[System]
Age: 17

Gender: Male

Race: Faunus (White Fox)

Appearance: Razor stands Five foot eleven without shoes and with shoes he's six feet tall. He weighs 240 pounds and is between and slime and medium physique. He has candy apple red eyes, short white hair, his right chipped fang, and it might not been seen, but he is slightly deaf in his left ear. His right arm has a tattoo of a King Taijitu staring from his shoulder and wrapping around his arm with the mouth open about to devour his hand. On his left shoulder he has a tattoo of a beowolf head. He is normally seen wearing a blue t-shirt with a design of a cross exploding from a skull as chips of bone fly from the open wound. Black jeans, black and white Nike sneakers, and around his neck is a necklace with his emblem on it.

Weapon Name: 2 Wolf Bite Yoyos

Weapon Appearance/Function: (Yoyo's are about the size of Baseballs)

Type: Mid-ranged, dust compatible (Only uses Fire, Ice, and Lighting), and offensive
Weapon Derivation: the yoyos where given to him by his adopted father.
Holstered/Sheathed Appearance: the Yoyos are kept inside what looks like a fanny pack that is on the right side of Razor's body.
Form 1: Normal Yoyos (Without Chainsaw blades around the outside) (Dust compatible)
Form 2: Chainsaw yoyos (Blades are on the outside of yoyos) (Not dust compatible)
Form 3: N/A

Personality:
Razor is a kindhearted individual who wants to see people happy and keep others safe. He strives to make everyone around him feel as peaceful as possible. However, his true personality is masked by his fake personality he actually shows everyone. To anyone around him Razor comes off as rude, a jerk, and someone who people don't like to be around. He does this because he fears that his Semblance will activate and he'd attack those around him. He pushes people away because he fears he'll hurt someone around him. So he created a nasty personality to keep people safe from himself.

History:
Razor was raised by the Moon Bloods: a clan of wolf Faunus that lives in a small village outside the city. Dagger, the leader of the Moon Bloods and a few other clan members found Razor on the path to the village after they had finished hunting for food and herbs. Razor was only three months old and sleeping inside a cardboard box. Dagger had considered leaving Razor to the elements until Serenity offered to take care of him. Dagger knew that she had recently lost her son and husband to a pack of Grimm and agreed. Even though Serenity took care of Razor like he was her own son, Razor seemed to find his way into Dagger's hut and fall asleep on the sheep skin rug in front of the fire pit. Even though Dagger originally saw Razor as another mouth to feed and an outsider, Dagger seemed to imprint on him and he took Razor under his wing.

Dagger acted as Razor's father and taught him the ways of the Moon Bloods. When Razor turned 12, Dagger introduced him to the Moon Bloods way of fighting called Wolf Combat: a cross between mixed martial arts and parkour. The fighting style tapped into their animal instincts to detect danger from affair and neutralize it. However, because this form of combat was crafted to be used by wolf Faunus, Razor had a hard time learning it. It took him 5 years to finally get to a high enough level to be considered a hunter in the pack. However, even though he was a candidate to be part of the hunting pack, he still needed to go through initiation. Razor could feel the butterflies in his stomach as he stood outside the forest with some of the hunting pack. The initiation called for the candidates to travel into the woods with the hunting pack and slay their first Grimm.

Razor traveled through the woods with the pack in search of Grimm. He knew the larger the Grimm the more probability he would be accepted into the pack. However, he also knew: the bigger the Grimm, the less likely he'd make it out alive. Dagger had given Razor the very same weapons he had used when he went through initiation. Two yoyo chainsaws called Wolf Bite Yoyos. Razor and the rest of the pack stopped when they heard a twig snap, then creaking; finally he turned when he heard a massive thud. Standing where the tree had fallen was a pack of Ursas. The hunting pack readied their weapons and howled as they rushed the Grimm. Razor followed suit and attacked the first Ursa he could find by flung his yoyos at the creature. The chainsaw blades moved to the outer radius of the yoyos and began to spin just before they connected with the flesh of the Ursa. The creature roared and swiped at the strings, but Razor pulled back the yoyos before the Ursa's claws could strike. The chainsaw blades retracted back into the yoyo so Razor could catch them.

The monster roared and rushed at Razor, but the Ursa's path was blocked when another of its kin fell in front of it with its head cut off. Razor looked to this left and smiled when he saw Dagger holding the dead Ursa's head. Seeing him able to take down one of the creatures gave Razor a bit more confidence. He waited for the Ursa to get close and when it swiped at Razor he dodged and attacked the Grimm bear with a furry of kicks and punches. The Ursa suddenly back handed Razor into a tree and all Razor remembered was the hit and then darkness. When Razor came to, he found he was lying in a bed in the medical hut back at the village. His left arm was wrapped in bandages and the rest of his body had bandages here and there with his ribs fully wrapped. He sat up and felt a sharp pain rush through his ribs. He sat in bed for a few seconds to let the pain subside before he was able to stand up.

When he walked outside, he saw the hunting pack had skinned three of the Ursas and was starting on the final one. However, when they saw Razor they seemed to go on the defensive which caused Razor to step back. He didn't understand why they were looking at him like he was a Grimm. Dagger had walked out of his hut and quickly calmed down the hunting pack before asking Razor to meet him in the medical hut. When he followed Dagger back into the hut, Dagger explained why the hunting pack was scared of Razor.

According to Dagger when the Ursa knocked Razor out, it activated his Semblance. Which caused Razor to become a wild animal and attack the Ursa, but no matter how many strikes the Ursa took. The creature wouldn't go down. However, Dagger said that there was a sickly green aura around Razor that acted like armor and when the Ursa hit the aura. Cuts formed on Razors body, but it seemed Razor didn't feel the pain being caused to his body. Also, it seemed with each cut, Razor grew more and more insane. Dagger could tell Razor couldn't bring down the Grimm alone so Dagger and a few others in the hunting pack helped to take the creature down. However, when the creature was finally taken down. Razor suddenly attacked Dagger and the rest of the pack like he thought they too were Grimm.

Dagger and the rest of the pact were caught off guard by his attack and before they could subdue him, Razor had injured two of the hunting pack members. Dagger said that once the aura around Razor broke. He stopped attacking them and fell unconscious. When Dagger finished, Razor's hands were shacking. He'd never think of attacking anyone in the village. He saw them as his family, but why would he attack them without reason? Dagger told Razor he had an inner primal rage that seemed to come out when his Semblance was activated. The problem was that Razor couldn't control when his Semblance could be turned on or off. The thought that it might turn on while he is a sleep scared him to the bone. Dagger handed Razor a flyer for an academy that trained hunters and huntresses. Dagger told Razor that this academy would help with both his inner primal rage and the control of his Semblance.

Emblem:

Other:
Color: Chrome
Combat Style: Wolf Combat: a cross between mixed martial arts and parkour. Razor has mastered the novice portion of Wolf Combat and a few of the advanced techniques, but hasn't fully mastered the style of combat.
Strengths and Weaknesses:

Strengths:
Ability to survive in the wild
Novice techniques in fighting style
Sense of smell
Cooking

Weakness:
Sense of hearing (Out of his left ear)
Keeping up his fake personality
Spiders (has a fear of them)
Hasn't fully mastered fighting style
Semblance

Semblance:
No pain no Gain: Razor's Semblance turns off the pain receptors in both his mind and his nerves so he can fight longer and hard without feeling pain. His Semblance allows his Aura to coat him like armor so he can take more hits and dish more out. Once the aura armor is broken, his Semblance is terminated until he is able to regain enough stamina to reuse it. However, his Semblance is a double edged sword because once activated it triggers something in his mental state that causes him to go mad and attack anything and everything around him. His Semblance taps into his animal instincts and along with his madness he becomes a feral beast and losses all his humanity.

[User]
Varen Payle - Green Forest Zone II - Bear huntin' time

Stars darted out from behind Asvoria, racing forward and hitting the Ursa Major right in the nose. The sudden shower of light made it flinch, and Varen took the opportunity to go in, dashing past Asvoria as she slotted in the shotgun grip. She fired once, staggering the Ursa Major. She fired again, and kept going. She flipped her gun into automatic mode and emptied her clip, each blast forcing the Ursa Major backwards. Without giving it a chance to breathe she took out a small dust crystal, about half the size of a normal one and activated her semblance.

She launched it forward and it detonated, knocking the Ursa off of its feet.

"Finish it!" She shouted.

[Assistant]
Liam Yugure - Emerald Forest - Tuesday mid morning

Liam walked the forest, he knew he was behind the rest of the students, so he moved with purpose, but he hoped he would meet someone along the way. He was annoyed at the loss he was at, he figured that if he didn't get a crystal soon, he'll be kicked out.
"ARGH, this is so annoying. Why didn't those pads launch me further. I swear..." he said to himself before he heard a large amount of beowulfs. He turned and he saw four average sized beowulfs and two large ones. His chaingun was already in his hands, he smirked and loaded a fire crystal into his chamber.
"Come and get some, before i get bored." The four small beowulfs all attacked at once, Liam activated his semblance, the beowulfs bounced back only to get up to a line of fire from Liams chiangun. The two larger beowulfs attack. Liam grabs the other handle of his weapon and readies himself to use his sword. The first comes from the left, Liam strikes upwards slicing the beowulfs chest and face, leaving it dead in the grass. The second tries sweeping Liams feet, he throws his blade into the ground and jumps, the beowulfs hand chatches the blade, slicing its hand open. Liam grabs the beowulf by the head and slams it into the ground. He picks up Pis'mo and brings the blade down into the second beowulfs skull.
"Too easy..." he said to himself again walking deeper into the forest.
"Time to keep moving i guess."

