[System]
Age: 8 months since prime activation

Gender: None, goes by the male pronoun

Race: Machina model based on Mura

Appearance: Built to appear friendlier and to avoid damage through physical abuse, Cecil was built to appear as close to a Mura youngster under the assumption people would be less inclined to hurt a child. Standing at 4'8" he has a surprising weight in his arms and legs while the rest of his body is lightweight and durable. His arms and legs can be removed to change his clothing while the strap across his chest can be unbuckled from the front.

Magic: Self-technopathy – Cecil can attach machinery onto his body and control it.

Gear: Power gauntlets used by construction and repair Machina upgraded to the highest spec. Comes with a self-service kit. Cecil's boots allow him to run vertically on surfaces and walk upside-down through the release of magnetic currents. He can't run or walk like this on wood and vibrations can cause him to fall.

Brief history: Part of an experimental range of Machina that are designed to be able to blend in with normal people. It is believed he was designed to be a helper Machina, Cecil was possibly due to be released and established as a builder who would help with construction; however, Cecil held little interest in being one of these and seemingly escaped. The exact circumstances of his escape are unknown, even to him as the last memory he has was being out in the great wild world. The programming within him probably knew what he was doing here so the surprise to be had was not massively overwhelming.

Cecil felt he had a purpose if he was being sent to this side of the realm and immediately he was off looking for it, searching for what he was programmed to fulfil. Completely unaware of the troubles and even the Church of the land, his outlook was naïve at best. He was a hard working Machina, he knew that much, and to find what he needed to do was his top priority. He knew how to read but couldn't write, if questioned about his looks he felt he knew the answer, telling people they were for construction work. Those travelling would rarely question him and would either be curious about the maker of his Machina to which would only confuse him.

Cecil didn't know much about this world but learning it from travellers proved fruitful. He learned that people used machinery quite commonly and people didn't appear to know he was just the same as that machinery. Learning from these people was proving to be educational, but he still had some questions that needed answering. Any other Machina he came across and tried to talk to didn't have any sort of leverage for conversation, as if they didn't have a mind like him and was simply 'following the program'. Whether he was following his program or his own curiosity he couldn't quite tell, but he had to find some answers somewhere in his own time. To explore the world and find what he needed to do was his first objective.

[User]
Yarri frowned, staring at the ocean around the ship. The huge open space made her nervous. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her, not wanting to draw more attention to her "revealing clothing" as one of the other passengers called it. She couldn't care less about other people's opinions on her, but she hated the attention. Of course no cloak could disguise Shaela, so that effort was mostly in vain.

She had to grin when she remembered the face of the captain, when they came aboard. A wild-looking woman accompanied by a huge black cougar. When he suggested the animal be caged for other passengers' safety, Shaela came closer to him and growled right into his face. Yarri also growled. "You can try." The captain, now all white with fear, just gestured them to continue onboard.

That was the only time she had talked to him. She saw him chatting with the other passengers, but whenever he would come closer to her, she would just stare at him until he changed his mind. 'Stupid Murans,' she thought, watching the human younglings run around. At the beginning of the journey they were frightened to come anywhere near Shaela, but soon the boldest boy of them came to ask Yarri if he could pet her cat.

A cat. Twice the child's size. Yarri just raised her eyebrow, thinking about what is she going to tell the boy's father when Shaela eats him. But the boy stood on his tiptoes, reaching as high as he could, and scratched the cougar under her chin. The worst part was that Shaela apparently loved it. 'What a traitor,' Yarri thought while watching her chase the children around the ship. Fortunately, none of their parents was there to see that.

'Why did I even get on this stupid piece of wood?' But she knew all too well. They were getting too close to her, so she had to change the scenery. Not run away, of course, she would never do that, but just relocate to another area for some time. Yarri spat into the water. These so-called hunters. She swore that one day she would show them the true meaning of that word.

[Assistant]
"Two pairs." An older man said as he lay down his cards. He had a pair of fours, a pair of sevens, and a ten. The brawny Dimuran's lips curled into a smile as he loosened his grip and lay his cards down face up as well.

He didn't say anything, but the cards spoke for themselves. He had three of a kind, fives. They both looked to Adrianna, who shook her head a little and placed her cards face down on the table, folding for the table. She didn't have anything decent this hand. The Dimuran took the pot, a few cooper pieces, and then tossed another into the pile.

