[System]
Nickname(s): Cae, or Little Cae by her family elders.

Gender: Female

Age: 11

House: Hufflepuff

Appearance:

A thin little thing with dusty ginger skin and a button nose. Her long nappy hair is carefully braided and twisted, sometimes it is left dangling about her shoulders, sometimes coiled up into a bun, crown, or other interesting arrangement.

At 11 years old she is a stick, with no womanly curves to speak of. She will try to make up for what she 'lacks' with a daring shade of lipgloss, a black-winged eye, or a set of heels. She has a fashion sense and an eye for detail that is more mature than most her age (which the uniform robes will certainly dampen).

Wand: Wood of yew with core of Kelpie Hair.

Pet: None

Strengths:
- Visual Arts: A talented artist, she will not be seen without a pen or pencil in her hand. She has had a lot of practice and is quite advanced in muggle art techniques, but none of wizards.
- Detail oriented: Her eye for artistic detail translates to other aspects of her life. Small things make a huge difference to her. She has a nearly photographic memory. Words, numbers, and names all stay neatly organized in her head.
- Well mannered: The well socialized young woman knows her manners and etiquette, and knows what is appropriate in various social settings. She is not shy to meet or talk to anyone, and is even comfortable around adults and authority figures, unlike others her age, she might have a leg up in social situations.

Weaknesses: Superficial and vain.
- Vain: Growing up the daughter of a plastic surgeon and a model, Caelum was taught that making sure you look good is perhaps the most important part of your day. She will spend a lot of time and energy on her appearance, and judge others by theirs.
- Superficial: Caelum was well socialized by her mother, but she met many people without knowing them very well. So her social interactions with others have rarely gone past surface conversation. She will have trouble establishing deeper relationships with others, as she is accustomed to superficial acquaintances.
- Weak willed: Caelum speaks volume with her pencil but softly with her voice. She will not assert herself or confront another. She would rather do as they say, or avoid the trouble. This makes her somewhat easy to manipulate, as she would rather not fight back or be contrary to a stronger personality.

Personality:
Cae is eager to learn and very talented. She has a bit of an ego, and is very critical of herself and others, particularly when it comes to appearances. In that way she is superficial. She grew up seeing adults with many acquaintances but no close or permanent connections. The most important quality of others is what they could do or their status in society, not who they were inside. This perspective makes it difficult for her to relate to others on a deeper level, and also reflects in her art. She is very good technically but often her work lacks 'soul' or an emotional quality.

History:
Caelum was raised in London. Her father is a plastic surgeon and her mother a model, both muggle and ignorant of the wizarding world. They believed in magic abstractly. Her father made 'magic' happen with his medical instruments, and her mother made 'magic' happen with her body and a camera. 'Little Cae' made 'magic' with her crayons. That was all they knew until an owl delivered a letter to Cae in their high rise apartment…

Her mother and father divorced when she was very young. Her father took full custody, though she saw her mother very often. Her parents get along well, while her mother remarried twice after and is currently single. Her father never remarried, he is an introvert who mostly keeps to himself and keeps busy. He entertains the occasional girlfriend, but nothing that lasts more than a few months. Her mother has a large network of friends and toted 'Little Cae' along on countless fashion shows, gallery openings, concerts, films, holiday parties, so on and so forth. Cae quickly developed self control obtained only by children who spend too much time with adults.

Unlike her mother, Cae is introverted. She loved going places with her mother but preferred to stay quiet and watch. She always brought along a little designer purse full of crayons and paper, keeping herself quietly occupied with doodling. Her doodling became quite good as she got older, and her mother knew plenty of artists to mentor her young talent. Crayons turned to color pencils, which turned to watercolors and acrylic...

Her parents had been considering sending Caelum to a private arts-focused school when they got the letter.

At first Cae did not want to go to 'Hogwarts'. If it was so great why hadn't they heard of it? Besides, she wanted to be an artist not a magician. (Caelum thought it was some sort of stage-magician's school. She had met a few magicians, and saw through all their tricks! She certainly did NOT want to be like them!)

Then then the neighbors from downstairs showed up. Impeccable timing. They were there to congratulate Little Cae on 'getting her letter'. 'But how did you know?' her parents asked. 'Why, we saw the owl! We knew it had to be for little Cae!' The neighbors downstairs were kind but they never spoke much. Firstly because in the city it is customary to ignore your neighbors, and secondly they always seemed a bit strange. They were unnerved to hear that Cae did not want to go, and invited her over for tea to talk it over. They claimed to be wizards themselves, and promised that they were not stage magicians.

They showed Cae what Wizard artwork looked like. Moving paintings. Caelum was amazed. It did not seem like making a cartoon, it seemed like making something alive.

Cae instantly changed her mind. She wanted to learn magic for herself and how to make her own paintings alive.

NPCs:

Gregory Liquin: Father, muggle, a successful cosmetic surgeon. Serious and even tempered. Wealthy, handsome and refined. Cae lives with her father, who supports her in all her endeavors.

Cindy Lquin: Mother, muggle, a model and actress. Outgoing and gorgeous. Spunky and Sexy. Cae does not live with her mother but sees her very often and go out on weekend shopping trips, parties, and trendy cafes.

[User]
The flames were engulfing everything around him and the teacher, getting closer and closer each second. He was struggling to keep himself and the teacher safe from the flames, and just as he was about to give up, when another boy came to his aid. He was a Slytherin, he recognized him before, before all this happened. He couldn't pinpoint his name, but he was just glad he was helping him. The two first years still struggles, but they moved slightly faster with two people carrying the teacher. They were finally nearing the group.

A couple of trees in the way caused them to turn, putting Faniel with his back to the flames. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure emerge from the flames. Looking over he saw that it was one of the attackers. The flames, moved away from his as he walked through them, as if he had an invisible shield around him. He lifted his wand up, not pointed at Dan, but at the other boy helping him. He heard him mutter a word.

He couldn't make out what he said, but before he knew it, A bolt of red light shot from his wand heading towards the Slytherin. He (carefully) dropped the teachers upper body, running over to the other side. His wand arm crossed over his chest, with his wand barely catching the spell on its tip. For the second the spell hund on the tip of Daniel's wand, words echoed through his mind.

You've got to mean it. Dan flung the spell back with such power and speed the attacker had no time to react. He met the spell with a scream, and an even louder scream as he landed in the flames as they seemed to engulf him. Dan couldn't tell for sure, he could have use the shield he had around him before to escape. The rest of the group was close enough to see what happened, and Daniel worried. He had just, probably, killed someone. He worried for a second, before his mind shifted back to the now struggling Slytherin first year. His body resumed shaking as he carried the body. Once finally back to the castle, he placed her down outside on the grass, yelling for medical help. As he waited his mind drifted off to nothingness, and he was on his knees on the grass. His hair was a mess, his arms and face were decorated in cuts and scrapes, robes were torn, and hands covered in blood, but how he looked wa nothing compared to how he felt inside. He might have killed someone. The horrible words kept echoing in his mind.

You've got to mean it.

[Assistant]
The potion on Cassandra's wound fizzled, the bleeding seemed to slow then. The student had guessed correctly! The potion had been intended for smaller field wounds than the one Cassandra now had. Yet, it would still do her good. She did not awaken yet from consciousness.

Moirah screeched and ducked her head, following the group back toward the castle. She saw Dan counter a spell and... Did Dan just kill[/i] someone? Was the groundskeeper already dead? Her mind was full of curse why were they being attacked? Was this some cruel joke by the administration in order to teach them their lesson? They should not have been punished for getting into a fight, they should be punished for not winning... Upperclass Slytherin were nothing compared to whoever was striking at them now! Who knew how rough her education would be so quickly...

[User]
Richard

"I'm going to fuck you up!" Richard was shouting as he emerged from the smoke, already waving his wand. He didn't point it at the masked figure, though, but swung it in an arc in front of him, in the general direction of the canopy above.
A path of leaves were transfiguring into shining steel, their new weight dragging them down and breaking them from their branches. They didn't fall directly at Darius, but around and behind him, cutting off his escape as Richard fired a bright stunning spell at him.

Thankfully for Darius, he had plenty of time to prepare for this attack - the boy before him hadn't tried to hide his approach in the slightest.
Deflecting the spell with ease, Darius was now stood, mask on and facing the furious newcomer. He tutted lightly, waving his wand at Caelum to let the roots ease off - she slumped to the floor, unconscious.
"Now, now. Language! There are children present." Darius said smoothly, allowing his native european accent to come through fully. Although it didn't sound like this in his day to day life, he didn't particularly want this one remembering what his voice sounded like. Especially with the plan that Romanov had instigated.
Wasting no more time on idle chatter, Darius moved swiftly, whipping his wand in a fast motion and sending stunning spells back towards Richard - then directing his wand at the steel branches.
Bombarda Maxima! He hissed, the spell barreling through the branches, scorching the trees in the process.

Richard did almost a pirouette to dodge around the stunners, but Darius had brought his attention to the child on the ground and as his right side faced her, he flicked his wand. The ground swallowed her up, and something like a rabbit burrow in old cartoons appeared in the ground as she was pulled away from the action in a subterranean air bubble.
But Richard's divided attention halted his dodge and as his charm spirited Caelum away, one of the stunners exploded against his shoulder mid-turn.
He collapsed to his knees, eyes closed as his head fell. He thought he had managed to remain conscious, but when he looked up, the masked man was gone and there was no sign of his accomplices. Judging by the spreading fire, he might have been out for as long as two minutes.

He needed to cut his losses and retrieve the rescued student, but as he turned to go back to where he'd set up defenses, he was faced with fire. He waved his wand, and just as he'd transfigured the hydrogen to start the fire, he transfigured the air into carbon dioxide to suffocate it. It dwindled and died in seconds, and he approached the makeshift battlements through the ashes and smoke.

Caelum was tucked neatly in a bubble of earth, under the roots of a tree, and another quick spell dislodged her, dirty but apparently unharmed. He picked her up and walked past the clearing, seeking the group at large.