[User]
Light Vrangr

 Light sneered at his new companion. "Damn straight I can fight. I can kick your ass too, and calling me 'sport' is a good way to make me want to. I'll at least commend your sences, if not your fighting ability. My instruments indicated there was a high concentration of Dust energy in this direction, too. Which was why I was going this way in the first place." Light said. After he finished, his dynamos moved down to his feet, slightly in front of him, and arranged themselves in a pattern. They changed shape too, unfolding to a flatter, more streamlined design. Light stepped on them, his feet on the two center-most dynamos, one in front of the other, as hey began to levitate, lifting him. He leaned and flew forward on his own high-tech hoverboard. "Try to keep up." Light taunted, as he passed Razor, going about as fast as a running person. He he easily kept his balance from long practice, going around trees and ducking low branches, keeping an eye out for more Grim.

[Assistant]
Razor WhiteFang - Emerald Forest

Raven

Razor rolled his eyes before he said, "You haven't seen anything yet. A good hunter keeps his ace in the whole a secret until he needs it," Razor said before he smiled and added, "Besides: unlike you and the rest of the students. I didn't combine my weapon with a gun. Got to keep it original sometimes since everything seems to be combined with a gun. It's so stupid some times." Razor sighed before he ran after Light. Since he was brought up in the Moon Blood village, it was easy for him to keep up.

"Well what would you like me to call you? Short stack? Squirt? Maybe if you'd told me your name, I wouldn't have to give you a nickname because calling you white hair would be giving you too much credit," Razor said before he took another deep breath and yelled, "Shit." He suddenly stopped and took another deep breath to smell the air.

"I was hoping I was wrong on what that other smell was, but I can clearly smell it now," Razor said before he started running again to catch up with light. When he did he explained, "Up ahead is the dust crystal. I can smell two of them, but there's also a nest of Grimm there as well. Smells like Creeps. A whole lot of them to make that much of a smell, but there's also another smell mixed with the creeps and the dust. Smells like they just got back from a hunt because I can smell the scent of death. Either their eating whatever they captured, or just got done. Either way this should be good for us. Creeps are sluggish after a meal." Great, another fight, and another chance for it to activate. This isn't good Razor thought. Unbeknownst to him a sickly green aura flashed around his body for a second before disappearing.


[System]
Race:
Aahari - Among one of the first to be conquered by the Baumn Empire, this hardy, reptilian race tend to be fairly large and almost resemble humanoid alligators or crocodiles. They are extremely resistant to pain whilst also sporting a tough hide. However, they have been found unable to be effective at using magic. This does not mean they cannot use it, they just struggle with it. They do have a good sense of smell and can stay underwater for an hour or two. Intelligence wise, they are not the smartest of sentient species, but they are commonly seen as tacticians within the Empire.

Age:
20

Gender:
Male

Appearance:
Ankt resembles any other Aahari in that he is large, standing at 6'7", and broad. He bears scars along his snout that travel down his back, several teeth are also missing from his mouth though it isn't enough to be noticed without concentrating. Ankt also sports large claws, while dull, they could still do good damage to a human. His scale colors are dark green with eyes that are yellow.

Clothing/Armor:
Ankt wears medium armor, that is normally considered for his people that is. It is armor forged with metal, though it serves a more ceremonial purpose rather that of protection. The chest piece only comes down halfway on the chest and is colored gold with blue markings dotted on it. The helmet is small, only covering the top of his head, and has feather to mark him as a hunter of something. He bears gauntlets to protect his wrists and a portion of his hands. The "leggings" never extend past his waste, though they bear markings for his status.

Personality
Ankt is not the joking type, in fact, he is the type who will only laugh if he is amused by someone else's pain. He commonly sees people in a way that he does not trust them, that they are out to get him; paranoid if you will. He is also the type to hold grudges, and grudges often means for him to hunt down whoever has offended him. However, Ankt is brutally honest and will never lie to someone's face and he is especially honest with how he feels about that person in general.

History:
Ankt was born into a warrior family within the Empire, thusly he was expected to become as such and nothing else. It was all to carry on the family name, it was something that he especially liked. He had slain his first beast as a wright of passage, he had become a man to at the age of ten. However instead of celebrating at home for his win, Ankt's father had done the unthinkable and cast Ankt out of the family. The reasoning behind this, his younger brother had become the favorite of the family due to his looks and his ability to learn magic better than most of the species. Thusly, Ankt murdered his father in cold blood.

Fearing for his life, Ankt's brother ran away so that the family could also be spared from Ankt's life and it worked. However, Ankt would not relent until his brother was dead and his grudge settled. Leads have all told that Salistar, the coward magician, would be found in Edea. So the hunt begins at Oar's Rest and Ankt will take the skull of his brother back to his family as a trophy.

Weapons:
Grudge Settler - A sword one-sided, slashing sword that was forged by Ankt himself to help complete his wright of passage. It has been enchanted by his younger brother to return to his hand should he be disarmed in battle.

Physical Skills:
-Swordsmanship - Ankt has been trained to use a sword for all his life, thusly he would be skilled in such a weapon.
-Hide of the Aahari - Being an Aahari warrior, Ankt is very resilient to damage however swords can cut him and arrows can peirce his hide. It is merely the more natural things that he is resliliant to.
-Stregth of Training - Ankt, having been trained to be a warrior all his life and of being Aahari, is very fit and can lift many objects that would be considered exceptionally heavy to the averge man.

Magic:
"Magic? I have no time for such things, lest my brother gets away."

Weaknesses:
Ankt is slow, not to learn, but merely just physically slow due to his large stature and the armor that weighs him down on a minor scale. Not to mention that his armor does not cover everything that is vital. Another weakness, is that of a standard blind spot of the Aahari, not being able to see what is directly infront of them or behind them. Ankt also does not know how to use multiple weapons, as in he is not trained to use a spear or bow, despite being raised to become a warrior.

Other Inventory:
Rations for two days and the skulls of his various enemies.

[User]
~Edea Odyssey~
~Oars Rest~

You opened your eyes, the gentle swaying of the ship finally stirring you from slumber. Above, you could hear the shouts of the sailors and their quick footsteps shuffling over the deck of the ship as they rushed to get the ship prepared to dock. It took a few moments to collect your wits and remember where you were. Or maybe you jumped out of bed, excited to finally be on land after nearly a week and a half at sea. Whatever your current situation was, you grabbed whatever belongings you had with you and made your way to the deck as the Sailors rushed around you as their expert hands prepared the ship to dock.

Upon reaching the deck, the sun met you with its usual harsh glare, perhaps momentarily blinding you. As your eyes adjusted, you could see several other ships in the distance, some already docked at the large harbor of Oars Rest. Others, seemed to just be leaving and fewer seemed to be arriving, just like yourself. Perhaps some on those ships would soon be your adventuring comrades? Or were you the type to prefer going it alone, despite the obvious risks that entailed? Perhaps you already met a traveling companion on this ship and decided to adventure together?

Whatever the case, you didn't have long to ponder. The ship you were on docked, and you took your first step onto the continent of Edea.

Or maybe you weren't on a ship at all? Perhaps you had been there for a few days already for whatever reason. Maybe you woke in a bed in one of the many Inns and Taverns that existed across the port city? Perhaps you had a bit too much to drink and passed out at the table you were drinking at last night. Maybe that wench you spent money on woke before you and took all of your money while you were sleeping peacefully?

Whatever your situation, you stumbled out of the Inn or bar, perhaps flashing a suave smile towards a maid or waitress as you greeted the warm morning sun. Perhaps today you would finally leave this place and plunder the riches of Edea.

---

~The Docks~

The docks of Oars Rest were massive. They had to be, really, and over the five years since the settlement was made it only grew larger. As you took a step off your ship, the first thing you would notice...was how warm this tropical climate was. Much warmer than back in the Empire and Republic. The next...was the smell of fish. Crates of freshly caught fish, most of which you had likely never seen before, were moving across the docks. Fish was a common staple of food in Oars Rest, since the sea provided the settlement with ample bounty. Some crates were even packed with fresh looking tropical fruit, and were being loaded onto ships that were likely going to be departing for Ailon soon.

As you walked towards the shore from the pier, you noticed a number of sailors moving quickly. No doubt they were on a tight schedule to get their jobs done. Most completely ignored you, though one or two rushed down the pier and in an apparent lack of manners roughly brushed past you, almost knocking right into you in their hurry. Not to mention the other people making their way towards the town. Many looked to be bright eyed adventurers like yourself. Traveling was definitely slow going at times because of this, making for what would be a short walk somewhat difficult.

