars, Imperial forces, or even the Illyrian armada might prove to much.

Regardless, with the fighter off of him he made for the anchors again with the intention of detaching the rest...or leaving one as John's message asked, though before he could, in a moment of terrible luck and timing he wound up between the Valis's ship and one of the fighters it was aiming at, the bolt went straight through his ship on it's way to it's target shorting most of his systems and sending him careening toward the pirate's cruiser, the effect wasn't as drastic as if he was the intended target and he got his forward shield powered back up before hitting the hull and breaking through. several pieces of debris and a few pirate crewmembers were vented out of the resulting hull breach before a secondary bulkhead closed to seal it.

Jay pulled himself up with a groan, grimacing at a pain in his side "just wonderful" he murmured, he tried contacting the others but found his comm unit was still dead. he sighed, pulled out his pistol and slowly climbed out of his fighter's cockpit, looking around for any of the pirates.

[Assistant]
The pirate standing near the doors of elevator didn't stand a chance as the blade of John's machete cut through him like a hot knife through butter. The trained mercenary knew exactly where to strike to avoid the resistance caused by the more solid parts of the body, specifically bone. There was barely any time for his fellow boarders to react as John raised his handgun and emptied an entire clip at the hostiles. Still, standing out in the open without any cover was not a good idea, even with his skill. The helmeted mercenary quickly took cover inside the elevator as bullets ricocheted through the blood-stained transport.

"Eat shrapnel you bastards!" John shouted before tossing a grenade and scattering the targets. His gun having been reloaded before throwing the frag from earlier, he emptied yet another clip as the explosion took out all but one of the remaining pirates in the vicinity. The last pirate, with no weapon except for a large knife, rushed towards the John while screaming with rage. Having no time to reload or reach for his other gun, the mercenary raised his own blade and threw it, embedding it into the skull of the target. "And that'll be my Thirty-Fifth pirate kill today. You're making this too easy," he said as he retrieved his machete.

The sound of footsteps traveling down a nearby anchor told John that the fight was far from over though. "Oh yay, more of 'em. Maybe I can plug this thing up with a pile of all their soon-to-be corpses."

-=-=-

Jaydaar's ship crashing through the hull of the pirate's ship would not go unnoticed to the marauders, as five, heavily armed individuals rushed to the loud noise the lizard-like alien had caused. It would take a lot of skill to take them all out without triggering any further alarms, though an easier strategy might be to avoid confrontation in the first place and escape through the air ducts. The choice was up to him.

-=-=-

The 8 foot tall robot that the captain had ordered be brought onto the Babylon was quickly making its way from the cargo hold to the outer hull where the anchors would take it to its programmed target. The fleshy meat-sacks that were its owners did not stop the machine's advance as it crushed several of them on under its weight. The robot's head scraped against the ceiling as it went through the tube, creating small sparks, before emerging onto the Babylon's deck. "Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill," it repeated as the machine began to transform, revealing its hand to be a minigun as well as a rocket launcher on its shoulder, luckily empty of ammunition in the latter weapon.

[User] Jay cursed under his breath and went for cover as the 5 pirates approached his ship, peeking out from behind his cover he saw two were looking around the general area and the remaining three were picking over his ship, with only his shield and pistol it would be difficult to take them on without bringing more so he instead crawled further around behind some more debris, crates, and hull fragments and came across an air duct vent, with one of the pirates nearby he carefully tried to pry the grate off only for it to make a loud creak as it did causing Jay to grimace and freeze, he heard the pirate's footsteps getting closer and hide behind another piece of cover as the pirate investigated the vent. When he was close enough Jay leapt out and snapped the pirate's neck and dragged the body out of sight before his friends noticed. Jay picked up the pirate's Rifle and slung it on his back, scavenged what ammo he could from the body and ducked down into the vent.

[Assistant]
Valian couldn't help but laught hysterically at Cy's move. Taking out thirty damn ships at once. Now that's a fucking weapon. Then Jaydaar crashed into the pirate's ship. "Fuck!" He switched on his ship's radio. "Everyone, Jaydaar's been hit. He crashed into the pirate's mother-ship. It looked like his forward shields were working, so should still be alive. He'll probably need an evac, but anyone who tries to close in on that damn thing is probably going to get rushed by every ship they've got in the air. Cy, whatever the hell you just did, more of that would be really nice right about now." Valian altered his course. "I'll cut the rest of the anchors in the Babylon. When the boarders in there are cleaned up, another ship out here would help with that evac."

