[System]
Alias: Blitz

Position: eleventh grade (high school junior)

Abilities/powers: Electricity manipulation/generation - Shawn has the ability to control, direct, and create electricity from his body. He is essentially a living, rechargeable battery

Electromagnetic manipulation - a sub power to his electricity manipulation, Shawn has also started to learn how to control electromagnetic fields, using them and warping them to his aid. This is very much a lesser power to Shawn, and he can only use it to assist with his electricity manipulation.

Plasma Absorption- Shawn can absorb any form of plasma and take it into his body, storing it for later use. However, he can only hold so much before it starts to have negative effects on his body, warping his senses and even causing body spasms. The level of plasma he is holding can usually be discovered through his eyes.

electrical immunity- due to his abilities, Shawn does not feel pain from electricity, nor to outside electrical forces have any effect on his body, unless it is an inhuman amount and something not even he can contain.

Sex: Male

Age/Date of Birth: 16 - May 7th, 1983

General appearance:

Shawn stands at five feet, eight inches, Not as tall as his titan of a mother, but he is already taller than his father. Though he has a rather lithe build, he's strong enough to tackle most problems with his body, though he prefers to use his powers over brute force.

Additional Appearance/costume:

More of a prototype than anything, Shawn rigged up his own suit with the assistance of those in the school. The faceplate beneath the visor of the motorcycle helmet has small nodes on the inside to interact with Shawn's powers, allowing him to change the colors of the mask at will. The entire suit is lined in a similar way, the crevasses glowing with the activation of his powers, much like the suits from the movie TRON.

Personality:  Though a self proclaimed 'chiller', Shawn is at the point in his life where he is so stressed out that it has made him numb and even. He swears that he's listening, especially when his head is propped up with his arm and there's a trail of droll leaking from his mouth. He does try, though. He is a bit of a perfectionist in the few things he can actually focus on, but otherwise airy to the world around him. He is the worst combination of "driven to take on the world" and "could not get off the couch for unlimited money". He likes to talk, mindless chatter and banter during fights, but mostly just whispering conversations and thoughts to himself, slinging thoughts and ideas around from him to himself.

Special Skills: Escrima Stick proficiency, Tonfa proficiency, moderate athleticism, moderate wiring skills.

Place of birth: Massachusetts, USA

Weapon(s) of choice: Shawn... borrowed, two old police batons to work with his powers, juicing them up with delicious electricty to pack an extra punch.

Medical information: Fit as a fiddle.

Brief History:Born to a hearty Irish mother and immigrant father, Shawn was raised in a house of mixed cultures was was spectacularly odd. Both of his parents were mutants, his mutations being an amalgamation of theirs. When his powers came, his family welcomed them with open arms, and the town was curious, but not negative of his abilities. However, his parents could only teach him so much. He was sent off to the Xavier school to further hone his powers and help those in need.

Relatives: (Any living, dead, or important relatives your character may have)

Name: Doctor Booker "Blake" Smith, PhD

Alias: Lightsmith

Position: Student Councilor, Therapist, Substitute Teacher

Abilities/powers: Light Manipulation, "Hard Light Constructs" - Blake has the ability to channel "Mana" and create solid structures out of light. The strength of the constructs depends on how much mana he makes it out of, and is also dependent on his physical energy. His constructs can shatter if he is not strong enough, and he can make them move and morph at will.

Sex: Male

Age/Date of Birth: 36 years old, 2/5/1963

General appearance:

Additional Appearance/costume:

Personality:Lax and Easygoing, Blake was a part of one of Professor Xavier's first classes after the Apocolypse incident, and only left the institute to get his degree in psychology. He returned to the institute to help Charles and stand in for any of the big X-men and women when they could not teach their own classes. Not exactly a hippy or a guru, but he does sometimes drift into those categories.

Special Skills: Doctorate in Psychology, pistol training, combat training.

Place of birth: California

Weapon(s) of choice: His constructs, namely. He has an emergency pistol that he can pour mana into and fire light, but hardly uses it.

Medical information: (Any medical conditions your character may have, not a necessity)

Brief History:

Relatives: (Any living, dead, or important relatives your character may have)

[User]
Chrys flinches as Cable touches him. He could feel the many timelines the man has touched, all the scars of multiple breaches through reality he took. Part of him wanted to recoil away from the touch. But one part pushed for the slight chance of doing something big. He latched onto the feeling and focused himself. The grey field around him bubbled and the pressure intensified. He knew what he needed to do, but he wasn't sure he was strong enough to pull it off.

'I have to remove time and anchor them into subspace...' Thinking quickly he put together a plan and acted on it. By now, it was as if unbearable weight was on everyone but Chrys, as his field took up every last bit of air around them and condensed it, pressurizing the area. Chrys holds out a hand and focuses on the box in his mind. 'Here goes...' He takes a dewp breath and releases it. "Anchor and Shift..."

The field pops, taking everyone but Chrys out of the area and into a dark unseeable void where pressurized pockets of air surrounds everyone. Moments later a man steps out. It's Chrys... But it looks like he's aged several years with his features sharpening and he's grown a short patchy beard. "Well now I know what the Cost is then..." His voice is noticeably deeper. "That and I think I gave myself an aneurysm. You guys have your chat and whatever... I'm gonna drift here for a bit..."

He let himself fall back. If one could do such a thing in an endless void. He had several revelations about himself now, and was beginning to understand what was going on with his powers. His Cost was his own life, something that while seemed bad, withlut using his powers and living healty, he'd practically be immortal, since time only affect him slowly. However he jumped to where he should be now, since he'd removed his own field to transport the others into his subspace domain along with more than enough air to keep them alive. The air part was tricky, as too much could cause them damage and too litlle would kill them. But by doing all of that caused time to catch up to him, an eighteen year old. He felt much better, albiet the blood currently leaking from him in copious amounts, but he'd done something amazing.... And he'd never forget this.

[Assistant]
Bonny did not get involved in all of the punching and fighting. While the rest seemed rather skilled at fighting and dispatching enemies, Bonny… well, was not. When guards were visible down the hall, she intentionally hung back and let someone else engage in combat, trying not to look at all. It was kind of odd, being the only one without some form of combat skill, but in the end things worked out just fine.

 She poked her head into the room last, slipping inside once everything was in the clear. Only one person was in the room, and they looked pretty important. Booker acted quickly to prevent any backup being called (with a rather cool looking mutation to boot), and it was hardly any time before the target was immobilized and caught. Nice, things were going pretty smooth already. She heard Emma speak before feeling the telepath wrap her arms around her, and Bonny gave a simple nod in understanding before everything went black.

The world spun back into focus in an unknown amount of time, and for a second Bonny thought that she had woken up again. It took the wall closing up on its own to show that she was, in fact, dreaming- to her, it simply felt like she was observing the room from where she was. She chalked up her ability to see the events around her to Emmas telepathy, and left it at that.

 Although she couldn't chime into the conversation at that point, she listened to the best of her ability. Up until Cable mentioned "When this man dies". Bonny looked around the dreamscape she was in, trying to find Emma before just giving up and speaking to the air. Maybe she'd hear her. "Uh, did I hear that right? 'When this man dies'? I thought we were on a 'no murder spree' here. Like, none." The worst they'd done was just beat up a few people, right…? They weren't- heck, she wasn't going to have blood on her hands from involvement.


[System]
Species : Elf
Gender : Female
Age : 54
Height : 175

Jazdia is a tall elven woman with a pale complexion, blue eyes, and long, waist-length platinum blonde hair that she often let untied. Elves are all born beautiful and Jazdia was no exception. Her attractiveness is often described as an eternal winter barely touched by the sun's embrace. But that's just another way for the gentlemen to adore her face that seemed to always sport a perpetual frown. At least that's original.

Former leader of a peacekeeping organization, Jazdia understands it would be in her best interest to omit such details from her MO. Not that she is a wanted criminal or anything; she ended her tenure on a relatively high note actually. The thing about working as law enforcement is you will have no shortage of old enemies who would persistently try to even the scales with you even after retirement, and Jazdia does not wish to be tangled with such... nuisances.

So now, she is just Jazdia. An adventurer, restaurateur, and tea connoisseur. Yeah, just put that in her business card.

Traits and spells:

-Blood Phobia (passive)
Taking damage would result in lower combat efficiency. Jazdia will start sweating, having a shaky aim and blurred vision. At a certain threshold, her Ultravision cannot be activated.
-Curse of the crimson flame (passive)
Resting near any fire or under the sun would slowly regenerate her power and heal her wounds. However, any healing magic cast on her would instead deal damage.

-Arrow Enchantment.
Channels magic into her arrow. Can only use one type of arrow in a single turn. Has three flavors:
A. Crystal Arrows.
Glorified fireworks with an equally destructive explosion contained inside. Can be programmed to either explode upon impact, delayed, or remote detonation.
B. Crystal Arrows
Non Explosive variants, but hot as hell it pierces through plates and mails like a hot knife through butter. Armor Piercing, nuff said.