"Can't we up the ante a little?" The older man asked.

Adrianna had set the ante, keeping it low. Her reason was that they were trapped on a boat, and if someone lost too much money, there would be a lot of tension in a very small space. Lots of things made people angry, but one of the biggest instigators of conflict was money. The last thing she wanted to deal with was someone feeling like they had been cheated out of their life-savings…not to mention the fact that she was pretty confident she couldn't take the Dimuran in a fight if it came to.

"The kid set it." The Dimuran said, gesturing to Adrianna.

"I know, but come on, let's make this a bit more fun." The older Muran replied.

Adrianna opened her mouth to explain her reason for keeping the ante low. Before she could, however, the Dimuran spoke up once more. "This is probably all the kid has. Don't try to con him out of his savings, Lago."

"Yea, yea…" Lago readied the cards for the next hand. They seemed to accept the reasoning given by the Dimuran, and Adrianna wasn't going to argue with them. It was plausible that she, a young lad, didn't have enough money on her person to bet more than a few copper each hand. Besides, Adrianna won the next hand and had won a few earlier as well. She could be very good at cards, but she didn't want to be too good.

"So what brings you to Galloway?" The old man asked, trying to make conversation, or possible distract the Dimuran from noticing his tells. Of course, the Dimuran wasn't terribly interested in making small talk, and he grunted as he stared intently at his cards.

"Looking for work." Answered Adrianna a few moments later. It was plausible, and it wasn't even entirely a lie. She was looking for new work, but she didn't plan on staying in such a busy port city. In truth, she had been considering getting work on a vessel, and had spent a while watching the crew swab the deck and tie knots and such. This little trip was a bit of a test run, and assurance that she absolutely did not want to get work on a boat. There was absolutely no privacy, and given her…condition, the tight quarters just weren't feasible. On the plus side, at least she knew one thing she didn't want to do.

"What kind of work? Do you have any skills?" He asked.

"A few." Adrianna said. "Why, are you hiring?"

"No, no…Just making conversation."

"What are you going to be doing in Galloway?" Adrianna asked in return.

"Meeting family. My son's wife just had another baby, and I'm coming to visit em."

"Sounds nice. Enjoy yourself." They continued to make small talk through the next few hands, though the Dimuran mostly kept his thoughts to himself. Lago pressed him a bit, but Adrianna didn't pry. She understood that some people preferred to keep their privacy.


[System]
Gender: Male
Age: 2000+

Appearance: Botis appears as a man of average size with pitch black hair and menacing red eyes/viper-like green eyes. Two sharp horns appear out of his forehead and illuminating fangs. He wears a long black leather jacket. Underneath the jacket he wears a simple black shirt and black trousers. He wears a heavy chain around his neck, but still manages to move around swiftly. Along with that is a golden lock necklace strapped tight around his neck. He wears a pair of heavy dark boots. He wears fingerless black gloves and has green painted nails.

In his true form he bears the appearance of an ugly large viper with horns and wings.

Personality: Although being a respected count, Botis is quite a childish person. He tends to act very bossy and doesn't take kind to authority. When having his new conjurer he acts rebellious and wants to do things his own way, but in the end is easy to control because of his child-like personality. He likes to mock his opponents during battle and often has a menacing look, filled with desire to bite his opponents. He has a habit to lick his lips.

Bio: Being born in a royal family in the Underworld, Botis always had been very spoiled. He was raised to be the heir of his father's title as Count of Hell. However Botis wanted more. He trained and trained, he ventured and eventually gathered a legion of demons which he eventually over time expanded to a total of sixty legions. Through his ventures he acquired the title of president and earl as well, a huge feat for a demon. Despite being one of the most powerful daemons in the Underworld he was summoned as one of the daemons of the conjurer Ciara.

Abilities: Botis is a skilled swordsman, wielding a sharp and bright sword. During his ventures his swordsman skills only improved. Aside these trained skills he has the natural ability to tell all things past and future and reconciles friends and foes. Poison flows through his blood which doesn't effect him but can effect others when they are scratched, bitten or slain by his blade.

Despite him being an excellent swordsman, Ciara doesn't have the mana to summon such a powerful blade to the surface forcing Botis to leave it at his manor under the protection of Connir, his loyal lapdog. On the surface he relies on his magic which vary from flare's to poisons to a pool of red essence that summons hands out of it... kinda creepy. In his household he has five maidens who he can summon with his own mana, unlike his sword. They all come from different backgrounds and were carefully selected by Botis to join his household.

