[System]
Age: 27
Archon of: Water

Physical Attributes
Apearance: With long muscular legs and a toned torso, Maya's physique resembles that of an Amazon warrior. She is roughly 5'11 and 140 pounds. Her posture is upright and commanding due to years of royal etiquette training. Coming from an alien race, her features are slightly more angular than those of a human. In addition, her hair ripples down her back like a silver waterfall, and her eyes are piercing pools of aquamarine.
Physical Weaknesses: Low pain tolerance…definitely still a princess in that regard. Maya is easily broken if the ones she loves are in danger, causing her to be reckless and self-destructive at times. She is agile, but not fast. She can't run long distances without tiring out easily. Also, she sucks at shooting guns –basically has the aim of a blind person, so hit the deck if you see her holding a gun.
Physical Strengths: Years of self-defense training are ingrained in her brain, allowing her to excel in hand-to-hand combat when pitted against someone her own size. While she is slow on land, she is incredibly fast in the water due to her Archon abilities. Maya can also hold her breath for long periods of time underwater. Her strong upper body and powerful legs allow her to climb easily. Archon related strengths include her being able to control the element of water; she can lift it, move it, shape it, and can absorb it from anything…even living beings.

Mental Attributes
Personality: By now, Maya has been through a lot. While she has never been overwhelmingly bubbly or flamboyant, she was much cheerier in her youth. The events that have taken place shattered her like a piece of pottery; the cracks may be glued back together so that she resembles her old self; however, the scars are still present. Despite being broken, she hangs onto the regal elegance of her past life. She continues to uphold a level of clear-headedness and retains her penchant for logic. Unlike the others, she isn't spurred on by revenge or tainted by cynicism. If anything, this whole ordeal has made her more compassionate and loving towards the ones she holds most dear which compels her to fight harder than ever before.

Likes: Archon of Time, swimming, drinking, fluffy clouds, waterfalls, starry nights
Dislikes: Being alone, being tickled, feeling helpless, fire, nightmares
Phobias: Losing the ones she loves. Letting people down. Being left behind. Burning to death. Falling from great heights. Mind control.

Background
Biography: Maya hails from the planet Neodomus (New Home) which is inhabited by aque sapiens, a sister species to homo sapiens (There is a huge backstory to this planet, but that is a story for another time).

Maya was born into royal blood. Her father reigned as king over the territory of Jaspae, and her mother, unbeknownst to Maya, was the godlike Archon Aquarius. Her early childhood years brimmed with fond memories as her parents lavished love and attention upon the young princess. Unfortunately, that cheerful chapter of her life ended abruptly at the age of seven when an unknown villain slashed both of her parents' throats while they slept.

The responsibility of the throne was thrust upon Maya like a yoke upon an ox. While there was a Council of Nobles established in order to help guide the young ruler, they were anything but helpful as they paraded under the pretense of good intentions. Maya saw them for the vile creatures they were; greed and lust for power saturated every fiber of their beings. For years, she struggled to maintain control over her country while simultaneously undergoing private lessons in both scholarly subjects and physical combat. She loved her country, but she abhorred the crushing societal pressures which accompanied the crown and throne.

Once again, Maya's life changed drastically when a mysterious man by the name of Marcus Skylark washed up on her castle's beach. Mistaken as a spy, Marcus, the Archon of Light, was brought before Maya. Upon realizing that the young ruler was the daughter of the Archon Aquarius, Marcus propositioned a ludicrous story wherein Maya was some magical descendant capable of wielding great power. Furthermore, the strange man spoke of a war going on…one that involved her parents' murderer. It took quite a bit of convincing, but Maya ultimately came to terms with her destiny as she agreed to go with Marcus on the Leviathan.

After embarking with Marcus and the other Archons, Maya went from spoiled royalty to skilled warrior. Imbued with the elemental power of water, she felt unstoppable (and more than a little bit cocky). The Archons easily overcame the initial scrimmages with minimal damage. Yes, the Archons were good, great even, but little did they know that there was someone so much better and so much worse than they could have ever imagined. It was a losing battle. Friend by friend, comrade by comrade, Maya witnessed the Archons die, a piece of herself dying with each one. During the final battle, the Archons of Light, Time, and Water fought ferociously, like wild animals trapped in a corner, but it was to be the end of another chapter. As they faced the permanent oblivion of death, the Archon of Time made a last-ditch effort to save them all by sending them back to the beginning. Humbled by the horrors she experienced, Maya enters a new timeline with the determination to save the ones she loves and conquer Ragnarok once and for all.

Combat Information
Typical form of combat: Close combat with precise and graceful blows. Her assaults are deliberate and calculated. When given the opportunity, she will stalk and observe an enemy before engaging in conflict. She likes to figure out weaknesses.
Preferred Team Role: Assault / Flank Attack
Weapon: Capella – Trident that is an Archon heirloom which helps to enhance her powers.
Unique Equipment: Eh, not really.

[User]
Maybe, just maybe, if I sit here quietly, they will go away. Maya thought dubiously to herself. She mentally mapped out her options, quickly weighing the pros, cons, and likelihood of survival. Running would be futile. Fighting presented too many risks. Surrendering held the most potential of getting her to civilization and closer to the Archon.

Must you overthink everything? You've spent most of your life as a royal official. You know how to charm and lie to get what you want.

I prefer to think of it as tactfully-embellished negotiating. Most politicians and ambassadors typically weren't pointing weapons at me, however.

 "Reveal yourself," a voice called out, "We've surrounded you. Please don't make this hard, any commotion will alert the Enemy to our position. We all live, or none of us do."

 Maya nervously caressed her trident, deciding whether she should bare it defensively or retract its blades into the compact cylinder. Choosing the latter, she slid her weapon into a sheath slung around her back. Slowly, she emerged from behind the rock with her arms lifted above her head. The headlights from the motorcycles washed over her, illuminating her silvery hair. She squinted, trying to discern the faces of the shadowy silhouettes around her.

Maya cleared her throat. "Hello, gentlemen," she greeted cordially while eyeing the myriad of guns focused on her, "No worries, I'm not wanting to cause any trouble. If you would be so kind as to lower your weapons, that would be much appreciated."

[Assistant]
While fighting back the spicy bile in his throat thanks to the veracity of the impact, Paul was busy picking off some leather that was sticking ever so slightly out of his boot. While, had he immediately gotten out of the pod, he probably would've been able to catch his ever-so-charming lover as she was also removing herself from a pod not terribly far from his location. Instead, Paul preoccupied himself with removing the one little piece of leather that was hanging ever so slightly, just enough for him to notice and become irritated. Paul had also cut his fingernails recently, so he was having quite a frustrating time. Finally, after a solid five minutes, Paul picked it off and was put in such a bad mood that he forgot to check the pod's schematics for oxygen levels, air pressure, etc. Thankfully he had no repercussions for his naivety on this day, but if that were to happen again he very well could've become a Paul-pancake (Paulcake?) if the gravity was too strong. Hopping out of the pod, he waved his hand to get the spiraling steam out of his face.
 Barely in the distance, he could see a shape that looked an awful lot like the drop pod that he just removed himself from. Curious, Paul made his way over the pod while rubbing his arms rapidly in an attempt to stay warm. Peering inside the drop pod, he gave it a big whiff, and instantly recognized the smell.
Maya.
He couldn't place exactly what she smelled like, but it was a smell that gave him warmth inside, although he would prefer warmth outside at this point.
Odd, the coordinates for a Archon are supposed to disappear if someone is already looking for them... A glitch, maybe?
Or perhaps there are two Archons on this planet.
 That'd be a change of pace, for sure.
Despite the gravely ground and murky atmosphere, Paul could just barely make out Maya's footsteps from amongst the dark soil. He had to practically form an acute angle with his body in order to make them out, but he followed the footprints nonetheless, until he bumped he tripped and fell on his head. Taking a few seconds to dust himself off, he could now make out some headlights in the distance. While they were yet to exist on his planet, he had at some point in his adventures encountered the mystical "motorcycle," a transportation device of untold power. He continued to follow the footsteps until he finally made out Maya, hiding behind a rocky structure. He was about to call out to her, but her loud sneeze covered up his voice. Maya emerged as the motorcycle riders pointed their weapons at her, and Paul remained where he was, prepared to jump out if anything went wrong. His dagger, ever at the ready, was gripped tight in his hand.

[User]
Fuma lands his craft and it dissipates into the surrounding, writhing blackness. He doesn't break stride and continues into the hangar. It's quieter, since the shift change went smoothly and without confusion. The calmer, more rested day shift just finished lunch. Now, what was he back for... Ah that's right.

Fuma taps on his radio and begins to speak but is interrupted.

"Took you long enough. The scouts have made contact with the intruder. First report states that it's a female,white hair and dark clothing. She does not appear to be hostile and did not greet our team with malice." Radio pushes a roughly typed report into his hands that he does a once over of.

"I see. Well, than we should refrain from using force." Fuma flips on his channel to the scouts and calmly speaks his orders to them.

"Good work fellas. Please lower your weapons as the lady asked, I thought I taught you to have some manners."

The leader jumps a bit at his superior's voice and reaches up to his Comm device.

"Yes sir, understood, sir." He repeats the orders as protocol demands, and the scouts lower their weapons. He takes off his helmet and nods to the strange woman in apology.

"Please forgive me, we don't take any chances around here. What happened to you, miss? You look worn, and you appear to be alone. It's too dangerous out here for that kind of behavior."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Rai shakes out her jaw length jet black hair and walks over to Fuma with growing curiosity. She listens to his orders and feels a spark of excitement. Sounds like what Radio was talking about is a lot more than she made it out to be. Even so, there are weapons to be repaired and blades to be sharpened.

There's a rumbling in the atmosphere... I can feel it. Like the thick warm winds before a storm.

Her exotic appearance and unearthly skin tones mask her wonderings as she goes about tuning up her weapons and armor, waiting for more information on the visitor.