-Counter
Any close-range attack will be answered with heavy retribution. Figuratively speaking, sometimes this extended to the non-combat situation. Proceed with caution.

-Ultravision
Channeling magic to enhance her vision, Jazdia can see pass through solid objects and magical manipulation such as illusion and darkness. Imposes varying degrees of strain on her body depending on the area covered and elapsed duration. Prolonged abuse of this skill might result in myopia and gradual blindness.

-Vengeance
At this point, taking heavy damage would no longer weaken her. Now she is faster and deadlier and angrier. The third flavor of her enchanted arrows unlocked:
C. Poison arrows. Deals heavy damage over time. The enemy killed by this arrow will have their body burst into a swarm of black lepidopteran that attacks nearby hostiles until either they or the caster died, or the effect expires. At the end of its fleeting lifespan, the insect will return to the caster and heals her wounds. Has 3 days of cooldown.

Equipment
-Lurea
A recurve black bow adorned with gold and silver linings on its limbs. Has an absurdly light draw weight of 44 pounds.
-Maugrim
A long knife with ivory handle and elven runes inscribed on its blade.
-Medium-sized satchel bag
A plain-looking bag that doesn't seem too out of fashion despite being designed with function in mind.
-Pocket watch
A momento from her father. Well maintained and functioning properly.
-Medikit
Generic first aid kit.

[User]
The elf's punched was enough to turned his head to the side and almost lost his balance as he kept stepping backwards. It gripped the katana and executed an instant stroke onto the elf. As the kitsune made a full power charm, the katana stopped right on the elf neck. A demonic growl can be heard. One of his hand let go the handle of the katana and it reached the conceal part on his back. Revealing a tanto and rose it up. He quick stabbed his own arm that handling a katana.

The body knelt down on the front of the elf, disarmed as it gentle landed to the ground. "Tch..." he produced a small demonic tone. He released the tanto on his arm and bleed. Chounan snapped out, his pupil eyes came back to normal and started a heavy breathing and sweating.

"G-Gomen nasai..."

[Assistant] -snip-

[User]
Henri left the constabulary office of the Delving estate, with the crates of aged liquor in tow. He HAD intended to sell them for a tidy profit, but the lack of leads on where to meet his associates had left him with a different use for the aged liquor products.

Starting a circular path from the city's edge, around its perimeter, then moving inward on each pass, he would eventually cover the entire city. If somebody was foolish enough to try and jump him for his cargo, they would certainly regret it, and most likely, not live to tell about it. Thankfully, this proved to not be the case.

The plan was simple-- Ask about the one thing he knew about with certainty. A young elf woman with blue eyes, and prematurely graying blonde hair, who was a retired adventurer, and was connected with the events at the mausoleum earlier that day, going by the name of "Jazdia." Public houses were a likely good place to dig for such a lead, as drunken men were often quite eager to part with what they knew-- or thought they knew-- in exchange for yet another round. In the cases where the patrons were probably not suitable to ask, the proprietor of the establishment could likely be 'convinced' to part with what they knew for the right price. Given the extreme age of the liquor he was hauling-- and thus worth a small fortune for each bottle-- such persons would likely talk once they saw the contents.

Nearly every place he went to either had no useful leads, incoherent or inconsistent information, or knew nothing at all, much to his frustration. The sun was very red and low in the sky by the time he sauntered into sight of the Black Swan-- a mixed class 'dive', from what he could tell-- and showing signs of many drunken brawls, openly displayed gambling, and even more shameless displays of public drunkenness. He initially just milled about within the establishment, tuning his hearing for any and all of the latest gossip. Apparently, 3 men were enraged about a 'rat of a nobleman' who had cheated them at cards. Others were furtively questioning if the perp had gone off with the part owner of The Angel's Share, and some even questioned if she had been involved in the disturbance at the royal mausoleum later that day. Rather than risk causing a brawl over high priced liquor, he had taken the time to unbox a single bottle of the fine "Delving Family" whiskey, and secreted it in the deep inner pocket of his coat before entering. After a 'discrete' conversation and exchange with the owner, he finally got a solid lead on where Jazdia might be. A rather posh and prim little flophouse near the city's central square, called "The Angel's Share." Apparently, she was an "Angel Investor", who had bought into the nearly insolvent business, and had started enacting changes that were not very welcome at the Swan, as it had started drawing away some of the Swan's customers. Henri thanked the man, and exchanged him the agreed to bottle of prize liquor as payment, then headed out into the street, to make for the city's center. He remembered thinking that he had recognized her, since he owned property in that neighborhood, and he kicked himself for not acting on the hunch sooner.

The sun had already set by the time he left the Swan, but he hoped that perhaps he could catch up to the other team there, if they had stayed for the night. If she was a partial owner of the establishment, it would make sense for her to board her crew there, and avoid paying and having room ledger paperwork that could be confiscated and investigated by corrupt officials.

He had made it about halfway down the nearest avenue leading toward the square, when a loud explosion rocked the streets, followed by furtive cries and screaming. Ducking into an alleyway, and temporarily hiding his burdens there, he carefully climbed up the wall and onto the nearest building to get a good view of the city's rooftops. Fire could be seen clearly in the gloom of the skyline at night, and shortly thereafter, another explosion, and finger of orange glare popped up quite some distance away... Then a third.

This was a highly irregular series of events, and with the city locked down, the odds of it being somehow connected with the abduction of the prince and the failed assassination of King Frederick, seemed more than just "highly probable." Sliding down the wall with a loud scraping, and landing with a cross between a thud and a clang, he threw his coat over the hidden chests to hide them further, then skated as quickly as he could to the site of the nearest explosion.

The city guard was all over it like flies on a dead horse, as were the fire brigade, and several angry but well dressed men with stern, stony, and scowling faces. They had gathered at the demarcation line set by the guard commanders and the fire brigades to keep townsfolk and gawkers out of the scene, while the buildings were extinguished and investigated. Henri made discrete inquiries with the guards about the attacks, who owned the warehouse, and what was stored there.

He discretely left the scene of the first warehouse, then once more hightailed it to the next-- repeating his discrete investigatory inquiries, then moved on to the third.

Nothing seemed to indicate a real motive, but a pattern in ownership did present itself. All of the warehouses belonged to a group known locally as "The Black Serpent Guild". They apparently dealt with just about any and all classes of merchandise, in addition to a number of shady and ethically dubious services, but sufficiently 'above board' to be able to operate in the open. The cause of the explosions were believed to be foul play, as none of the warehouses really contained explosive materials that could spontaneously detonate, but many did contain flammable trade goods, such as wax, bottled oil, and bundled fabric yardgoods. No evidence of how the warehouses were bombed was readily apparent to the initial investigators however. Whoever was responsible, had chosen a very discrete method, but the police lieutenant believed there was magic involved, due to the lack of material evidence.

It was well into the earliest hours of the morning by this time, and he was furious that he had essentially wasted hours of precious time chasing after a particularly elusive goose. He returned to the alleyway where he had hidden the cache of old booze, recollected his coat, then headed for The Angel's Share.

It was well into the morning by the time he arrived. While the owner, A gentleman named "Lucas" with more pomp and posh than a man should ever display in public without a license, acknowledged that Jazdia was a partial owner, and had roomed guests for the night, he had no knowledge of where she had gone. Only that she had done so with some degree of practiced expediency, and was expected to return. Henri was pleased that at least she would return here later, and asked the man if he could secure the old, moss-eaten trunks he was carrying. The man initially behaved as if Henri were a deranged beggar man with such a request, but quickly changed his tune after learning of the trunk's contents, and examining them himself. He staunchly refused to hold the merchandise, asserting he would not be responsible for holding stolen goods. Irritably, Henri left the establishment, and secreted the trunks at his own private residence nearby.

Shoppers, merchants, haulers and tradesmen had already taken to the streets and stalls long before, so he took the time to ask about the most conspicuous among them-- the disgustingly overdressed foreign warrior, "Chounan." With smiles and generally pointed fingers, the booth and stall merchants pointed him down the road his quarry had taken, and he moved with haste and purpose.

It did not take too much more time, before he came within earshot of yelling, screaming, and the clashing of weapons. Pausing for a moment, he was SURE he recognized some of the voices.

Gathering up the front of his jacket, he skated as fast as was realistically possible over the uneven cobblestones of the street, and toward the source of the disturbance...

[Assistant]
Jazdia shook her head in disgust as the samurai knelt before her. It was too late, and an apology could only do so little. Pathetic, she muttered, her blade was glowing brightly in response to Chonan's dishonorable attack, but she then decided, instead of ending this Samurai's life, she would rather save someone's life.

The metal door toppled sideways after Jazdia slashed its hinges down. Seeing the glowing blade severing iron with fiery sparks, the slaves were horrified, confusion filled the room, some raised their hands in defense, and a few others cower at the corner, far away from the door and their executor's reach. Not in the mood to convince anybody, she hissed. "Leave!" and that was the only word she could afford to say.