Weapon: Botis wields a sword imbued with the poison inside of his body.

[User]
On the way home Ciara did not dare to speak, she got scared from the outlash Botis had given her just now. She did not know him good enough to difference between concerned anger or legit anger for judging the way he fights, how he has always fought. Ciara flew behind Botis watching his back as he flew with a quick beat to his wings. Deep inside herself she knew he was right, if left alive witch hunters would continue to kill, regardless of her kindness. Ciara couldn't help but think she wanted to end the circle of hatred between witches and hunters, and she wanted to take the first step. Someone had to.

Ciara sighed deep for her ridiculous thought, a strange goal for a witch to have indeed. She was supposed to fool around, trick them and kill them the moment she could. But if she and Rico could be friends, then why not the rest of them as well.

Once they landed at Robur Botis made sure Ciara got inside without saying a thing. When he wanted to fly away, to go towards Rico, Ciara stopped him by pulling his sleef. She looked at the ground, not even daring to look at Botis before she spoke.

''please come back after you have been to Rico'' She said and released the sleef of his black coat. ''I need you here'' Ciara commented before corecting herself '' I want you here''

[Assistant]
Botis didn't reply and took off. He headed towards the cabin of Lucille where she and Rico would be. He landed at a safe distance and pulled back his wings. He approached the entrance and knocked on the door. It didn't take long for Rico to open the door.

"Hey Rico, is Lucille there? I want to speak with her... in private." he said.

Rico looked kinda angered. "What is your business with her? Haven't you done enough damage already?"

"It's okay Rico, please leave us be." Lucille interrupted and motioned her boyfriend back to the living room. "So what's up demon?"

"Look Lucille, I don't know what you are or what your intentions are, but for now I trust you."

"Okay, so you came here just to say that?"

"No, I came with a request. Please venture back to those woods and make short work of the remaining witch hunters, I believe they will be asleep for quite some time."

Lucille looked rather surprised when Botis requested what he did. Botis on the other hand has a serious face throughout the conversation and hoped for Lucille to accept his request.

"Fine. I'll kill those men for you. Now go, Rico might get suspicious." she said. Botis nodded and took off again. He flew towards Robur and landed in front of the tree.

He sighed. On one hand he didn't want to go in and just transport himself back to the Underworld. On the other hand Ciara seemed like she really needed him to be with her, but why? She had Cherub and Surgat... with himself gone she would recover her mana much quicker. He decided to enter the house. Ciara seemed to be upstairs, probably resting in her bed, so he was greeted by Cherub and Surgat.

"Hey guys." Botis knelt down to reach their height. "I'm sorry to say this, but I'm going back to the Underworld. It's the best for Ciara, she may call upon me when she's done recovering." he said. He didn't respond to the two whether they begged for him to stay or not. A pentagram appeared underneath him and he was sucked into it appearing in his manor again.

[User]
Ciara laid on her bed after a exhausting day. She had teh feeling however, that her day was far from over. She had a lot to think about, a lot to set straight.

''right what where my goals again'' She said to herself as she rolled of her bed and landed onto the floor.

''one, I am going to be the greatest witch that has ever walked the earth.
 Two, I am going to make sure we get an understanding between hunters and witches.
 three, Danthalions circle will be added to my grimoire'' Ciara sighed as she slid further on the ground.

''four, I am going to make sure I will become a mistress worthy of Botis's service'' she said, adding another goal to her huge list.

''and five, I am going to find myself an handsome man'' ciara giggled at the thought alone, she was still a girl after all. She dreamt of those kind of things as well. Her giggle soon faded as she felt the precence of Botis near Robur, only to dissapear soon afterwards. The strain of having him around dissapeared with him, wich made Ciara feel lonely. She really wanted to talk to him and Cherub about some past events. Mainly the Midnight rose organization. Surgat had been with her at the time but the other two didn't know a thing about that.

Her peacefull thoughts were heavely interupted by a door slamming open and the two little ones charging in to her room.

''MISTRESSS'' they both cried as they flew into her arms.

''what happend this time'' Ciara said putting on a smile for their sake.

''Botis, that meany. He left even tough we asked him to stay'' Cherub said pouting as Ciara sighed. She had not expected anything els from him, but had secretly hoped he'd stay.