With so many pirates having been taken out by Cy's lightning storm, getting to the anchors wasn't too difficult. Valian took out another two pirate fighters on the way, and used his energy beams to cut another anchor. And then another. He was taking aim at the last when another pirate fighter came out of nowhere. Valian wheeled around to face it, only to find himself surprised. This one was visibly less shoddy than the others he'd been fighting. It looked like someone actually decently competent was behind it, instead of just another pirate. It dodged his fire with ease, and began circling to come at him again. Valian cut the final cable, barely dodging a shot from his new opponent. Looks like I'm in for a dogfight. Valian would be excited at the idea of a proper opponent, if Jaydaar weren't still in the lion's den. "I've cut the anchors on the Babylon, but one of these fuckers actually knows his shit. I think he's gonna have me tied down for a bit."


[System]
Nickname: Put (pronounced putt, as in golf putt), callsign Titch
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Social Status: Spacenoid
Rank: E-5 / Petty Officer Second Class (PO2)
Appearance:
Putnam is a 5'11" broad-shouldered Spacer, reasonably built but focused more on tone rather than mass in the muscles, which are more built along the core, upper body, and legs. His hair is a darker sandy blonde, matched with two pale blue eyes and a wide jaw line. His hair is styled short and well in regulation, matched with a patch of stubble of varying length. His nose is slightly crooked, with signs of former blunt force trauma, and a tattoo of the Earth Federation star in black on the upper left of his back.
Mobile Suit: Formerly a Jegan-D, but now retrained on a RGM-96X Jesta in order to keep up with high performance and waverider MS.
Positive Personality traits:
* Mellow
* Honest
* Reliable
* Dutiful
* Trusting

Negative Personality traits:
* Sarcastic
* Vulgar
* Tactless
* Predictable
* Impatient

Biography:
Putnam was born in 0068 on the colony Nassau, part of Side 4. A victim of the Thunderbolt Sector, Putnam (then 11 years old) and his family were evacuated with the rest of Nassau during the One Week Battle, then resettled on Side 1. The evacuation and destruction of Nassau followed by the enlistment and even conscription of older members of his community (leading to the death of most during the battles for the Thunderbolt Sector) left a major mark on Putnam's psyche, leading him to himself enlist in 0086, being trained as a mobile suit pilot in the EFSF.

Piloting a GM III throughout the First Neo Zeon war, his service record was largely without distinction, credited with three kills and seven assists throughout his deployment. Assigned thereafter to the Alexandria-class cruiser Actium, Putnam flew peacetime sorties with the 88th Fleet. During the Second Neo Zeon War, Putnam was scrambled along with the rest of the 88th to assist Londo Bell at the Battle of Axis. During the fighting, he earned ace-in-a-day status, downing five suits and getting credited for nine assists.

Thereafter he remained with the 88th Fleet, upgrading to a Jegan and performing sorties against Sleeves hit-and-run attacks, notably being assigned to maintain the quarantine of Industrial 7 during the Third Neo Zeon war, although seeing no actual combat. In the aftermath of the Laplace Incident, he and most other present pilots were grounded and rigorously evaluated, relegated to garrison duties in the meantime. During his evaluation period, Putnam was handpicked by the special operations unit Anthem.

[User]
The infinite black void of space stretching out. The utter weightlessness. Despite the fact that he was hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour, he was, nonetheless... Still. Floating here... Even though he knew that, no matter where he went, Earths Gravity acted on him, he still felt free of it. He looked around. "Munch, get back to work!" He heard through his suits comms as he turned back to his job, running his painting strip along the large letters that was Shadowfax's nameplate. As he continued to buff up the plate, he began to feel a little less easy with the situation. Suddenly, he got another message through the channel. "Munch, get to your Mobile Suit. We've got movement." As he turned to go inside, he could have swore he saw a flash out the corner of his eye.

Making his way through the ship, he quickly got to the changing room to change from a Normal Suit into a Flight Suit, far less bulky, but offered less protection against space debris. Finally, he made his way to the launch pad, looking at the suits stomping around was always a surreal moment, as the hangar was depreassurized. As he stood, he could feel the rumbling rythmically pulsating through the superstructure with every step the metal gods before him made their way to the catapult. But, he couldn't hear them. He could only hear the people cattering through the comms to each other. He then spotted it at the back of the room. His Dijeh. Created by Karaba in their war with the Federation, they had been refitted for use in Space during the Laplus incident, when the Federation needed every suit they had to get into space and find the box. Now, it was just used for patrolling. He did take comfort in the fact that the mobile suits chief test-pilot and designer was the great Amuro Ray. As he booted up the cockpit, he got a good view of everything around him, just in time to see Dren board the Catapult and get launched into space. He pressed his foot into the peddle, bringing the mighty foot forward and the other followed soon after. Stepping onto the catapult, he pressed his comm. "Gregory Munchhausen, Ready for Sortie." He said, before the suit was launched into the black void. Following after the others, just in time for them to see all hell breaking loose around them. He listened to the orders being handed down.