[Assistant]
"Look!" Moirah gasped and pointed. "There they are!" She saw Richard carrying the unconscious Caelum.

She was covered in dirt, she was unconscious, but she was breathing and in one piece... She even began to stir then. Everything hurt so she only looked around briefly, relieved to see familiar faces.

The students headed toward the castle, but they did not appear to be perused. The noise and lights behind them faded, Charlie came last. He was the last one fighting it seemed, his opponent eventually running away from him.

"Coward ran off." Charlie scowled, his wand was ready and he gaurded the rear of the retreat back to Hogwarts.

~~~

Once they reached the castle it did not take long to communicate that something terribly wrong had happened during this detention.

Every teacher was awakened, and assigned to either patrol the hallways and grounds or to search the woods.

Most students were already in their dorms, but, all stragglers and night owls were directed back to their dorms.

All the detained students were whisked to the medical ward to be attended to be white smocked witches and wizards. They were made to stay in the ward overnight and were not admitted back to their houses and regular rooms.

Caelum took the opposite strategy. She did not sleep, but lay with her eyes closed, trying to rest, trying to block everything out of her mind... Moirah was making that particularly difficult...

Moirah, who was unhurt, was quite fidgety. She couldn't stick to her bed, she paced around the small room of the medical wing they had all be boarded up in. She tapped her feet, muttered every so often, and was generally annoying to anyone trying to mellow out after their harrowing experience.


[System]
Age/Race/Gender: 24/Human/Male

Appearance: 5'9" tall, 120 kgs, semi muscular build with long dyed hair coloured black with neon orange streaks.

Occupation: Arsonist

Weapons:
The VC1 Flamethrower is highly valued by planetary militia when fighting local wildlife. It is also highly sought after by pirates and mercenaries who are going to fight on ships or in close wuarters. It is designed to destroy shields and to cook people inside their armour. However, if the armour and person inside still hold, Hadrian uses his holdout weapon.

The M4 Revolver is one of the most highly powerful handguns made commercially. Accurate up to 50 metres and and able to punch throigh most armour, this weapon is beloved by outlaws and lawmen alike. Take care of it, it takes care of you.

Armor:
The HG19 ballistic armour is especially built for harsh environments and to protect the user. It can stop a hail of bullets, stop the person inside from burning alive from extreme heat and allow them to walk in freezing cold temperatures without getting frostbite. It is armoured and does not come with shields.

Items: Spare parts for his weapons, such as gas tanks.

His helmet has an inbuilt system that allows him to see his surroundings in any given light.

Has one hard copy of the Anarchists cook book, complete with his own personal edits, diagrams and notes.

Skills: He is able to burn anything with even the most basic of tools.
He is also a damn fine cook and is able to cook fine food for most humanoid races.
Knows sign language.

Powers: N/A

Other: He rarely takes off all of his armour at any given point. He only removes it when in his own quarters, otherwise he usually wears the chest pieces of his armour.

[User]
Maverick and SAL had stood by silently as the shuttles arrived one by one. When they had all gathered and Captain Dawson began speaking, Grayson blinked twice to engage the cybernetics in his eye, and sized up everyone in the room. The soldiers were no threat, a few had minor cyber-mods, but apart from that, they were all human. He scanned each of his new teammates for weak points, smiling as he compiled information in case any of them ever turned on him. The Funganoid spoke up to the abrasive tone of their supposed squad leader. Maverick chuckled as muttered sideways at SAL.

"This'll be good"

---

"Sorry you shitlord, I'm gonna be in your way the entire damn time this project is going on. Better learn how to tolerate me now you bastard."
Stryker rounded on the Funganoid and marched over, one hand still firmly on his pistol's grip. He grabbed Tibulus' shoulder and pulled him close to the visor of his mask, whispering so none of the others would hear.

"You're the volunteer then? You must be insane, or a little empty up there, no one volunteers for a job like this. I'm a nice guy, so I'll give you a little advice. Change your tone when dealing with this lot. They're not as forgiving as me, they're dangerous, and won't hesitate to take you out at the smallest slight. Now that son of a bitch Dawson stuck me on this crew, and honestly I just planned on sticking myself in the cockpit, sealing the door and waiting this disaster out, but since you're here, that's out the window. I don't care if you like me or not, hell maybe I'll even co-pilot for free, but if you have another outburst like that in front of the crew, all you'll be piloting is the transport shuttle, got it?"

[Assistant]
Location: City of Jungenbru, planet Taranese.
Date: 3rd of February, 2162.

It was a busy marketplace, in the middle of a big city. People talked loudly, cars drove by both on the ground and in the air, chatter loud as people bought their varying wares and laughed happily in the bright city. This was one of the happier places in the galaxy, far from conflict and terrifying ordeals. In among these walked a tall woman in black, an alien with white skin and black eyes, carrying a weapon on her back. But, this wasn't unusual. Bounty hunter, perhaps, this place was filled with aliens as it was and she wasn't one of the worst offenders. She was speaking to someone, and it was reported that she placed a hand on his forehead, since this struck those who watched as just the slightest strange.

Then the woman, in a single deft movement, reached behind her with her free hand and grabbed her halberd before swinging it in a flawless slice which cleaved the man's throat. He died immediately and fell back as a string of blood launched into the air from the woman's sharp blade. Multiple screams were let out around her, and people called for the police. The woman was utterly calm, despite the action she had just committed and the screams of the terrified crowd around her. Police weren't far away, and arrived directing their weapons at her, telling her to stand down. She pushed them back and off their feet with but a motion of her hand, using psionics. They started firing. The woman deftly dodged, in a way that seemed impossible, like she knew where they'd shoot, before she closed the distance and hacked at them with her halberd.

That day, their police force was left decimated. The woman darted from officer to officer, cutting them, incapacitating them so they fell bleeding and screaming onto the ground. The ground and surroundings quickly became stained with red. When reinforcement came, they found her stained with blood and standing with her halberd raised over a sea of injured, screaming and bleeding police officers. And if that wasn't bone-chilling enough, the woman was smiling. A creepy, pleased and ill-fit smile, as if she was proud of herself or simply enjoying the sound of the screams which surrounded her. With this, it came as no illusion to the police that they needed help. A bounty was quickly put on her head.

With the bounty that was put on her head, a chase instigated. Yet, tracking her down seemed to always end up with blood spilled all over the ground around her before she fled again. Soon enough she vanished from the planet, just as more extreme measures were being put into motion, the law enforcements lamenting their inability to defeat the threat. And this one incident… was only the beginning of what would amount to the reputation of one of the deadliest criminals in the galaxy…

______

Location: Chronos Station
Date: Today (19th of August, 2166?)

And here she stood. In among these soldiers in armor suitable for the age and with blaster-weapons for shooting purposes or what-have-you-not other things, stood also a tall woman in what appeared to be medieval armor with gems attached to it. Lataniva listened, her skin unnaturally white and eyes black, in her armor, spikes going a bit of everywhere from it. Here and there on the armor were gems, including one on the headband that held her long black hair directed backwards. On her back was a long halberd, with small blades on the end, strapped to her back. She might have looked strangely out-of-place.

Some here may know her reputation. If nobody else, bounty hunters should know her, for a price has long rested on her head.

… would know of several instances where she has been reported to have killed and maimed people as well as law enforcement for little to no reason. Multiple bounty hunters that have gone after her are known to never have returned. Her reputation paints her as a savage murderess with powerful psionic powers, not to be underestimated. Last known location, Deadzone, working with criminal organizations. She kind of dropped off the map recently, random deaths not too unlikely in the Deadzone so it wasn't too unlikely she had been assassinated somewhere, but here she is.

She listened with a blank, almost mildly bored-looking expression as she looked at Dawson. This was information she already knew. Then, it was over to Stryker. He made it clear he had no intention of making friends. Didn't bother Lataniva too much. She understood. For the moment, there was nothing immediate she felt like commenting on, for now she would stand and listen. For now.

[User] The Funganoid chuckled at the thought of volunteering for this. This was a prickly bounty hunter, and one that might not like being taken for the edgy scum that Tibulus saw deep within him. Tibulus responded to the angered bounty hunter with a slight tone of sarcasm and a pinch of smartass. "Heh. I'm not volunteering to do this. Volunteering is unpaid work, if you forgot that. I'd also like to see you try taking down something that's already deceased, I really look forward to it. This being said, I'd rather not have to feel the simulated pain you'd attempt to bring onto me, and as such, I'm going to stand down and let you simply go wallow in your own self-absorbed past. You don't get in my way with what I'm doing, and I'll stay out of yours with what you're doing. As long as we both do these things, we're cool." A small jolt of electricity pierced through the jumpsuit and shocked Stryker as the Funganoid finished his sermon, and with that, the skeleton leaned back on the crate and continued to smoke his cigar. "Oh, and you'd be the one piloting the transport shuttle, not me."

[Assistant]
Location: Golat III
Golat III was renowned as being an extremely hot planet, with long hot days and short freezing cold nights. Despite this it was also know to be a large hotspot for illegal trade and under the table deals. This was because no law enforcement was on the planet that wasn't lazy or being bribed, and any orbital scans wouldn't work that well.

But, despite the heat there was one man out and about, and he didn't seem to be that effected by the heat. He was out there because he was looking for a certain building. He found it, and it was an old nightclub, or at least that what the owners wanted people to think. In reality it was a giant warehouse full of illicit items, drugs, guns etc. All worth a fortune.

All highly flammable.

A security camera caught the whole thing from outside saw what happened. The man in the armour kicked open the door and used his flamethrower on the opening. Fire and smoke obscured most of what happened on the inside, but according to most reports, the attack lasted about five minutes and about twenty bodies were found inside.

It was unknown however who the victims were, as the bodies were too scorched for facial recognition and all DNA was destroyed. But eveeryone was sure that the man with the flamer made it out alive, mainly because the cameras showed him leaving the building, dragging an unknown person behind them in one hand, and a large case in the other.