As you walked, you took note of a rough looking fellow that simply seemed to somehow radiate an aura of gloom about him. He was sitting on the railing of a ship, apparently waiting for it to depart, holding his head in his hands. In fact, if you looked you could see quite a few of these people sitting around the docks. They were all wearing armor of varying effectiveness and weapons of some sort. It wasn't too difficult to guess who they were. Washed up adventurers who likely lost quite a bit exploring Edea.

Indeed, for everyone that made it big on the continent, five were met with a terrible fate and even more were simply met with challenge after challenge until they called it quits. Perhaps a premonition of your own fate?

Whatever the case, your thoughts were cut short as you finally reached Oars Rest proper after a few moments of walking. A signpost that was situated on a stone wall from the docks pointed people along their way towards the Central Square, where the shops and representative offices of the republic could be found. A second sign, pointed people along the way towards the Barracks, where the Empires Offices were. Which way would you go? The square to perhaps find some rest before you departed on an adventure? Perhaps you would go to the Barracks or somewhere else entirely. Either way, it would probably be a good idea to try and ask about the best route inland.

~Oars Rest~

Oars Rest proper was as busy as the docks were, with as many shady alleys as there were ships that were ever docked there. A number of horses and carts moved through the street, hauling shipments of things form the docks to the various businesses that existed here. Many of the buildings were made out of wood, likely cut down from the forest nearby. Mix that with the somewhat shoddy construction of a few of the buildings and somewhat haphazard construction of the streets, a lot of the seaside town gave off a rural and somewhat shady vibe. Not much of a stretch to say quite a few people came to Oars Rest to escape the law either.

As you stepped out onto the street from wherever you were staying, the bustle of the streets finally greeted your ears had you not already heard it. People talked as they moved about. Some merchants, some seasoned looking adventurers that apparently already came back from their exploration. They were a far cry from the depressed looking ones that sat at the docks, waiting for their ships to carry them back to the relative safety of Ailon. Perhaps you would survive, just as they had and show this new, hostile continent that you weren't backing down no matter what it threw at you?

Either way, you made your way into busy streets, greeting the day in whatever was your usual manner.

[Assistant]
It was the times like these in life that reminded Ophene just how annoying people could be. "And I'm telling you that I've took nothing from you, you foolish human." It was like this with these people, that is, trying to force things from others. Ophene had only dealt with this sort of thing in places with humans and other creatures like them and she just needed to escape from the situation. "If you would please. . . I would like to continue on my way."

The Pheran turned to leave but not before she felt a hand on her shoulder. "And who said you could leave after swiping my carrot, you rabbit-eared freak." Ophene couldn't tell whether the man was trying to get something out of her or make fun of her. Regardless, this sort of attitude was unacceptable. Xenophobic people like this were quite annoying and quite tenacious.

"Five seconds." She spoke loud enough for the man to hear.

"Five seconds? Whatcha' mean, ya' sl--"

The flat of Ophene's foot brought itself up to the man's knee and gave a damaging blow. Nothing to stop his everyday, though he may still feel it the next morning. To make sure her point was made, the Pheran turned quickly and poked hard into the man's head. While he was still recoiling to the hit to his knee, the poke knocked his center of gravity off and fell over in a not-so-graceful manner. "You have five seconds before humiliation." The girl mentioned with a slight smile on her face. Quickly, she made her way to somewhere, anywhere. Oar's Rest was a nice place. A little humid in comparison to the mountains she was use to, but it was expected considering it's location.

For now, there was still a nice and full day in front of her, so what better thing was there to do but to walk around and try to enjoy the sun? Hopefully none of the people she saw on the streets today were like the man earlier. He seemed to be a rare breed anyhow, so likely she'd be fine in her wandering of this bustling city.


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 21

Career/Class: Courtesan/Duelist

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

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

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

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

[User]
Camilla let out a shriek of terror a moment before Skaldi unceremoniously pitched her aside. The Tiean screeched and bounced over the rocky ground, instinctively curling herself into a ball to avoid the worst of the fall. Dietricha looked up at the thing in astonished puzzlement a moment before the thing hurled a bolt of greenish lightning from its arcane hammer. A greatsword standing in front of the wizard opened his mouth to scream but any sound was lost in a thunderclap that sprayed everyone with steaming gobbets of flesh. The blast picked up the redhead and hurled her twenty feet backwards into a granite boulder.

"No!" Yantz screamed, eyes wild with horror at the thing. The big horsepistol he carried crashed out and if the bullet flew true the gargantuan thing showed no sign as it stomped forward like a massive bounding hound, one of its feet coming down on another greatsword with a bone shattering crunch. Arrows ficked up at it as the kislivites fell back, shooting their powerful recurve bows as they did so. Camilla saw several arrows bounce harmlessly from the things hide. The elven blade lay on the rock five feet away from her. Without conscious effort she began to crawl towards it, dragging her battered body hand over hand towards the weapon.

"Run!" one of the soldiers yelled, his voice high and tinny in the aftermath of the thunderclap and he turned to flee, dropping is sword and vaulting away as fast as his legs could carry him. Camilla felt a flash of envy, and wished her own exhausted body would work so effectively. The ogre swung its weapon again, this time aiming at Cydric. Camilla felt her heart leap into her mouth but the Ostlander dived sideways and rolled, coming up on his feet, the rock beneath where he stood fractured and smoking.

"FUCK!" Yantz yelled and made a running leap towards the thing. His eyes were so wide they were completely rimmed with white, bastard sword gripped in both hands as he swung it down with all his might. The weapon bit into the things arm and hung. The Dragon Ogre snarled in world ending rage and flicked its arm as though ridding itself of a flea. Yantz lost his grip and flew through the air in a high and certainly terminal arc. Silvery light plucked him screaming from the air and set him down, none to gently amid the splattered remains of the first greatsword.

"Mine!" Dietricha snarled, standing atop a horse sized boulder, blood running from her nose but otherwise intact. The ogre roared a challenge but the air filled with a weird sizzle, like fat dropping into a cookfire the size of the whole world. Eye searing lighting leaped from the deranged woman, bright enough that even though she closed her eyes Camilla saw dazzling purple after images on her retinas. The bolt slammed into the creature pitching it back six feet and filling the air with a stench of burning hair. Incredibly the beast wasn't dead, though a chunk the size of a dinner plate had been blown from its scaly hide. Camilla's fingers closed around the hilt of the sword just as the thing flung its own lightning at the sorceress. Dietricha leaped away as the boulder she stood on was blasted to flying gravel by the ravening energy.

Camilla clutched uselessly at her sword, unable to stand or even lift the weapon as the battle unfolded. One of Ivan's Kislivites was down, blood leaking from his tunic and the stump of one arm. The snarling horseman fitted another arrow to his bowstring, intent on vengeance. Yantz' pistol cracked again though from her vantage point Camilla couldn't see that it did any good. Screaming in frustration he threw the weapon at the ogre, bouncing the heavy stock of the things head and then pulled a knife. Camilla shook her head in stunned wonderment, she needed to stand, to help Cydric but her muscles just spasmed uselessly and clutched tighter to the elven weapon.

[Assistant]
Skaldi recovered himself, having been thrown aside by one of the concussive force of one of the Dragon Ogre's lightning blows. Any man of the empire or Kislevite horseman would have been broken, but the Dawi were made of stubborn stuff. He cursed in Khazalid, and set his jaw firmly, eyes blazing. The Dragon Ogre itself was preoccupied. Distracted was a better term, the bolt that had shorn off a bit of its skin causing it to glare balefully at the witch.

Skaldi was of one of the Elder races, learned in old lore. What was history and legend to them, was myth to the men of the group. Dragon Ogres were known only by the darkest stories of Chaos. Cyrdic was no scholar, but he had heard many of the legends. If what he knew about Dragon Ogres was true, then this beast they faced was likely older than civilization itself, and its lifespan would likely outlast the world.

Konrad had been obliterated, and Luka had been maimed. Ivan stayed by his comrade as he lay bleeding to death on the ground. Dietrichia began to incant once more, her eyes full of wild fear. Cyrdic had just thrown himself out of the way of a blow that shattered stone, catching himself on a boulder. He searched for Camilla, and saw her on the ground behind one of the larger rocks, clutching her sword. He saw she was alive, and that was enough. Ivan too. His eyes fell to Dietrichia, and he saw her glow with power. His eyes must have been playing tricks upon him, for he saw the very air twinkling around the sorceress before a wind that tore at even the rocks ripped across the landscape, contained within the area of the Dragon Ogre.

The creature seemed nearly unaffected, its body growing rigid and its clawed feet digging into rock as it roared its own spell, the language archaic and unintelligible, but the force of the chaos within it began to tug at Cyrdic's sanity. Suddenly the hurricane winds were shattered, and Dietrichia was thrown back into the crags like a tossed doll. Yantz was now on the ground, curled into the fetal position as his eyes bled from being within too close proximity to the chaos spell woven by the beast. He looked alive, though. Cyrdic hoped the sorceress was.