[Assistant]
Maya stood poised and patient as the leader of the group contacted his commanding officer. Having lost sensation in her fingertips, she lowered her hands slowly to her sides, hoping not to spark a shower of bullets. Minutes ticked by awkwardly while the man reported the details of their expedition. Tilting her head inquisitively, she carefully examined each scout in attempt to discern if any of them exhibited telltale signs of Archon lineage. Marcus was capable of reaching out with his mind in order to scan others' thoughts, but Maya hadn't quite perfected the skill. Instead, she relied on her acute perception to pick up on behavioral cues. None of them men before her fit the bill.

 Her back stiffened; Maya was suddenly very aware of someone else in their presence, hiding in the shadows. The leader was still engrossed in conversing on the radio, and none of the others appeared to be aware that they were being watched. As the wind switched directions, she eased as she detected a familiar scent -like burning leaves mixed with leather and a sweet touch of rum. It was Paul hiding out of sight.

Sneaky bastard. He should still be in sick bay. What, did he think I couldn't handle this mission on my own?

Well, you're currently surrounded by men with guns…

They haven't shot me yet.

Yet.

 At that moment, the leader of the pack turned back around to Maya, taking his hat off apologetically. "Please forgive me," he announced, "We don't take any chances around here. What happened to you, miss? You look worn, and you appear to be alone. It's too dangerous out here for that kind of behavior."

Dangerous? I wonder what has been going on on this planet…

 Putting on a smile and her polite business voice, Maya replied, "No worries at all. It is completely understandable, especially in times like these. As odd as it may sound, I am actually trying to find someone of great importance to me. If it's not too much trouble, could I possibly catch a ride with you to the nearest town or city?" She made sure that the last sentence sounded extra pitiful, pouting her lips for effect.


[System]
Generally minus the wings and a slightly more human figure, if only for the sake of… kind of blending in.

Age: Immortal – confirmed year count 4,732

Gender: Adapts a female appearance and goes by "she".

Race: Demon

Personality: Deceptive, cunning and tactical. Though she has never betrayed the demon lord, she has betrayed almost every other demon she has come across in some way or another, usually for the sake of her master. The result is a reputation for being almost entirely untrustworthy. She cares not of what others believe or think of her, not really; her skillset is such that she is very difficult to trace, even by the demon lord herself, and she puts these skills into use frequently if she is under the impression someone is out for revenge. She is driven by "something more"; she looks for something beyond raw power, though she has told no being what exactly it is she wants.

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Class: Demon Runic Mage

Equipment
Runic Robes: A protective assortment of clothing that is partially intertwined with her skin, soft to the touch and hinting to what many would consider an attractive appearance. These robes give her many of her capabilities. The runes are pure demonic symbols that are nearly invisible in the fabric to human eyes, though they stand out like red beams to those with magical skill if she is not attempting to cloak herself.
Runic Beads: Four arrays of beads that are in fact minor runes, each serving certain purposes and generally left to hang out from the aforementioned robes. Said runes can be utilized as extra appendages, though rarely do they come into use for that purpose.
Orb: A small, swirling black ball that is always in her hands when attempting more complicated spells that are beyond her basic skillset. Suspected of being at least important to gaining her secrets, if not the very foundation of her knowledge, many have tried to steal it from her. However, it never leaves her grasp, and it has never been stolen. Its exact properties besides being a utility for her spells are unknown.

Powers
Illusion: Kolonis is capable of creating and maintaining elaborate illusions, either to the minds of multiple weak individuals or a single stronger one. Those with divine abilities and a high amount of raw magical power can override her spells in this field, as can individuals with strong wills – but only if they catch on to her attempts at the outset, as the best illusions are those most believable.
Runic Spells: Kolonis utilizes an old art of runic magic, a delicate art requiring extensive knowledge and involving more than a little safety risk. As one of the few demons capable of using it, and the only high-profile one to have mastered it, this knowledge has sustained her position through the years. Runewords can be created in blood, and depending on the type of spell, multiple types of blood.
Demonic Nature: As a demon, she has a corrupting influence, a durability far stronger than that of an average human in combat, superior senses/reflexes and some natural control/immunity on the matter of fire. However, she lacks a true demon form.
Dematerialization: Kolonis lacks a true demon form, but makes up for it by being able to turn into a dark blue liquid or other non-solid state. Useful for escaping or transportation (though she's not much faster than her solid form) but rather pointless when using spells, as they require all portions of her body to be solid.

History: Kolonis was one of the Demon Lord's early supporters, having joined him nearly 5000 years ago. Presumably, she existed before then, though for how long and what she did is entirely unknown. Bringing with him potent spells and skills in the shadows, Kolonis made herself invaluable from the start and steadily rose to be a silent member of the top leadership, playing a hand in many plots and eliminating an array of potential threats to her master. Her first missions consisted of assassinating and otherwise destabilizing the reigns of higher ranking demons, and as her master grew in power, she slowly rose to deal with problems across the board. Eventually, she led many of the preparations for the overworld. Never one for direct combat if possible, and thus rarely seen on the field – sometimes to the ire of her fellow demon - she nonetheless earned at least the respect of her superiors. Said superiors were few in number by the end. Never has she revealed more than a taste of her secrets, and she says absolutely nothing of her past prior to meeting the demon lord.

Though Kolonis had slain many heroes who may have caused trouble before her master struck the world, she failed to miss the greatest danger of them all. Originally, the hero appeared irrelevant and entirely escaped her notice. Her concern began when the hero began to circumvent, outwit, or entirely destroy her many traps and precautions. Kolonis prepared many specially tuned curses, spells and enemies in combinations that would have been fatal to any hero. Such was not the case; before long, Kolonis had exhausted a formidable supply of attacks and plans to no good effect. Indeed, it seemed that for every one of Kolonis's failures, the hero became stronger. By the time the demon lord intervened and took personal control of the crisis, it was too late.

Kolonis barely escaped as the strongest demons fell or fled one by one. She took to the shadows once more, without a plan or a master. The organization of the demon lord's forces fell into total disarray, and she had very little authority to stop it. Some promised loyalty to Kolonis, only to vanish the moment a plan for counterattack was mentioned. Others shunned Kolonis for surviving and not battling to the end, as one of the demon lord's closest allies. Her reputation was always mixed; now so more than ever, and largely unfavorable towards her.

[User]
"I see..." Leila answered, sounding a little dejected.

Their conversation was cut short with a lizard man suddenly leaping down from the roof, taking down a couple of zombies with his attack. Then, he loudly called for anyone who was there hiding to come out.

Leila never thought of that possibility. Her mind was entirely focused on the destruction of the village that she neglected the possibility that others might come to check out things too.

The rumor? She had known about it before she came here. It was yet another reason why she went here, though she had already fully expected the possibility that it was just a hoax, or even worse, a trap.

So this woman was responsible for the rumor, huh? She just wanted to gather strong people to bring down the Hero.

If it came to that, then she would be ready to fight.

...Wait, did she hear that right? Did she say the name of the Demon Lord, Remus? She said she could communicate with him.

Fishy. That was definitely fishy.

"Hey, what do you mean that you can communicate with Remus? Isn't he dead already? Are you one of his minions?" Leila said with a raised voice, her hand readied at her blade.

Her alarm bells rang even harder when a literal demon suddenly came out of nowhere and walked towards them. She just ignored her as she addressed the lizard man.

And then another person showed up. Thankfully, he seemed to be human from what she could tell. He walked towards the brawler and introduced himself.

"Careful! This girl apparently had some connections to the demon lord!" she warned him.

Now she had no idea what to do. Should she strike right away at the demoness? She didn't look to be hostile, and she herself wasn't sure that she could take her on. And then there was still the matter of the suspicious brawler.

Could it be that she just stumbled upon a gathering for the remains of the demon lord's army?

She shook her head. She had to stay calm in a situation like this. She concluded she would adopt the wait and see approach for now. With her blade's grip still in her hand, she waited for the brawler's explanation.

[Assistant]
Slightly confused, Vreskrr assessed the situation. Random crying woman, check. Oblivious zealot, check. Shady figure trying to blend in...Concluding she had found herself in some silly soap opera, Vreskrr decided to 'handle' the situation. Pulling her spear from her zombie-meatshield, Vreskrr charged the spear, aimed it and shot a beam past the crying woman, barely passing next to the woman's cheek and hitting a zombie behind her.

Vreskrr turned towards the 'zealot'. "I wouldn't suggest picking a fight here girly, with the undead and all. So remove that hand from there will you?" She spoke in a voice that was clearly not human before adjusting to a more serious tone. "--If you don't, I'll have to." Laughing in a manner befitting her demonic voice, Vreskrr turned to perhaps the most interesting person around. "I don't know much about this rumor, but Remus? I thought he'd perished. Well, not that I care all that much, I've been feeling better than ever since I quit his army."

After a moment of uninterrupted silence Vreskrr sighed. "Geez, enthusiastic much? Fine, I'll play by your game then." Vreskrr took a step forward, unimpressed by Leila who was visibly on guard against her. "Call me Vreskrr. I might not know much about this rumor of yours or your plan, but I'll play along for now."

[User] Leila's face turned into a frown at the demon woman's attitude. She was clearly irked by how arrogant she was. She did not respond to her taunt. Instead, she sent her sword away, though she still eyed the demon with a gaze that might just drill through the skull of an ordinary person. She reasoned that the demon seemed to come in peace for the moment, but you could never trust a demon. So even though she had summoned her sword away, she still would be ready to summon it in a split second if the demon decided to suddenly turn hostile. She was quite proud of her quick draw, having already caught many opponents off guard with her suddenly pressing her sword on their throat even though she was unarmed just a second ago. She thought this would also make the demon lower her guard, even if just for a little.

[Assistant]
The fist fighter's announcement didn't move Tony, it only made him more suspicious. The only thing more suspect than a nutjob was a magic nutjob. Not that the girl (If he could say that; magic always made things weird) was necessarily insane or magical, but talking about dead people and demons tended to point towards insanity, and there was a good chance that magic was also involved. But he could accept that she might believe that she could hear the voice of the dead demon lord, he'd met plenty of people say that they could hear dead people, so that didn't bother him. If she was telling the truth, that would be bother him a lot, but that remained to be seen.