Near the exit, there was another chamber, blocked by another metal door with many locks. The door had a barred window, and if one peeked inside, they would see a child in her early teens imprisoned in that chamber. Her ankle was shackled to a heavy iron ball, and she sat on a stone dais with legs outstretched.

Jazdia called, but the girl only tilted her head. She wore a ragged top tube and skirt with a distinctive pattern. She has curly brown hair and a beautiful face, blemished by dust but unscarred. A piece of cloth covered her eyes and she seemed to be heavily sedated. Jazdia could only imagine the unspeakable cruelty they put her through. Someone had to pay for this.

She tightened her grip and slashed everything that holds the door to its frame. Hinges, latches, chains and locks alike, but the door wouldn't budge. Only when Jazdia touched the metal slab to push it down she realized there was a sealing magic that held it shut, and it was linked to one person.
"Gerald, it must be him!"

Without mentioning Chonan, she stormed for the exit and breached its door, reluctantly leaving the girl to her fate. Angry and bitter, she partially acknowledged that her anger was unwarranted. These atrocities were a common occurrence anywhere around the world, and she had seen a lot. So why this one affected her so much?

"Miss Rosenving, this way."

Their exit was a tunnel that leads to a circular arena. From here, the yelling becomes louder, and in it, Gerald's voice could be heard. Or she thought. Why she was so angry?

Perhaps everything would be easier if she could find a way to justify... and atone.


[System]
Runan Isles Savior Corps

---

Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps.

Character Info

Name – Besca Darroh
Age – 35
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered.

She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own.

Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was.

Character Info

Name – Dahlia St. Senn
Age – 18
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help.

She had no idea.

Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels.

Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken.

Character Info

Name – Hadrian Ghaust
Age – 38
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots.

However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind.

Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him.

Character Info

Name – Safie Calhan
Age – 22
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots.

While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do.

Character Info

Name – Lucis Abroix
Age – 25
Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C.

Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage.

As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix.

Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.

[User]
Besca caught it early, like she'd glimpsed Quinn's mind the moment before she broke, and grabbed hold of her. She felt the tears on her shoulder, saw the looks of the few brass and the Board's dumbstruck representatives. They pulled out their phones, dialed with unmasked and quickly-growing panic. Part of her was glad—they were about to tell the Board exactly what she had tried to tell them before, that this was a mistake. Part of her wished she could stick around to hear the shrill screams from the speakers, too.

The rest of her wanted to get Quinn away.

"Come on, come on, let's go. I got you," she whispered, walking her hastily to the exit. They made it out just as the sobs started, and Quinn's jellied legs nearly brought them both to the dirt. Dahlia came to her other side, helped how she could.

"It's alright," she tried, but must have realized how shaky her voice was, and went quiet.

They got back into the pavilion and all eyes whirled on them. Besca let Dahlia guide Quinn to the small, sectioned-off bunks as Toussaint came running over.

"What the hell happened? Is she okay?"

"No she isn't okay!" Besca snapped. "She's fighting a deathmatch tomorrow, and she only drew her weapon for the first time last week!"

A look of shock came over Toussaint's face, and Besca found it absolutely enraging. "Don't you dare. This is your fault, Jaime."

"My fault?" he spat, incredulous. "You're the one who insisted RISC couldn't afford to pay restitutions for Magnifique! You're the one who told me to find another way to keep our countries from splitting!"

"Which I expected you could do without getting duped by your own people! Or do you think Casoban plans to pass up on Eusero after we get trounced here? I'd think you did this on purpose if I didn't know you were an idiot!"

Toussaint's face screwed up in fury, but Besca only stepped closer.

"I want you to send a message to your PM, Jaime. I want you to tell him that if he gets what he wants, and Casoban partners with Eusero, and RISC leaves here without Quinnlash Loughvein, that we're not allies anymore." She leaned down, so close she could feel his breath shallow. "I want you to ask him if this deal is worth every Savior you've got—because I promise you Dahlia isn't gonna be satisfied until she's mulched every last one of them. And neither will I."

---

---

Dahlia had squared Quinn, sitting with her on one of the bunks. She hugged the girl tightly, mind racing. She should have been like this—broken, sobbing, dreading the fact that she was about to lose Quinn to something so absurd.

But instead she was angry. Afraid, but also furious. Indignant. No, no she would not lose Quinn. She couldn't. Besca had been so adamant about the consequences of interfering but faced with the alternative, she was prepared to cut down every pilot and Savior on Illun if it meant keeping her sister safe.

"Shh," she whispered. "It's okay. Quinn. It's okay—I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Look at me," she gently nudged the girl's face up. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm not letting her kill you. I…I might have been too slow at Hovvi. I won't be this time."

[Assistant]
At length, Quinn's shuddering cries faded, and she released her deathgrip on Dahlia as she fell silent. Another minute or so passed. She remained still, unwilling to move. She felt...safe here. With her.

Then, still unmoving, "Dahlia..." Her voice was nearly inaudible; weak and weepy, it came out in a thin rasp. "...I ruined it, didn't I?" Of course she had. She'd lost control, said terrible things. She had been so angry. And so violent. Those thoughts, running through her head like a broken faucet, pure and potent as water. Fight. Fight. Kill. Kill. Kill. She didn't know which ones were Quinnlash's and which were her own, and it shook her to her core. Was that the kind of person she was, deep down? Violent and angry? What's wrong with me?

She shut her eyes tighter. Then, "Can I—"

The bunks were small, she'd seen them earlier, not to mention being on one right now. They were barely big enough for one person to lie on comfortably, realistically. And it felt absurd to even imagine asking it. Absurd. Stupid. Childish. But imagining herself lying there, in the dark, awake, alone—knowing what was about to come—agonizing over it—it was almost enough to draw a renewed flow of tears out of her. Instead she squeezed her sister tight again, clung to her, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay.

"—can I sleep with you tonight?"


[System]
Appearance: Stands at 5.28 ft (161 cm); she has several scars on her body from different animals

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Mount: Ceratosaurus (Onca)

Occupation: Dinosaur veterinarian

Specialized Skills: Knowledgeable in the areas of saurian veterinary and behavioral (though only dinosaurs); good enough with a rifle to hit anything in the 6-10 ton range in a vital area

Items: - Owns a .700 Nitro Express mammoth gun (it's only thanks to a lot of practice that she doesn't knock herself on her ass every time she uses it), which was formerly owned by her father
- A .22 caliber pepperbox for self-defense
- Ammo for both weapons
- A locket with pictures of her parents
- Several kits of medical and veterinary tools
- Various clothes

Personality: Despite usually being a quiet and polite young lady, Sarah has something of a stubborn streak. Her parents raised her to be kind but firm, but she's not above fighting if she needs to. Despite her outward civility, she distrusts most people, and prefers working by herself or, better yet, with dinosaurs. When on her downtime, she likes to read, observe wildlife around her, and write notes about them.

History: Born and raised in the Midwestern prairie region, Sarah comes from a line of ranchers and farmers, though her mother was the town's only doctor. After school she would help her father tend to the livestock (Pachycephalosaurs and Psittacosaurus, to be precise). However, as the years passed, illness and predators thinned the herds to the point that Sarah's parents were forced to sell the remaining animals and their home, and move eastward. To help with money, she took a job as a veterinarian's assistant. After saving spare change for a long time, Sarah bought herself an egg, which hatched into a tiny (and very hungry) Ceratosaurus. Three years ago, both of Sarah's parents contracted Typhoid fever, and eventually passed away. After that, she moved around, finding work wherever people needed help with their dinosaurs. About six months ago, she received a letter from one Michael J. Horner, and she decided to prepare to head west.

Other: - A fairly good rider when it comes to theropods and bipedal herbivores
- Likes animals more than humans, and it often shows
- She is very affectionate towards her mount Onca, to the point that one might think she was talking about a puppy when she talks about him
- She knows she's short for her age, and if you point it out, she becomes very annoyed
- A good way to get on her bad side is mistreating animals

Name: Onca

Species: Ceratosaurus dentisulcatus

Appearance: Length- 15 ft (4.57 meters); Height- 5.5 ft at the hip (1.68 meters); Weight- 600 lbs (272.16 kg)

Age: Seven years old

Gender: Male

Role: Mount, Guard

Stats:
* Size: ▣▣
* Strength: ▣▣▣
* Speed: ▣▣▣
* Intelligence: ▣▣▣

Special Abilities: Osteoderms on the back and neck provide a small amount of protection from some attacks; able to swim better than most theropods (though not as well as species like Spinosaurids)

Other: Although not as bright as other predators, he is extremely loyal.

[User]
Morgan was up and awake this morning earlier than any other morning he could remember. Hell, he was awake when the farm's dodo crowed to alert them that it was the crack of dawn. For someone who was about to live-out their lifelong dream, he had an awful lot of butterflies in his stomach. The farmboy paced across his room a number of times as he ran a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath and releasing it with an even quicker exhale. "C'mon Morgan, yer a big boy. Bein a yellah belly sittin in tha dark an doin nothin ain't yer style...no ifs or buts." The large man tells himself as he shakes his whole body in an attempt to remove the feeling of fear, doubt, and anxiety. He felt a little braver now but his heart still hammered in his chest. With a determined look on his face, he grabs his favorite hat and scarf from the wooden end table beside his tidied bed and dons them. Now he felt a lot better now he had them on his person. Taking his pack, the redheaded farmer headed down the second floor of the farmhouse.