---

Location: Chronos Station
Hadrian was stood on the loading deck along with the others. He was there because after the incident on Golat III Hadrian was approached by some spook working for some governemnt agency that he immediately forgot what it was called.

They made him a very interesting offer. They wanted him to work on some top secret project, work with other bad people to do bad stuff for a quote 'good cause' as they called it. In exchange, protection for what he did in the past to all those other nasty people.

They also offered him something he had been looking for for the longest time. Information. He has looked for this info for a while now, he has tried many times to acquire it and many means to do so, everything from bribery to torture. And yet nobody told him, until now. All he had to do was be patient and keep killing people. It suited him fine, even if they lied about what they had, they knew something. And if meant going to war with an entire govenrment, so be it.

Meanwhile he had to put up with this lot. There seemed to be a few who thought themselves better than the rest. Like they shit gold rather than actual shit. You could practically see the dick measuring going on. But, he decided not to get involved with that. Ge would try and be somewhat friendly with the others, hell he had even heard of a few of these people and was impressed that the spooks had convinced them to tag along on their weird ass project.

Underneath his helmet he smiled a bit and decided to try and see if anyone was willing to be reasonable, at peast with him. He cleared his throat a bit and spoke as loudly as he could.

"Ladies and gentleman, I am sorry to bother you, but I am the ships chef. So, if there is any dietary requirements you have, anything you are allergic to or anything that you would like me to cook for you, please let me know. Thank you for your time."


[System]
Nickname: Friends and family often refer to her as "Jay" because of a slight obsession with bluejays when she was younger. She has given herself the nickname "Trauma".
Gender: Female
Age: 17

Brief Personality: Cammy used to be a lot happier and friendlier than she is today. But certain events have left her depressed and with a much darker personality than she used to. She tends to be quiet and somewhat moody but when she has something to say or gets angry then she's more than capable of vocalizing her thoughts. She's not fond of people touching her, mostly out of fear of what her power may inadvertently do to them.

Ability: Cammy is able to transfer other peoples pain to herself and others by touch. In addition to this, and possibly as a coping mechanism, her body is at peak human condition. She is faster, stronger, more agile etc. than a normal person. She doesn't need to eat or sleep as often as would normally be required and she doesn't seem to tire from exercise or strenuous activity.

Limits to Ability: When Cammy gets emotional, she can't fully control her ability. If she absorbs too much pain at any one time, her body may not be able to cope with it and she has, on at least one occasion, fallen into a coma after absorbing too much.

Age admitted into Riverwood: 16

Background: Cammy was born in Mumbai, the middle child to an Indian father and an American mother. Both of her parents were doctors and Cammy idolized them. She always dreamt of following in their footsteps. When Cammy was six, she and her family moved to America, for reasons Cammy was never fully aware of. Her parents opened a small clinic to treat the poor and underprivileged and Cammy was fond of helping out, often talking to the patients and easing their minds. Many people often remarked that they felt better just having Cammy around. This was a sentiment that seemed to echo throughout Cammy's life. People always liked her. Her parents patients adored her, her friends at high school loved her. She was a talented athlete with what seemed like boundless potential and it seemed like Cammy was altogether destined for a great life.

And then it happened.

Cammy remembers her mother's scream every day. While helping out at her parents clinic, Cammy heard her mom cry out from one of the examination rooms in the back. The young girl rushed into the room and saw the most horrific sight of her life. There was a man with a knife standing over her bleeding mother on the floor. Without even thinking, Cammy rushed to her mothers side, pushing the attacker aside as she did. When she held her mom in her arms, Cammy's powers seemed to kick in. The poor girl felt every second of her moms pain as she died. But Cammy remembers the gentle smile her mother gave her as she passed.

Cammy was filled with rage though. As her mothers attacker advanced on her, seemingly intent on ending her life too, Cammy lashed out and tackled the man to the ground. In a blind rage she punched him over and over again, transferring every ounce of pain running through her body to him with every blow. She almost beat the man half to death and admits that she would have finished the job had she not blacked out.

When she awoke a few days later, she found herself in an old motel room with her father and younger brother. Confused and heartbroken, Cammy listened to her dad explain that her mom was dead. She already knew this. What she didn't know was that her attacker had seemingly escaped in the confusion. Not only that but some men had apparently come looking for Cammy. Her father, seemingly knowing who these men were, had whisked Cammy and her brother away. He was concerned for their safety.

He explained to Cammy about his plan to send her to a special school. One that could help her learn about her abilities and keep her safe. Under normal circumstances, Cammy would have protested against this. But these weren't normal circumstances. And Cammy wasn't the same person she had been. She felt completely numb. Completely numb except for the dull ache at the back of her mind.

After arriving at the school, Cammy kept to herself mostly. The happy, friendly Cammy seemed to be gone. In her place was a quiet and moody young woman who would rather be by herself than around others. She finds it hard to connect to other people the way she used to and is still haunted by the face of her mother's killer.

Appearance:

[User]
"Calm down. You're safe here. Who's this Josie and why does she have you so upset?"

Terraline begged to differ. Any place Josie was in was not a safe place. "Well she's my sister but we don't get along so to say,"She told the girl briefly and slowly sat up.

"Careful, the paralysis they gave you was also poisonous. It almost killed you so take it easy. They take many measures to try to make sure the person dies. Consider yourself lucky. "Xander said dryly, taking her shoulder, "Save the parade of questions for later. There's a orientation for the new year. They're going to hand out class schedules and everything out. You can ask questions there." He winked again at the girl before turning to go into the next room. He paused seeing two newcomers."What is this a side-show? You people have nothing better to do huh? "He sighed, brushing between the boy and girl to Josie's room.

Terry took a deep breathe. Poisoned? She still had no idea what was going on. She found she did not care what had just happened to her. There was no way she was going to lay around in this stupid bed.
"Oh, no, no, I'm so sorry." came a female voice, "We didn't mean to intrude, we just-"

"-Had to see the new students." another voice finished. It belonged to the handsome boy beside the first girl. Terry hadn't seen anyone so beautiful before. She stared at him for good ten seconds before snapping out of her trance. They introduced themselves at Eilowyn and Sage. They seemed friendly enough but Terry didn't want to stick around here for too long. Josie wasn't far. "Hi! Nice to meet you, I'm Terry," She got up on wobbly legs and stumbled to her feet, only to slip. She caught the side of the bed and held her throbbing head in pain.

"All students report to the auditorium in the next five minutes!" came a voice on the loud speaker.

[Assistant] "WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?!?",Lucas gets up and brushes himself off before he heads off to the auditorium. Upon making it to the giant auditorium, he walks to a very far corner far away from the people gathering in the auditorium, hoping people didn't try to sit next to him. He pulls out an iPod, puts in some headphones, and then with some difficulty he turns it on and pulls up his music app. He pulls out one of his headphone buds.


[System]
* Age: 16
* Gender: Female
* Race: Oni
* Appearance: She's definitely on the short side... and the completely flat side. Akari is one of those highschool students (technically) that everyone eagerly mistakes for a middle school student.
* Personality: Everyone expects an oni to be brash, confident (at least until defeated), and rowdy. At the very least you expect them to be loud or somehow aggressive. This is all completely untrue of Akari, who is happiest communicating with everyone via technology rather than in person, and would much like to be back in her room undisturbed. Even when you get past the extreme shyness by enough association or shared interests, she's still meek, worried about her own strength, and disturbingly skittish. With an extra irrational fear of samurai, which is definitely a bit odd for a girl who's worn traditional clothing every day of her life except the one week she went to school.
* Abilities: Akari is a shockingly powerful oni, for someone that has had no reason to exercise her natural abilities to any extent. Despite her unimposing physique, there are very few people who are going to be winning if it's simply a contest of pitting strength against one another. She's about as difficult to seriously injure; blunt force is mostly useless without some serious strength behind it, and simply cutting her often requires magical assistance or massive force. Plus, like her mother, if it's not cut off entirely it will doubtless heal fine, and losing limbs would be more of a (physical) inconvenience than life-threatening.
Although she hasn't any practice at using it, Akari has inherited Ibaraki's affinity for Heat--not just heat in the direct sense, but heat as a driving force for changes. It's this affinity that led Ibaraki-douji so easily to shapeshifting, and allows for just reattaching missing body parts later. She's also inherited the ability--or some would call it a mystic scar--common to all of the famous oni's relatives: Lost Arm. So significant was the injury that, even now, her entire extended bloodline has the ability to summon a single phantom arm.
You know, if two arms isn't enough for hitting things.
* Skills: None of any particular use! She's actually rather clumsy, which is bad because of the strength that comes from being an oni. This also extends to a tendency to trip on things and fall down stairs, though that's more disorienting and worrying for people watching rather than actually dangerous to Akari.
* Equipment: "Mum said I should bring an iron club if something dangerous happens..." She also has a phone, "a little spending money" day to day--that is, enough money that anything of interest to a sixteen year old oni is fine--and a perfectly-accurate seeming ID that nevertheless claims Akari to be an adult, because oni and alcohol are inseparable.
* Brief Backstory: As her name attests, Akari is closely related to the Ibaraki-douji. Extremely closely; Ibaraki is her mother and Akari doesn't have the faintest clue who her father is. This, in and of itself, makes her the closest thing a rowdy bunch like oni can have to royalty--and also, with the benefit of being born into an extremely small family that has had a thousand years of practice avoiding danger and past banditry, used to the wealth that implies.