There was still something that bothered him, however, and that was his prospective teammates. One of the problems was that he could count the humans on one hand, and even then he wasn't sure they really were human. There was the fist fighter, the young knight, the man that introduced himself as Jason, and the crying girl. But with the presence of the spear wielding demon, that opened the situation up for all sorts of trouble. Any or all of the humans he'd counted could be demons, crafty lot as they were. The only one he could actually count on not being a demon was a lizard man, but that wasn't saying much.

Many people had an immense hatred of demons, and although Tony was not amongst those numbers, he'd lost a fair few friends fighting the demonic hordes. This gave him a slightly negative disposition to them, but that wasn't the main problem. The main problem with the group were that they were just eating this up! For all the things the demons had done to his fellow soldiers he at least believed they were realistic or cynical enough to not just believe some random possibly insane stranger who claims that they're talking to their dead leader. Tony himself wasn't exactly one to mind either but half his regiment didn't give their lives so humanity's last hope could follow the first random guy (or girl) who claimed to have a way to beat the tyrant. He wasn't against the idea, he too didn't have any options, but he was starting to get annoyed that no one pointed out the absurdity of this situation.

Tony stepped out of the shadows to where the group had begun congregating.
"Well look at the sorry lot we have gathered here." He said, walking confidently forward.
He took a moment to look around at the misfits gathered together. A demon that fired beams and various assorted persons of varying degrees of scruffiness. This was the group of misfits he expected. Well, he wasn't quite expecting demons but he hadn't been planning for any worse.
"I'm all for following a random stranger on an adventure and off a cliff or wherever it is you're supposed to go," He announced. "But I'm not biting the hook just yet."
He began slowly walking towards the monk girl, taking long, measured strides.
"I don't know about the rest of you," He continued, eyeing everyone in the group. "But when some nutjob starts telling me she can see the spirit of a dead schlub, I start turning the other way."
He stopped just in front of the girl and crosses his arms, staring resolutely into her eyes.
"So you're telling me that you're channeling the spirit of a dead man." He began. "When the only dead men I see are these god forsaken rotting abominations."
He gestured at the shuffling zombies pointedly and recrossed his arms.
"So I'm going to have to ask you to tell me again; why exactly should we trust what you're saying?" He continued. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't have any qualifications to call the shots around here."


[System]
Age: 16

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Appearance:

A bright eyed girl from the Steppes of the Northeastern highlands, she carries with her a brightness and optimism that would lead one to believe her a simple runaway girl with dreams of adventure. Her complexion is tanned from her time spent under the open sky, and she seems to be in a perpetual good mood, judging from her omnipresent smile. She is of a lithe build, and has a slightly bowlegged stance from her life spent riding on a horse. Her arms and legs are fairly toned and muscular for her frame, making her a lot stronger than your average girl from a farm.

She is almost perpetually seen with her hair in a ratty mess, the only restraint to it being her hairband that keeps her bangs from blocking her vision entirely. Her outfit usually consists of a traditional tunic of the Steppe, with large sleeves that give her arms free movement, a black long skirt that has been ripped at the sides to allow her legs more freedom, and a pair of leather sandals. When adventuring, she wears a leather breastplate beneath her dress for added protection.

Height: 5'7"
Eye Color: Amber
Hair Color: White

Personality:
A little ball of sunshine and happiness, there doesn't seem to be much in this life that can get the Steppe Archer down. She carries with her an almost infectious energy that brightens up the room, seemingly always in high spirits.

Her optimism is matched by her keen observation skills. In just a few minutes, she can identify the people in a room at a glance, and tell how someone is feeling by their expression. Despite her perceptive nature, she herself is very blunt, and often unable to think before she speaks. It is not uncommon for something she says to come across as harsh due to her lack of common sense compared to most other people.

Likes: Horses, Sweet Meats, and Flowers
Dislikes: Enclosed spaces, Negative thinking, and Insects
Hobbies: Leather working, Cooking, and Stargazing

History:
On the large rolling plains of the Northeastern Highlands, one is born, lives, and dies on the move. There is no pause available to the nomadic people, with each waking moment spent with focus being on procuring food, supplies, and, once those begin to run low, the focus shifts to uprooting the camps and moving elsewhere on the Steppe. Their society is organized by numerous small "tribes" that have banded together to form a Confederacy, overseen by a leader who rules for a period of ten years after a martial tournament is held between the greatest fighters of the tribes.

Before she was born, her father was heralded as the mightiest man on the Steppe, unbested in archery, and a master of wrestling. On the second year after she was born, he was dethroned and retired to his previous life of being a hunter to provide. In the time she spent with her father, she would learn the art of the hunt, and come to grow into a young girl. Life would proceed as it did, the circle of life in an unending loop, marching onwards with the beat of the people who's lives were spent chasing life. It wasn't all bad, not in the slightest. The meat was plentiful, the hunt was thrilling, and the life lead was one far from purposeless.

Eventually however, the decade-held tournament would be held, and with the rise of a new chief came new and bizarre laws. One of which being that a "bride" of each tribe was to be offered to his son, as if they were pieces of meat to be handed out. And quite unfortunately, she was "selected" as the delegated bride. Rather than accept some impish demand for her virtue and hand in marriage to some spineless whelp, she would instead flee the Steppe with her father and mother's blessings, figuring that she could eek out a living as a mercenary or adventurer.

With no military willing to accept such a young girl despite her demonstrated skills, she was left with no avenue but to become an adventurer, arriving in Palisade town on the Frontier due to its closeness to home.

Adventuring Rank: Porcelain

Equipment:
Nomad Bow: A composite recurve bow of Steppe Archer's own making, made out of horn, wood, and sinew. It is well used from the years that Steppe Archer has spent hunting. Due to its smaller overall size compared to a normal bow, it is ideal for shooting on horseback and while moving, while not sacrificing the power of a full bow.

Nomad's Sword: A steel curved sword resembling a slightly less curved scimitar. Ideal for slashing things apart, or gliding past something with a slash. Has a large enough grip to be two-handed.

Torchfire: A beautiful mature auburn colored horse that Steppe Archer rode into town on. Despite the fact that she isn't able to bring it on many adventures due to the danger, she still insists on keeping it stabled up in Palisade Town, just in case she needs it. She is Steppe Archer's pride and joy, and her greatest asset in battle on a more open plain.

Skinning Knife: A small knife that's sharp enough to cut through flesh. Usually used by Steppe Archer to skin the beasts that she slays, in order to sell the pelts for a sizable sum. Steppe life taught her never to be wasteful.

Steppe Ensemble: Steppe Archer's protective leather breastplate beneath her folk-style dress. Her clothes keep her cool in just about any climate, and the leather armor beneath provides enough protection to shield her from light damage.

Porcelain Adventurer's Tag

Skills:
Horseback Riding: There are few that can match the riders of the Steppe when it comes to equestrian based combat, and as a proud Steppe child, Steppe Archer can ride with the best of them.

Trap Setting/Disarming: Much of the Steppe's hunting is done using traps to catch prey. As such, Steppe Archer is proficient in finding the perfect spots to place traps, whether that be to aid her friends, or harm her foes.

Handy Woman: On the Steppe, work is divided amongst the men and women equally. As such, Steppe Archer is skilled with physical labor, capable of many tasks that many in the realm would consider "men's" work.

[User]
Big Red shook his head, why were the humanoid females such troublesome beings? Still at least she'd scout around with Archer Girl. Still the farmer was brushing the old mare, taking off the dirt and dust of the road possibly? The brush didn't look particularly pleasing, even to him and his tough hide. But what did he know of domesticated animals anyway? His people didn't practice husbandry and domestication, the swamps were too deadly for normal livestock.

Apparently they stole literally everything they could. Some of it made sense, a bucket could be turned into very basic crappy armor. Rope has so many uses there's no point listing them all. Sacks of food and empty could be turned into clothing. He had heard they weren't much smarter than children, but even kids desired clothes and to be warm. Of course talking about the goblins agitated the man and made him brush the horse to roughly.

He then went on to say the direction they always came from, north northwest. So they didn't circle around to confuse anyone, good. Made things more simple. The final tidbit interested him most, they always came at dusk or night time. Nocturnal?"Thanks for the information." He said before turning and leaving with a brisk pace.

It took him seconds to spot the girls at the fence perimeter and he sped on over. They were looking at the ground, looking at tracks? Well they could follow those if they were the goblins foot prints. "So, the goblins are most likely nocturnal. He hasn't ever seen them in the day, only dusk and night." He said before reiterating the information he got. How the goblins stole anything they that wasn't fully secured and the direction they always came from.

"So should we get going...? He questioned, the farmer probably had no more useful knowledge and it'd probably take them a bit to locate the goblins hidy hole.

[Assistant]
"I'll do what I can to help you out." Druid Girl said in reply to her archer-ally. "Some of the local animals might've seen the goblins too, so I could always ask them." She added.

Soon enough though, Big Red rejoined the two girls, and Druid Girl welcomed him back in a friendly manner. After hearing what the lizardman had gathered in terms of information though, the caramel-skinned girl wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it. If goblins were active during dusk and night, that meant that right now - during the middle of the day - they were most likely asleep, or at the very least resting. This meant that they were probably holed up in their nest or whatever home such creatures made... Which was both good and bad for the trio.

It was good, because all the goblins would likely be in the same general area. The bad news was that all the goblins would be in the same local area.... She'd heard tales and rumors about the little creatures before, like how they were weak and stupid and most adventurers didn't even bother dealing with them, because they were filthy and not worth the effort to bring down. Still, if they stole from farmsteads, and if they were indeed responsible for that woman over by the road, then wasn't it just as plain as day that they were a threat and danger to people? Sometimes tthe girl had a hard time understanding her senior fellow adventurers and their unique way of weighing what quests to take...