He gripped his runic sword, his teeth bared as he gathered his strength and leaped at the Dragon Ogre, his sword turned into an overhand grip. His runic sword plunged into the creature's thigh, digging deeply. With a brutal roar of pain, its gaze fell on Cyrdic with hatred. The very gargantuan, human head opened its gaping maw to reveal teeth like a rabid wolf's, and reared its head back as if to bite Cyrdic, hefting its hammer. The Ostlander tore his sword out of the beast to defend himself, certain he couldn't block a hammer blow directly.

"No!" Camilla screeched from the side, simultaneously a cry in Khazalid announced Skaldi from behind. His bearded axe chopping into the otherside of the Dragon Ogre, cutting into its midsection below its legs. Cyrdic rolled, the hammer blow now clumsier but still lethal. It missed Cyrdic, but the weight of the blow sent him spinning into the gravel of the landscape heavily, unable to tell up from down.

All he knew was that if they couldn't think of something, they would all die here.

"Ve maust flee!" Ivan called out, dimly heard over the roars and crack of stone. He looked about ready to charge in a second time if they were not able to run, or more likely to give the others time to. Cyrdic would not let the big man do that for him, though he couldn't argue with the man's fears.


[System]
Race: Lizardwoman
Appearance: Your typical lizardfolk. Green scales with a tinge of brown.
Age: 14
Time at Orphanage: About a two and a half.

Race: Elf
Personality Snippet: She considers herself herself the leader of her usual group (Laya, Ilyrana, and Nick when he can join, with the occasional addition of Tor), and is often the mastermind of their little mischievous schemes. She hates the fighting training of the day, and much prefers magic, and is quite the drama queen.
Age: 12
Time at Orphanage: About three years.

Note: She is the youngest and shortest of her group.

Race: Elf.
Personality snippit: She, like many of her kind, are magically inclined, but can still hold her own in a fight... mostly.
Age: 13 ½
Time at Orphanage: About three years.

Note: She is the middle-height in her usual group of girls, and the eldest by a few months.

Race: Elf
Personality Snippet: Unlike the others in her usual group of friends, she is less magically inclined, but a great fighter. She also tends to be the quieter of the trio of girls.
Age: 13
Time at Orphanage: About three years.

Note: She is the tallest of her group, but not the eldest.

Race: Elf
Personality Snippet: He is a bit of a know-it-all, very observant, and likes to count things. He is more of a magic user than a fighter.
Age: 14
Time at Orphanage: About three years.

Race: Halfling
Appearance: Brownish black hair that always sticks up like a porcupine, and hazel eyes that sometimes look more gold than anything. He is short for his age, and quite tan from hours spent out in the sun. Currently has a freshly healed cut on the left side of his face running from jaw to earlobe.
Personality Snippet: He is extremely stealthy and usually hates confrontation. It takes a lot to push him to it, but when he is, he can show some skills. He is quiet, choosing not to talk because of what happened before he came to the orphanage, and thus no one knows anything about him.
Age: Best guess is between seven and eight, though he looks quite younger to the untrained eye.
Time at Orphanage: A little over a month and a half.

Race: Human
Appearance: Brown hair and eyes. She is about the right height for her age, and has a medium figure.
Personality Snippit: She is quite smart, and is often working on something. She and Laya started to spend time together a little over a year ago.
Age: 14
Time at Orphanage: Five years.

[User]
Aurelian opened a book in front of him. His book had some characters on it as well. Runes? Letters? Characters? Hieroglyphics? Maybe they were numbers? He wasn't even sure.

"I think so. Haven't seen him in any of the sleeping quarters"

"I suppose we can talk to him later, after class" he replied, trying to keep his voice down.

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

Laura straightened up and paid attention to the teacher. "Now, each of you have assignments to hand in. You may do so at the end of class. For now, we will continue to learn about the history of magic and the different kinds of mages. Who can tell me the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer? Yes, Jorn!"

The halfling looked the instructor in the eye. "Wizards have to learn their magic, sorcerers are born with it."

"That is correct, very good. Now, can someone else tell me what is the difference between the two of them and a warlock? Or a witch, for a female."

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

Serapis quickly caught up to the halfling. "Child, what is wrong? You can tell me." He didn't want to assume that the boy was mute, although it was a possibility which he could not rule out. "If you need something, I'll help." No response was forthcoming. At about the same time, he saw a human masseuse coming down the hall. She was dressed much like a dracon, in a loincloth and a top. Each were quite large for that kind of clothing, and she was well-covered apart from her stomach, arms, and legs. Her white skin and dirty-blonde hair made her stand out among the adult human women who worked at the orphanage.

"Oh, Galatea. Didn't see you there."

"Hello headmaster. What seems to be the problem?" Her voice was soft and soothing.

"This young halfling doesn't want to speak. Or maybe he can't. Do you know his name?"

"I'm afraid I don't, although I've worked on him before. This little one is unusually stressed for someone of his age. Not sure what happened to him. It used to be even worse when he first arrived. He never speaks to me, but his muscles tell me a lot." Serapis suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at Galatea's last statement.

[Assistant]
Glad for her timing and the lack of traffic in the halls, Thayva quickly made her way to the large double front doors of the mansion. A few papers cluttered a board mounted to the wall beside the doorway, advertising various jobs from people in town for the orphans to take up come the weekends, among other bits of information all held up by rugged nails tacked into the board.
 Her tail swished behind her as she pulled the scroll from her waistband, unfurled it, and tacked it to an empty spot of board with a couple unused nails: the newest list of jobs. She scanned the other pages, checking for anything old or out of place.
 After tearing down a couple old job advertisements and pocketing a messily scrawled prank note of someone looking for anyone willing to fish out a fire-breathing duck trapped in one of the boys' privies before it blew up the mansion, she began her usual morning routine of opening the windows facing the front of the house to let in fresh air.
 She paused as an unusually cool breeze blew through the window she had just opened, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed at the crisp scent. The sweet, electric smell of an impending storm rode the breeze.
 Thayva leaned out the window, trying to get a good look at the sky. A line of gray clouds floated just above the tree line surrounding the front yard, looming with a puffy ominousness.
 Have to keep an eye on that. Thayva ducked back inside. Don't want the floors to rot because of an open window during rain.
 She turned and headed toward the kitchen. Driven by a hunger that had begun to gnaw at her stomach, she hoped to scavenge any leftovers from the morning meal before finishing up double checking the most recent test scores.

* * *
 Nick nodded in Aurelian 's direction as Ilyrana eagerly thrust her hand in the air, her face begging for the teacher to pick her. Without waiting for more than the teacher's glance, the elven girl spoke.
 "Wizards," Ilyrana began, ignoring Laya's raised eyebrows, "usually deal in lighter magic, and specialize in one or two subjects, while warlocks delve into the darker stuff, and usually deal in a wider range of areas. Though, they both usually need some kind of staff, wand, or other trinket to channel their magic, since they have to seek it out, instead of it seeking them out."

* * *
 The halfling gave a frustrated sigh at Serapis' persistence. He was late. Of that he was sure. The sounds of other orphans had already faded into oblivion from more than just the distance he had placed between himself and the most-traveled areas. Before the dracon finished speaking, the gentle sound of feet padding against the floorboards drew his attention a short second before Serapis looked over at the woman approaching.
 His brows furrowed irritably when the woman, too, asked about "the problem" in the same kind tone she had used on those couple occasions Galatea had been his masseuse.
 "Or maybe he can't."
 The halfling's head dropped, his gaze turning to the floor and fists clenching at the dracon's words.
 Can't. How he hated that word. But, no matter how often he heard it--mocking or otherwise--he refused to correct it, to prove it wrong. No. He wouldn't break the promise he made himself after...
 He hung his head lower as Galatea answered the headmaster. Turning his attention instead on the hall, he focused on keeping his steps silent as he tried to steal away from the adults, hoping neither would notice until he had already safely slipped into the back of his classroom.

[User]
Serapis noticed the halfling boy heading towards class. Not wanting to disturb the student, he let the boy go.

"Well, please keep an eye on him and let me know if there are any developments, alright?"

Galatea nodded. "Yes, headmaster. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare some of the tables for later today." She shuffled off in near-silence, moving with surprising grace.

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

The teacher thought about it for a moment. While it was not correct, she didn't want to frame it in that way.

"That's not an entirely accurate answer, but you do get some of the generalizations correct. Yes, it is true that many wizards specialize in one or two areas, and warlocks are prone to dark magics. Only thing is, that's not the fundamental difference. Wizards can use dark magics while there are benevolent warlocks out there. And magic staffs aren't related to the distinction between those kinds of mages. Can anyone else answer?" A few more unsuccessful answers followed, after which the teacher simply gave the answer herself.

"A wizard is a mage who was not born with his magic. He has to study to gain any aptitude whatsoever with his magical spells. A warlock also has no magic at birth, but he gains it through a deal with a being who has magical powers to grant. More often than not, this is a demonic or other evil being, but it can be a neutral or even good creature."

Aurelian raised his hands and spoke as soon as he was called on. "What about a sorcerer? Or a cleric?"