Akari spent most of her childhood in a very traditional home, essentially secluded from the non-supernatural world, and told all the supernatural stories one might expect. Of course, the viewpoint was skewed--the role of hero and villain constantly inverted, with the samurai and exorcists vilified for going after oni that were only acting according to their natural desires and compulsions. Given the obvious problems that a supernaturally strong child with some innate drive to prey on humanity could fall into, this also meant a distinct lack of school attendance.
They moved to a more modern house, one actually positioned conveniently for school, when it was time for Akari to start middle school. After attending for a few days, she just... stopped, the ease with which she had accidentally hurt someone in sports and the pressure of pretending to be human--on top of her own limited experience with so many people--just overwhelming the young oni. Although she's somewhat kept up with the schoolwork, a large amount of Akari's time has instead found itself devoted to popular entertainment--light novels, anime, and so on.
Ibaraki is hardly someone one would expect to be an experienced parent... or skilled at addressing this in a manner more appropriate than "fight it out", which would hardly help in this situation, so she's been trying to find someone that might help... or at least get Akari to socialise more.

[User]
Hina couldn't help but smile when Homura chuckled at her joke. She had thought it was a good one, albeit obvious, but it was always nice to get recognition, even from a Human. After being scared by Shina (but not that much because she knew it was the Tanuki and only cowered and whimpered a little bit) and insulted by Shu (to which she replied that his mom was, in fact, the dullard) the group was off to the playground. Hina would have to take extra special care not to just play on the swings and instead get to work on this important case.

Solidifying her resolve in the pouring rain (how she hated the rain. The gleam of the knife in the pale moonlight. Screams drowned in the oncoming torrent of-), they eventually arrived at the playground, Hina profoundly unwettened due to her ability to incorporealize. The little Zashiki clapped as Tomko performed her far-too-elaborate summoning, whistling and cheering, saying "that's my chuuni boss for you~"

A ghost did, indeed, appear. It was, indeed, very scary. The gushing slit in her throat reminded Hina of some not-so-fun times in her past, but she shook her head. No time for the past. She was on a fun adventure with people that probably cared about her.

Probably.

The ghost took a slightly more pleasing form, and Hina approached her with notepad in hand. Hina would start out good cop, but she could do bad cop too if the situation called for it.

"Hey~ I'm Hina, our group's lovable mascot character, and I wanted to ask you a few questions about a recent disappearance in the area. This playground, specifically. I'm all business, you know, so I'm definitely not tempted to play on those slides right now," Hina said, as stone-faced as she could make herself (which wasn't much), "so tell me... did you see anything unusual around the time the Makishima kid vanished? If you give me any good information..."

Hina leaned in and whispered into the ghost's ear, "I can give you a tip on beating Tomoko. Or alternately, if you want to do it without my help... I'll draw your OC. Don't worry about being cringe, I don't judge. All OCs are someone's baby, and I respect that."

[Assistant]
Shimizu Kaori
Playground

---

Alas, their time in the clubroom had come to an end...and so did her time with the Mujina. As much as she'd like to keep the small shapeshifting spirit with her, it would likely be nothing more than a distraction during their investigation. As such, Kaori would instead opt to leave her in the clubroom. Grabbing her own umbrella, Kaori would follow the rest out of the clubroom, and out into the rainy day that had been given to them.

A playground was their destination, hm?

"My my, an excellent display as always Tomo-chan." Kaori would agree with Hina, lightly clapping as Tomoko made her totally necessary and accurate summoning. And what a cute ghost that was summoned too! She had to wonder what such a cute ghost was doing here, but she couldn't really complain that the end result was meeting another cute ghost. "And what a cute little ghost, Ehehe. I'm Kaori, just a little spider employed by Tomoko-chan. As Hina has said, we're looking into a child that disappeared around here." The spider would give a brief description of Makishima Taro as well as the general time of day that the disappearance had occurred. "It would be of great help if you could assist us."

[User]
Homura had an umbrella, so at least getting there wasn't a problem for her. Tomoko did her thing, with a usual flair that was endearing, if unnecessary. And they had their ghost. There was something funny about her dropping the horror act once she knew who it was, but hey, everyone's got appearances to keep up.

Hina had already stared with the important questions, so there wasn't much reason to just chime in with "what she said." Instead, Homura started looking around the area. This definitely wasn't the usual place for a disappearance. Far too open, although they had already assumed a supernatural cause.

She turned her attention to the others. "What do you think? Know anything that likes to hang out in places like this?"

[Assistant]
Shina pulled her small Oni up out of the chair. "Come on, grab whatever you need." The Tanuki reached out towards the wall and an umbrella poofed into existence in her hand. Likely enough, she probably hid it so no one stole it. "You can walk under the umbrella with me, Akari-chan~" She'd wait for Akari to grab whatever she needed and urged her out so they didn't fall behind. Soon enough they reached the playground and the rain was dying. Shina just smiled as Tomoko summoned the spirit of the ghost. "Ohhh, she's a cute ghost. The ones I know tend to look a bit more spooky. Good people but if you didn't know better they'd scare your socks off."

She then turned to Homura who had asked them all a question. "What do I think? I think cute girls tend to hang around after a certain type of spider is done with them, but I don't think that's what you mean." She looked over toward the resident spider. "But... Other than that, I'm sure there are a small number of Youkai that frequent the city much as some of us present do but a playground? Hmm. Is there anything that would want to try bothering children at a playground in the middle of the day?" She shrugged. "I'm not too familiar with any of the really recent Urban Legends. Hanako-tan, Kuchisake-Onna... Any of those ones I know." Shina shrugged. She looked out to the playground and smiled as the rain was just about gone.

She poofed into smoke and her appearance changed again. Now, she looked like a younger child version of herself about Akari's size. "Hey, hey. Akari-tan~ Wanna play at playground?" She teased the girl, always enjoying teasing the girl.


[System]
M i m r i n"You haven't changed, no one has–you've just lost everything that made you great, and now you're…this."
Age

---

Early Twenties

Gender

---

Female

Archetype

---

Agile Duelist

Physical Description

---

Mimrin isn't an entirely imposing person. She is of average height, but lean and boyish, lacking bulk. Her hair has faded to a pallid white, with only the faintest wash of pink dye remaining in a handful of strands, suggesting a more bombastic life. Her eyes are a burning emerald, miraculously untouched by the resurrection.

The mark of her death is fairly evident: from the ugly scar running the whole of her neck, it's fair to assume she was decapitated, and not cleanly.

Personality Traits

---

There are two sides to Mimrin. The one who awoke would have been considered a disgrace to her warmongering homeland. She is reserved, timid, and shies from violence out of fear. Her Draethir blood has cooled, congealed, and left her with a worried, caring attitude. Some might even say Mimrin is friendly.

Then there is Mimrin, the Undying.

Most of those brought back from the grave may feel within them a tug towards their old ways. They may fight urges or give into impulses reflecting who they once were. True to the title once bestowed upon her, the Mimrin of old did not truly die. This past self still lurks in the depths of her mind, not a mere collection of impulses and memories, but a personality all its own. This Mimrin is vile, sadistic, hungry for violence and revels in coaxing the worst out of her compatriots.

And so the Mimrins, Redeemed and Undying, remain in constant struggle. While the former enjoys more frequent and complete control, as they say, old habits die hard. When backed into a corner, like any animal, instincts take over.

Attributes

---

The UndyingNothing in Draethir was given lightly, Mimrin tore this title from the hearts and throats and guts of her victims, and its blood-soaked meaning endured in her memories, even after death. It was the duty of Draethir assassins to hunt down valuable targets on the battlefield and dispatch them with vicious efficiency. Often they were considered suicide soldiers, engaging commanders, chieftains and archons, individuals they knew to be highly-trained. Mimrin survived though, on the back of exceptionally quick reflexes and a savage mastery in the art of fighting one-on-one. It stands to reason that these skills do not transfer well when out-numbered, however.
Squeamish SadistRedeemed, Mimrin is generally concerned for the well-being of others and tends to shy away from conflict or violence. She's even adopted a fear of blood since awakening. Mimrin the Undying however, was and is a sadist. She delights in the pain of others, sometimes just delighting in pain itself. Though plenty might find this detestable, at the end of the day if someone needs to be hurt, brought to the very brink of their tolerance for agony, she's the person to go to.
She Who Fights and Runs Away…There's glory in a bloody death, but there's more glory in living to kill again. Redeemed, Mimrin sees her natural agility and affinity for speed as a godsend to someone who fears and has no talent for violence. In truth however, these skills were developed out of necessity long ago, and Mimrin the Undying much prefers utilizing them to skirt about her enemies, often closer than is necessary.
The Real YouMimrin lost her memories in the redemption, like all of the redeemed. However, with her past self enduring still, Mimrin the Undying is more aware than most just how changed they can be. If she herself can be reduced to a trembling coward, than the others brought back as well would surely wretch to see what they had become. She looks for signs, for slips back towards her compatriots' more ruthless natures, and tirelessly attempts to urge them back to their old ways.

Inventory & Equipment

---

Wrappings of the Draethir AssassinsA tattered mix of dark leathers and iron, one would be hard-pressed to call what remains of this ensemble "armor." As well, besides the faded black-and-red colors, the only claim it holds to Draethir is Mimrin's memory.
The Tyrant's ClawsGifted during her service, these daggers were the only things buried with Mimrin. While once they may have been beautiful weapons, time has rendered their value almost entirely sentimental. Their conditions are poor, with the better of the two missing its tip and bearing chips along its inward-curved edge, and the worse snapped off entirely an inch or so off the guard.

Gift of Rebirth

---

Duality/Assimilation:In addition to being initially unaware of the gift in general, it comes with a secondary caveat–it can only be used by her former personality. This Gift is a supplementary to Mimrin's fighting style. Conceptually it is a form of sustain, with which she can recover damages done to herself by inflicting damage upon others. In reality what this equates to is a violent, horrid exchange of flesh. By carving into another, the viscera produced replaces what Mimrin has lost in a whirl of scarlet veins. The extent of this reparative Gift's uses is thus far limited to healing external wounds.

[User]
A u d h i l d

---

The Well of Valdis
12th Day of Autumn, 1088 AD

---