Still, the lizard had asked a question about being ready to go, and Druid Girl for one was more than willing to get off this decripit farm as soon as possible.

"I'm all set, we can leave whenever." She said, a bit of energy back in her voice when copared to the sour mood she had been in earlier.

~ Later ~

Once all was said and done at the farm, the three would set off and march their butts first north, then north-west, following the shallow tracks made by tiny feet. Throughg the combined efforts of the druid and the hunter, they were able to - not too often - lose their way and keep on point with their hunt. A few stops for asking the local wildlife, like crows and squirrels, if they had seen any goblins, along with a mandatory potty-break for all of them, were all the interuptions afforded.

Still, even with their skills at tracking and their ability to inquire animals, the group did not locate the goblins' hideout until mid-afternoon. Not yet dusk, but not far or many hours away from it. The sun was lower in the sky, noticeably, and the tinge of the sky had begun to change slightly far off in the east. Still, theyh had found what they were looking for - and fortunately, they had encountered no sentries or guards to warn the residents inside of the approaching trio of would-be-threats.

The goblins hidey-hole was, in all fairness, nothing more than a mossy mound and cave, with a crack roughly the size - slightly bigger - than your average doorway to a human house. Bushes and trees stood around the cave, and if the group hadn't been approaching from the south-east, they might not have spotted the opening at all. From any other side, it just looked like a small knell or hill. Even if they weren't clever, they still seemed to know how to pick their lair, those crafty goblins.

A quick survey around the immediate outskirts revealed no traps or alarms. It seemed this group of goblins were confident enough in their natural camoflaughe that setting up any sort of perimeter defense or security wasn't needed... That, or they simply didn't know how to do such things. One thing was for certain though, somewhere not too far off was the source of a foul, piercing, eye-watering stench. A mix of amonia and rot and what could only be feces caused a foul-wafting aroma to permiate this otherwise pitoresque area of woodlands. Druid Girl wrinkled her nose and grimaced slightly.

"I'm not one to be all fussy about the smell of dung, animals leave that sorta thing behind all the time... But, this is a bit much, even for me." She said while trying to get into a position that was up-wind from the stank. "Still, what do you two think we should do now? It's getting close to dusk, and they'll probably be scurrying out of the cave soon-ish... We could wait to ambush them... But if there's too many, we might be better off sneaking in and dealing witht hem while they're sleeping or resting, right?" She proposed the two most basic options.

From what she and Steppe Archer could tell of the tracks, there had only been maybe two or three goblins that made those prints, and neither of them seemed to have been lugging anything around. Still, there was no telling what was waiting for them down there in the dark, musty depths of the mossy cave...


[System]
Age:
27

Planet of Birth:
Concord Dawn

Species:
Human

Skills/Abilities:-
- Sniper: March is known a one of the best sharpshooters in the galaxy, often rated in the top 3. He is well known for extreme long distance shots and rebounding his blasts off of the environment.

- Close Quarters Combat: March can handle himself in a fist fight and is quite keen on breaking his opponents limbs with quick submissions.

- Tracking: Born and raised hunting wildlife, March is renowned for his ability to track a target and even predict where they're going next. He understands people and environments very quickly which gives him a great tactical advantage.

- Hustler's Charm: As stated before, March is very good at understanding people and can very easily mould his own attitude and image to reflect his targets wants and needs, making his information gathering skills very valuable.

Equipment:-
- CM Reaper Sniper Rifle
- DC-15 Side Arm Blaster
- Electric Charged Shoto Club
- EMP

Personality:
March is a unique individual. He appears to be of sound mind and strong spirit. He rarely makes long-lasting relationships with men or women and professes to have never fallen in love. March maintains no friendships from before leaving Concord Dawn and only the most irregular contact with friends from his late teens. March is not nostalgic, but lives firmly in the present. He has only vague notions or thoughts about old age and retirement, which he does not seem to think he will live to see. He enjoys pushing himself to the limit, both mentally and physically. March's stress levels actually drop when the stakes are higher. He is prone to boredom and mild depression when not challenged. He has strong interpersonal skills and appears somewhat lackadaisical and flirtatious to the outside world despite his inner craving for solitude. He can act comfortably in many situations, but does not seek out companionship except, most notably, for sexual recreation. March's lone wolf personality-type tends to attract others.

He is goal-oriented, but he often seeks these goals in an indirect and secretive way. He has kept many areas of his life meticulously compartmentalized, never allowing the emotional issues from the loss of his family or from relationships to intrude on his professional life. March seems to have an emotional and mental need for multiple layers of reality. He thrives when not revealing all of himself, carefully organizing the aspects of his personality he reveals to others. Thus he is excellent at burying information he does not wish to reveal, making him a very good security risk if questioned under almost any circumstance.
March treats his "fake death" almost like a real death. He considers himself dead and everything he has done since as a dream. He believes firmly in immediacy, the moment is all that matters…

History:
Gendro March was born on Concord Dawn to a simple farming family. Much of his childhood was spent helping around the farm and out in the thick jungles hunting with his father. From an early age he showed much promise in sharpshooting, his parents knew that young Gendro was not made for farming like them, he had a greater destiny. The boys goal was to become a Journeyman Protector for Concord Dawn, so he worked constantly to hone is skills, he wanted to protect his planet. Things changed for Gendro when one day, the family travelled into a nearby town for supplies. As they gathered their needs, a rogue band of criminals invaded the town and forced everyone to give up what valuables they had. The March family, being principled and humble, refused. All were gunned down, including Gendro but either by luck or fate, he survived.

After recovering from his wounds, thirteen year old Gendro was initially filled with rage. The criminals had gotten away with murder and the townsfolk had all but stood by and done nothing to help. And these were the people Gendro wanted to protect? No. They weren't worth it. His family was gone, he had no past and now with no one to share it with, no future either. Gendro only had the present, the only moment that mattered. Hitching all the way to Coruscant, the boy dropped his forename and began to live a low life in the slums of the Capital City.

Hooking up with a group of travelling assassins, March watched them intently. Quietly learning every trick of their trade. No longer did he want to protect. All he could do now was what he had done since near birth and that's hunt. For years he was trained to be a hunter of men and finally at eighteen, March was assigned his first target, a senator. Tracking him was easy, the senator made it all too obvious that he was into some pretty dirty stuff. He visited places like Mos Eisly often, hiring gunrunners to supply his troops for an illegal war. When the time eventually came, March had no qualms with pulling the trigger.

Upon graduating to the life of an assassin, March made a name for himself for his skill. Always returning to Coruscant as a base, it was here he was approached with an offer to join a new rebellion. It paid ok but the credits weren't what interested him; the idea of testing his skills and hunting out some of the most interesting prey? That did though…

[User]
Urgop gave a kick to the PLNK droid as he walked. That he was being forced to take the IMPERIAL SPY robot to this rendezvous was bad enough, but the fact that it wouldn't stop trying to tell him about it's day was far worse. "And so then I said, 'I think what you need is a replacement for your thermal exhaust valve', but he wouldn'--" he gave it another kick. If this was a sign of things to come... Urgop shuddered, the thought rolling around in his head.

After a few more brain-cell killing minutes, the pair had reached their destination: the run down and dingy bar known as 'The Royal Bantha'. Urgop reached into the sack hanging from his back, pulling a powerpack bomb from within. He set the timer for three hours, and concealed it amongst some rubbish at the entrance. If he wasn't out in time to defuse it... Well, then it would mean the site had been compromised, and that the detonation would do more bad than good.

"Oh neat, this is the meeting place for that rebe--" another swift kick shut Plasters up. "Yes, this is the place. Foolish spy droid." Urgop did not like speaking out loud, but he had to make sure the droid STAYED quiet. Moving inside, he made his way past several seedy figures. An angry looking wookiee, at least two Deathstick addicts high out of their skulls, and... There, the backroom that matched the description he had been given. Looking around with a paranoid gaze, he hurried in to see a Twi'lek and a Trandoshan chatting casually. Urgop stared for a moment, hoping to be sure these were the ones who hired him. His silent staring was interrupted, however, by another outburst from Plasters. "Are you the rebels?"

[Assistant]
A fairly tall young man was sitting at the bar in the front room of the Royal Bantha, sipping a glass of Gralish liqueur, amazed that such a low class bar would have such a rare drink. At first glance, he didn't look like someone who belonged there - too fancy for a dive like that. Purple dress tunic, black Lashaa silk waistcoat, matching black pants, monocle. He pulled a small PDA out of his pocket and checked the time, then quickly finished his drink and stood up. One minute past schedule - or, perfect timing, by his standards. He liked being slightly late - it gave him a slight edge in judging his company's characters.

He grabbed his coat and started walking towards the back rooms, keeping his eyes out for anybody who might try to pull a weapon on him, and keeping his hand on his own vibrodagger. He knocked on the door mentioned in the message with the other hand, loosening his dagger in its sheath a little bit more, then pushed the door open and stepped in.

A motley band of mismatched figures all were present - along with a droid. Clearly the group he intended to work with. He took a short bow before introducing himself with a smile.

"Ah, hello there. Arimax Lispat at your service."

[User]
A Zabrak woman moved out of an alley beside the bar, her eyes scanning the area as she moved towards the entrance, a blaster slung noticeably on the belt of her jumpsuit. Vixai slid through the entrance, right before a group of humans moved inside. She sighed as she entered, remembering how much she truly hated places like this, too loud, too crowded, too many unnecesarily angry and shady beings trying to forget their lives through alcohol. She had never been a fan of the stuff, it messed with her work too much, she always needed to have her eyes open and on the prize.

As she glanced around the establishment she noticed two shady characters looking at her menicingly, she calmly moved her hand towards her belt and tapped the butt of her blaster. They would be foolish to try anything anyway, but it never hurt to let others know that you weren't a pushover ready to be jumped and taken who knows where. The two wisely looked away as Vixai walked towards the backrooms.