"Gelgoogs, what the hell do they think those Antique's are going to do?" He laughed. He was in the equivalent question of "What if Amuro had designed the Gelgoog" There was no way he was about to lose to them. "Roger, Youngster, moving to engage." He registered. As the agile Dijeh launched towards the interlopers, it's own Mono-eye glowing a bright emerald. Getting close, he saw the Vulcan rounds hit and bounce off of one of the Gelgoogs, wildly richochetting. "Oh, Armour improvements." He said, before the Beam-Rifle folded up it's it's holding position on the shoulder and he drew the Naginata, igniting both ends, he brought it for a slash, but the Marine was was also quick with it's own, igniting it and parrying, before forcing Greg into taking a few carefully planned thrusts backwards with the engines. "Oh, some improvements?" He asked, before forcing himself fowards, slashing a few more times, again, opening with the Vulcans to try and force him to protect that sensitive eye on his head.

[Assistant]
Despite Carter and Munch's objections that they were outdated technology, the Gelgoog's weapons-fire wasn't listening, and it struck home on the targets shot at. The bullets, rockets and beams didn't seem to care how outdated they were or not, and the damage they caused was unfortunately very up to date as infrastructure and ships took hits.
 Fortunately, the Anthem mobile suit team were more-than up to the task of fighting back, and that's where their edge in technology counted. The Gelgoog pilots were good, not at all amateurs, and despite the age of their mobile suits they were wringing the best out of them and piloting them as competitively as possible - a good pilot in an old suit wasn't one to be taken lightly, and the Sleeves and their allies in the Zeon remnants had proved that short years ago. Plus it was a point; if they'd survive as long as they had, they had to be good in the first place.
 Nonetheless, matched up against suits that were a grab-bag of advanced technologies, they were in for a struggle.
 Carter's missile attack did the job of breaking up the formation of green-and-grey enemy machines. They - wisely - split up at the barrage of incoming missiles, but the assault was enough to wing one and outright kill a second, the Zeon-built suit exploding into a sphere of short-lived flame and trailing debris. The one winged lost a right arm, spinning in AMBAC motions to regain orientation and counter the impact - which made it a target for the mounted gun on the Re-Gz. It exploded in a violent, albeit short-lived, fireball, limbs spiralling off on their own trajectories.

Meanwhile, as the rest had scattered, they had been engaged by the rest of the unit. One singled in toward Putnam and his Jesta, opening fire as it powered toward him. The shots fired missed, but the counter-fire of missiles caught the Zeon pilot off guard. They spiralled to avoid the incoming fire, one missile catching the Gelgoog Marine's beam rifle and destroying it in a purplish explosion. The green-and-grey adversary managed to shoot down the second missile with a burst of fire from forearm machine-guns, somersaulting past the projectile as they did so, and then boosting into close range combat with a beam saber drawn, and knuckle-shield over the left forearm. It swung the saber in a vicious slice as it closed in range with the dark-coloured mobile suit, mono-eye glowing a threatening red.

Munch and his Dijeh had intercepted the most forward-running of the Gelgoogs. As his opponent fell back to avoid the melee, the Dijeh's vulcan blast played across the mobile suits' neck and lower head. The hose-like cables at the base of the Gelgoog's head were torn apart, and the mono-eye visor shattered, the special-operations mobile suit flipping end over end as the pilot tried to get a better picture of their surroundings from what little back-up sensors the Zeon suit had, leaving it vulnerable and open to attack.

Callie had not sat idle either. As soon as she'd given the attack order, she'd joined her team-mates in the charge. The S-Gundam's mighty thrusters blasting it toward the closing enemy suits. As they'd scattered to evade Carter's missile barrage, she had unlimbered the S-Gundam's beam smart-gun. As her fellow pilots closed in or opened fire respectively, she identified her own target, zeroing in through visual sensors and the radome mounted on the gun and let rip with a blast, even as the Gelgoog Marine she'd targeted unleashed a barrage of machine-gun fire toward her. Flipping and spiralling aside, she dodged or evaded the majority of the burst, as her own attack tore the Gelgoogs' left arm from its' torso, leaving molten alloy in its' wake. The pilot was a bold and brave, as well as skilled one, changing course with a series of impressive boosted manoeuvers to make his course random. He attempted to weave and bob, unleashing another blast at Callie from the machine gun from a relative upside down position, which she countered by taking some of the hits before flaring backward in space, and using the backpack-mounted beam cannons to blast the unfortunate Gelgoog to pieces.