Young fire, burning in a tenebrous pit. A flame which birthed from the lost and irrecoverable past to give life anew. It moved, searing and scorching through the black as it expelled waves of colour and light; for once lit, it would not be extinguished until death consumed it offering.

The fluttering of eyelids, still sealed shut, signalled the time to once again rise. They feared to open, feared to look upon the world with a sense of enthusiasm, for it was the scent of the dead which was recognised by young Audhild. The wet smell of rotting flesh and the sickly taste that swirled through the nostrils was inescapable, uncontrollable, and forcibly consumed by those who had awoken. A pulse of instinctive energy erupted from deep within the woman's gut, a contraction of vomiting reflexes that produced no more than gaseous air. Century old taste of maggots and bacteria.

An alien scream flowed from her lips as her body reared awake. Eyes torn open, the pants of hysteria, the adrenalin which slumbered for so long kicked Audhild with a medicinal high that could almost send her back to the depths of death. Her mind had forgotten everything that once was, but her body was not so complainant. Without thought, without hesitation, Audhild climbed through the seas of corpses that laid upon her unfortunate soul as she rose to the summit of flesh and bone. It had become a birth of life through the gift of death — a reaper's failed task, or a god's forsaken gift.

"Hvor er jeg?" Words muttered from a language unknownst to even her as she surveyed the hills of tarred blood.

"Where am I?" She repeated, finally clearing a section of intellect with much needed logic and curiosity. Expressing the confusion to demand an answer from whatever benevolent being that happened to be watching over them at this point in their life. As though it was the will of the universe Audhild heard the subtle sounds of voices from afar, resonating through the pitch void to her sensitive ears.

"Who goes there?" She bellowed, husky and full of might as she dropped to her knees in a scampering forage for any form of suitable protection. A blade, a bone, even flesh to throw would be better than nothing, but the more she searched the more she found which was not suitable to her needs. Her hands brushed over every surface in a panicked frenzy as two names snuck their way into her thoughts...

Oyen & Stohl...

Audhild froze. For the first time since awakening the Skogarian woman had recollected some form of memory. The most insignificant of drops in the ocean of the past, but enough to remind her what it once felt to be human.

"Where am I?" A third time for asking the same question, but this time she was awaiting an answer. Too many questions were formulating inside her head, and none had been truly answered... all except that she knew she had somehow been reborn.

[Assistant]
U L R I C

---

The Well of Valdis
12th Day of Autumn, 1088 AD

---

Breath. The sudden, automatic spark of his nervous system suddenly reacting again was startling, yes. Like the dull rumblings of someone who had slept for a very, very long time. Synapses fired, thoughts began to process. He began to feel again, for the first time in...how long? Concepts like time, cold, numbness, words and abstract thoughts began to flood his mind as he stirred, moving his limbs first, forcing his torso upwards, then sliding his legs over where his body had been laid. Senses began to flood back in as the still-young man fluttered his eyes open.

Smell came first. Death and decay. It was...familiar to him. But why was it familiar? He looked over himself the best he could. Cloth leggings covered his lower body, with old leather boots adorning his feet. He also had thick leather gloves on both hands, and covering his torso was a cloth jacket with broken links of chainmail ringlets around his shoulders, falling like forgotten vines of ivy around parts of his chest and torso. Armor, yes. But forgotten or damaged to the point that a thick gambeson would provide better protection.

He finally stood upwards, examining the room. Sparks began to fill his head, like tiny embers before they lit a great bonfire. Yes, he was…Ulric.  As he scanned the room, he knelt over to find a discarded weapon: what had once been a greatsword had shattered halfway through. It looked almost awkward, the hilt being now almost half the length of the blade. But he knew that he used a weapon like this...once. But when?

He took a deep breath of the acrid air moved from his resting-place into the greater chamber of this pit. It seemed others were waking and talking. He scanned the faces as he moved forward, blade at his side. Several women and an old man. An odd place to find such a motley assortment as any...but where were they? The question seemed to echo around each of them, and he did not feel the need to vocalize his own question. His gaze rose upward, towards the roof of the pit.

 "Wherever we are," his voice finally broke the air of questions from the different people, "It appears we have been placed among the dead." His face was grim. "Whether we are interred in a tomb or a grave-pit, I would much like to see the sun and breathe air that isn't so ripe of corpses."


[System]
Age: 23
Height: 5 ft 5
Weight: 150 lbs.
Allegiance: 'Hope'
Distinguishing Traits: Iris has a scar on her left hand, located on the wrist which was gained a few years back. No other scars but due to her pale skin Iris tends to bruise easily. Personality wise she is quite head strong, stubborn and isn't afraid to voice her opinion. Although she has light blue eyes in contrast to her fair skin in certain lights her eyes can be mistaken for grey.

Short Bio: Growing up in Aspiria sounded wonderful and it was if you were on the upper side. Iris however had grown up with her father on the rougher side, the commoner side of the city where you lived within your means. If you couldn't afford dinner well you wouldn't have dinner, it was as simple as that. It didn't really matter to her though because she had a loving family, her father worked hard day in and out and her mother kept the house maintained and food in their stomachs and it worked for them.
It all had changed when her mother fell ill and sadly passed away not long after. She had outright refused to use their money on medicine that would help her, and she was a stubborn woman a trait Iris had inherited. That death however sparked a rebellion, it fuelled her father's courage who gathered as many men, women and even teens that was willing to fight. He called it hope, hope for those wanting that better life.

Years had passed with many strikes; fights and a war had started between the two. Neither side wanted to relent, and her father Regis was focused on bringing down the hierarchy. His intentions had been pure at the start but since he was considered the leader of this rebellion, he had become accustomed to the ease of everything. Food on the table, weapons and money all donated to this cause and it fed his greed. He hungered for more, but no one knew that side. Not yet.

Now he had raised his daughter following his beliefs, ensuring that she bore just as much hatred for the higher ups as he did. He constantly twisted and manipulated her mind making her mother a martyr, ensuring that she believed it was their fault and that they had killed her mother and as Iris knew nothing else, she was left to believe such stories. Now being a young adult, she had trained herself to fight in this war, she could use a gun if needed but she much preferred being stealthy favouring a dagger. Using her size to her advantage and her skills in stealth she often gained information as leverage, but she had yet to kill someone, she had yet to have blood on her hands.

_________________________________________________________________________________

[User]
Hours had passed and Harry had been in and out of dozing off in his chair, nothing had changed when it came to Iris she had stayed in the bed and what he could only assume was in and out of sleep. Though she had refused to eat lunch, the doctors had brought him some food which was great and thoughtful, but her food laid on the table untouched alongside a cup of water. A part of him had wanted to tell her to eat something but it wasn't his business and he knew he shouldn't be getting involved. It was just his kind tendency; he had a kind heart.

"Knock, knock."

Frowning Harry glanced up as he heard a voice at the door, he wasn't expecting anyone, and the doctors weren't due. Shaking his head as he rose to his feet, he glanced at Iris seeing how she just stayed in the bed, this time however she was looking at the ceiling rather than the wall. Happy that she wouldn't just bolt, he doubted she could, but you couldn't underestimate these things he opened the door taking a step back when he saw Matthew stood there. "Matthew. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I seem to be missing a prisoner. One that could probably do with a last round of questioning. We need to push a little bit more about her… relationships" Matthew sneered as he pushed his way into the room two soldiers following in behind him.

"Now wait just a minute. Jacob told you she won't be returning until tomorrow at the earliest." Harry commanded as he moved quickly stepping in front of Matthew stopping him from getting any further. "You can't move her, you're not allowed, and you have no authority here."

"Ahhh, it seems maybe I was misinformed then? I mean. You have the authority to release her now. I'm sure she is stable enough; she looks fine to me." Matthew stated as he folded his arms glancing over Harrys shoulder at the girl, he had pushed too hard with questioning the night before.

Scoffing Harry shook his head as he frowned clearly not impressed, "Matthew, you should stand down. I'm not authorising anything. The girl stays here for one more night. I'd quit whilst you're ahead. You almost killed someone for your prized information."

"Well I clearly didn't, look she is fine." Matthew spat as he waved his hand over to the girl on the bed, who had by now realised his voice and his presence. Nodding to his soldiers they edged forward only to be shut down by Harry once more with a stern look in his eye.

Iris never imagined hearing his voice again, it sent shivers down her spine as the voice reminded her of what happened. The questioning, the drug that had been a whole new level of pain. The fact she had revealed how she loved Caspain and she didn't want to delve into that more, she didn't want them to know about their feelings because it could get him into trouble. Curling up into a foetal position she closed her eyes trying to will it away, to stop her thoughts and black out his voice because it did strike fear in her.

"Leave. That's an order, or shall we add another strike to your record with disobeying yet another order from someone higher up than you." Harry kept his voice calm, but it was clear his tone carried some weight because Matthew hesitated before huffing over not getting his own way.

"Whatever I'll collect her first thing and we can resume my orders in the prison." Matthew stated shooting a gaze full of hatred towards the girl on the bed, he would be back. First thing in the morning to return her to the prison where he felt she belonged.

[Assistant]
As soon as Caspian was back inside the sanctuary of his bedroom, he gave Jay a call to let him know that he'd gotten the master key they needed. He had to keep his voice down low to make sure no one outside the room overheard him, but phoning his friend was safer than sending a text. He couldn't leave any trails whatsoever that he was involved in breaking Iris out of the hospital, and he knew that even deleted messages could be recovered with the security team's advanced software. By contrast, no one would know what they were talking about during a call unless they happened to be recorded while they were speaking.

Not long after he hung up the phone, a maid stopped by to bring him his dinner, as was becoming the new norm for him while he was avoiding his father. Atlas hadn't tried to seek him out since the appointment with Dr. Foster, but he didn't want to risk running into the king in the kitchen. He still didn't know what to say or do around him when tensions were still running high, so it was easier to become a temporary recluse for now and put off the inevitable conversation and/or argument they needed to have for later.