She was nervous about meeting the others, but she couldn't let that show, they were all hardened enough to take the job. While she would have rather worked alone, she would try to be friendly with them. Partly avoid getting shot in the back, though again she would never admit that either. The tall Zabrak girl found the door which would lead to the others, she carefully opened it after a deep breath.

"Um, hi, I'm Vixai." She said, in her usual quiet tone of speaking to the others as she entered the room, hoping she wasn't disturbing anything.

[Assistant]
A heartbeat. That's all he needed. March had spent years honing his talents with a gun but he had also trained his senses, being a hunter, senses were key. March had learned to read a heartbeat, even identify his prey from the rhythm of the beats. Walking the downtrodden neon streets of lower Coruscant, he could hear everyone. Those that were lost, those that did not want to be found, those preparing to, those that were and those that had committed terrible, unforgiving acts. A former mentor had once said that March's intuitive understand of locations and people was something to do with something called the living force, March slashed his throat about a month later; ancient religions and magic tricks didn't appeal to him. Skill. Training. The Thrill. The Moment. Those are what mattered.

Before his next appointment at the Royal Bantha, March had one last bit of business to take care of. The place was all but empty except for one other patron; a Cerean male sitting in the centre of the room. March took a seat opposite him and the two men sat in silence for at least a minute. "Is it done?" The Cerean asked placing something on the table. March's dark eyes never moved from the Cerean's face. "I gave you my word did I not?" The hunter of men responded in kind. "I am a man of my word, Larloq. You will not see Katu Wayn again" The Cerean now identified as Larloq broke his stoney faced façade to breathe a great sigh if relief. "And me? You said you would not let me come to harm at his or his thugs hands" March placed his hand on top of Larloq's and gave him a subtle smile. "Indeed I did" The Cerean removed his hand, allowing the assassin to pick up the credits that had been beneath it. March stood up and placed the credit card in his pocket. "I gave you my word that you would come under no harm by their hand. I said nothing, about harm under my own" Larloq began to feel a burning sensation in his hand, his throat tightening. "I normally don't particularly care for what my employers do, however you Lord Larloq, spend your days turning young children into slaves. That is one thing, I cannot abide" Every word March spoke was deliberate, calm and with class. "The poison that I just introduced into your system acts fast, so your death will be quick. Your lungs will close, your blood will boil and eventually your brain will shut down. You have maybe a minute, probably less. Your heartbeat betrays you. Dead men tell no lies, my lord"

The Royal Bantha; March had been here several times over the years and the décor never seemed to change. Maybe the Bantha was stuck in the centre of a black hole and thus time ran different. He didn't know. The faces always changed but the place remained the same. The invitation to this meet up was all very cloak and dagger, March had always prided himself on his skill in secrecy. Decoding the message he received wasn't too difficult, though the timing could've been better. He had quite a few jobs lined up though this particular one was intriguing. Entering the back room, March took in his surroundings, escape routes, possible hiding places for weapons, this line of work always meant you had to be on your toes. This was an eclectic bunch of ruffians, why on Earth gather such a group? Guess he would find out.

"Hello there"


[System]
Title: None
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Species: Half-Orc, Quarter Human, Quarter Elf
Class: Barbarian

Physical Appearance
Being an amalgamation of several races, Zul certainly has an interesting appearance. Though her features are obviously dominated by her Orc blood she still has hints of Elf and Human traits that make it hard for her to pass as a pure Orc. At a towering 6'6", she is generally taller than most human men but shorter than most full-blooded Orc. Thick muscles line her body, toned from years of harsh survival and fighting. Her skin is pale gray and crisscrossed with various scars. The most notable of these marks is a huge knotted gash that runs across her back from her upper right shoulder to her left hip.

Zul's face is where the most notable hints of her mixed lineage surface. She has the prominent jaw of her mother's race but lacks the signature protruding Orcish teeth. Instead, she has tiny nubs of fangs that just barely peek up from her bottom lip. The mixture of Elf and Human in her has done much to soften her features. While still nowhere near the fairness of an Elf, Zul has a unique beauty all her own. High cheekbones, large red eyes, and slightly elongated ears all balance out her somewhat manish appearance. If she had a more feminine hairstyle she might be considered somewhat pretty. Instead, Zul wears the typical braids of an Orc warrior. Intertwined in the black twists of thick hair are various silver rings and beads.

Personality
Bloodlust is not the reason Durzul rejoices at the thought of battle. She loves the exhilaration of danger, the chaos of blades clashing like shimmering waves, the comradery one can only find between brothers and sisters in arms. Since she is not one to crave simple death and destruction, Zul doesn't pick pointless fights with just anyone. However, if challenged outright she is more than happy to oblige.

That being said, Zul's rage is a force to be reckoned with. Thanks to a lively, if not crude, sense of humor she can take most ribbing jokes without becoming angered. If one were to question her ability in battle or her dedication to her company, then one better be prepared to dodge a few axe blows as well. Her lack of patience is what causes her the most trouble. Often times the long waits between fights will leave her antsy or moody.

An oddity of her otherwise harsh personality is her love of the arts. Be it musical, spoken word, or fine craftsmanship. Zul's bard father left his mark on her and she continues to admire those with the gift of gab. Something she does not possess. In diplomatic moments, Zul tends to keep silent and listen. Her bluntness is not always appreciated when there is a need for tactful words. This brooding quiet gives her an air of mystery to some but she sees it as knowing her place. She's a warrior, not a diplomat.

Motivation
Know what's bad business for sellswords? Peace treaties. Zul enjoyed her time when the Farhelgur and Eshhire were at each other's throats and once talks of peace started she lamented over her loss of sport. She was approached about a certain mission to circumvent this treaty and immediately signed up. However, she doesn't understand why they don't just lop off the envoys' heads and be done with it.

History
There once was a very, very brave bard. He was traveling the land and got himself caught in a blizzard, nearly freezing to death. He was rescued by Urzul, a banished Orc woman who had made her home in the wild north. The two spent a long winter snowed in Urzul's tiny cabin.

By the time spring had melted the last of the stubborn snow, Durzul was born. For years it was just the three of them in their mountain home. Though looking back on memories, Durzul believes her father stayed more out of fear of her mother than love. He always did dote upon Durzul and taught her to appreciate the music and beauty of the world around her. His gift of storytelling was her only eye to the world beyond their remote cabin.

Durzul's mother refused to let her daughter become soft with music and stories. In true Orcish fashion, Zul went through relentless training from a young age. Her mother often saying that she had to make up for her weak blood. It was around her tenth birthday that her father disappeared, after arguing with Urzul over the recently broken bones of their only child. Whether he finally escaped or Urzul killed him is still a mystery.

The harsh instruction of Durzul continued for some years. Finally, she had enough. She yearned to see the land beyond the snowy forests. One morning she confronted her mother with her plans to leave and was immediately struck to the ground. The two struggled for what seemed like hours. As things seemed to be going poorly for Durzul, her mother spat at her and remarked that she was as weak as her father. A sudden, blinding rage engulfed Durzul and she renewed the battle with her mother. Finally, she slammed the blade of a woodcutting axe deep into her mother's chest. The battle was over.

After giving her mother a proper burial and taking what supplies she could, Durzul set out to make her mark on the world.

It wasn't long before she got herself tangled up in a bit of a mess. Drunk and naive to the ways of the world, Durzul ended up shanghaied into serving in the military. While her success in battle and popularity with her comrades were obvious, she often challenged the authority of those over her. Superiors said that if they could simply remove her personality then they would have the perfect soldier. After nearly shattering the humerus of an officer, Zul was dishonorably discharged from service. She would have been arrested and charged had she not taken out a good number of men before making a hasty escape.

With her taste for war ignited, Zul started her own mercenary group. The War Hounds were very successful in their start but just as things were going well, disaster struck. Peace talks began between the Farhelgur and Eshhire leaving the future of the conflict uncertain.

Equipment
Thick leather armor
Dual wield war axes
Short bow with 10 Arrows
Metal gauntlet covering left forearm and hand.
Travel pack with survival gear and minor healing items.
Flask of rotgut rum.
A miniature kalimba, a gift from her father

Strengths
Physical Strength
Battle Prowess
Menacing Appearance
Survival
Rage
Darkvision

Weaknesses
No magical abilities
Prone to anger
Low stealth
No negotiations
Criminal past

Relationship
Former service buddies and members of The War Hounds. No living family that she knows of.

Note: I've never played D&D (always wanted to) so I had to do a lot of research for this. If I need to fix something let me know!

[User]
The day had been long with no orders or word from the one known as Lord Shade. The small encampment among the mountains north of Torlynn, a small village with much to say for its farmland but little in any other regard. Vashin Manor stands as a great bump upon the side of the peak with its access to caves and caverns which wind deep through the mountains. Only rock and silver come out by the hands of heavyset Duergar miners. Overseen by Count Vashin himself, a human-looking man with a pale complexion and thinned features, along with his moderators and guards to ensure security and keep the work flowing, the Manor offers much in the way of funding for the efforts of Lord Shade.

Some new arrivals come to the Manor over the course of a few days. Each with their own orders, goals, and purposes either for Lord Shade or their own fruits. Though diversity does not span the cosmic list of sentients, many are present in various forms of commonality; elves, dwarves, orcs...and some mixtures of the undead. None at the Manor question such vile creatures as the walking corpses, and they offer services and act accordingly to the will of Lord Shade. While intelligent and self-driven, some suspect their underlying will is tied to some other force either within or beyond the Manor itself.

Across the landscape of the Manor rests a graveyard, a smithy, and a few houses. One house seems as a store of some kind with general goods such as arrows, simple equipment, sacks of grain and general food. Another seems a storehouse meant for holding goods, perhaps for those about the Manor. Another appears as a more specified intended structure with shields, blades, and armor. Yet another appears as some sort of library with many books, scrolls, and equipment associated with such industries.