The surviving Gelgoog had managed to get closer to the docking bay entrance, using cover from the destroyed ships and darting and lurking among civilian shipping as shields. The Ceres defensive GM-II's opened fire as it darted in, but were picked off with precise, rapid beam rifle fire, and the Gelgoog raced into the bay.
The S-Gundam turned to follow, and Callie's radio came to life with a laser transmission in the same instant.
"Captain Suthorn, the Ceres defensive militia are calling for reinforcements. The habitat inside the asteroid has been engulfed in fighting as well. This attack looks like it was a feint to draw attention and create chaos, while the real target slipped away. Nonetheless, there's fighting inside the asteroid as well, with more former Zeon mobile suits that had been hidden or smuggled aboard. You and your team are requested to enter the habitat and destroy them"
"Roger, will engage as ordered, sir".
Cursing softly, she turned her attention to the rest of her unit, engaged in battle or on the field. Youngster and Titch were still engaged, Mad Dog was doing just fine (not that she'd expected any less), and she hadn't heard from Hepner since they launched.
"Mad Dog," she called over the radio, getting a good contact with the Re-Gz Custom, "No surprise you're doing fine; good shooting. Looks like there's more trouble inside Ceres. Let's support Youngster and Titch, and then sweep into the habitat to assist, over!"

[User] "Fine I'm swapping to mobile suit form. I'll cover what I can but I prefer point." Carter said as he watched the Zekes die just as they had by the dozens in the previous wars. They picked poor suits for the wrong situations a dozen gaza C's could barely hold their own against a competent squad let alone a gundam. As the units pushed inward Carter's Re-GZ Custom swapped out of its waver rider form as Carter felt the machine respond, and push forward he made sure the people he was covering were into the next zone of combat before turning backward, and making sure no one tried to get a sneaky shot back in onto the group. He held his beam assault rifle ready to unleash it on any unexpected enemies. "I don't understand these pirates...what's the point? I don't see any real reason to kill these people." complained Carter as he turned around once he was sure the machines weren't going to ambush them. "Even the fucking dumb ass Zeons who still think their cause has a point need to understand they're throwing their lives away at this point."

[Assistant]
Putnam blasted forward as his saw a missile connect, searching hard for a confirmed kill as his infrared sensors overloaded. A mono-eye beaming through the carnage put his hopes to rest as it closed, pulling forth a beam saber. Backing off with a jet of blinding blue, he jerked the stick left, his other hand mashing the ejector on the beam saber stored in the Jesta's left forearm.

"I'm in close!" He called over net.

Grasping at the saber with the suit's right hand, he swerved his shield around via the manipulator on his pack, glancing off the Gelgoog's initial blow at the cost of the lower tip of his shield, which was reduced to cherry red slag. It did, however, give him an opening, with Putnam bringing down his own ignited saber diagonally towards the Gelgoog's unguarded left pauldron.


[System]
Age: Hasn't kept track

Height: 6'7

Weight: Roughly 300-350lbs

Race: Vampire

Gender: Male

Appearance:

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Personality:
Tristan comes from a time where might makes right, and he has a lot of might to throw around. The vampire is very set in his ways, only adapting what he felt was needed in as the ages marched on. Aside from times barely affecting those mannerisms he's a very blunt individual. Choosing the short and to the point over the long and flowery. His mind is far to brutal for honor, making others wary around him and his violent nature. All of this is hidden behind a calm facade he has constructed to help protect himself and his interests.

Biography:
Tristan chooses not to remember much of his past. Only the parts that defined who he is and how he acts. He can't quite place when he came from, just that weapons, armor, and dwellings were very crude. As time progressed things became more civilized and he barely changed along with it, staying a barbarian. Even in the current day his more primal urges lurk just beneath the surface that rarely gets indulged thanks to that damned Covenant. He hates it but he's just one of many vampires completely outnumbered by those willing to uphold it. So he bides his time, interacting with those who could possibly change things. Either strong-arming them or destroying them outright to get things to go back to when they were. When humans were free to kill and violence reigned.

Faction/Side: Sides with his own kind.

Abilities:* Shadow Mold: Being a vampire means darkness is your ally and he uses it more effectively than most. He seemingly vanishes in a cloud of black smoke between shadows. He pretty much teleports roughly five to ten feet through shadows so long as he is touching one. It's exceptionally draining if he does this numerous times in quick succession.
* Shaded Regeneration: His healing factor is higher than most vampires. Limbs blown off seem to mold from the shadows where his limb used to be until fully healed. This takes from mere moments to half an hour depending on how severe the damage is to the stump.
* Overdrive: Assuming he's backed into a corner this kicks up. His physical capabilities double for a short while. After it's done he's left helpless, nearly drained of all energy for who knows how long.