Much to his surprise, his family was already up and about. His mother and sister-in-law were finishing whipping up some breakfast. His older brother and father were setting the table. And his niece and baby sister were playing with Bobo the Microraptor, the family's house pet. All of them paused what they were doing when they saw Morgan. "What's everyone doin up so early?" His father was the one to speak up and answer his question. "Well, we can't say goodbye ta ya if we didn't, now can we?" Morgan was moved. Only a couple of nights ago they were arguing and yelling at each other regarding the letter but now they were acting as if nothing happened. He could feel his eyes water a little as he kept going down the flight of stairs before setting down his pack beside his usual spot at the table and taking a seat. His family followed in suit. They had prepared his favorite foods for his farewell breakfast as this may as well be the very last time he would be sharing a meal with him for a very long time. They would share stories, memories, and laughter that would soon devolve into barely held back sobs and whimpers as they finished their meals.

With a heavy heart, Morgan grabbed his pack and stood up from the table. His mother was wailing into his father's shoulder as he tried his best to console her through his own tears. His brother was keeping a convincing brave face but he could see a tear or two running down ol' Henry's face. His niece and baby sister, however, were bawling their eyes out and clinging onto Morgan for what seemed for dear life. They would be the straw that would break the proverbial camel's back as Morgan broke down into a blubbering mess as he hugged them both tightly and promising that he'd send letters as much as he can while traveling Westward. The rest of the Whittaker clan failed to resist giving the youngest son and brother one last hug and followed in suit to join the messy noisy goodbye. So much for him steeling himself to make things a clean and quiet exit...he was almost sure they'd wake up the dead with all the racket they caused. The initial plan of leaving before his family knew he was gone crashed and burned magnificently in a mess of tears, wailing, good food, and near incoherent goodbyes, well wishes, and words of affection.

The farmer may have left a little later and a lot more disheveled than he would like to admit, but he also left feeling more confident than ever and even more driven to succeed in his endeavor to the West.

He felt like he could take on the world and actually win.

[Assistant]
The night that the letters were sent out, Ransom Burke remained in the cell that had been set aside for him following his testimony. Two weeks ago, he'd been arrested at his favorite local pub. Only now were the last remnants of his facial bruises beginning to fade. A week ago, he'd sold out the man he'd once considered to be something alone the lines of of best friend -- or, perhaps, brother. The plea deal was meant to give him his freedom, but this was nothing like freedom. With no semblance of witness protection in the city, he wouldn't last very long outside of these walls. Even outside of the city, he was certain he'd be tracked down and shot or slain or worse. Even this cell was becoming less safe with each day -- it was a matter of time before his other former associates took care of him to prevent him from ratting on them.

And so the letter was something of a saving grace. Mail was typically delivered to inmates with no emphasis on timeliness, but the odd timing of the letter, coupled with the mailroom operator's own curiosity, eventually brought the letter to Ransom's cell some time after midnight. A knock on the bars startled him and broke him from his silent reflection.

"Mail for you, Mr. Burke," the guard muttered, slipping the envelope through the bars and onto the floor of the cell. "Seems something important."

"Thank you," Ransom rasped, his voice weighed down by disuse. He gave a quick cough to clear his throat as he opened the letter and lifted it to read. The guard hadn't made it far down the block before Ransom was up the against the bars of the cell. "You now! Go on, get that warden of yours!"

Through a bit of shouting and waving the letter in the warden's face, Ransom found himself standing outside of the jail in the early morning as a guard was sent to fetch Pandora from the jail's stables. As the Gallimimus caught sight of Ransom, she cried out and pulled against her reins towards him. She squawked as the guard holding her tugged against her, and she quickly whipped around to snap at his fingers. In fright, the guard dropped her reins, and she darted forward, nearly knocking Ransom back as he secured his arms around her neck.

Pandora plucked at his newly-washed hair as though to groom him as he stepped back and inspected her feathers in an equally affectionate manner. They'd done a piss-poor job taking care of her feathers, he noted, and he figured the first time they made camp, he would take care to groom her.

Another guard had returned then with the belongings Ransom would take with him. A collection of guns and clothes and other personal effects had been gathered from the Burke household where his mother had held on to them after his arrest. Knowing she would convince him to stay, Ransom had sent a letter with the guard giving his best wishes to his mother and three sisters while detailing his plans to head out West. An empty promise at the end detailed how he would send for them when the time was right.

In the mean time, Ransom situated his belongings and mounted up. He had a bit of a ride ahead of him to reach Talonwood for his departure.

"Let's go, girl," he grumbled, pressing his heels against her flanks. The sun had begun to rise over the horizon now, and with it to their back, man and beast set off for the edge of civilization.


[System]
Daphne Saintmarie

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Character Summary
Aliases:None so far

Gender:Female
Age:26

Race/Ethnicty:French/English
Place of Origin:Delphian Empire (Formerly Detroit)

Occupation:Nures; Counselor; Advisor

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Character Attributes
Height:5'6
Weight:120

Tattoos/Scars/Piercings:None
Day To Day Attire: Daphne performs many of her official duties in light armor. When dealing strictly with the sick and injured, she will wear other casual clothing.

Strengths:

* Healing/Physiology: Daphne has combined medical training with her magic to better serve those in need.
* Empathy: She has the natural inclination to place herself in others' shoes before making decisions or giving guidance.
* Psychology: On the job experience and an interest in the writings of philosophers has given her insight into human behavior.

Weaknesses:

* Combat: Daphne's sword is just as ornamental as it is functional. She can protect herself but needs more training.
* Strength/Athleticism: She can move when she has to, but she isn't very good at it.
* Perfectionist: Daphne is her own worst enemy and is extremely self-deprecating.

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Magic
Spells: Daphne's magical abilities are effective in managing wounds and sicknesses.

* Healing Touch:  Her magic is much more effective in close quarters.
* Hail Mary: Daphne can cast from a distance, but with much greater chances of being interrupted and with less predictable results.
* Minor Wards: Sometimes prevention is the best medicine; she can cast protective spells on herself and allies.

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Possessions
Items Of Note:

* Weapon: Daphne carries a beautifully crafted longsword which, in her hands, seems to have adopted certain magical properties.
* Journal: For research, notes, and her general thoughts about life.
* Precious Trinket: She wears a piece of jade on a necklace, given to her as a little girl by her brother. He stole it, of course. It's the only thing she has to remind her that he really existed.

---

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History
Daphne and her older brother were born into a world of poverty and instability. The Delphian culture is unforgiving even (perhaps especially) to little girls, and when she was just a few years old their parents were killed as bystanders during a riot in their district. Such is life in the Delphian Empire.

By luck or grace, Daphne was not swallowed alive by the streets as so many other orphaned children were. Instead she was adopted by the local church, and this was her home until she was 20 years old. In her teenage years she began displaying a talent for healing magic. It was kept hidden by the clergy and she wielded it in secret to heal the sick and wounded poor. Daphne never knew what had become of her brother, though she thought of him every day.

But word travels, and the Empire serves itself first. A patrol arrived to take her away for their own use at the threat of burning the church to the ground for anything less than total cooperation. She was taken to a military compound in service of the Empire, and was placed in the tutelage of their physician to help get their fallen soldiers back into the fight. For the next few years, her raw magical ability was complimented by lessons from medical literature and practicing non-magical medicine under the guidance of the Empires physicians who rotated in and out of the compound.

The political nature of Delphian culture being what is it, Daphne found herself in the good graces of the detachment commander due to a series of conversations concerning the state of the Empire. Impressed with her candor and humility, and not just a little with her magical capabilities, he placed her in a position over his physicians to manage the entire medical operation from a seat in his headquarters. After all, what commander would miss the opportunity to have his very own cleric as part of his entourage? It would surely increase his status ten-fold. He had arms and armor made for her to be part of his protective service detail.

Though her primary mission remained the detachment medical ward, over the next few years the commander also began relying on her counsel in political matters. He found that she tempered his impulsive tendencies. He could express his fears and doubts about the Empire and its many campaigns to her in private, without fear of appearing weak to the rest of his detachment.

The change of command marked the beginning of a downward spiral for the detachment. The new commander was as ruthless as he was narcissistic, and he arrived with his own cabinet of yes-men. For Daphne's part, he would have had her working in the stables were it not for her magical talents. He distrusted her and subjected her to the command of his own 'clerics'. When word spread of summons from the King of Dall, she made the decision to abandon the dissenting detachment. She had been forced into serving the Delphian Empire. It was time to answer a higher calling.

[User]
Daniel Corolov

The city was engulfed in flames.