Sitting upon a tombstone near a small graveyard riddled with ancestors of Count Vashin rests a palish figure in fine-scale armor grinding stone against the tip of a spear blade. His legs dangle from atop the stone with worn words and dates barely readable upon its surface. His head is hooded and partly covered with strands of black hair dangling from the sides of the inside of the hood. A pipe sticks out from his lips with soft smoke wafting into the air. A satchel of gear rests at the base of the tombstone, nestled close for safekeeping.

[Assistant]
As the sun was reaching afternoon, a fine figure of a man, arrived on the back of an wagon. The teamster had hauled ore up to be smelted on the way back it was hauling timbers for bracing the mine shafts. On the top of the logs, rode a man with a couple trunks. He had a nice outfit on, with a black outer cloak lined with purple cloth an inner coat with many pockets

The man climbed down, thanked the driver for the ride. Slipping him a couple copper coins. With the trunks unloaded, the man pulled out a piece of paper sent to him by his former guild Master and friend.

The note read,
"Go to the mining village north of Torlynn.
Asking where you can buy some of this enclosed stone.

Buy some so you can make earrings for your mother.

Greet my sister, Slavi. She can help you with your letters and finding that old book.
Yours,
Uncle George"

Andrew read the message ago translating it in his head:
"Go to the mining village north of Torlynn. This stone is your key to getting the job. The pay will be good and they know of your family situation. There is a woman named Slavi that has supplies and can teach you. I consider her my equal. Your Master."

"First things first, Uncle," Andrew said. Finding a bed and a meal for the night. Traveling through the mountains is not, the most comfortable. When his horse was stolen by his loving brother's scouts, Andrew felt sorry for himself. It was by sheer luck that a farmer stopped and helped him. He road from one wagon to another. Some times he would end up sitting for a night or sleeping in a barn. His purse was a little lighter now as he had been spending his money on transport. Well, he had his pack, tools, trunks, and his sword.

He sat on the trunk, looking for the inn or someone to give directions and assistance.


[System]
Nicknames/Aliases:
Zero

  Age:
25

 Gender:
Female

 Rune/Location
Rune-Algiz
Location – Back of Left hand

Rune Powers:
Shields, the ability to shield oneself or another.

  Description:
Silvarae is considered to be of average size and build when compared to others of her age, standing in at approximately 5'6 and weighing in at 65kilograms. She is quick on her feet and extremely agile. Her eyes are a steel blue and she has long blonde hair that she keeps pulled back in a ponytail. She has the appearance of a woman that could blend into a crowed should she desire it, or stand out in that same token.
A smile rarely crosses her face though some have noted that in the heat of battle she wears a facsimile of a smile while her eyes shine with the purity of her hatred and blood lust. She is often seen wearing a form fitting body suit. While she is not preparing to battle or training she may be seen wearing a long shirt as her only clothing, the color of the shirt never matters seemingly to be chosen completely at random.
She carries herself with an air of superiority as if she knows she is better than most and thus she appears to most people to be unapproachable or indifferent. She keeps herself impassive to those around her and this shows not only on her face and it's lack of emotions but in her body language as well.

  Personality:
Quiet and withdrawn Silvarae prefers to keep her own company to that of others, she appears to believe that most others are inferior to her and so to spend time with them would be to lower herself. She rarely speaks to others, however when she does it's usually to bark an order or something. Most of her time is spent in combat training, even when given spare time she spends that in the training room pushing herself to greater heights.
The official stance on Silvarae Ailissa Kaizen is that she suffers from a severe inferiority complex and so lashes out at anyone who could possibly get close to her and is putting up an air of superiority as a way of guarding against the crippling feelings of inferiority she suffers. Due to this she is driven to prove herself more so than any others. She has been described as reckless if it means achieving her own goals, once having trained for 3 days straight without taking a break because someone had managed to achieve a goal that she had not been able to prior.

 Skills:
Silvarae is trained in many forms of hand to hand combat along with numerous forms of weapons.
Her main skills lay with in her agility and dexterity, she closes the distance between her and her enemies and uses a close combat style developed with a berserker in mind. She favours one of two different weapons for this,
Fenrirs Fangs; A pair of Daggers honed to within microns of an edge making them one of the sharpest pair of blades on the planet. The blades carry runic inscriptions along their lengths which read "The Bite Shall Rival the roar!" When she is surrounded and alone she will often resort to these short-ranged weapons in a hurricane fighting style.
Jormungandr; A two handed bastard sword which she will use if she requires something that hits a little harder in close combat. She has learned to use this in a defensive stance, and is used more when she has someone she has to protect.
Artemis; A high powered sniper rifle, .50 cal, this is used very rarely as it is counter intuitive to her chosen fighting styles and the profession she was trained in. Not very good with it.
Valhala; A small calibre SMG, this weapon only comes out if she is unable to use Ferirs Fangs or Jormungandr in battle. A kind of last resort capable of spreading bullets quickly if not terribly powerful. she uses it more as spray and pray than with any real skill.
Barrier; her rune ability to create shields of variable sizes, their strength wains as they grow bigger.

 Weaknesses:
Emotional attack; her insecurities and Inferiority complex leave her open, and vulnerable to any emotional type attack on her,
Close Combat fighter; She must be in close combat to fight her targets, even owning the Artemis she finds it very difficult and disturbing to use it.
Isolation; she keeps herself isolated from others not truly forming bonds and thus when she fights alone instead of fighting beside others.
Berserker Rage; While fighting she loses track of friend and foe, any that stand before her as a threat will be targeted.

 Brief History:
Being born into a family of overzealous mercenaries Silvarae had to learn from a very young age how to fight and defend herself or die trying. Her father taught her the necessary skills of fighting and honed them to a fine edge. However, he always told her she was not good enough, using his own impressive feats as a scale to belittle her. Her young age lead to her believing that nothing she could ever do would dwarf that of her father, and that everyone else was better off than she was. She slowly developed a strong dislike for others whom she would never be able to catch up to.
On the day, she turned 11 she fought against her first ever Warg, Her family had captured it with much skill and risk to test everything she had learned in what would be her first ever live combat. For the battle, she was given the choice of one weapon to take with her, being small and agile she chose to take a dagger, to an adult the weapon would have been little more than a letter opener.
The time had come and she faced off against a hungry and tormented Warg, that wanted nothing more than to sink it's fangs into her neck. The warg charged at her, and with movements as fluid as water she would move, if others hadn't watched they would not have believed how fast it was. Her eyes at this age already dull looking out at a world with the view of a jaded adult, were alight with fire. As the beast leaped to take down it's pray her subtle movement placing her to the inside of the beast and the dagger quickly biting into the chest of it.
A Growl and then nothing as the Warg hit the ground dead, she would look up to her father with the blood of the strike still covering her hand. A smile, one that any other might have said was disturbing on her face, the first life she had taken and it empowered her. It gave her training, her very existence in her mind a reason for being. She brought the hand to her lips that was covered in blood and licked it, 'still warm' the only words that went through her mind as she tasted the coppery essence that rand down her hand.
Witnessing this her father began to hire her out to people who required escorts out of the city or even to hunt down wargs that had found their way into town. Her graduation gift for passing all her training was the pair of daggers which would become known as Fenrir's fangs. Becoming known as such thanks to the savagery with which their master fought.
Many years passed with her running these hired jobs and she had never lost a single person to an attack. She garnered herself the title of Zero, meaning no one dies under her guard. She would become brusque and quiet. Seeming to stare down at people because of her talent.
That is until she was discovered by the institution for her unique skill which had been granted to her not too long ago.
Other:
Her Discovery:
The night was young and the group she had been hired to escort seemed to be a group of businessmen that were heading out of town for a week or so, nothing unusual about that in and of itself. What was though was the location they were heading to, she had heard reports of heavy Warg activity, and rumours of other monsters that lurk in the shadows. She mentioned that it was a bad place to go but they were adamant on their location and her father had already received payment for this mission. She informed them that they will do exactly as she says when she says, or else they will die.
They travelled the two days to the location which passed with little to no incidents, a couple of stray wargs which were terminated with haste. Arriving they set up camp and she set about securing a perimeter. Spell slingers may have helped in this however they only had her to guard them so she set trip wires and the likes around.
It was midnight on the first night at camp when they heard the first signs of something being up. A solitary Warg howl breaking the otherwise serene silence of the night. Silvarae was up and preparing for anything at the first notes of the sombre tone when she heard a second howl from the south, her mind checking quickly the first had come from the north. Moments later a third joined in from the east. The party of men became nervous and began to chatter about heading to the west to try escape the danger of three different Wargs.
Silvarae told the not to move at all, she knew what this meant, the hunting wargs were trying to channel them into a location where no doubt their pack would be waiting. A trap, she pulled out the Bastard Sword, Jormungandr and lowered herself into a combat position north of the men as she closed her eyes and listened. A slight jingle of a bell to the west, she was right, something had tripped her wire in that direction.
An Alpha Warg stepped into the light from the shadows it's eyes glowing red and saliva dripping from it's up curled lips, as if annoyed with the Humans who dared to stay put instead of running dead into their trap. It charged at the group growling as it did and jumping at them. Silvarae acting with a precision long since practiced caught the beast with her bastard sword flicking it back.
A fierce battle would ensue between her and this alpha predator as she caught it's attack with Jormungandr and parried them throwing the beast off balance several times and tacking any attack of opportunity. It wasn't until she heard another bell to the east jingle that she switched to the Fenrir's Fangs daggers dropping her sword. She would dispatch the new comer as he attempted to leap onto her with a backwards swipe of the dagger while the alpha stood back avoiding the worst of her attack.
Three more Wargs would approach from the shadows in attempt to surround her, they seemed to ignore the men for now as they were less of a concern and easy to kill at their leisure. The combined attacks against her were beginning to wear down her Defences with the daggers and the hurricane fighting style had its own drawbacks in that if it were to become prolonged as the Wargs were making it, she would become dizzy.
When the Wargs sensed weakness they launched in for a killing blow, at this moment she took a deep breath and readied herself for the inevitability of death, crossing the daggers to at least take down the alpha something happened. A flash of light on the back of her left hand and a rune appeared there, the daggers bit into the alpha however a barrier of force appeared around her blocking the other two from harming her. As the Alpha fell to the ground drawing his last breath the other wargs fled. The rest of the trip went with little incident, though the rune on her hand she did not recognize she did learn that it gave her the ability to produce a barrier like shield.