Skills:* Blademaster: He's been using blades of various styles for decades upon decades. They hold no more secrets from him and are his preferred weapon. From the lowly knife to the mighty zweiheinder he's used and mastered them all.
* Dead-eye: He has excellent hand-eye coordination, allowing him to throw and hit his target. Or shoot whatever it is he's aiming at. He prefers more ancient weaponry such as throwing knives/axes and bows/crossbows.
* Expert Rider: He's been riding and taming animals for a very, very, long time. If it can be saddled he can ride it without difficulties. His preferred mode of transportation honestly.

Strengths:* Vampiric Physique: He has the typical vampire gauntlet of physical capabilities. Enhanced strength, speed, and endurance. His strength and endurance however are higher than most since he has been constantly training himself and getting wounded.
* CQC: He's an expert at CQC, preferring to stay in close and dominate his opponents with strength and skill.
* Lucky: It's less of a strength and more of sheer luck. He has stupid amounts of luck on his side. Maybe Lady Luck likes him.

Weaknesses:* Typical Vampire: He's not a particularly large fan of the sun, it starts to burn after a little while. Holy emblems wielded by true believers give him pause, not just the christian cross. He's exceptionally combustible. Lastly is silver content causes lasting damage.
* Attractive Women: He's a sucker for a beautiful woman. He has few problems being led around by them until he gets stabbed in the back. Literally.
* Violent: He's exceptionally violent, especially towards other males. He's still stuck in the mental age where you beat the tar out of other men to take or attract a mate.

Likes:* Weapon upkeep, it's sort of like therapy for him.
* Combat, a good romp and slaughter is always fun. Especially if the soon to be dead fight back.
* Darkness, it's his preferred element. Staying in the shadows of night where it's all calm and cool.

Dislikes:* His clothes being ruined, it's all leather and difficult to repair.
* Tarnish or rust building up on any form of weaponry.
* Sunlight, aside from it harming vampires he hates its warmth and energetic time.

Other: He has a stable full of various breeds of horses he enjoys taking care of and riding around.

[User]
Tristan gave the barest shrug of his shoulders. "You're a boy, a child, to me. It'll be the most civilized insult you'll get." He stated as his eyes started to brighten from their normal dull sheen. He took note of the sudden change in color of the other mans eyes, which got Tristan's lips to quirk up slightly. "Lycan...and Vampire? Normally those end up twisted creatures that rarely survive their first months never mind years." He said as he finally turned fully to Vladimir.

"I personally don't want to shed your blood unless it's just a fun fight. But you're siding with the humans against your own kind. Even if you are a half-blood." He growled as another flick landed second blade in his free hand. This one was just as dull colored as the first but had three times the length with a wicked looking serrated edge. "I very rarely give a second warning. Leave." He growled while slowly crouching down into a readied stance. The swords gave off a soft shine, the weapons clearly iron and well taken care of.

[Assistant]
Hank Miller

A figure wearing a heavy trench coat, body armor, and a military grade gas mask walked into the Abandoned warehouse. People have been going missing from the local town for weeks now. Hank figured it was a vampire trying to find a steady blood supply, or a human who was trying to become a vampire with out the help of a vampire. It has happened before, and he wasn't too pleased to have to fix that too. In his right hand he had his machete drawn. It's three foot reinforced blade, sharp enough to cut off fingers just from tapping it too hard. It was great for dealing with anything that tried to get close. He had other odds and ends, the most notable being the sawed off shotgun, the fold away hatchet, and his revolver loaded with silver coated hollow point rounds. He had a flame thrower a few weeks back, but after it was struck in combat he learned that a fire resistant coat only does so much. The gas mask is more for show now, he used to use some chemical weapons but that caused just as many issues as it helped.

Inside the warehouse it was mostly empty, a few crates here and there, some shelves, the one office like room on the other end. And the rafters above. He had learned that fresh new-bloods tended to stay in places like the office, ones that have been around for a bit tended to hide in the rafter, knowing that humans have a lot more trouble getting up there, then back down. "I know you're in here. You know I am here. So this can go one of two ways, we duke this out now or you wait until the covenant deal with you." He kept his eyes out, still unsure of what to make of his current target. "Go away, or I will kill you too!" Male voice, scared, he knew what Hank was. A hunter, a human who has devoted his life to killing the monsters of the world. Even new-bloods could smell the aged blood on his blade, even if it had been cleaned repetitively.