Daniel sat with bent knee in the middle of the courtyard, head bowed while the snow drifted around him. He could feel the biting cold and snow lashing his frail body with stinging pains, and yet he could smell the smoke. He dared not look up as the screams and sounds of battle rose up around him every piercing his ears. The flames licked the courtyard, guards rapidly succumbing to each and every blast of hell fire coming from some enemy just beyond the entrance. Daniel forced himself upward, ready to help in any way he could.

And then there was nothing. Daniel stumbled backwards as his tormented mind shifted and warped the reality around him. Tripping over a stone he fell onto the ground, steadying himself with a hand. Looking around he remembered the current timeline. Something about a quest to some ruins or something. Clutching his pendant Daniel stuttered to his feet, lost in his own mind. He tried and failed to focus on the group, and was soon enough lost in his own thoughts again. Quietly stood there in the courtyard, staring into the distance as the resonant tick of his time piece set a never ending march forward into the unknown.

[Assistant]
Blackwall

Waving curtly at Ava as she was dragged off, the beastly man called Blackwall reached into his jacket pocket for a thick cigar. After a productive snort, he bit a small amount of wrapping from the end, spat on the ground, struck a match, and began puffing idly on his vice. Within a few short moments, he was grinning as the smoke flooded his lungs, then began flowing from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

After being requested (demanded, more like) to assemble with some of the other oddballs, Blackwall had figured that there might be something interesting happening to occupy his mind for a few hours. However, it seemed that someone had dropped the ball somewhere, and he immediately felt the urge to voice his displeasure. But that would mean potentially losing out on a payoff, and he wasn't quite secure in his savings at present.

"Hey. When your people get their shit together, let me know." He rumbled at the nearest guardsman - jabbing the smaller man in the center of the chest with his thick, calloused finger. The guard stumbled back a bit at the unexpected strength behind the poke.

It was only through sheer force of will that Blackwall avoided slapping the man across the face for a laugh. He was not an adherent to the adage "Don't kill the messenger" on the best of days, and this inconvenience had him wanting to blow off some steam.

Biting the end of his cigar and savoring the flavor and warmth as he turned and walked away, he wondered whether or not he could get away with a scuffle under such interest from the powers that be.

Maybe I'll go do a job real quick. Or maybe I'll snag a drink." He thought, making his way towards the nearest bar.


[System]
Age: 25

Sex: Female

Race: Hylian

Handiness: Left

Appearance:
A petite 5'3'' young woman with somewhat short Hylian Ears.

Inheritance: Fire Rod – Capable of channeling her magic powers into fiery blasts which doubles as a lighting tool and a weapon.

Personality: Her magical prowess kind of gets to her head, making this small mage a bit of a narcissist. Stubborn to a fault, she can get exasperating at times. She also possesses a quick and often sharp wit which can put people off quite quickly. Another characteristic is her belief in justice and the destruction of evil, so at least her heart is somewhat in the right place.

Recent history: Descendant of the Oracle Din, Tina is charged with a destiny of keeping evil in check which she takes quite seriously. During her somewhat extensive travels it came to her attention the increased progression of natural disasters, evil rising up, and so on meaning that the land could soon plunge into darkness again. Feeling the call of her Oracle blood Tina has decided to find out the cause of the approaching storm and stop it.

Personal Goal: To become an unstoppable Oracle who can beat back evil without having to rely on others.

Three strengths (Not just combat)
1. Magical Prowess – Tina was born with a great affinity for magic with a large and efficient mana reserve.

2. Fire Affinity – Part of the Din line her powers align greatly with the fire element. This makes fire magic easier than most and she can easily tolerate the heat.

3. Keen Mind – Being an Oracle descendant is not just for show, her mind can work fast and furiously, allowing her to adapt to situations and notice things out of the ordinary.

Three weaknesses (Not just combat)
1. Stubborn – She can be stupidly stubborn, unwilling to change her mind at inappropriate times and may refuse help even when she clearly needs it.

2. Fragile – She is a mage, not a physical fighter. As such while not exactly weak she can easily be overpowered and physical exertion can quickly wear her down. Her height doesn't really help matters either.

3. Overconfident – Tina is sure of herself, too sure a lot of the time and this overconfidence can get her into trouble, be it battle, a friendly game, and a tendency to believe she alone can do anything.

Greatest Love: Dark Chocolate, totally Divine.

Hates the most: Ironically those who put too much faith in their abilities. [Somehow she does not see this in herself]

Misc: Tina has a tattoo between her should blades that looks like a crystal with a red flame inside of it. [Din's Fire]

Theme song:

[User]
In the corner of the massive hall there sat a conspicuous-looking boulder. Not really a boulder, though, since any person worth their salt could tell a boulder from a curled up Goron, and any who couldn't were in for a rude surprise should they have tried to disturb the aforementioned "boulder". This wasn't just any Goron either, not at all. Nearby the Goron a rather famous hammer sat on the floor with it's handle pointed straight up. The Megaton Hammer was one of the more famous weapons the Hero once carried, but nowadays it was once again in the possession of the Goron people, where it rightfully belonged.

Amusingly, there was a small crowd of men around the hammer. They seemed to be taking turns attempting to lift it, but none of them could. Even the biggest and strongest of the men couldn't budge the hammer so much as an inch. This little "show" had started up several minutes ago, when said group of men mocked the idea of a hammer being sacred or magical. It was just a hammer after all, right? "If it's just a hammer, then by all means, take it..." the Goron had said earlier with his deep and powerful voice before dropping the weapon on its current spot on the ground, but added with a grin, "...if you can, that is." and that's how it started. First a couple of the men tried, but when they couldn't move the hammer, others watching gave it a try. At one point several men at once tried to lift the hammer with their combined strength, but still it didn't move.

The Goron knew, of course, that the hammer could never be lifted by such men. The Gorons, having become much less trusting of outsiders after the Hero's turn to evil, had a very special enchantment placed on their sacred hammer so that it could never again fall into the hands of evil. From that day forward, the hammer could only ever be lifted by one with a strong and worthy heart. Anything less, and the hammer would be heavy as a mountain. So really, all these men were only proving that they had weak hearts, not at all hero material as the guild's posters called for.

The Goron, named Argon, curled into a ball out of boredom after a while, but let the gathered men continue trying to lift the hammer. It was a good thing he'd eaten a feast of a breakfast that morning before departing from Death Mountain, because the food offered here at the hall contained absolutely no rocks whatsoever. In fact almost all the food were mostly popular Hylian dishes, indicating the apparent crowd the hosts were expecting. In their defense, none of the posters had been sent to Death Mountain, its trails and cliffs becoming even more dangerous in recent years. It was sheer happenstance that the wind managed to blow a poster far enough up the mountain for one of the Gorons to find it and show it to Argon, their de facto leader. The Goron warrior decided to make the journey to this hall to see just how serious these people were about protecting the land. So far he was not impressed.

He finally uncurled when a masked man spoke from the stage. This was also enough to disperse the crowd from the Megaton Hammer as well. And as the man spoke, more and more of the men who scoffed at the hammer left the hall until Argon found himself alone at his particular corner of the hall. Finally, a woman spoke, assuring everyone that this was no joke. This got a chuckle from the Goron, who spoke up with his strong, stoic voice, "Not a joke, eh? It better not be. I didn't climb all the way down from Death Mountain just to get a laugh."

[Assistant]
Joseph the Ranger

Joseph remains standing where he is through the entire thing, looking over the crowd. Goron, Shieka, Garudo, other Hylians...quite the motley assortment we've got here if I say so myself. The Hero's Bow was slung over his shoulder like it normally was when it wasn't in use, with the quiver next to it. He had been against the wall, as far from the gathering as possible, for two reasons. First and foremost was a general distrust of people, simply because he knew that monsters weren't always the most obvious and if one of those people turned out to be a mass murderer or something, or one of the hosts, he had both an easy out and a good shot at pretty much everyone not in front of a Goron.

The second reason was because he wanted to be able to beat the crowd out if it had turned out to be some elaborate prank that some city folk thought would be hilarious. However, as the seriousness showed in the host's voice, he had decided to stay and at least listen to the whole thing. His left hand, because he wasn't holding his bow, rested on the hilt of his sword as he put some thought into the questions posed to them. Joseph was a Hylian Ranger, a man who already dedicated his life to protecting Hyrule from the darkness that the regular army couldn't be bothered to hunt out. From the sounds of it, this would be a larger group effort, and if it meant he got to keep doing his job, then he would stay no matter the number of people.

When the Goron who'd let the group of fools try to lift his hammer spoke, Joseph did as well. "You went to a lot of trouble if the Goron and a Ranger showed up, so if this is a joke, there are going to be a few well placed arrows in knee caps." Joseph's face remained even. "And I don't miss."

[User]
Blood colored eyes hid from the world behind pale lids. Long, pointed, ears were pressed flat against his head as Vieru stood, completely still. The wind danced around him, his only, let alone constant, companion in this world. Though unseen, as they were covered by his sleeves, his fingers danced along with the wind, changing it's course and causing it to swirl around him. His pale locks were shifted out of the way of his right eye, where they always rested, then quickly settled back down again as the wind moved on. Vieru was like the wind he controlled, constantly on the move, and never with a home of his own.