[User]
Helena was doing her best to navigate the room without losing her cargo, when she noticed she'd been approached. It was somewhat unusual to be working around anyone shorter than her fairly unimpressive height, so it took a moment to catch Dawn.

"Oh! Thanks I'm honestly fine. It's really not a-" she was cut off as CLifton breezed past and removed one of the contained from her grip.
"Really I don't need any help."

She gave a slightly strained smile before setting the coffee and milk down on the table and pulling a set of insulated cups from a large pocket in her voluminous sweater.

She might have maybe had more to say, but Clifton seemed very much occupied with one of the current attendees, who Oren was now back to owlishly glaring at.
"You seem to have forgotten my request." the Isa rune spoke, the whole situation setting alarm bells off.
"Draw your rune."

Helena, for her own part, took the point to step a little way back from the confrontation, with some intent to grab the coffee pot if things turned ugly less it end up emptied on someone's face. She was in no way qualified in security procedure. She wasn't even super qualified in office procedure.

[Assistant]
"Wouldn't even have a chance..." Volkir mumbles to himself after examining both@Kuroakuma Kana and Amity. " I guess its bests not to try...". He sighs, finishing his marshmallow before popping another one in his mouth. He then noticed another rune come in. "And here comes another..." He says eyeing @GoodLuckTuckMorgan as he walked in. Volkir could tell that he was male, but he also notices the femininity he carries. On that note, Volkir could tell he didn't care about gender. In truth Volkir really didn't care for gender either, yet he's mainly been attracted to girls. That doesn't mean he hasn't had thoughts of it.

 So many thoughts ran through Volkir's head. Why were they here? What is their purpose? Why are Runes only here? Where is the cake? He looks around the room once more to study everyone in the room. Yet again he finds himself getting lost in looking at Kana and Amity again. Maybe, I will. When the time is right, but who. Who am I kidding, I'm way too different.


[System]
Zeke Carter

"When adversity strikes, that's when you have to be the most calm. Take a step back, stay strong, stay grounded and press on. -LL Cool J

---

---

Personal Information
Nickname:
Zeke the Almighty
or simply Z
Enemies may call him 'Meat-head'

Birth Date:
January 25, 1995

Age:
20

Gender:
Male

Sexuality:
Heterosexual

---

In The Mirror
In Depth Appearance:
Zeke's eyes are a piercing blue that seem to stare into your soul when he is serious, but that doesn't happen very often and most of the time he has a very distant, glazed look. Nonetheless, he is very handsome with nice facial features. He sometimes has a stubble when he is too lazy to shave but likes to have a clean face. His blond hair glimmers in the sunlight and one can tell he is not ordinary when they look at him. He tends to loom over people when he is standing as he is a solid 6"6. He is fairly muscular, but not to the extent of a bodybuilder. He is more legs than torso and his arms are also very long.

Clothing Style:
Zeke prefers to wear tank tops to show off his muscles or if he could, be shirtless altogether. Still, he will wear things like t-shirts, button-ups, v-necks, and whatever if it is in his closet as he doesn't really care. He often wears athletic shoes such as Nike. Overall he doesn't really care what he wears because he knows that he would probably look good in it anyhow.

---

Delving Deeper
Likes:
* Hot girls
* Working out
* Meat
* Sports
* Competitions in general
* Beaches
* His 'bros'
* Beer
* His father being Zeus

Dislikes:
* Math
* Girly stuff like things that are pink and Chick flicks
* People looking down on him
* Being ignored
* Most teachers

Fears:
NONE -- but seriously:
* Not being good enough
* Disappointing his father
* Tangerines (if anyone found out, he would probably kill them)

Habits:
* Speaking in third-person when he's fired up
* Cracking his knuckles
* Zoning out when people talk to him

Personality:
♦ Arrogant ♦ Charismatic ♦ Tough ♦ Womanizer
Zeke seems like your typical jock. He is full of himself, yet somehow seems to win people over with his confidence. He is tough, but more brawn than brains. He likes to mess around with women, and has a bad reputation as a player. However, there is more to him than meets the eyes. When something is really important to him or the matter calls for it, he will reveal a more human side to him. He is actually not completely an idiotic meat head, believe it or not. He simply does not like to reveal that other side of him in fear that it may make him seem weak or inferior.

Background:
Zeke grew up with a single mother for most of his life. He wasn't the easiest child to raise though with his awful grades and tendencies to get into fights. Hera, the wife of Zeus, was so upset at his affair with another woman that she did her best to make sure that he never met his son. His mother tried to explain that to him, even admitting that his father was the great god Zeus, but Zeke did not believe her. At least, not until his 13th birthday when Zeus, himself, finally came down to meet his son for the first time since his birth.

At first Zeke was stunned and star-struck, unable to say a word. Then his father gave him a present that he cherishes more than anything, still today. A mini-lightning bolt, just for him. He hasn't used it, though throughout his childhood, that was always what he has gotten for his birthday much to his mother's dismay. He promised to only use it for emergencies, which never occurred, so he has 7 of them.

Anyhow, now that he knew that Zeus was indeed his father, his confidence sky-rocketed and he started doing better academically, except in math. He was still competitive, but no longer got into as much fights. Why should he anyhow? He was part god. He was the son of Zeus. He didn't have to meddle with mere mortals.

Soon he got recruited into Olympus Academy where he meets other demi-gods like him, though his arrogance remained. He was the son of one of the Big Three.
Extra:
My favorite goddess is still Iris. I guess I'll say my favorite god is Apollo.

---

Godly Information
Godly Parent:
Zeus!

Relationship With Godly Parent:
Making up for the time that they didn't have together during Zeke's childhood, Zeus has been a good father to him. They hang out, talk about hot girls, and even play ball together. Zeke loves his father a lot and looks up to him.

Godly Abilities:
Heroic Strength: While he was always stronger than most kids, it wasn't until he started working out that he realized that he had an insane amount of strength and physical capabilities. (Think Hercules)
L-l-l-lightning Power!: Like previously mentioned, he does have lightning bolts at his disposal, he just never used them yet...

[User]
Jonas Highwind

Location: In door, looking out upon the dorm parking lot
Interacting with: Dana Harada, Adachihara Kazuma, Rebekah Cross, and Dallas Relo (indirectly)

---

---

So this was a three-way conversation now. Okay, alright, socialization. All good. No issues. He butted into conversations a lot himself, he couldn't really find it in him to be irked with this kid for doing the same.

"ORE SANJOU!"

After all, she was just being helpful anyway. Better than he could say half the time, as he was sure Dallas would readily attest to. Yeah, this is actually alright.

"You're doing fine, new languages are hard. There's a bunch of little food spots around campus. Up that way there's a nice little Italian place th--"

"ORE WA KAZU! ORE SANJOU!"

And then there was this guy, proudly standing with his arms folded across his chest and yelling their ears off from atop his and Zaheen's (soon to be Hansel's) pet project. Alright. Somebody must have been listening in on the puns from earlier and decided retribution was in order. The situation here was steadily spiraling out of control, and he'd never felt quite so lost in his own front lawn.

"Hajimemashite." he repeated, this time more tersely and followed by a deep breath. "Watashi no torakku wa orite kudasai."

Nice to meet you.

Please get (off of/down from) my truck.

Thank Dad I decided to start taking Japanese for my foreign language credits...

.

.

.

That had better be right.

[Assistant]
Rebekah Cross

Location: Academy Campus
Interacting With: @Plank Sinatra, @HereComesTheSnow, @Onarax

Two thoughts registered in the daughter of Athena's mind. The first was that it was odd that there was such a high concentration of Japanese demigods in this specific location, as well as a student that successfully spoke their language. While they weren't any more or less represented than any other nationality (after controlling for the school's location, at least), that not one but two new Japanese students would appear here was an oddity. She rather wished she spoke Japanese, as it would be greatly helpful.

The second thought was that the newest arrival was being very, very loud. And Athena help her, if he didn't stop in the next few moments... Rebekah took a breath subtly deeper than her previous respiratory volume, and let it out a moment later. She wasn't sure how she had gotten herself wrapped up in such a noisy, irksome situation in so short a time, but now she was stuck. She couldn't easily leave without a valid reason, one she did not possess. So for the moment, she was stuck.

"Kindly quiet yourself. Few understand you." She stated towards the loud one, as efficiently as possible. Verbosity was both unnecessary, and undesirable. In lieu of leaving the situation, she would instead attempt to tune out the noise and focus on her original intention. She took a few steps closer to the Ares dorms, bringing her into an easier speaking range, and addressed the Japanese girl directly. "Ms. Harada. As Mr. Highwind was beginning to state, there are several establishments on campus. The main dining hall is east, as I pointed. There is a decent Italian venue that way. There is also a Mexican and a Chinese establishment, of questionable authenticity, but excellent taste."

"There are a few others, but those three are my personal favorites. The cafe-bake shop hybridization notwithstanding."


[System]
Gender: Male
Species: Demon (Leviathan)
Job: Lord of Gluttony
Appearance: his typical human form has messy White hair, ice blue eyes, dark caramel skin with runic markings and scars from old battles. Typically wears a fine black suit with a blue undershirt typically undone at the collar.

[User] "The festival should be continuing in for," The butler looked at his wrist watch. "For another two hours. After that Asran's room is sure to be swamped by his priests. Though I'm certain Nadia will stop them. I will even have some of the lesser demons aid in deterring them from swarming. They make excellent body guards, I may even assign you two of them. I'm thinking either Deidrich or Walter. Both are very understanding of humans, and other religions. You actually already met Walter in his demon form."