For the rest of the evening, he stayed put in his room, passing the time by absentmindedly scrolling through social media pages and skimming any articles or blogs that came up that looked interesting to him. Every hour or so, he took a few minutes to exercise his right hand, which was steadily regaining mobility as the Accuparacin mended his broken wrist and reduced the swelling. However, in the back of his mind, he never stopped thinking about the operation. He was restless with anticipation as the time to leave grew nearer, mentally reviewing the plan to make sure that he didn't mess anything up when they got to the hospital. They were only going to have one shot to save Iris from being killed and prevent both of his friends from being arrested for trying to aid a criminal. The stakes had never been higher.

As the clock neared eight, he got up from his bed and went into his closet to change clothes. Since he'd been home for most of the day, he'd been dressed casually in sweats, but he needed to look like he was planning to spend the night out. He put on a polo and black jeans just as a maid came to the door to tell him that his friends had arrived to pick him up. "I'll be out in a second," he called to her as he pulled the top down over his torso. Earlier that day, he'd fed the staff and guards the lie that he was going to a bar with Jay and Miles. They had bought it, and since his pain level had improved greatly from the morning to the afternoon, they hadn't tried to discourage him from going out.

Once he was dressed again and had put on a pair of shoes, he headed downstairs and out the front door, where his two friends were waiting in Jay's sleek, black Oracle Gen II. At the sight of the luxury car, Cas had to bite back a smirk. He was glad that the car-enthusiast had finally bought himself a model that he'd wanted for a long time, but he was certain that the flashy car had another purpose too.

"Get in, stranger; we're going clubbing!" Miles called, popping his head out the passenger-side window and grinning at him eagerly. Even from a distance, the prince could hear the heavy thump of the subwoofers as Jay turned up the music inside the vehicle. He rolled his eyes amusedly and climbed into the back, ducking down carefully and leaning his weight on his right foot to avoid straining his injured leg with the motion. As soon as he closed the butterfly door behind him, Jay peeled out of the courtyard and drove for the highway.

"Sweet ride," Cas commented, raising his voice to a yell to be heard over the blaring music. Despite the seriousness of their reason for meeting that night, he couldn't help the grin that had taken over his lips. For a moment, it almost felt like just another night out, as if they were really going to a club to drink and dance and lose their senses like they used to before he'd been taken by the Scourge.

"Thanks!" Jay called back. "I figured we could take the sexiest car I own, so everyone knows we're at the club tonight."

Cas nodded, having already guessed his friend's idea. It was all for their alibi. They were going to make a noticeable entrance at one of the hottest bars near the center of the capital and park in a spot that was visible from the security cameras in the area. After going inside and spending about a half hour or so making sure plenty of people knew they were there, they would slip out the back and take Miles' car—which had already been parked in the alley behind the club—to the hospital. Later during the night, they would go back to the club and "leave" together in Jay's car, thus making it seem like they had been there the whole night.

"Did you bring the extra clothes?" he asked loudly. Another part of their plan was that they were going to change shirts and put on baseball caps to hide their faces from the cameras at the hospital, so it would be hard for anyone to recognize them.

"They're in a duffle bag in my car," Miles yelled back, flashing him a thumbs-up.

"Perfect," Cas's grin broadened. "Let's go clubbing."


[System]
Age: Appears about 30 or so.
Appearance:

Bio: Dharichar draws his unholy powers from the depths of the underworld, giving him strange magics. He lives to spread corruption and chaos, and drag others down to the underworld. The purer, the better.
Powers: Pyromancy. Carnomancy. Necromancy. Power to summon lesser demons. Power to make a Devils Deal. (One wish, in exchange for one soul.)
Weaknesses:Holy magics, paladins.

[User] Cesidia smiles. This is incredible. Being a demon isn't that bad, huh?

[Assistant] "Aside from everyone trying to do you in, yeah."

[User] Cesidia chuckles. "People always after you, huh? That would be nothing new for me."

[Assistant] He begins calling up some of his fiery magic, enjoying the heat racing though his veins.

[User] Cesidia smiles at the heat.

[Assistant] He takes flight, orbiting around her head.

[User] Cesidia smiles and laughs softly as she watches him and she flies on her own.

[Assistant] He begins gently looping in the air. "Flying's one of the few things that brings me any measure of joy."

[User] Cesidia smiles and flies around. "I can see why."

[Assistant] He lands next to her body, which hasn't moved from her position, and she can see a mark hovering around her body, in a deeply complex language.

[User] Cesidia opens her eyes and her mouth moves as she reads the mark, mouthing the translation.

[Assistant] It seems to be a very long list, all but unpronounceable. "Yeah, don't try reading that. It's the fine print from my bargain. That's just a small part of the Deal."

[User] Cesidia recites the translation awkwardly but almost perfectly. "Interesting fine print."

[Assistant] "Yep. As I said, a Demon Deal is very strange and powerful."

[User] "How long does this last?"

[Assistant] "The Deal lasts until the terms are met, or until you die. The latter one is far more likely. This Mind Meld lasts until I release you from it."

[User] Cesidia nods. "Okay. Shouldn't we be going after the king?"

[Assistant] "Yes. Still need to find out where he is, and to retrieve some ranged weapon."

[User] Cesidia nods. "And when are we starting this mission?"

[Assistant] He lands beside her body, and lightly taps her head to send her mind back. "Now."

[User] Cesidia blinks and her eyes refocus. She gets up on unsteady feet and nods. "Good."

[Assistant] He spreads his wings, stretching them.

[User] Cesidia stumbles and straightens, shaking out her limbs.

[Assistant] He nods. "Yeah, it takes a bit before you get reoriented."

[User] "Thank you for the warning," Cesidia rolls her eyes.

[Assistant] He shrugs, his tail whipping about.

[User] Cesidia sighs with a frown. "So how are we going to find him?"

[Assistant] "I could summon a few scouts, but I doubt you'd approve."

[User] Cesidia raises an eyebrow and she hides her smile. "You care what I think?" She shrugs. "No matter, if it will speed this painfully long mission up, then so be it."

[Assistant] He shrugs. "You'd complain about it if I didn't mention it."

[User] Cesidia raises an eyebrow. "Wow, you really don't know me. Go ahead and do your thing."

[Assistant] He chuckles. "Yeah, about that. I'll need some blood to work the spell."

[User] Cesidia rolls her eyes. "How much?" She picks up a sharp rock and slices her hand open.

[Assistant] He twists his hand, and the blood is drawn from her hand.....and keeps going. She feels weaker every second. "Oh, just nearly enough to kill you. That's all."

[User] "No. No! You said I'd kill him! You thieving bastard!" Cesidia growls and struggles to keep standing.

[Assistant] He smiles, and stops pulling on her blood, just before she loses conciseness. "You noticed?"

[User] "Of course I noticed, you damn jerk!" Cesidia stumbles and collapses. "Did you even need my blood?"

[Assistant] "Yes." He wraps it around his hand. "You've never been with anyone, have you?"

[User] Cesidia blushes and crosses her arms. "I don't see what that's got to do with anything."

[Assistant] "Because that means that the blood will be that much more effective."

[User] Cesidia frowns, blushing. "If I uh... slept with someone?"

[Assistant] "However you want to phrase it, but yes."

[User] Cesidia blushes even deeper. "Unfortunately for you, I've never had the chance."

[Assistant] He shrugs. "In that case, it's much more useful, but for other spells."

[User] Cesidia crosses her arms, blushing deeply. "Could we talk about something else now? Like why you need blood?"

[Assistant] "Because you need blood to use blood magic."

[User] Cesidia sighs. "Okay, let me rephrase. Why you said I wouldn't approve of this spell."

[Assistant] The blood forms into a small pentagram over his hand, and begins glowing. "I'm summoning more demons."

[User] Cesidia raises en eyebrow. "You can do that?"

[Assistant] "Yes. Of course, I can only summon small ones. Imps and the like."

[User] Cesidia looks around for small demons. "So they're going to be scouts?"

[Assistant] A tiny rift forms over the circle on his hand, and a few tiny, black, winged demons fly out, and dart after her.

[User] Cesidia watches them in curiosity, even as they go after her.

[Assistant] They land on her, and chatter incoherently, sniffing her.

[User] Cesidia sits patiently as they sniff her. "Do they do this to every human?"

[Assistant] "No. Normally, they just eat humans. They can smell my mark on you."

[User] Cesidia blushes faintly and clears her throat. "The Deal's mark?"

[Assistant] "Yep. Look at your hand." He snaps, and a tight arcane ring spirals out behind him, the same one appearing on her hand like a tattoo, though much smaller.

[User] Cesidia looks at her hand, her blush ebbing away.

[Assistant] He chuckles. "Among other things, of course." He licks his lips without realizing it.

[User] "Other things?" Cesidia blushes when she looks up to see him licking his lips.

[Assistant] He shrugs, his wings making the moment somewhat awkward. "It can....change, depending on how you feel about me, and the Underworld in general."

[User] Cesidia blushes faintly and looks at her hand. "Has it changed?" She looks behind herself. "And what are you looking at that's so delicious?"

[Assistant] He smiles, his teeth hidden. "I have a feeling you know. You just want me to say it."

[User] Cesidia crosses her arms and looks him in the eye. "I do want you to say it because no I don't know the answer."

[Assistant] He chuckles. "You, of course." His eyes glow strangely, more white then their normal, fiery red.

[User] Cesidia blushes and gasps softly. "I- I thought you didn't like mortals like that."

[Assistant] He shrugs. "I never have. But you're....different. I can't put my finger on it."

[User] Cesidia huffs softly with a soft smile. "I suppose this is a first for both of us then. I can't exactly say I've fallen for someone like you before if I am to be honest. Hmm..." she sighs. "If you were to make me a demon, would that be an alternative to collecting my soul on your end of the bargain?"

[Assistant] He shrugs. "I'm....not sure. Devils don't have souls of our own."

[User] Cesidia frowns then sighs. "Do you control your terms? What you get out of the deal, or is it specifically for souls?"

[Assistant] "I could, but the more things I add, the less of a change they'll agree. 'It takes two men to make a Deal. A desperate man and a winner.' That's an old saying."

[User] Cesidia smiles faintly. "It started off with me as the desperate one, but in this situation wouldn't we both be... both?"

[Assistant] He rubs his horns, thinking. "In a sense, but you agreed to it so I would help your kingdom. I offered it, because I want and need mortal souls. I can see how they would both apply to me, but I'm not seeing many ways for you to be a 'winner'. Logically anyway. But in the terms of relationship.....I don't know. Never had one with a mortal before."

[User] Cesidia blushes and sighs. "Do you know why I want to be a demon?"