Vieru was a demon, a so called dark monster. But in reality, demons were just like the other races, some were good, some were bad. But people seemed to have a harder time seeing the good in creatures like him. He was hunted if he even went close to a town or city. More often than not, the injuries he suffered were from the people he saved, and not from the creatures he hunted. Though a demon, Vieru was responsible for many monster deaths out on the fields, even if people refused to see it, he was one of the good ones. He opened his eyes as the wind died down in his area, moving on to a different place.

Of course he had heard about the flyers, even seen one as the wind carried it elsewhere. He had seen the small writing on the bottom, saying that he may have been a descendant of a hero. But how could he, a demon, possibly be? It didn't matter anyway, the meeting place was in a town, he couldn't have gone even if he wanted to. It was just to take care of the dark threat anyway, something he did his part in doing when he hunted monsters. The towns that hated him so much stayed that much safer because of him. If only they knew what he did. But then again, they wouldn't believe him anyway. People were stubborn when it came to things they thought they knew everything about.

A small sigh escaped Vieru's lips. Perhaps one day he could find a place to settle down. But for now, he constantly moved, just like the wind he wielded. It was a tiring, thankless existence that wore on one both physically and mentally. An existence that would probably kill him, sooner than later. Shaking his head, he reminded himself that he had been still for too long and that it was time to move again. Picking a random direction he started to wander, making sure to stay well out of the way of any civilizations as he did.

[Assistant]
Tina Din had traveled the world with the hope of figuring out the exact nature of the approaching darkness and how to stop it from sweeping across the land. She thoroughly searched the whole of Holodrum, delved into the depths of Subrosia, traveled through Labrynna, visited the exotic location of Termina, and even attempted to access the secrets of the dark realm on one of her more impressive attempts to uncover the truth of the approaching darkness but to no avail. Of course all that searching was not in vain, she stopped several monster plots, incinerated dens of evil, and even uncovered mystical secrets but no matter what she did, as an Oracle she could tell a time of darkness was soon approaching.

A few months ago as she was traveling the vast world in search of a way to stop the approaching evil she received an Oracle, well a very distinct dream anyway that appeared to be pointing her toward a trip to Hyrule. As an Oracle it was her duty to follow her instincts and travel to Hyrule to root out the evil. It took her a while to get there as she had been quite far from Hyrule on her quest but as she traveled she came across a particular poster which had a particularly interesting bit at the end. "To those of you who can see this: congratulations, you could have the blood of heroes. You are who I am truly looking for. A dark evil rises, if you have any attachment to this fair land and its people, Come. Your destiny awaits."

A quick investigation of the poster quickly revealed that those last lines were indeed magical in nature, only allowing certain people to read it. Finally she had a decent lead that might lead to her saving the world from evil. She quickly figured out the location and now finally, she was standing in front of the meeting hall. ""About time I finally got here, by Din's Fire its time I did what I was born to do!" With that little self-pep talk she waltzed into the Hero's Guild Hall, paying no real attention to the other occupants except the ones on stage.

With her somewhat eccentric outfit, rather large hat, fire rod, and small statue she certainly made an entrance for herself as she yelled out and pointed toward the stage, "If you have any information on the coming wave of darkness spit it our now! It's my destiny to stop this great calamity as the great Oracle Tina Din!" While lacking in height she had no shortage of self-confidence. Some people in the hall were taken aback from her abrupt entrance, a few just thought she was nuts, others instantly began to wonder about her claim.

"I don't know what the rest of you are here for and frankly I don't give an ember as long as you don't get in my way. Your information better be good or I am going to be very angry at having my valuable time wasted." Her piece said Tina quickly found her way closer to the front and crossed her arms in impatience.


[System]
· Nicknamed Threeparts because he is "Three parts good, bad, and mysterious."
 · Nicknames in order of most used: Three, Stein, and Gad.

Age
Twenty-Four

Archon Of
Stone

Archon Weapon
Battleaxe and a shield made of stone that forms from around him.

Appearance
Standing at 6'6" he may seem very tall, but this is not unusual in his tribe or homeland; only a few inches taller than the average height for the males and even females. His build looks gaunt under clothing, but when fighting and seen without a shirt, he is actually very lithe and toned. His complexion a glowing, tawny beige with freckles dusting over his nose and cheeks, and his cheeks also always seemingly have a tinge of pink. Eyes of hazel; amber circling around the pupil and green fading to a thin, light blue ring around the whole of his iris, contrasting against his dark skin tone. Lastly, hair of medium-length, thick tresses resembling onyx that shines a very dark auburn in the sun, and large, circular horns crowning above his ears; they do not always grow in this pattern, and if broken they regrow differently.

 · Special Markings: He has a triskele tattoo on his right forearm, a scar on his side which he does not like to talk about, and a few burn marks on the back of his neck which his hair normally covers.

 · While having a simple fashion; preferring jeans, boots, button-up shirts or t-shirts, and a leather jacket.

Personality
Quiet and observant, never one to strike up conversation, but when needed provides useful information. Steering clear of crowded places, spending most of his time at work or home, he cannot stand loud or too much noise. He is not easy to anger, but when he does it has dire consequences not only to others but also himself.

Bio
Earth [Aranea] // A world where the practice of magick is seen as everyday life, but heavily regulated as well as a plethora of different races, species and what some may see as odd creatures make home. Not unlike any other planet there are struggles, wars, and problems there just seems to be less of them or rather that magick is a very good solution. Like a spider's web; weaved intricately but delicate so is Aranea.

Threes homeland is a large continent called, Alderglum, crowned by immense, jagged mountains, flowing with lava from an active volcano, melding into sprawling thick forests, and ending at a black-sanded beach. The primary of the races live in the mountains, some dotting small villages in the forest and one large coastal town and port. The races living are very tribal and clan-like, his tribe being one of the largest of minotaur. All though not low in ranking, his life was pretty average save for some quarrels between other tribes. Not really interested in the life of a tribe which mainly meant farming, fishing, mining or fighting he moved to one of the largest cities on the main continent of Sapien, Sidwarren, where he studied biology, biochemistry and then took the steps to becoming a Medical Examiner.

Special Gear or Equipment
· A longsword that belonged to his Father, imbued with a spell of resilience made from a special metal that is located only from their Aranea and bears the symbol, a triskele, of his tribe. The pommel, grip, and guard are gold with the pommel grasping a gem that shifts colours of ochre, taupe and hints of green. The metal of the sword when forged turns black, and the engraving glows faintly greenish-brown.

· A necklace bearing a triskele carved in moss-stained stone, having magickal properties of protection and strength.

[User]
The sun had just began to rise over the white snowy mountain tops. As the orange sphere cast light upon the temple, a small bell chimed as a signal for the new day. There were already a few monks out on the courtyard of the temple, doing their daily prayers. The elders sat among the first to be out on this glorious new day, leading the morning prayer and meditation. A young girl stood at the main gate before quickly walking to her place over in the courtyard. Her silver hair was bright in the morning light as she got into her meditative position just under one of the only trees in the courtyard. This had been her place her entire life, as she could feel the wind pick up in the branches and swirl around her as she meditated deeply.

Taking in a deep breath, Aella was swept into her meditation, feeling almost weightless as she hummed to herself gently. The wind almost seemed to embrace her as she meditated and she was lost to time. After what felt like little time to her, Aella felt a tap on her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, she saw Delilah, the woman whom was the closest to being a mother to the elf. "It's nearly mid-day, Aella. You've been gone for hours," the woman said gently, smiling as she offered the younger woman a smaller piece of bread. The silver haired girl grabbed it gently with a thankful smile.

"I guess I lost track of time," Aella smiled gently, quietly standing. Delilah sighed gently and seemed to be thinking on something. However, the younger girl didn't press and took a bite of the bread. It was stuffed with a sweet vegetable filling, which was her favorite.

"You're growing so fast, child," she heard Delilah say, "Your training has been paying off and I do believe it is time I told you some things. However, now is not the time, as you have chores to do. After you finish them, please come to the temple statue. I shall be waiting." Before Aella had the chance to inquire more, the other woman was gone, and the elf finished her bread silently. It was her duty to sweep the courtyard and help prepare for the nightly vigil inside the deep recesses of the temple. She took a breath as she gathered a broom, and started to sweep, once again humming to herself.