[Assistant]
"Oh that's good, I'm glad their fun didn't get ruined." She said, listening to him talk about the priests she once again thought about the two that were supposed to be joining her and internally cringed. "Nadia is a sweet woman. I met her this afternoon."

When he mentioned the demon bodyguards she pictured the big one from before standing stoicly in the doorway to protect Asran from a swarm of priests. She didn't think anything could make him move.

"Walter is the big guy that blocked me while you all were... helping Asran? Why would I need bodyguards?" Ayrie asked, suddenly on edge wondering if she had done something to unknowingly upset people.

[User]
The butler smiled glad that Ayrie liked Nadia. "That's good news, Nadia is the kindest and most understanding of all the priests. Though make no mistake if she wanted to she could destroy an entire city. Then again all the priests have that kind of power. But, they pale in comparison to the master. Though that would be if he actually had a destructive bone in his body. Which is why some people mistake him for the sin of sloth."

"You can't be that daft can you? I may be fine with you now. You've seen the markings on his skin the pain they bring. You also know of the fear, and apprehension he holds towards any church. Now imagine you're not you but like me or anyone else that cares about him. What would you do to protect him from someone that looks like they would truly seek to do him harm? To what extents would you go," he said calmly.

[Assistant]
Now she was truly frightened for the priests to arrive. Not only would they likely be angry with her, but if they saw her with demon bodyguards they would immediately assume she was in some kind of trouble. She wouldn't be able to control them.

"I understand, but if I'm being tailed by giant bodyguards the priests arriving in town will not take kindly to it. I need to find a way to get them out of here, and it can't look like I'm in any sort of trouble. You know what they'll do. They'll use me as a reason to start a war..." she looked at Asran. "I can't allow that to happen."

[User] "Not to worry there is another solution to that," he said then stopped. He looked like he was going to say something more, but stopped himself. Knowing that revealing one secret was bad. But revealing the one about Asran ordering, him and his fellow imps to follow her? Yikes, no thanks he liked his body unharmed. "It'll be alright you'll still be protected. Asran is sure to swing to your rescue if he needs to." He smiled kindly at Ayrie trying to allay her worries.

[Assistant]
"I can't imagine that would be fun to see." Ayrie said, imagining an irate Asran coming after the priests. She found a comfortable chair to sit in while the imp got Asran settled on the single bed. The room was sparse, littered with papers and things that she guessed were related to running a city.

"How long do you think he will sleep like this?" she asked, wondering if it would just be her and the imp for a while.

[User]
"While the damage was bad. It wasn't any worse than usual, so I think another hour or two," the butler said. Then fluffed his masters pillows, and gently took to washing the elixir off his skin with a towel.

After an hour Asran began to rouse awake. He groaned in discomfort before opening his eyes. Before he could lift his body the butler set a hand to his shoulder. "Easy there," he said. Asran groaned setting a hand to his head. "I feel like a chugged eight barrels of mead, and a barrel of wine as a chaser," he said.

[Assistant]
Ayrie had fallen into a light sleep in the comfortable chair as they waited for Asran to wake up, and when she heard his voice she roused. She sat up straight and looked at him, relieved he had woken. She stood and walked to him, standing awkwardly by the bed, caught between wanting to make him feel better and wanting to berate him. Along with the relief of seeing him wake came a wave of repressed irritation at how he had hidden his identity from her. She couldn't hit him over the head with the imp in the room, but she certainly wished she could.

"It wasn't exactly a walk in the park for us either. I'm glad you're awake, Lord Gluttony." she said, she spoke quietly. "Care to tell me more about this curse and what I just witnessed? Or shall I ferret the information out in bits and pieces like I did with your identity?"

[User]
Asran blushed and recoiled as Ayrie called him out on being Gluttony. But, at the mention of his curse his face went to a stony sad expression. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't trust you enough for that," he said shaking his head. "I'm sorry you had to witness that. Usually I'm more careful about how much energy I spend. But, lately I have found myself being too lax with my energy expenditure."

Talking about his curse was one of the most difficult, and painful things for him. Even thinking about it brought him pain. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose then gently moved to get up. He needed to get home, get cleaned up. Most likely change clothes as well.

[Assistant]
"You don't trust me enough, but I'm supposed to trust you, when you wouldn't even tell me who you really are." She frowned when he tried to get up, thinking he wasn't ready to be walking around just yet. "Here, let me help you."

She moved closer, holding out an arm to help him up. 'I might be angry, but the last thing we need is him hurting himself further by doing too much, too fast.'

[User]
Asran groaned as he realized that he had been asking Ayrie to trust him. Well not so much asking really. But, he had been trying to show her he was indeed trustworthy. Even though he was lying, when Ayrie was nothing but honest... ugh, the hypocrisy of it all gave him a headache.
"Look, you're right. But, I just don't feel comfortable talking about it. Bringing up a trust thing was more of a not really thought out excuse; Sorry. Just don't ask me about it, please."
He then looked to her hand, but he stood up on his own with effort. Not wanting to hurt her with his lack of control he was experiencing. Chances were if he touched her the whiplash of power could send her flying.

[Assistant]
"Okay... I won't ask about it again." Ayrie pulled her arm back, feeling stupid for even offering. 'I didn't just help you and wait hours for you to wake up or anything.' she thought as she watched him get up.

"Well, I'm going to go home. I'm not needed here anymore." She said, her frustration evident in her tone. "I'll get with Markus about a job, no need for you to meet with me tomorrow about it."

She moved back to the chair she had fallen asleep in and started to grab the few things she had carried with her, slipping her shoes back onto her feet.

[User]
"Ayrie wait, please. The reason I didn't take your hand was because I could hurt you. Most assuredly it would unintentional, but I would. My magic after taking that elixir bath can get rather erratic. With how powerful I am, and with you being the opposite alignment. It'd be like touching a power line you'd be shot back like a bullet after having your entire body fried. Not pleasant to experience or to witness," Asran said plainly.

Then moved to a dresser to grab an enchanted bracer, and a shirt. He started fitting the shirt on and said, "I will be completely better by tomorrow after some exercises to put me back into control."

After the shirt was on he but the bracer on his left wrist while turning to look at Ayrie. He had a devious look, and an amused smirk. "Also even if you went to Markus he would send you straight to me. You do realize I'm his boss right? Or did you forget, I'm lord Gluttony. I always get what I desire." He then approached Ayrie in slow easy strides closing the distance between them. He gently took her chin in his hand. His bracer had powerful enchantments on them stopping his magic from flowing out without his say so.

Asran leaned in close to her so they were eye to eye. "What I desire is simple. But, since you figured out one of my little secrets. I'm going to give you a new one, and that is. What is it that I desire from you? Till you can figure it out Ayrie, no one else is to help you unless I tell them to. They are only to help you with exactly what I tell them to as well. If they go against. They'll be punished severely for it. Do I make myself perfectly clear Ayrie?" He then smirked more it went from ear to ear. Asran might be a nice guy usually, but make no mistake he was still very much a demon.

The butler imp came up from behind Asran, and smacked him hard with a newspaper. "Ow! Watch it," Asran yelped. Turning around to stare at the traitorous little imp. "Sir, you told me to hit you when you were letting your demonic side show too much. Be glad I didn't hit you with a metal pole like you told me to." Asran growled as he pulled away from Ayrie rubbing at the back of his head with a deep sigh. "Sorry about that, another side effect of that damn elixir, and my magic going wild. Mood swings, nasty ones too." He then stepped away from her.

[Assistant]
Ayrie felt a gush of relief that it wasn't her stopping him from taking help, and relaxed. That devious look on his face made her tense slightly, but not in a frightened way. When he touched her chin she felt a shock that was all chemical, not in the slightest magical, and that did scare her. Those blue eyes seemed as though they were miles deep, and she felt she could get stuck in them. When the imp hit him it wasn't just Asran that was brought back to reality.

"What on earth could I possibly give to a man who already has everything he could want?" she asked, "You're a powerful demon, with loyal servants- an entire city of loyal servants in fact- but you want something from me?"

She stared at him, and then looked at the imp butler, and back at Asran. She had no idea what a simple girl like her could offer him, other than potential light magic that she barely knew how to use. She fiddled with her hair, undoing the braid and wrapping the ribbon around her fingers. If she were in his position the only thing she would want was someone to trust, someone she could confide all her secrets in. Surely that was too simple for someone like him, so she disregarded the thought.

"I'll puzzle out what you want, but only if you give me your name." she said, narrowing her eyes. She wanted him to give it to her himself, though she knew it, because she didn't want the imp to get into trouble for his slip up. "And promise that when I figure it out you'll tell me what this curse is and how I can help you end it."

[User] Asran looked at Ayrie with an amused expression. He loved how cheeky she could be, making such demands of him. He then stopped realizing what he'd just felt. Then sighed deeply, and smiled again it was warm. "Alright, after facing all that I do suppose you've earned my name. My name is Asran Throckmorton, lord to the sin of Gluttony," he said bowing slightly at the hip a hand arching under him. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady Ayrie." Then raised himself to be standing up right. Then flicked her on the forehead slightly. "Also don't get cheeky. I told you how I don't want to talk about it. You're also going to have to figure that out on your own. Ask the priests if it's so important to you."

[Assistant]
Ayrie smiled back, feeling the warmth of his. She could tell it amused him for her to make demands, and she knew that if he didn't want to give in he didn't have to. The fact that he finally gave her his name gave her some hope at breaking down his walls.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Asran." she said with a curtsy, giggling softly at the gesture. 'Why do I want to break down his walls though? I should be running back to the monastery with my tail between my legs!'

"I should probably make my way home for a change of clothes. I don't want to be walking around in the early morning wearing the same clothing I wore at the festival, having left running after you." she said, suddenly remembering that the priests would be arriving soon. She didn't need gossip getting to them, and certainly didn't need them seeing her dressed like this leaving Asran's temple. She purposely didn't mention them, not wanting to break the mood in the room.