Hank didn't respond to the threats he was receiving. This was a new-blood, they were ignorant, they thought they were all powerful, they didn't understand how things worked. Anyone that knew what to look for could tell that Hank's walking was different then a lot of people. He commonly took side steps to through off anything with speed abilities, he constantly turned directions, He would casually swing his blade to keep anyone who may be messing with his vision away from him, he made sure everything he needed was in arms rea-- "BOOM!" Hank was sent flying onto the ground. "Dammit..." He gasped as he tried to get up. He came tot he conclusion that he had been shot with something big. Not a rifle, that would have cut through his armor easily. Shotgun maybe? Loaded with bird shot it might have still been stopped by his vest. "HA! Bitch! How does it feel to get a taste of your own medicine?!" his foe shouted with a voice of confidence.

He could see his target now, young, even by human standards. And in his hands a single shot shotgun. Looks like it wasn't reloaded yet. Teenagers, out of most of the new-bloods he had faced they tended to go that way more often then not. He felt bad for what had happened to him, Hank figured that it was some kind of power play from another vampire, or maybe just wrong place wrong time. Either way, he was a threat.

The vampire was on top of him now, reloading the gun. His vest was cracked, maybe some of his ribs too. He wouldn't be able to get that lucky again if he was shot again. Hank swung his blade removing both feet of the new blood, by this time though he had reloaded. Hank had time to get up now though, and that was all he needed to get the job done. "Mother f-" His voice was cut off as Hank grabbed the gun, pointing it away from him using his free hand, then bringing the blade down on one of the new-blood's arms. The gun was useless to him now, and with out legs he was just another target. He tried frantically to beg for his life, Hank at this point had gotten used to drowning out the pleas for help and mercy. He did his best to make the cut as clean as possible, removing the head, then landing his blade into the skull again.

Nothing moved for what seemed like hours to Hank. His job was done, until he heard noises coming from the office. Another one he thought. His body was in a lot of pain now though, he didn't have much left in him. So he grabbed his shotgun, still leaving the machete in one hand, then walked to the office. Inside he didn't see anything yet, just some old cabinets, a couple desks, and a sleeping bag. He could hear the whimpering though, something small maybe. Hank made it over to one of the desks, underneath it he saw the source of the noise.

Underneath was a small child, who looked a lot like the vampire he had just killed, only a lot younger, and he was human. Not a food bag either, just living with his family. "God dammit." Hank mumbled. The child started to cry as he got a look of Hank, covered in blood, trench coat and gas mask, and no signs of his family member.

Hank left the child, crying out of fear and what was happening. Hank only stopped once he was outside to grab his phone. He called the police on a prepaid phone to tell them he had heard gunshots from the warehouse outside of town. After he made the call he hung up and split the phone in half, pocketing both halves until he was miles away from the warehouse, then he tossed both bits into the woods by the road. Hank hated his job, but he knew someone had to do it, and there was only so much people like the covenant could do. So Hank did his job, and he moved on. Heading back to his RV to find his next job.

There was a lot of chatter on covenant frequencies. He had still no luck on breaking them, so all he could do was pay attention to the news, old military intelligence, and police channels until he got something he could use. Maybe he'd find a doctor for his ribs too, or just see if he could pull together a new vest he could use for his next job. Ribs healed, dead people didn't.

[User]
Vladimir gave a soft chuckle. Child and boy simply were not insults to him. Never were and they never would be. "Clearly in special. Considering it's been centuries." Ah that got the guy to turn toward him. Lovely.

Vlad's posture was clearly of one not remotely threatened by the man in front of him. A brow raised. "I have never been your kind vampyre. I am both and yet neither. As for the humans....you are dragging off my coworkers and that just happens to bother me" He knew the blades were iron. That didn't really matter to him. Made things more interesting sure...but he's been stabbed by iron before. Frankly, he hasn't cared about living for a long time. It was why he was so good at what he did...not caring about ones life meant a whole lot less caution...along with a lot less likelihood of giving anything away.

His head tilted. "I do wonder though...why would you cull your food source? After all if they all die you've got nothing to leech on but animals. If you breed them that will probably just spread disease" Vlad shrugged. "It doesn't sound very thought out to me...then again I'm not your kind so what do I know" He was experimenting. He just needed to expose the flesh to the light. After awhile even the oldest vampire would get uncomfortable.

[Assistant]
Tristan gave a snort while shaking his head slowly. "It's not a matter of special. Sometimes I just feel generous and give warning." He stated before vanishing in a wisp of smoke only to appear right in Vlad's face. "You're half vampire, boy. Don't deny a portion of your heritage even if others deny you." He growled out before vanishing again and appearing a little ways away. The smoke had no smell whatsoever, it seemed to just be an effect of this unique ability.