[Assistant]
Another crummy day, another equally crummy job. The grenade factory he worked in was dimly lit, grimy, and littered with shrapnel from discarded parts- amongst other things. Like the floor, the eyes of the workers surrounding him were clouded with the despair the mind-numbing motions of their labor brought to them. Filling capsules with sharp lead that would one day rip through the flesh of another… Unlike his coworkers', Vanth's eyes were filled with vigor; his day was only going to get better. No longer would he have to work day in and day out at a sweatshop to pull in enough money to help his parents. He had gotten his hands on the last pieces of equipment to pull off his latest heist: a new pair of gloves and an unmarked crowbar. They were stashed between some of the boxes which were scheduled to ship out to the frontlines tomorrow. Without these tools, stealing that crystal his man inside the R&D building mentioned would be more of a pain than it had to be. All he had to do now was wait for the end of the day.
 As the ragtag tide of workers were leaving the factory, a hooded figure slinked along the walls away from the crowd towards a large mound of crates ready to be shipped. Upon reaching his stashed gloves and crowbar Vanth slipped on the gloves, slung the bar into his pack, then turned on his heels towards the rooftop of the main factory building. From there, he navigated across several wooden planks which stretched from factory building to factory building until he reached the rooftop of the R&D department.
 Reaching into his pack, Vanth pulled out a lock picking kit and unlocked a corroded metal door. A few flights of stairs later and he was close to the lab where the government's brightest were keeping his prize until their next batch of tests. However, something was off. He could feel energy in the air around him as he approached his quarry. There also weren't the normal amount of security cameras that sat in every ceiling corner of every other building he had broken into. No trip wires, no hidden redeye relays, nothing. Was he even in the right building? Vanth got his answer when he broke into the room where the gem was encased.
 "That's it? This puny little thing?" He reached out and grabbed it, inadvertently triggered the alarm for that room. Amber and ruby emergency lights began flashing with klaxons blaring. By instinct Vanth dropped his prize into the pouch attached to the inside of his pants and rushed out of the room with crowbar in hand. The entirety of the lab had transformed in an instant. Stout metallic lumps, the size of basket balls, were slinking along the floor towards him as he stepped out into the hall. He swung at one to no avail; his crowbar merely bounced off. After that, all of the lumps began glowing red, the temperature of the room increasing, and their metal sides liquidating to transform into searing tentacle-wielding cannons.
 "Oh fuck this!" Vanth shouted at the tentacle cannons while batting away their jabs and dodging their small projectiles. He backpedaled down the hall he came from and back up to the roof top where the night sky was lit up with search lights, flying machines, and klaxons. He could still hear the cannons slinking up the stair well with their flexing metal limbs. He dashed over his planks and made his way back home, weaving between dilapidated houses, construction sites, until he was sure they had lost his trail. Coming up ahead was the back door to the shack of the place he called home.
 Unfortunately, that was when he heard several short blasts of a pistol and two thumps hit the floor. His parents. Panic struck his heart like a hammer and he sprung through the backdoor. Deep red blood was pooling around two tied up corpses of the couple that gave him life. At this he kneeled down next to his mother and held her lifeless hand. The tromping of boots was heard from the forefront of the hovel. Something rustled from behind him, then everything went dark.

[User]
Corack the SpokespersonLocation: Unknown
Notes: This, plus boomerangs.

 Corack not know how to tell what happen. Temple blessing gone. Tajix panic. Kinabalu invade. I want to fight, but Grolk grab me and take me away. Under temple he hand me weapon. Like Damnum, but with wings. Powerful on own. Perhaps source of temple strength. Not remember rest, but Grolk tell me I fight all Kinabalu tribes and win. He tell me travel to Nuth, find source of power to protect tribe. I leave on journey. Was so simple then...

[Assistant]
Absolutely ridiculous // An overdramatic sigh left his lips as he pulled pounds of guts from an opened body to be transferred to a container for inspection later. Grumblings and growls given as he tried not to think about how he was the only medical examiner working for two weeks straight! How could they not assign someone to help him or even make sure they did not schedule two vacations at the same time. Meyers was at least a good woman and offered to cancel her family vacation to stay, but of course he would not allow that, telling her to have a lovely time and remember to get him a souvenir. Looking up at the metal slabs positioned evenly in the middle of the large room; he had four bodies: two being elderly and that would be pretty easy to diagnose, but the other two were strange and he was quite interested in their causes of death. Though with it being strange, it would probably be in depth and most likely a pile of paperwork and investigations, but then that was one of the interesting perks of his job.

Hours later after the two elderly patients were examined and easily diagnosed, he moved over to the first of the strange bodies and before doing much he looked over it; a middle-aged man, with short salt and pepper hair. He had bushy eyebrows and a large nose that offset an otherwise handsome appearance. Hmm. He pulled on a set of fresh latex gloves, snapping them to his wrists and grinning--he loved doing that. "Start recording." A simple command for the AI in the lab, ``Recording started at [Insert Time/Date format]`` the female voice stated and he began to go over the body slowly. "This is Doctor Gadding starting the examination of male: AG67HU's body, one of two males in the case file of 476I8. There seems to be no signs of physical injury on his body." Furrowing his brows, he oddly started to feel nauseous and took a step back as his eyes blurred and when they finally focused he could faintly see the body was glowing a very light purple aura. Shaking his head the glow disappearing, blinking several times. "The body... glows with soul magick… stop recording and delete the last sentence!" ``Recording stopped at [Insert Date/Time], and last sentence deleted.`` Quickly stepping closer to the table, hunching over, current dark green eyes glowing brown he began to scan the body. "T-this cannot be…" Eyes returning to their normal hazel colour, trying to calm himself, pulling off the latex gloves and throwing them into the biohazard-labeled trash bin. Removing his lab coat as he walked towards the offices that were divided by thick glass. Hanging up his coat on one of the few hooks on the wall, he plopped down in the office chair. Not being able to bring himself to look up at the bodies anymore, closing his eyes tightly. Soul magick … very rare. I know what it looks like, but I can feel that this is a different type.


[System]
Age: 30

Sex: Male

Appearance: 6'2" with black hair and blue eyes. White skinned. Noticeable facial hair at the chin and finely trimmed. Sporting a more Westerly appearance with a short and thin leather duster coat, white button-up shirt with a popped-out collar and a loose scarf-like tie, dark faded blue jeans, and boots.

"Shh, I'm focusing...And trying to look intimidating."

Like many of the Societas Academia, Travis has a very good understanding how magic functions and how certain spells are performed. Being an Untalent however, much of what he has learned is unfortunately outside of his realm of implementation and only gets by with the bare basics of each aspect. But to him, this is perfectly fine; the spells Travis can produce by himself are considered useful survival tools in order to help him get by.

His real prowess is through the deciphered tomes and runes recovered throughout his journeys, capable of extending his abilities beyond his current potential. Though if anything, they too are yet another means of allowing him dissect and better understand their magical functionalities and eventually reproduce their effects in more manageable and efficient methods.

Funnily enough, given his recent and occasionally perilous encounters, Travis has been seen to be a rather surprisingly athletic runner.

"Magic is simply another form of science that is growing and evolving as we continue to discover and learn more about it."

Being an Untalent amongst a rather social community of more capable Talents can definitely be rough. Condemned to a lesser status because of one's natural inability to coordinate with magic fluidly was the fate many Untalents within the Societas Academia faced almost daily. Travis however didn't seem to be bothered by this too much. In fact, he was perhaps too busy studying and discussing theories to really care at all.

While as an Untalent and indeed had higher expectations set against him by his self-deserving peers, he enthusiastically conceptualized these endeavors as welcomed challenges in order solve rather petty societal crises to stress about. Though Travis was no ace mage and was more likely a magician as far as skills go, his main strength was his constructed knowledge base with a fierce understanding of the architecture of mana and magic implementation.

After years of hard study and grueling practice, Travis eventually achieved the rank of Aspect trainee and began the next phase of his training. Without any particular proficiency found in any particular set of spells, he would then opt-in into the Aspect of Scholar. As one would expect from his intuitive personality, Travis had felt right at home with his new position and became eager to set out for new discoveries.

What he didn't know was how cruel and horrifying the world could be outside the Societas Academia. The concept of death was something many students were well versed in, some more than others, but to experience and its many forms was something rather undesirable. Thus for Travis, now a Scholar, would soon come to know and witness this concept on more than one occasion as he pursues his quest for knowledge.

"So I spoke to an ebony dressed lady from the Cult of the Enlightened. We actually had a pleasant conversation until I asked about the concept of soul weaving. She laughed. Her fur coat cried. Suffice to say, I left in a hurry."

Despite his humble demeanor, surprisingly as an Untalent, Travis is certainly not afraid to speak his mind and express his views when necessary, sometimes comical or sarcastic if it benefits the mood. Being an easily fascinated and curious sort, he takes his role as a Scholar by heart (if not seriously) and seeks knowledge whenever he can find it; until it gets him into trouble. Nonetheless, he does show great pride and devotion to his line of work, atypical as it may be.

Travis can sometimes be described as a pacifist or "pass-the-fist" as he himself describes it. He sees no need for violence and certainly rejects the notion of killing but acknowledges the need for self-defense if he cannot negotiate his way out of a troubling confrontation. Of course said confrontations are usually created by something he may have said or done without any harmful or insulting intent.

"When the going gets tough...See to it you're not where the tough goes."