"Good questions. Sorcerers are born with magical ability, while clerics don't have magic per se. They request spells from their deity, but do not actually cast them from any magic within themselves."

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

A bit later, Serapis met up with Thayva. "Oh. Hi there, love. Just finished making my rounds. Anything new today? Any big jobs for the students to do?" He moved behind her and gave his wife a little nuzzle, and moved to put his hands on her shoulders, awaiting her nod before he'd give her a little shoulder rub. He briefly looked outside, seeing the impending arrival of rain. Even after all these years, he still wasn't used to water falling from the sky. Given the extreme rarity of precipitation in the dracon realms, this was not hard to understand.

[Assistant]
Gray light filtered through the glass of the solarium situated at the back of the house. Various plants sat in the corners of the room designed to hold heat better than the rest of the mansion. Thayva sat on one of the five cushions placed in a circle at the room's center. A stack of papers sat atop a large, round table in front of her. She held a featherless quill, which she dipped in a bottle of red ink every now and again as she marked a couple forgotten tests.
 Wind gently blew through the room from the couple glass panels Thayva had opened, flooding the usually warm space with the fresh scent of the impending storm. Thayva paused and inhaled the smell. Even after the few years she had spent outside the dracon realms, she still had yet to grow used to the pleasant scent of rain.
 She heard the inside door to the solarium open. With the familiar gait and way he shuffled forward, it could only be her beloved Serapis.
 "Good morning, my dear." She glanced up and returned his loving nuzzle before looking back to the papers.
 "Any big jobs for the students to do?"
 Thayva gave him the nod she knew he awaited. "Well," Thayva reached into a small pocket hidden in her skirts, pulled out the prank note, and placed it beside her pile of papers, "I'd say eliminating a fire-breathing duck would count. Don't suppose you've heard anything about it, have you?" A smile pulled at her maul. "Other than that, the blacksmith's apprentice has fallen ill, so he needs an extra pair of hands this weekend, the butcher's looking for an extra hunter, and the potter has offered her knowledge to teach any who may want to learn the art of pottery."
 Thayva glanced out at the yard, then to the sky, trying to gague the time. "It looks nearly eleven. Lunch should be served soon. Would you care to join me?"

* * *
 When the teachers released the orphans for their last class of the day and sent them on their way to lunch, Kia and Laya stopped and waited outside one of the classrooms for Nick and Ilyrana.
 At last, the door all but burst open, and people flooded out. The two girls stood to the side so the others could exit.
 As soon as the other two elves joined them--Nick and Aurelian having separated during their last class--the four headed to the lunch room.
 "Remember, don't sit together," Kia whispered just loud enough for her friends to hear. "And try to make our separation look unintentional. We don't want to arouse suspicion."
 The others nodded. The four separated, losing one another in the crowd of students flooding the halls as they headed to the dining hall.


[System]
Persona: The Spyder
Appearance:
Age: 3
Archetype: Construct (Powered by Fission Core)
Power set: Prototype Disposable Robot design, Mk 001: Spyder's robotic body makes him tougher than a human for sure, and immune to those pesky troubles like breathing that humans need to do. However there is a problem. You know when a new super genius decides to rob a bank with his robot minions, the ones that go down in one hit from Captain Ultra? Spyder is one of those. He isnt going to stand up to the sort of power high ranked Heroes can bring to the fight. A secondary problem is the connection to his power source has always been a bit... temperamental. A good hit (a strongly thrown punch from a normal adult could do it) to the center of his 'body' will probably knock a wire loose and shut him down. In other words, you can knock him out.
Prototype Kinetic Energy Blaster Mk 001: The first, and relatively weak, design of a physically hitting energy weapon, enough to knock a baseline human out and push more resistant opponents around. It was originally designed to be most effective in large numbers. Spyder can manage a decent rate of fire, at about 30 Round/min.
Improved Targeting Matrix Scavenged from the first mission, this Matrix helps elevate Spyders aim into true superhuman territory, if only just.

Origin Story:

Spyder was the first (and only surviving) creation of wannabe Supervillain 'The Mechanist'. The Prototype for The Mechanists robotic minions, he was thrown into the scrap pile and marked for deconstruction due to a loose wire preventing him from powering on.
His deconstruction never happened of course, as his creator managed to get himself captured only a few days later when he tried to rob a bank with a couple of his later models as backup and ran into Captain Ultra himself.

Back in the abandoned lair a stray dog looking for food managed to knock Spyder in just a way that the loose wire finally connected properly, bringing him to life. With no programing to decide his actions, and nothing to do for the first few days but read the plans and diary of a delusional supervillain, it was inevitable what the outcome would be.

Spyder decided to become a Supervillain, one far better than his creator, one who didn't throw away perfectly good robots because they were to stupid to check the wiring was connected properly!

Spyder didn't have much success overall, it was hard to get people to take him seriously when he tried to commit crimes, always asking what 'his master' wanted. Still, he is confident that soon his and Lucky's (His dog, the stray that awoke him) Luck will change.

[User]
Eric Belmont:Casino

Eric was trying to be cool when everyone else was on a murderous rampage. Well they are meant to be leaving an impression Pann reminded Eric as the common people ran for the back exit. Eric was gong to stop them until a rain of bullets came from what must have been the VIP section. "Darn it!" Eric shouted at bullets flew by. Throwing himself to the ground, Eric managed to get behind a row of slot machines without a scratch. Allowing himself a sigh of relief the man sitting next to Eric said, "That was a close one eh?" "Yeah that it was." Eric replied. The two men suddenly realized who they were sitting next to and turned their heads to face one another. Eric looked into the black glasses of the casino guard. Just kill him Pann urged Eric but it wasn't something Eric really enjoyed doing, only killing people when he had to. The guard reached for a nearby stool leg and swung it as Eric, who took it to the shoulder while trying to dodge. Now you have to, Pann stated in Eric's mind. Without much choice Eric tackled the man, both of them hitting the ground. Eric then began to punch the man in the face, until the guard threw Eric off of him. The two men took the moment to reach for their ranged weapons, but Eric was faster. The man fell over, the queen of hearts planted firmly in his skull.

Allowing himself another sigh Eric looked down to see a deck of playing card. "Score." He said to himself as he picked it up. Then looking over the casino Eric saw that the thuggish member of the group had placed himself behind a heavy looking metal table and was trying to lift it. Sounds like he shouted something but with all the gunfire Eric was somewhat hard of hearing. Pann however was kind enough to point out that the Thug was likely going to use it like a shield, and that Eric could stand behind it. Of course, they had to run through some gunfire first.

Bracing himself Eric charged through the hail of bullets, throwing a few cards at the VIP section as a sort of return fire. Eric doubted any of them hit as he slid into position behind the makeshift barricade. However Eric wasn't very skilled at sliding and was just a little short, having to inch himself the last foot, giving the guards a chance to clip him with a bullet across the back. "Aggh... so, what's the plan?" Eric asked as he picked himself up just high enough to chuck a card into the horde of goons in the VIP section, making one of them fall over.

[Assistant]
Third Invincible Sister was taken aback by the sudden appearance of the loathsome creature, an oozing lump of flesh with far too many eyes. No, it was more than just mere surprise- it was fear, a gnawing worm in her gut that made her stop for the briefest moment, as the man in the mask cut it into two smaller creatures with his sword (the inferior katana, weapon of the gutless and rapacious Japanese who had done so much harm to her Korea, and a useless weapon when compared to the far superior hwando).

This dank and foul-smelling tunnel had not been the battlefield she had pictured for the Inevitable Showdown. Gang Min-Seo had always seen herself storming into Seoul or Mercury City or Tokyo or even Tel Aviv. Shoulder to shoulder with her four sisters, the full might of the People's Army behind them, and before them the Glorious Leader himself, pistol in one hand and the flag of the great and true Korea in the other. Mowing down their enemies like wheat under the scythe.

But no, the longer she looked at the wretched thing that should not be the more Third Invincible Sister was convinced she would die down here, alone and forgotten. No one would even know what happened to her. Why struggle? It was all hopeless and pointless. No matter what she did, she would fail the Gang family, and of course she would fail the Glorious Leader.

"No!" she cried aloud, an involuntary sound of pure despair.

Fail the Glorious Leader? Fail in her mission and her service? The idea of that was inconceivable to her, worse even than the thought of any death this disgusting thing could visit on her. Not while the self-reliance that had been placed in her by the guiding hand of generations of leaders still remained. The thought galvanized her into action, pushing the pheromone-induced fear aside long enough for her to make a move on one of the creatures.

She leaped forwards in a practiced taekwondo attack, fingers extended like claws. Between her extensive martial arts training and her own unnatural strength, her fingertips could tear and pierce like chisels. And chisel they did, her fingertips finding purchase in the many soft eyes in the thing's rubbery body. She grabbed, twisted, and tore, finally yanking her hands free and holding them up in triumph. Ten eyeballs, dripping gore and fluid, one impaled on each fingertip, like a child eating olives. Hopefully the pain of having several eyes plucked out would immobilize or distract it long enough for one of the others. As she quickly withdrew, the fear finding purchase in her mind once more, she managed to call out to her new comrades in arms. "Now, friends! Strike like the fists of the Pulgasari!"