The older vampire just gave a brief smile at the mention of the half-breeds co-workers. "I haven't been into town, so I don't particularly know what is happening to your Covenant." He stated before his eyes darkened briefly. "As for the culling...your food should not be more dangerous than you are. It should not be able to swarm over you like insects. Humans have spread to far to fast and are, simply put, to fucking destructive." He snarled before gesturing to the town. "How many forests and animals were wiped out to build this single town? I might not be a lover of nature but even I cherish the planet I was put on." He explained before his hand flickered.

The shortsword he had held was launched towards Vlad's body in a blinding display of speed. "Humanity needs to be put in its place and it needs to be done now. Our people have been far to fucking kind to them to let them spread like cockroaches." Tristan finished as another blade appeared within his grip.


[System]
I R L
Age - 20
Place of Origin - Indiana, USA
Occupation - Gas station clerk

A V A T A R

Character's Name - Graves
Pathos Affiliation - Draethir
Role - Melee DPS
Profession - Bounty Hunter
Weapon of Choice - Nodachi
Domains - Water, Darkness; Restoration, Divination, Enhancement

-

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Arrogant
It isn't just that Graves thinks highly of himself. He doesn't believe he's the best- he knows he is, and the only reason he fails is when others are holding him back. There is no challenge he won't take on, no enemy he's afraid to challenge; he has mastered the art of combat in Pariah Online and he's eager to show that off.

Belligerent
His mentors always hammered into his head that the one thing a good fighter had was aggression. A full-bodied willingness to commit violence, directed violence, against their opponents. To hesitate was to admit you were the weaker combatant. To allow the enemy initiative was the equivalent of surrender. Graves has taken those lessons to heart, allowing that belligerence to seep into every aspect of his personality.

Driven
For all his many, many faults, none can deny Graves's desire to succeed. He is driven beyond rational boundaries, to the point where Graves believes he can do anything he wants- often times bending the situation to make this fact true. He doesn't allow himself to slip, to lose, to give in, ever.

B E N C H M A R K S

Violent Transfusion
The linchpin of Graves's fighting style is his ability to heal himself by wounding his enemies. He strikes at them with his signature weapon, drawing the blood from their bodies using his unusual primordial magics, and then transmutes it into a healing energy that stitches up his own wounds at a rapid pace. This allows Graves to maintain full throttle aggression without putting himself in total mortal peril.

Surgical Precision
Studying the anatomy of wayfarers and monsters alike was a necessary component of Graves's chosen battle strategy. He's learned the best places to strike to disable his opponents, or to produce the greatest flow of blood. In addition, He's also internalized where he can safely wound himself if the need ever arises.

Human Bloodhound
Graves pursues his targets like a predator tracks a wounded animal. He treks across great distances, following even the most subtle of clues for weeks at a time. Nothing ever seems to deter or distract him, so singular is his purpose.

Pain, Life's Great Motivator
Pain is something every wayfarer is familiar with. Some shy away from it, while others manage to grit their teeth and soldier onward despite it. Graves revels in it. He practically falls into his attacker's blade at any given opportunity. It makes for a terrifying display when he walks through a debilitating stab wound to make his counterattack.
 | Physical Description
Andrew is unusually tall, measuring more than a few inches over six feet- a trait he inherited from his father. He's far thinner, however, with an unhealthy gauntness to his long face. Dark circles around his eyes stand out against harshly pale skin, and long hair falls down to his shoulders. Most wouldn't regard him as particularly good-looking, owing in no small part to a lack of effort and little self confidence.

His persona's appearance in Pariah differs significantly. While Graves stands just as tall, he's extraordinarily well-built, with a chest as broad as a barrel and muscle coiled like steel cable. Scarring earned from many an encounter pepper his body thanks to his light armor and penchant for reckless aggression. Graves is much better put together, too, with shorter cropped hair and strong features his player could only dream of.
Character Conceptualization
Graves is a controversial bounty hunter whose history stretches back to the first days of Pariah Online. He's renowned for doggedly pursuing his targets no matter where they run or for how long. Quick tempered and arrogant to the core, Graves is a difficult man to work with if he believes you're holding him back- and he thinks everyone does. The few friendships he still holds are troubled, to say the least, yet it wasn't always so.

Back when the game first launched, Graves was a member of a guild called the Strange Reign Club. They were a highly competitive group of raiders and PVPers with a reputation for extraordinaire toxicity. It was hard to argue against their results, however. Graves showed great promise as one of their earliest recruits, competing with some of the Club's best duelists. He'd stay with them for many months before, without much warning, he'd be cut from the team and blacklisted by its raid leaders.

 A solo player ever since, Graves has been quietly grinding away at his profession, stewing on whatever drama had happened behind the scenes...
Other Information
♬

Transfusion: The primary vehicle of Graves's unstoppable aggression and the core aspect of his kit. Transfusion allows Graves to transform any blood into lifeforce, healing physical wounds of nearly any kind. The blood must be drawn through an open wound. The amount of healing received and how quickly it takes to stitch a wound depends on the volume and quality of the blood provided. This ability is typically used by cutting open an enemy's major arteries and healing himself, but it is not limited to this function.