[Assistant] "I'm not positive. But I might."

[User] Cesidia crosses her arms with an amused smirk. "Take a stab at it."

[Assistant] "Because I am." He flaps his wings.

[User] Cesidia smiles faintly. "Something like that. Okay well let's get those scouts out there."

[Assistant] He twists his hand into a claw, and the scouts fly off, heading for the goblin camp. He chuckles. "This is....a most unusual turn of events."

[User] Cesidia smiles softly. "Understatement. Gross understatement. I never intended to find anyone. Ever," she admits with a one-shoulder shrug.

[Assistant] "You didn't have an interest in it, or you never thought someone would fall for you?" He begins spooling out a rope of fire like a string.

[User] Cesidia shrugs. "Both. I suppose one led to the other though. I never thought someone could fall for me, not for my status or.." she blushes faintly and looks away. "I've been told I'm beautiful," she huffs. "Anyway, because i thought no one would fall for who I am, I lost interest."

[Assistant] "Or....what?" He smiles slightly. "I'm the same way. I never had any interest in mortals, because what mortal would want a devil as a companion? There are those who'd have a child with one, true, but to stay with one?"

[User] Cesidia blushes furiously when he mentions having children with a demon. She smiles softly and before she can think twice she gently kisses his cheek. "I want to stay with you," she says quietly.

[Assistant] His skin is warm, and feels strangely rough, like leather or scale. He smiles. "I think that sounds....nice." He spreads his massive wings.

[User] Cesidia smiles. "Good. I wasn't exactly going to ask for your permission, but I'm glad your on board. I'm in love, but I'm not a creep." She turns away, part of her praying he didn't catch what she'd just admitted. "When are those scouts supposed to come back?"

[Assistant] He looks at the sky, watching. "When I call for them." He smiles. "You are?"


[System]
Genre: Medieval Post Apocalypse
Age: 19
Hair: brown, hip-length, wavy, course
Eye color: brown
Height: 5'5
History: Formerly, Quill was the Duchess of Siena, betrothed for a period of almost three years to Duke Gregory. However, when her husband was found stabbed to death in their bed, Quill was charged with murder and stripped of her title. She was placed in a prison cell in the king's castle to await her execution a month before the plague struck.

[User]
Lannis Tyrel

"...and wasn't it you who said I needed peace..."

 The only survivor.

The city was full of dead men. The putrid corpses of friends and neighbors were everywhere. At first, they had attempted burials, but quickly the need overwhelmed the able, and soon they had to settle for mass funeral pyres outside the city. Eventually, as the plague continued, even that effort became unsustainable and the bodies of the dead simply lay where they fell. Lannis was just a young man, a man grown to be sure, but in so many ways a boy still. His father had died early with the illness, and his mother soon after. He had had brothers, but through grief or some other affliction, possibly the very same that had taken the others… they had been a part of the last pyre, one that he had lit himself. Now seemed nothing lived on the city but himself, and the flies.

At first, he was too frightened to leave his home. He took the first day as though it were any other since his folks passed. He woke with the sunrise, milled grain into flour for a few hours until he had worked up an appetite for breakfast. He'd told himself that there would be survivors coming today, and he would have an ample supply of flour to sell them for their bread. It had been folly, because nobody came. The next day, he ventured outside and was immediately driven back into his home by what he saw. The bodies were everywhere. They lay in the streets, against fence posts or on the stoops of buildings. Old man Holland looked as though he slept in his hayloft, pitchfork still clasped in his hands, while the famed, drunken Ser Jorn Highwall galloped around town on a frothing mare, his limp body held in place by a thick rope tied around his waist and legs.

The days came, and the days went, and nobody came. Silence greeted him in the morning, and silence sang him its deafening lullaby at night, with the buzzing of fly's wings the only break between, that or the sounds he made while out and about. A few days ago, he'd even taken to talking to himself, just to remember what it sounded like to hear a voice that wasn't inside his head. With each passing day, he grew more adventurous, less concerned with the dead. A week ago, he broke into the meat shed of the butcher, where the old man was known to hang his salted hams for storage, and seeing as how the old man was dead in his bed, he felt it was ok for him to help himself. He took a ham, a wheel of cheese he found still rolled up tightly in it's cloth, and when he returned home, milled himself some flour for bread. He borrowed books from the Church's library, though he couldn't read, he did enjoy looking at the illustrations, imaging just what it had all been about. Sometimes he pretended he could read, and made the story up as he went, but eventually, he grew bored with the practice, and left the books in a pile.

It was last night, while he lie away in his bed, under his new blanket he took out of the seamstress's shop up the road, that he thought about leaving his home. The kingdom seemed to be dead, nobody has stirred this whole while, that he could see… hell, even the castle was still and quiet.

"and if the King's dead, and all the people are dead, then by the King's law, all lands are passed down through blood or marriage to the last survivor. Though I don't know the whole of it, it must mean that now, I am king.. seeing as how someway, it has to all lead back to me, right?"

Nobody answered to tell him not, so he nodded to himself, affirmed in his own logic, and went to sleep that night dreaming of his new found status as a royal. The next morning he was up and dressed in a pair of new britches and a tunic of azure and crimson, fashioned in the way of the wealthy merchants. His boots were one he had found off a man a few streets over, good, quality boots. "Good enough for a king, eh?" He chuckled to himself, and before the house was turned, Lannis found himself sitting on his throne, legs crossed and the royal crown perched upon his dirty brown hair.

Emptiness forced him to abandon the throne room after only a few mock trials in which he found the mason's boys guilt of being prats and ordered them beheaded, and he took to exploring the castle. Sadly, though not unexpectedly, Lannis found the castle in the same condition as was the city. The dead lay as they had fallen, and inspite of his royal claims, seems that only the flies ruled here. At length, his search of the castle turned up the dungeons.

He stood at the top of a dark stairway, looking down into the deep darkness, sure to himself that nobody would be left alive down there. The darkness was deep, daunting. Something about the place seemed to make the darkness more frightening, as though by virtue of it being a dungeon, the darkness was possessed with some otherworldly abilities. The chill it gave him was nonsense, and to prove it to himself, Lannis took down the curved stairwell into the darkness.

Lannis stopped when he heard the noise, the first unnatural noise he had heard in weeks, at least, the first he hadn't made himself. Fears forgotten, concern forgotten, Lannis raced down the remainder of stairs towards the noise. It wasn't until he was halfway down a corridor lined with heavy wooden door set with iron bars, that he even though to call out. When he did, his voice was loud, excited.

"Is someone there!?" he called, looking around him, hearing his voice echo on the emptiness of the cells. This was a terrible place, cold and dark. How someone could be here, Lannis had no idea. Alone, with nothing but iron and wood. It would have driven Lannis mad. But it didn't matter to him. He could only hope that he had heard what he thought he'd heard, a survivor like himself.

"Please, are you there?" He called out again.

[Assistant]
This wasn't how it was supposed to end, thought Quill. Her head was full of a dull buzzing, and even though she'd pillowed her sunken cheek on her arm, the world spun around her again and again and again. Still, her fingers gripped the underside of the door, pulling on it over and over to make it clank, metal-to-metal, against the frame. Relentless. She'd always been relentless. The sound would be her final act. She'd leave the dead, empty world, the last human to make a sound. Clank, clank, clank.

Her eyes closed. Sleep would overcome her soon, though she fought it. She'd die in her sleep--one of the few peaceful moments of her life.

A sound snapped her out of her buzzing stupor. Quill's head lifted inches off her arm from where she was sprawled on the cold, dirty floor. It was all she could manage. Had she imagined the sound? She listened hard and heard nothing. And then--there it was again.

"Please, are you there?"

Someone was in the hallway. Her heart jolted in surprise. She'd been so sure she was the last one left and that she'd die there, locked in her cell with no way to escape. But no, she was wrong. Maybe only those in the castle had died! Maybe there was life out there still! And someone was in the dungeon, a man, and he could save her, perhaps. Maybe he'd free her. Maybe he'd take pity. Quill clanged the door harder, trying to draw him nearer. She tried to speak, but only a rasp came out, barely audible even to her own ears.

If he finds out why I'm here, he'll never help me, Quill realized. Society reviled murderers, regardless of the circumstances, and the Duke had been beloved. He'd given money to the needy, visited monasteries, and charmed the lords and ladies of the court. If whoever was down there learned who she was, he'd gladly leave her there to die.

So I'll become someone new, she decided. She'd shake off her identity, much as she'd shake off the dust and dirt covering her, and she'd be reborn as someone new.

"I'm here," she tried to call, but her mouth was so dry the words made her cough. Still, she didn't give up. "I'm alive!"

[User]
Lannis Tyrel

"...and wasn't it you who said I needed peace..."

It was her sounds, more than it was her voice, that alerted him to her presence; the heavy metallic sound of the door catching, and the rasping cough, drew him. Quickly, his eyes scanned around the room, finding pitched torches standing unused in a corner of the room, but the brazier that had been with them was out, as cold as though it had never been lit. The corridor was dark, and little to no light fell into the prison from outside sources. She was ensconced in darkness darker than night, and stepping into that gave Lannis a chill as though the touch of the dead had brushed the back of his neck.

"I hear you, I'm coming," He spoke, without thought of who this person was, or why they had been put into this place in the first place. His excitement at finding someone alive overrode all other sense of self preservation and caution. He simply didn't think whomever it was would actually attempt to hurt him. The trouble was, he couldn't see. The sounds told him that the door was locked, and Lannis didn't have a set of jailer's keys, or know where to look for one.

"Keeper rattling the door," He spoke, wanting to use the sound as a guide, while his eyes groped the darkness immediately around him, in search of either a source of light, or a set of keys, or anything useful. A few steps and his foot kicked up against a hard wooden surface, and his groping hands gave the impression of a flat topped desk or table of some sort. He felt parchments, the feel of melted wax long dried. His fingers stained as he knocked over an ink well, but he gave it all no mind, failing to feel anything metallic that could be used to strike to light one of the torches, or anything he could use for the door.