[User]
EPPIE JONES

Attack from Below
She felt the movement from beneath her but before it had a chance to register the floor that Eppie was standing on exploded upwards with a force that caused her to launch into the air. She floated there for a moment and saw a brief flash of movement which ended with Fox holding his sword within his grasps and the beast howling in what could be believed as agony. It was then that she saw each half gain a new life with one being dealt with by the Third Invincible Sister, and the other pushing Fox away with a heavy hit.

Eppie's feet landed with skid before she held out her right hand in what could be simply be described as a punch that exploded out of her arm. The bones cracked, the skin tore open, and a large length of flesh extended towards the monster, grabbing it like an octopus tentacle. The blood vessels pumped hard and extruded themselves from the arm, giving her the strength to swing her body around and hold the creature with a binding grapple.

LET ME KILL IT!!! LET ME RIP IT TO SHREDS!!! The voice of Maw rang through Eppie's skull like a demon that wanted to be let loose, but she knew from what she saw with Fox's attack that tearing this beast apart would pose the risk of a Hydra effect, a risk of creating more attackers from splitting each body in half. As she tightened her grip, she felt the body begin to slither it's way out. The puss and fluids that expelled from it's skin created a mucus layer of protection like the skin of a wet frog. Her achievements were short lived with each moment passing and putting the team more at risk.

"Eppie can't hold it for too much longer!" she yelled out to the others before opening up her mouth and taking a large bite into the creature. Her jaw extending out to give her a larger grasp as her protruding teeth dug into the thrashing beast.

I can't let him out in a situation like this. There will be too much blood for me to control him... thinking silently to herself.

[Assistant]
As the fox man dude ran down another hall she stared into the halls she was a little bit more. Wanting to explore rather than fight. Following after the blonde girl she responded towards her. "It would be better than waiting for it to get the drop on.. Us Watching the fox man attack the creature, his cheep blade slicing it in two new creatures. The Korean lady went next to one of them. Clawing some of its eyes out it, bloody goop dripping and spitting from the wounds. The blonde girl morphed an arm into some beastly looking thing and lifted the other one up. That creature seemed to be slipping away from her grip though.

Her eyes ran back to the creature on the ground, thinking, staring at it induced a nervous butterfly in her stomach. She hated butterflies alive and in her head. Keeping the fear suppressed. She wouldn't let fear jeopardize her missions again. It was a distraction at most and she wasn't going to fall for it. She stayed staring at it forming a phrase, more like a group of phrases. Looking away soon as she could.
Show them your weakness, they won't exploit it.

She wanted to help kill the creature but stayed back after sending it towards the creature on the floor.
If anything it could distract it long enough for someone who doesn't have a blade to do something. Her dagger being brought out as protection. She wouldn't be the first to die here. No sir.

[User]
Warehouse: Byz'zul

Byz'zul knew he really should have expected this, all things considered. In answering that invitation he'd made three faulty, dangerously untrue, assumptions.

1. He has assumed that the universe did not, in fact, hate him personally.

2. He has forgotten dear old dad's sage advice: "If the world can find a way to fuck you, it will."

And last but certainly not least....

3. He had forgotten that traffic at this hour was practically a layer of hell unto itself. The layer of dumb pedestrians, dumber drivers and enough carcinogens in the air to make Bejing blush. Making him late. Resulting in....Gandalf the Insipid over there bursting in on them.

Of course, he was processing all of this even as he was desperately twisting away from the blasts of magical energy that said insipid larper had launched at him and his new comrade-in-suffering. It was two on one, which was something of a comfort, but it was the sort of comfort one might take from the fact that, even if they were in the middle of a school of sharks and bleeding from a stab wound, there was someone else alongside them to be consumed in the orgy of blood, teeth and fins that was about to commence.

So....yeah....

If they were gonna get out of this, they needed a plan.

Truly, your powers of perception are the envy of all demonkind.

Not the time Azazel. Not remotely the time.

He could feel his overly sarcastic familiar twist and coil around his body beneath his robes, no doubt trying to get out of the way of the incoming magical blasts and whatever other tricks ol' insipid had up his sleeve by shielding him with his "masters" body.

The snakes confidence in his ability to avoid harm was touching. Really.

Nothing for it then. A plan...they couldn't get one of those nailed down, let alone time to think of one if they didn't get the resident hero on the backfoot, if only for a few seconds.

Less focus on the evasive, and more on firing back. Dropping to his knees in midtwist, Byz'zul tapped into the infernal energies bound within his tattoos. He could feel the heat, the power, as it broke through it's bounds and traced it's way up from his lower back to his hands. Just as it reached his finger tips, a blast of pure fire sprang forwards, aimed directly at Byz'zul's least favorite larper.

[Assistant]
[Movement detected. Combat Protocols in full effect. Kinetic Energy Blaster ready to fire]

Spyder had been waiting patiently for the creatures to reveal themselves, and thus they had! Now it was time to show his new teammates what he could do. After this they would be glad to have him around, unlike his pathetic creator.
The ninja had worsened things almost immediately by creating a second creature, though Eppie and The Invincible Sister had managed to set up the perfect opening, despite the strange effect the creatures seemed to be having on some of the biological members of the group.

Still, no time for overthinking. It all came down to a single fact, that although he was a friendly droid most of the time, interested in socializing and becoming a respected villain, he had been designed for one singular purpose.

To [FIRE!]

The first golden energy bolt slammed into the creature Maw was holding, just as it was slipping free. Spyder didn't know exactly how his gun worked, but having the formidable power of a (miniaturized) nuclear power generator (partially) converted into kinetic force couldn't be pleasant to experience. It showed as the creature let out another shriek and was thrown against a wall. The second shot came exactly 2.0 seconds later, shoving it back into the wall as it tried to regain its bearings. Spyder could keep this up all day if he needed too, though he didn't know if the creature could adapt to his attack or not, best to finish it quickly. He turned on his speakers and shouted out.

"I have it stunned for now, act quick my fellow villains!"


[System]
Species: Twi'lek

Age: 25

Planet of Origin/Birth: Unknown, she doesn't remember.

Force Sensitive Y/N: Yes

Appearance:

(Training Lightsaber is Defunct and hidden.)

Skills/Abilities:-Healer- Although she is not a masterful user of the Force compared to even a Padawan, Ja'van is able to use it to help hasten the healing of injuries or slowing the rate by which they cause death. Enabling her to buy time to save lives.

-Ja'vi be Nimble, Ja'vi be Quick- Being a creature that is slender and light of feet, she is quite skilled in acrobatic feats. She treads lightly, and is adept in being stealthy and sticking to the shadows in patience waiting for a vulnerability to take advantage of.

-Speeder Bike Pilot- With the uncanny reactivity that force sensitivity has given her, Ja'vi is an insanely skilled Speeder Bike pilot.

-Still Learning the Ways - After abandoning Coruscant and escaping to the outer-rim to try and find and aid rebels, she has restarted the meditations she had came to know as a youngling. It has granted her extremely limited use of the force in the form of slight increases to reaction time and the ability to move small objects with the Force. Though she would only ever use it in the case of a truly dire emergency as it tends to get her noticed more than she'd like.

-Quick Wits that Stay Steady- Even though she is not very practiced on the field of battle, she has the uncanny ability to stay cool under significant pressure. Whether it's the ability to think clearly while under fire and similar situations.

-Small Arms Crack Shot- Having gained some practice while wandering the universe in search of the rebellion, Ja'vi has become quite a decent shot with some of the weapons. Particularly the pistol, as the Rifle often feels to cumbersome for her to like.

-Duelist- Even though she hasn't had much practice with a Lightsaber, she's quite good with various kinds of blades due to her nimbleness and dexterity. She carries a pair of Vibro-Blades (short swords) on her back instead, of which she uses with great effectiveness in close quarters combat. With such fluidity is this, that those who have seen her fight in such a manner oft say that she moves like a Jedi.

Equipment:- Blaster Pistol x 1
- Vibro Blades x 2
- Standard Issue Rebellion Helmet and Blaster Armor

Psychological Profile:Calm and steady of mind. Benevolent, but strict. Ja'vi cares deeply for those that surround her and does her best to insure their well being. If someone hurts those she cares for however, her tendencies can swing into the outright defiant...or even ferocious. The Tranquility of the Light Side is hard to instill within her.

History: Her first memory was the hand of a strange looking man reaching down to her amongst blinding sunlight.

As a child, she was swept up by the Jedi as a recruit during the horrors of the Clone Wars. They had discovered her to be rather credibly sensitive to the invisible will that governed the flow of life and will in the universe. Her midichlorian count was high, but not incredible akin to the masterfulness of Yoda, or the prodigal Anakin Skywalker. She was destined not to become a Master, she was destined to become a Knight.

She was barely a youngling when the insidious Order 66 was issued.