[User]
Nemo kept silent for a few moments after Raiya's whispered. Finally he broke the silence. "So... does that mean I get a third strike, but wont make a fourth? Or I wont get the fourth because I'll be dead?" He asked, dumbfounded. It was at that point Travis opened the door and turned to them.

"Of course we are." Nemo replied, breaking away from Raiya and walking over to the opened entrance. "Another lovely job Travis, you're a daisy for this one." He noted before looking through to the other room. What waited them was seemingly a giant empty stone room, save for the torches to light it and the occupied throne at the other side of it. Sitting atop a marble seat was a very decomposed skeleton. Nearly all remnants of flesh had rotted away. At this point it had more cobwebs than biological material left. The only other things decorating the body were an aged brown pirate outfit, some gold jewelry, and the large shiny navy jewel it was still clutching in its skeletal hands. Judging from the mana-waves emanating off it, it had to be the paragon they had come all this way for. The body clearly belonging to late Samuel Croft.

"There's the birthday boy." Nemo commented, pausing for a moment. "Well... I'm not touching that thing. So there's that."

[Assistant]
Raiya still felt pretty exhausted, so mustering up the energy for her display she just put on for Nemo was very taxing. So when Nemo answered her diatribe with a joke about his strikes, Raiya didn't even attempt to retort. It wasn't because she didn't want to dignify his response with an answer, but rather, it was because she simply lacked the energy to have a back and forth with Nemo at the moment. So when Travis managed to open the door, Raiya said, "Finally," with a sigh of relief. As the door opened and revealed the long dead owner of this blue paragon. Raiya could tell the paragon was in the room the moment the door began to open. It was hard for a true mage, especially a talent, to dull their senses enough in order to not feel the presence of the paragon. The vast singularity of all encompassing mana was not something easily ignored.

 "Well, I hate to jinx us like this, but what's the catch here? I feel like something bad is about to happen to us if we take that paragon." Raiya said in a hushed tone.

[User]
The gate doors eventually retracted all the way into the large unlit chamber. Similarly, as with the catacombs they ventured through previously, the space they walked into was surprisingly vacant save for a few details. The most notable was a marble throne hosting the skeletal remains of Samuel Croft as hinted by Nemo through one of his usual jocular comments. It was however what was in his decomposed grasps that gleamed any value to the crypt's interlopers; the Paragon of Fantasia.

However, it was apparent nobody was in any rush to seize their prize with Nemo declining and Raiya anticipating the worst results. Travis couldn't blame them since Espial was essentially rigged with a counter spell to do away with any thieves and the scene before them seemed deceptive in its simplistic, if not creepy appearance. Unfortunately, the Paragon would remain in Samuel's dead clutches if they didn't attempt to retrieve it.

Travis sighed, "I agree. But we're not getting our job done without nabbing it."

Channeling a fraction of his mana reserves, Travis casted his unraveling light projection spell once more. As he scanned the room, the spell would illuminate the floor and surroundings, detailing their composition and anything directly behind or beneath. In the half minute he casted his spell, nothing appeared out of the ordinary except for the Paragon's radiance blinding the throne's proximity which was projected as thick veil of light. It seemed his spell couldn't penetrate the Fantasia's incredible aura and thus prevented him from identifying any hidden threats that were likely in place.

"Typical," he grunted, "guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way. I'm gonna get a closer look and grab it if I can. Might be best to ready yourselves if things go South."

Just as he announced his plan and advisory, Travis cautiously made his way to the throne while he kept his spell casted in hopes of catching any anomalies at the last minute. As he became closer and closer, he decided to arm himself with his decamp spell once more; with their journey here being engulfed by nothing but danger and death, he wasn't going to take any chances with the seemingly unprotected. It didn't take himself long to reach the throne and stand before the decrepit Samuel Croft. For a moment, he stared into the hollow eyes of Samuel's skull, feeling almost unnerved by having to gaze upon the motionless cadaver and with a momentary thought, he dared the dead Samuel Croft to do something. The reality however was that Travis was at the mercy of whatever contraptions Samuel had planned for the Untalent and his group.

"Sorry about this," Travis said under his breath, "while I would normally respect a dead man's treasure, we need this more than you do."

It was then Travis reached out and grasped the Paragon and began pulling it way.

[Assistant]
As Travis began to remove the Paragon of Fantasia from the skeleton's bony grasp, strangely, a force began to pull back.

"Let go of me jewel you son of a biscuit eater." A incredibly raspy voice emitted out from the skeleton. It leaned forward, tilting it's head a revealing a slight blue glow from within the corpses eye-sockets. It seemed the paragon was still keeping Samuel alive all these years. "Sam" pulled one of it's arms away from the paragon and retrieved a flintlock pistol from it's coat. "Take this you scallywag!" He spoke before pulling the trigger.

The fear of death was immediately snuffed out when instead of a fiery blast, a small puff a black smoke shot out from the pistol, followed by the bullet rolling out of the barrel seconds later and harmlessly falling to the floor. Apparently the gunpowder wasn't well preserved over the years. "Hah!" Samuel exclaimed after a few moments of dead silence. "Take that!" He added with a raspy wheeze-filled chuckle. Apparently that outburst was too much energy for him to expend, as the right part of his jaw suddenly broke and unhinged, leaving it hanging. He then dropped the used weapon and placed his hand back on the paragon, using whatever remnants of muscle he had left to hold on.

[User]
It was as Raiya expected, there was some sort of enchantment at work. A curse that would animate dead bones if any person were to attempt to retrieve the paragon. Luckily for Travis, though, it wasn't quite what Raiya had expected. The skeleton seemed rather weak, and his pistol was more useless than a toy cap gun. Still, there was much they did not know of what was at play here, so it was safe to ere on the side of caution. For Raiya, she had no way of providing any sort of support being as drained as she was, so Travis only had himself and Nemo to rely on.

 Raiya watched on as the skeleton seemed to dilapidate further, and Travis continued to attempt to retrieve the relic. Standing behind Nemo, she watched on while regaining her mana and stamina at an extremely low rate. She didn't say anything and just focused on breathing in the meditative way that she was taught in the arcanocracy. It's not that breath control in and of itself would help a mage regain mana quickly, but controling your body and mitigating wasteful actions such as increased heart rates and muscle movements would provide the ideal situation for mana recovery.

[Assistant]
Travis could feel the Paragon within his clutches coming free from the skeleton's non-existent hold. For a moment, he thought that his plundering would go without any hidden obstructions. However, he was quickly proven wrong; just as he was about to pry Fantasia free did the skeletal hands of Samuel Croft suddenly re-secured the Paragon and yanked it back against Travis' grip.

The sudden and unexpected movement by the skeleton caught the Untalent completely by surprise but before he could vocalize his astonishment, the decayed anatomy of what was once Samuel leaned forward and spoke. Travis froze with dread while his widened eyes peered back at the skeleton's now-illuminated eye sockets. What he assumed was Samuel's simulated voice demanded he release the Paragon; a request Travis himself was trying to comprehend still as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. However, Samuel's demand was ultimately rhetorical as the skeleton quickly produced an old flintlock firearm and aimed at Travis' face. Travis only had the split-second moment to switch his focus from the skeleton to the weapon pointed at him before its trigger was pulled.

Travis' sight was then consumed by darkness along with the immediate ceasing of his heartbeat. He was dead and he was sure of it; what else could have the pistol's discharging resulted in? The small ball-bearing would have struck him between his eyes and through his head and as such his brain, instantly killing him. That was however what he believed and since he could still come to a methodical and analytic conclusion moments after the rather quiet gunshot...wait a minute.

Before a full minute could elapse, Travis cautiously opened his eyes and found the flintlock pistol still pointed at him with black transparent fumes slowly escaping the mouth of the barrel. He blinked one, and then twice, and before a third time, the small metal ball that could have actually killed him rolled out of barrel and fell to the ground. Travis silently eyed the harmless round empty out of the pistol before returning his still-stunned gaze back to the skeleton. Despite failing to kill Travis with an unkempt weapon, the skeleton trumpeted its 'success', whatever it was. Travis, still shaken by the unusual ordeal, tried to make sense of the situation, contemplating if the skeleton of Samuel Croft really tried to kill him and only replied in such a confusing manner as a pre-determined response. He even accepted the belief that this was all indented as some sort of complex prank. Neither of the conclusions were appreciated by him but whatever the actual reasoning was had then vanished as the skeleton fell back within its throne, its purpose supposedly fulfilled as the life that seemed to possess it faded away.

Travis stared at the collapsed remains of Samuel, still in disbelief and dumbfound a what had transpired. Without uttering a justified remark, Travis tugged at the Paragon again, this time pulling it out of the skeleton's unresponsive grasps. Just as he knew it was only in his hands did he quickly step back and secured it within his arms in anticipation of another unexpected and undesired response. Thankfully, no more surprises manifested from his successful burglary.

He retreated with a few more steps before turning to this team, displaying the Paragon of Fantasia in his hands and an incredibly unamused expression painting his blackened face, "...I wish to leave now," he growled.