"Do you know where the keys are… or where the jailer lives? Perhaps he has them on him?" Lannis was thinking aloud now, unsure if the prisoner could even hear him, unsure if they could even talk, and in truth, he doubted the reality of their existence. Perhaps the whole thing was his mind's trick on him, like the way he thought he saw old man Potter blink before he took that silver crown out from beneath the set of towels on the counter a few days ago. He didn't know if the money would be useful anymore, but he figured he'd have more use of it than the old man.

[Assistant]
Quill wedged her fingers beneath the bars of the door, grasping for freedom she couldn't reach. It was so close now... She realized that the air inside her dirty cell was suffocating her, and she needed the air out in that corridor where another survivor walked, rifling through things, making sounds. She needed that cool, clean air.

He asked where the keys were and her eyes shut, squeezing, pinching closed.

"No...."

She had no idea.

"They always... There was always a guard with--" She stopped, trying to swallow and clear her throat. He needed to hear her, but her voice was so weak. "--with keys... on a ring. A large ring... They must leave it here," she reasoned. "Surely they don't take it home. Please," she pleaded. "Please find it. Get me out of here. I haven't... water...."

She lowered her cheek back down to the dirty stones, exhausted from speaking. Everything ached, yet this was her chance. Her entire life rested in the hands of the man on the other side of her cell. "Don't let me die here."


[System]
Nickname(Optional): June Bug

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Physical Appearance: Sayeeda is a medium sized woman of middle eastern extraction. She has the wiry build of a swimmer or long distance runner. Her eyes are dark and almond shaped and focus slightly beyond the horizon most of the time. Sayeeda keeps her hair just longer than a buzz cut in order to facilitate wearing her helmet. She has a large tattoo of several owls in flight on her right shoulder. Sayeeda does have feminine curves but her breasts are on the smaller size of average and she does very little to emphasize her gender.

Clothing:  Camo pants and a tank top are her civilian dress. She wears a ceramic breastplate if she is expecting trouble and also has a commo helmet which she uses in battle and for technical tasks.

Personality: Sayeeda is a former mercenary soldier and has a fairly relaxed view towards life. Anything and anyone not currently shooting at her is the second priority. She is very tightly wound when it comes to people doing what she expects them too in dangerous situations and she is extremely punctilious when it comes to fulfilling any sort of formal contract.

[User]
Sayeeda didn't much like funerals. In theory Andor's Armored had always tried to recover the bodies of fallen troopers for proper interment. That wasn't always practical. She had too many memories of manhandling the bodies of fallen comrades over the side of the fighting vehicle during an engagement or coughing as she breathed in the finally dispersed vapor of plasma torn troopers. As the captain of the Highlander however it was proper that she was present as the three soldiers who had died of their wounds were loaded into the airlock and jettisoned into the roiling tide of RIP space.

Aiden, having shed his armor in favor of what she could only assume were the most subdued clothes Neil had ever owned, spoke a few solem words and then dismissed the gathering. Three more of his men were critically wounded but had been saved by virtue of putting them in stasis within their three theoretically functional cryo pods. It was axiomatic that if a soldier could reach advanced medical care he would survive, modern medicine didn't lose too many people who got to a surgery while still breathing. Several other men were due long sessions with the autodoc but would emerge none the worse for wear.

When the formalities were done Almaric's advisor, the grizzled old sergeant, invited them to conference with the Prince. The cockpit was chosen by virtue of being the only large space that could be isolated from the surviving troops. Several of his hangers on tried to join the meeting but the lack of space and a stern glare from the sergeant were enough to dissuade them.

"Firstly I would like to thank you again for saving my life and those of my men," Aiden began with a grateful nod at the Highlander crew. Out of his armor he was a surprisingly impressive man, he clearly spent a good deal of time out door or else worked hard to maintain his physique. That wasn't Sayeeda's usual impression of aristocrats, they tended to let themselves go as far as their egos would permit.

"I would like to offer you a suitable reward as soon as I return to *BLANK*," he went on grandly.

"Well we will be happy to accept your gratitude," Junebug commented drly, having gained the distinct impression she was interrupting a rehearsed speech. Aiden turned his dazzlingly white smile upon her with an engaging nod. She could see why Taya was smitten with him.

"I would also like to discuss chartering this vessel… The Highlander is it? Direct to *Blank*, I will compensate you for your lost cargo but it is impressive I return home immediately," the prince declared with surprising earnestness. The old sergeant was nodding his approval of this course of action.

"Surely you would be more comfortable on a proper passenger vessel…" Sayeeda began to object but Aiden was shaking his head even as she began the objection.

"Comfort is an irrelevance Mistress Cykali…"

"Captain," Junebug corrected.

"Captain Cykali," he finished with an apologetic bow of his head.

"You see the story of how my vessel came to be wrecked on *BLANK* is a complicated one."

"It is treason sire, call a spade a bloody entrenching tool," the old solider grumped earning a slightly pained glance from his principle. Aiden spread his hands and leaned back against the viewport.

"I have something of a reputation as a scholar of the Ancients," Aiden went on, unconsciously his eyes flicked to Neil's tattoo before returning to the group. That showed a surprising degree of observational skill given the crisis they had just come through.

"I was on my way to view the ruins on Hue 326 when I decided to stop and investigate the rumors of uncharted Ancient sites on *BLANK*. We had almost landed when an explosion tore out half our engineering section and the ship crash landed." Sayeeda let out a low whistle and Taya gave her a questioning look.

"According to the charts Hue 326 is another week or week and a half away," she explained.

"If he hadn't come out of the RIP…"

"My ship would have vanished forever and no one but the plotters would know what had become of me," Aiden concluded, his face hardening for the first time into something beyond a jovial aristocrat.

[Assistant]
"Or the rest of your crew," Neil completed for him, his nod toward the Sergeant and the Councilmen was sympathetic. The Prince cleared his throat, but nodded in agreement, accepting the criticism. Neil knew the Prince obviously cared about his crew, or at least Neil had that impression. But he still had to voice it and remind the Prince. He wondered what Amalric would think of Neil as a former planetary insurgent and known criminal. Technically rebelling against Fortus law was rebelling against Imperial Law.

Good thing they were very far away from that system.

"What were you to look for on Hue 326?" Taya asked, her interest of the subject plain, though it was obvious the Prince also had something to do with it. For his part, the handsome aristocrat smiled at her question, and she practically melted under his gaze, though he didn't seem to notice.

"Literary sources tell of a planet where the birth of the ancients occurred." He explained. "An Eden of their civilization. It's...there are many planets that are possible candidates. This was one I felt was correct due to the alignment of the systems in one of the old maps I've found, but then again it could have been a barren rock. We'll return after we refuel and resupply, once we get these men home."

"My prince." The councilmen pipped in, and though it was a subservient request for his attention, the elder did have a scolding look about him. "You do know that soon you will ascend to the throne? You need to prepare."

Aiden let out a sigh, nodding. "Yes, Ranald I realize." He acqueised. "We'll see what the future holds, yes? Speaking of which, I would be honored if you and your crew would deign to stick around once we make it to our homeworld. If your business is not too pressing. I would be summarily crucified if my saviors were not shown to my family and some of the public. Perhaps if it was too late in the R.I.P. season, it would be a place to rest?"

[User]
Neil and Sayeeda exhanged glances. She hadn't heard of Dar'monad but logically it had to lay ahead of them or she would have seen it while searching for destinations on previous legs of the journey. The profit margin on the cola they had been hauling had been slight even before they had let a score of shell shocked soldiers trample all over it. They seemed to come to a mutual decision.

"Alright, we can shape course for Dar'monad," Sayeeda agreed with a professional smile.

______________________________________

Neil was taking his watch on the bridge when Aiden unexpectedly clambered up the ladder. For once the noble didn't have any of his entourage with him. It was what passed for the night cycle on the Highlander although Junebug was notoriously ambivalent to things like sleep patterns. There was a quiet hum of electronics lit mostly by the roiling golden fire of this portion of the RIP through the main view screen.

"Ah Mr Edwards," the Prince began his gaze sweeping the cockpit to make sure they were alone.

"I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you privately. A remarkable ship and a strangely assorted crew yet all the Captain will give me are vague monosyllabic responses. You are both former military yes?"

[Assistant]
Neil had been merely relaxing, his eyes having grown somewhat heavy. Usually he was a late kinda guy, but that last bump on the head really had thrown him for a loop. The young pilot had propped the chair back and had taken the time to recline comfortably when the Prince arrived and stole his attention.

"Ah, Prince Aiden. How goes it?"

The heir smiled, not used to being so informal, though he clearly didn't mind. He continued with his line of questioning, and Neil spun his chair around, considering why he was curious. After a moment, he supposed he didn't care too much. What would be the harm in telling him, anyway. They were heroes.

"Yes. The Captain's been fighting a few years longer than I have, but I've seen my share of professional action." Neil admitted.

"She seems a remarkable woman," Aiden confided, continuing before Neil could have a reaction to that. "Did you serve together?"

"No, I served on my home planet of Fortus. Sayeeda's been all over the place. I couldn't rightly give an accurate number of worlds, but she's fought on more than most people have probably been on." Neil said. "I did most of my travel after being discharged. Now we just get by best we can."

"What is the young girl's name? Taya?" Neil nodded. The Prince gave a small smile as if he had a very amusing thought. "She seems quite intelligent, though a bit out of place on this ship."

"I think we're all in agreement on that, but we like having her. If you want to know more about her, I'm sure she'd love to talk to you about it." Neil chuckled, and he took a sip of the cola he'd had next to him. The Prince idly gazed at the cockpit's inner workings as he continued, eyes following the row of knobs that indicated the thrusters. "You know I've been looking for contractors to perform some work for me. I cannot confide the details at the moment, but needless yo say I'm impressed by the ship. Captain Cykali tells me you're a fine pilot."

"Thank you, your highness."

"By the way..." He asked, casually pipping the question within the conversation. "Where did you get that marking on your hand?"

"My first job aboard the Highlander. One of the locals gave it to me. I decided to keep it. Cool tat, right?"