Defiant to the End: One of his strongest abilities, and the most dangerous to utilize. If Graves has suffered enough damage to be near unconsciousness or death's door, he can temporarily convert the flow of blood from all his wounds into life-force, providing an incredible burst of healing power. This magic has the potential to harm or eve kill him if it consumes too great a quantity of his blood.

Meditative Healing: Another aspect of Graves's advanced blood-based restoration magic. By sitting in a meditative trance for at least an hour, he may use his own blood to close his own wounds. This consumes his blood, much like Defiant to the End. How long it takes depends on the severity of said injuries. The stance is extremely taxing, essentially requiring he rest immediately afterward. In addition, it can't repair grievous wounds such as broken bones or eviscerated organs.

Blood In The Water: Using a concoction of a creature's blood and a number of other ingredients, Graves may consume it to cast this spell to locate that creature if they are within a thousand feet of him; if they're moving he knows the direction. This spell can be blocked by most magic or materials meant to disrupt divination.

Sight Beyond Sight: Sight Beyond Sight allows Graves to concentrate, blocking out all other senses to activate a sort of 'sixth sense.' This sixth sense allows him to feel the presence of bleeding targets within a thirty meter radius of himself, though it can be blocked by sufficiently thick walls or anti-divination magic. It acts similarly to echo location, wherein he gets a 'blip' of the target(s)' movement every couple of seconds. |

[User]
Location: The Dungeon -- The City of Thorinn, Aetheria

---

"You seem smart. What do you got in your kit?"

Rael was divvying out whatever she found in her kit, and Benkei joined her, doing the same. Out came various potions, food stuffs and materials. Sharpening stones, small torches, a lantern, and rope. He also produced several potions.

Several health draughts, a few mana draughts, one remaining stoneskin potion and several strength elixirs as well were laid out on the floor. He also placed a few wrapped packages of dried fruit and meat alongside Rael's. One final meal they could all share together before journeying into the deeper dungeon.

"Seele, take some food and drink this mana draught, you burned too much energy in that trap room," Benkei called the girl, knowing how much she'd gone through already. "And don't pull heroic stuff like that again. We need you with us, not half-dead from spell exhaustion."

They needed every ounce of strength.

[Assistant]
---

Thump-thump
Thump-thump
Thump-thump

Kelly couldn't hear anything over her own panicked heartbeat, and the voice that kept replaying:

You will die.
You will die.
You will die.
You will die.

Then she jerked as she felt something touch her knee. At an unknown touch, Alja would probably be fine. She was balanced. If it was a particularly strenuous situation, she might punch the touch. But on the whole, she was pretty hard to shake.

But Kelly was not. Kelly was in a state of perpetual shaken-ness. And so instead of looking sharply up at what was on her knee--her eyes still staring listlessly into nothingness--she only cringed away from the touch, burying herself further into her knees.

"Alja, sweetheart."

Alja.

"Shhh, shh. It's okay. Look at me."

Kelly lifted her--lifted Alja's--head from her--Alja's--knees. Her eyes--Alja's--still streaming tears, met Seele's, and a moment of utter shame ripped through her. She closed her--Alja's--eyes. You're disgusting. Less than nothing. Weak, selfish, useless coward. Who are you to think that you could help these people? Any people? Anybody? Any situation? You can't even help yourself. You lock yourself away in a video game--you neglect your studies--you neglect what few friends you have--you neglect your family. All to fulfil this fantasy of a world where you mean something to somebody. But you don't. You never have. And now you never will.

"Right here, hey. You're okay. You're okay, you're going to be okay. I promise."

I promise.

The two words slashed through the chains of self-pity that were holding her in place. And in front of her in her mind's eye--was Alja.

Oh, shut up.

I...

No. Shut up. You listen to me. You have a chance here. You finally have a chance to do something. Something that really means something. Something that will help people. Isn't that what you always wanted, Kelly? To help people? Why else are you going into medicine? Why else did you roll a tank in Pariah? You finally have that chance. You're good at what you do. And if you die--if--then you'll die in service of helping other people. So get off your whiny ass and do some good, huh?

Then she opened Alja's--her--eyes, and looked around. Seele was comforting her. Rael and Kalie--she almost laughed. She slowly pulled her hands away from her head, and began to uncurl. She met Seele's eyes. Her voice, when she spoke--"Thank you, Seele"--was tiny. It was fragile.

But it was her's.

Then Kelly breathed deeply. And Alja stood.