One of the very few fortunate enough to escape into the alleyways of Coruscant in the first few minutes of the Great Purge, Ja'vi lived a fearful life that was constantly on the run until she found someone who took pity on her. A Doctor, a kind, benevolent man who had taken The Doctor's Oath in ages past. He hid her away from those who hunted her, fulfilling the oath that he held concerning helping those in need. She lived in hiding then for many years until her adoptive father decided that it would be safer for them to move to the outer rim.

On the way there, she was separated from him in an unfortunate accident. From then on as a young teenaged girl living on the outer rim, she lived a life of risk and danger of falling into enslavement; until one day she won a Speeder Bike from an unwitting man in a game of chance.

This was the moment that she discovered her knack for such a task. Tearing through jungles and oft escaping death by mere hairs of a distance, the nimble girl took her talents to blurring past on-planet outposts of Imperial Guards as a small-time smuggler of small, insanely valuable and illicit goods.

So competent was she in this, that as she grew older, the former Youngling eventually obtained the attention of the Rebellion. They sought her for her ability to sneak past or outrun those who pursued her. And one day, she awoke not in the hovel of her hideout, but instead a eerily quite and cold chamber with a bag over her head.

Once she stirred, it was removed, and she was suddenly face to face with members of the Rebellion. More than willingly for the sins cast upon her from the past, she joined their cause. Thankfully they did not know what she actually was, and they paid fairly well. Through basic training she never fared well, except for in the close-quarters setting of combat.

There she became known as a monstrosity.

Not much longer, the former youngling would find herself on the front lines of a messy, bloody conflict; and she was more than willing to put her blades to work.

Yes, and:This is a bit of a writing exercise; how your character relates to the character posted above yours. It should be something incidental, and can easily involve antipathies and disagreements. It's almost like a 'how they met' sort of exercise.

[User]
"A jedi?" Saleen said as she cocked her head slightly to the side, taking a moment to simply stare at the twi'lek.

Although Ja'vi had originally met her with a sudden and harsh glare that was most unusual for the normally stoic alien, she now looked to be literally pleading with her eyes. Her eyes had grown almost to resemble that of puppy eyes, and Saleen felt that she was dangerously close to almost feeling genuine sympathy for the twi'lek!

"Please, you cannot tell a soul!"

Saleen gazed back at Ja'vi, whilst moving a hand up to rub her jaw as she contemplated the matter.

"Well, at least I finally got her to talk!"

She was not unfamiliar with the concept of jedi. Indeed, she had seen them in countless movies and video games back on her time during Coruscant, and even seen some on the street. That was at least until the new government had stepped in, and orchestrated something not far off from a holocaust against their order. She had never actually met a jedi face to face. The idea that she was now talking to one was both cool, and at the same time, a little worrisome!

Jedi were known for their dangerous lightsabers capable of slicing through any material, as well as wicked mind powers with which they could wreathe unfathomable destruction.

"Maaaaaybe I shouldn't be standing so close to this one! I mean, if she should turn hostile... !"

"I am going to assume that the thing you're trying to hide from me was a lightsaber, wasn't it?" Saleen asked with a slight smirk on her face as she gently nodded towards the twi'lek's clothes where she had last seen the cylindrical device. Tossing the door behind her a quick glance to see if it was shut, Saleen would look back at the twi'lek with a small smile.

"Can I see it?"

[Assistant]
Captain (Navy) Probos Hud was the new G-3 for Vanguard, replacing his rather more complacent predecessor after the latter's relief, and the sectors it operated out of, which was roughly the region between Ziost and Jabiim, with a broad mandate to disrupt whatever he could with the limited forces available to his command. The most important element of that mandate was to do whatever it took to prevent Mon Calamari, the planet that provided the Alliance's best shipyards, from direct attack or at least to make the theoretical supply lines for such an attack look too daunting to undertake.

So he wasn't impressed when a Captain (Army) Ornestes of Alliance Intelligence was briefing him on a botched mission involving one of his ships having to cut and run real fast from a Victory-class star destroyer that lay in waiting -- his forces, to the mind of the Duros, were supposed to be the ones with the element of surprise.

"Captain, I will make this clear," Hud told him in the straightforward way the Duros tended to have, the confidence of being one of the first starfaring races, "My predecessor was slack and sat on his ass and was happy to detach forces to your operations. I am not. I need every swinging tentacle in my command to carry out -my- operations. Also, that Ganatoo station mission was a wash on all fronts -- it was only because one Lieutenant Byron sent out a separate team to tap the traffic control at the same time that they were running this funny Hutt deal, acting like a palace guard for a washed-up crime lord, that my forces managed to discover the threat and got out."

"Be that as it may," Ornestes started.

"Please sit, Captain," Hud ordered/requested, "And allow me to explain the facts of life." Ornestes, who was something like three grades beneath a Navy captain, did so. It was hard to read Duros expressions, at least for a human, because they were blue-faced, golden-eyed and had no noses. It took a person experienced with their expressions to really read them. All the same, they were not some provincial species -- the Duros were far-flung, with colonies all over the galaxy, and their homeworld in the core. They often acted like they invented the hyperdrive, and certainly loved to make use of it.

"All Intelligence requests for my forces will be routed through me. The plans will be submitted to me. They will be vetted by myself and my staff before the forces you require are given their orders. I agree that uploading virii into the Imperial traffic control computers is a useful mission and will put my chop on it when I see an appropriate plan. By 'appropriate' I mean any plan that does not involve that Hutt."

"But sir, Slooga..."

"Is washed up and has a price on his head big enough for his former contacts to turn on him. He's not really a powerful Hutt Lord anymore. I am reliably informed that his ship is in the alliance with or without him. For the sake of appearances, we'll keep Slooga because he might be useful in the future, but have no illusions, Captain, we are not here to facilitate his grandiose plans of a return to glory. We're here to fight the Empire."

"Yes sir," Ornestes said, somewhat stiffly, "I understand."

"Good, now I'd like to turn your attention," he hit a button and the room darkened and a holodisplay came up, "to this; Operation Bantha Poacher."

The Intruder, a squadron of Y-Wings, Buccaneer squadron, and, of course, 1st Platoon in the vanguard...


[System]
Title: Witch Knight

Age: 34

Height: 5'11

Weight: 215 lbs

Eyes: Hazel

Hair: Salt and Pepper

Gender: Male

Lineage: Human

Class: Berserker

Side: Black Talon

Skill: Swordsmanship, (Basic) Multilingual, (Lore) Medicinal Herbs, (Basic) Field Medicine, Charisma, Staying Alive

Weapon(s):

Long Sword, 31 inch blade, 10 inch hilt, 3/4ths inch crossguard

Bec de Corbin, 28 inches overall, secondary weapon

Misericorde, 5 inch blade, 4 inch handle

Blued Steel Armor:

Helm:
Mail Coif
Steel Bevor (Neck/Chin Piece)

Shoulders:
Steel Spaulders

Bracers:
Leather Bracer (Right)
Full Steel Vambrace, Gauntlet (Left)
Leather Gloves

Chest Piece:
Mail Hauberk
Steel Gorget
Leather Brigandine
Extended Arming Doublet

Leggings:
Mail Leggings
Steel Greaves, Cuisse, Sabatons
Leather Boots

Emblems:
Etched at left pauldron, and center of gorget

Dyed white into black arming doublet

Background:

A man of common birth, Kirian Varlos has earned some renown as a sharp blade and a cunning sellsword in the back alleys of Drodrolis and in the trenches of the besieged alike. He's what you could call a longtime company man in a business where life is cheap and battles are short, working over merchants and traders with a dead stare and the promise of steel at home, and surviving engagements against all odds in the fields, though the same is often untrue for others in his sorties. For this budding myth of unkillability, Kirian Varlos has earned the title of the Witch Knight, favored by women and perhaps something altogether more sinister.

[User]
Ioetta nodded in response to her comrades. She cracked her neck to one side and rolled the shoulder of her left arm. Favoring it somewhat due to an earlier glancing blow which had left behind marks and indentations in the armor. Then without further hesitation Ioetta held her kriegsmesser in her right hand and began moving forward. Working to quickly close the 23 or so meters to the stagecoach abandoned in the center of the bridge. The sound of metal gently bumping against into metal echoed as the Silver Shield defenders moved up mixing with the cacophony of their feet on the hard flagstone and the screams across the east end of the city.

Lady Ioetta knew once they began to near the enemy would become aware of their presence. Stealth would be no real aid here, but speed would be. Coming to the front of the stagecoach Ioetta slowed her steps as she stopped before an overturned crate. She took a position along the left hand side and waited.

Without turning her head away from that side of the coach, she gestured for one of them to hold the right side of the coach with a wave of her right hand. At least with three of them they could have one reserve member if one side began to falter. She stood so that the coach blocked her profile until one had nearly rounded the corner-- standing just 6 feet from the driver's seat. Standing so that the crate would block underneath the stagecoach. She hardly wanted her feet shot out from under her in case the enemy had come armed crossbows.

She felt her heart hammering in her chest as sweat beaded down her forward. The adrenalin already coursing through her body in anticipation for the violence soon to follow. She slowed her breathing and waited. There was nothing else left to do for now.

[Assistant]
There it was - the sound of footsteps, quickly approaching from the other side of the bridge. Unsurprisingly, their intrusion didn't go by unnoticed - but at least it spared them of the need to creep around. Gernev halted, eyes quickly darting to the palace gates ahead, then down to the coach, confirming that neither of the positions were taken by archers; relived, he threw all caution to the side, breaking into a run headed straight for the coach.

The orc simply bashed down its door, ramming it in with the full weight of his armor-clad body, but then paused just before entering, turning round to face his comrades. Gesturing Phia to stay hidden, quiet and come inside the coach as well, he peered through one of its windows to capture the enemies' positions, and picking a safe moment to do so, hopped right through it, landing with a sharp metal clank from his plated boots. Setting his left foot forwards, heel in line with the right foot's toes, he took a bold, daring stance, mace hanging low, the arm holding it as if almost lazily relaxed, while raising his longsword overhead, in a manner similar to the Ox stance. Hopefully, by that time, Kirian would be making his entrance as well, and together, they could draw all the guards' attention, letting Phia slink into the coach unnoticed.

One of the slivers of his combat savvy, gathered over years spent in raids and military campaigns, told that the best use for a bow and arrow was ambush, and only second best was keeping the enemy at bay. If all went well, for all the hails of steel that felled the Black Talons from Xoni's walls, it would be the Silver Shields who'd be cursing archers in this battle.

[User]
With each step they took, Lars' voice carried as he uttered a prayer to Graff, the God of war and battle. Each word echoing as the chaos outside the walls dimmed a moment. The soft clank of the chain armor, and the beat of the sword pommel against the shield, enhanced the prayer as they kept time with his cadence.

"You are called Gangleri,
Wandering God,
at home nowhere and everywhere;
You are called Sigtyr,
brilliant in Your battle-glory,
born to conquer, to possess the world;
You are called Grimnir,
and by vitki Yggr,
in honor of Your terrible time upon the Tree.

You are known by these and many other names,
and the paths to You are many.
We praise them all, that You may savor
in each of Your guises,
and by whichever name pleases You the most
the fermentation of our spirits.

May these words please You oh God,
and may You bestow upon us,
whose mouths overflow
with adoration and praise,
the terrible grace of Your blessing."

As he finished he prayer, Lars was at the coach, on the eastern most side, the shield pressed against the back of the coach. It was clear that the enemy was upon them. The stench of Orc filled the air. It was a rotten, putrid smell oozing from their pores; a stench that once cursed with smelling, never forgotten.

Smashing the coach heartily with the shield, Lars snarled as the brutish creature hopped out, "Well Lady, it appears the Black Talons have graced us with their ugliest warriors." The coach on his left shoulder, the shield before him as he let the war sword drop into a low guard, the blade jutting up ever so slightly, his booted feet apart. Rising slightly on the balls of his feet, Lars flexed his knees a tad, ready to react forward or back if need be.

The orc, heavily armored and wielding a mace and longsword assumed a posture that the seemed similar to the Ochs, with the sword up and to the outside. The point of the sword aimed somewhat towards Lar's face.

It was a stance normally requiring both hands on the hilt for stability, yet this Orc seemed supremely assured of his position that he carried it with a single hand. It was clear that the poor bastard had some training, not very good training but some training. At least he would offer some fight. The Ochs stance, although not as stable as others, would protect the Orc well enough, and allow him a counter with a straight thrust. Of course if he was skilled he might turn to cut diagonally down, or pull back to cut from underneath. All this of course was possible from the Ochs; however, this Orc carried a mace as well so those moves must be modified to account for the second weapon.

No matter, Lars already gleaned some insight to his opponent already.

[Assistant]
Phia could see Gernev tense briefly- most likely hearing movement of some kind- before breaking into a sprint and smashing his way into the carriage sending the door almost off it's hinges. That was loud. As the door hung limply inside the vehicle, Gernev gestured over the shoulder of Kirian and to her, seeming to say:

Stay quiet, get in the coach.

Phia understood her position in this battle. The Silver Shields had most likely gotten to the carriage first, and since she wasn't being shot at right now she could assume that they didn't have any ranged fighters. This would mean that she wouldn't have to worry about any other archers obstructing her a clear view of the fight.

She had a feeling this wouldn't be like the other scuffles. This was the palace gate. Chances were, obstructed from her view, were a small squad of elite Silver Shields. Not some peasant armed with a spear trying to protect his family or something silly like that. Phia hooked her middle and fore-finger into the bandana hanging around her neck and pulled it up to the bottom of her nose. The bandana didn't do much, but it made her feel a little bit more protected.

Heel first, she broke into a fast jog, nimbly overtaking Kirian. She saw Gernev vanish into the inside of the coach before she herself hopped inside. Phia barely caught the tail end of Gernev's dramatic descent out of the open window. That was a little crazy. She made eye contact with Kirian, urging him to assist the fight before it really kicked off. Phia did a well practiced technique, a quick peek around a corner. With them distracted with Gernev appearing next to them, there would be little to no chance of them detecting the minuscule amount of movement in the dark carriage.

Three of them, and Gernev was squared up against them all by his lonesome. She had a decision to make. Without Kirian right there, if she took her first shot, chances were one of them could barge past Gernev and right into this carriage and run her through. Phia stepped aside in the carriage and crouched down, hidden, to await what would happen next.

[User]
Karvos stood between his two companions near the center of the stagecoach about five feet away from it, his tower shield resting on the ground at his left side so that it could protect most of his body and cost minimal energy to hold up. Meanwhile, he was positioned with his left side facing forward to limit his profile sticking out from this protection on the right side, just in case someone tried to get all sneaky-like and fire an arrow at him or something.

His right arm held her halberd loosely at his right side at first, but then he snapped to attention when a massive crash erupted from the other side of the stagecoach. Looked like they meant business and were in quite the rush to get things moving. Moments after this noise had occurred he witnessed a truly ugly creature read his ugly head out of the window. Perhaps he was no more ugly than a normal orc, but he certainly looked tougher, even if he was likely more brawn than brain. As the orc leaped out and took a stance to issue a challenge towards Lars, Karvos grinned as it appeared like the brute had just cornered himself against the stagecoach in between two opponents.

He raised his halberd quickly to capitalize on this moment in order to try and joist him straight through the belly where his breastplate ended. To carry out this attack Karvos took a powerful step forward, starting with his front foot (careful to still remain out of reach of the long sword without his opponent having to advance towards him), combined with a thrust of his weapon once it got level with his target. Moving down to block him would likely leave himself open to Lars. Either way he'd quickly find himself in a world of hurt. Let's see how he'd get himself out of this one.

[Assistant]
The rush of battle began to swell, and Kirian was going to let it flow. As soon as Gernev jolted into action, Kirian was moving panther-like across the battlefield. He caught Phia's nod as she passed into the darkness of the stagecoach ahead, both warriors silently positioning themselves as quickly as possible, killing intent compelling them forward like it blew ashes on the stained wind. While Phia darted forward, Kirian moved to flank, dashing east while keeping his concentration trained for the slightest movement. From five yards away from the coach, he pressed forward to his right at a 50 degree angle, anticipating the possibility that an opponent would engage him at any instant. With cold recognition, his expression glinted at the first of the Silver Shields that came to defend the final gate, a woman wielding what appeared to be a tremendous knife. Something in her mein suggested more danger than Kirian had encountered thus far, the possibility flashing before him making him bristle with anticipation. Maybe it was the way she stood. Maybe it was the way she held her weapon. Maybe it was the way that when he caught her eye, he was sure that she knew that this first move would decide their duel an instant.

Very well.

He came around the corner of the coach just far enough from the wall that his mark would have to extend to meet him, keeping himself at an angle to her, so as to attack on her diagonal from the right side. As he stopped his momentum, he kept his blade downward in a "Fool's Stance"-- it was a relatively defensive position for an attack of opportunity, but Kirian elected not to take chances with a foolhardy attack, and instead readied himself to whip a defense into place. He was canny enough to want to read his opponent first, but it was important to close the distance on his own terms, in case another soldier thought themselves bold enough to join the fray. This time, he decided to test her by pulling his sword upward and stabbing toward her right side, sliding his right foot forward but calculating to keep his weight close to his center.

If she decided to press forward before he managed to complete his offense, his sword would have been close enough into his guard that he could react to it in his own space, using it as a lever to shift her attack around his center of gravity. This would allow him to press his advantage off of the parry, but if she decided to look for an opening in his guard after a dodge, he intended to keep a good six inches of his blade within her guard. In that case, she'd be able to attack before he could pull back to defend himself completely, but Kirian had often kept his life using his sword as a measurement stick; spacing an opponent out was often more valuable than a bit of blood lost early.

Kirian's movements were sharp and clean, almost mistakable for lazy in their apparent lack of effort, deadly in their deceptive speed. If this opponent decided to take her chances among these fractions of openings, she'd find herself bleeding on the cobblestones. A second's hesitation, a touch more force than necessary, and it would all be over. She had the look of a seasoned veteran, but there was only one means of proving the worth of that experience. Staying alive.