''He also said that he wouldn't return until you could summon him'' Cherub again sniffed. Ciara stiffend at the sound of the words.

''Was that exactly what he said?'' She said concerned as all the white pulled ut of her face. No way that he could leave her...right? Ciara knew that there was a possebilety he had grown tired of her so soon. She was a weak, in constand need of help, no killing, failure of a witch.

''hush now, I am sure he will come by to eat some apple pie or somehting, I doubt that will be the last we'd seen of him'' The though of summoning Botis on her own was nothing more than a far off mere dream right now. It would take a while for her to obtain such a power.
''It will be alright'' Ciara wisperd more to herself than to the little ones.

~one week later~

Ciara sat in the top of Robur practecing her magic spells, she had found out that ever since the battle with the vampire hunters her mana output had increased. Her turned to ash spell wasn't such a strain on her anymore, though she still had a time limit of half an houre to deal with now. The emptyness and silence around the tree had been buggin Ciara for a while now. She had already gotten used to Botis teasing the little ones and having them bicker over an cookie or such. She had still held onto the faint glimmer of hope he'd return to her, hoping that it had been his stubbornes talking again. Ciara sighed and tapped with her feet on the branch of Robur.

sigh
tap tap
tap tap tap
sigh
tap

''cats N'hell'' She said angry rushing down to her Bookshelf. ''like hell you will get out of our contract you idiot'' She yelled to herself while searching for the airbubble spel. This was an spell that formed an bubble of air around the casters head, filtering the air thus making sure the caster always had a fresh supply of air around. The main reason she was searching for this spell was because of the air within the netherworld. It had a time limit but it was all she had for now, it was better than nothing.

''found it'' She exclaimed happily as she started to draw Botis his summonig circle.
''aquafolium'' She chanted before activating the circle. She looked around making sure the little ones were not around, she did not wanted to bring them to any potentional danger. Quickly she jumped into the circle, doing the most stupid or brave thing in her entire life, more stupid actually.

As Ciara slammed through the portal and onto the ground she felt a pressure on her body, unabeling her to move. Her body was pinned to an old rug, that lay on the floor of an long hallway. Ciara's body needed time adjusting to the athmospheer of the plae, but slowly she felt herself being able to move.

She had 40 minutes to find Botis, convince/slamm it back into his head that they had a contract that need to be uphold. Once she was able to move she started to walk around the place.

7 minutes had passed.

[Assistant]
After returning to the Underworld, Botis felt kinda guilty for leaving his mistress all alone at the surface, even after he pulled the dick move of asking Lucille to finish off the remaining witch hunters. However Ciara could summon him anytime she could, so there should be no problem there. She just needed to have her mana completely restored, hopefully those little twerps didn't misinterpreted what he said. He could be a little intimidating towards them.

There had been two silent days in the Venom Manor. Botis was just staring into the distance, occasionally playing with the fire in his hand. He stood up and walked through the corridors and went to the basement of his manor. Once downstairs he walked through a door which lead to the only room on that level. There was a plateau with a shiny sword laying on it. Botis walked up to it.

"Such a beautiful blade, it is a waste I cannot use it." he mumbled to himself.

"Oh, and why might that be?" he heard a voice saying from behind. Botis turned around and saw another demon standing behind him. Dressed in a lute suit with a messy beard and his signature weapon the Trumpet Rifle strapped on his back. It was Barbatos, Duke of the Underworld, ruling 30 legions of demons.

"Barbatos... what are you doing here?"

Connir ran into the room, although still with the monotonous look on his face.

"Sorry master, he barged right in." the canine servant reported.

"It's okay." Botis answered. Connir nodded and headed back upstairs.

"To come back to your question. I was just thinking about giving an old friend a visit." the lute answered.

"We aren't friends... not anymore." Botis looked at him quite frustrated, although Barbatos could only throw up a smirk.

"Oh, and though I've heard from a little bird that you and Dantalion have crossed paths several times lately." he grinned.

"All coincidental."

"Okay, next question. So why are you admiring the Venom Blade? What is the reason you can't use it?"

"Simply put, my mistress in contract doesn't have the amount of mana to summon the blade along with me. Hell, I even have to help her summon me... it can be such a drag with her."

"Yet you haven't killed her. That must mean something."

"Shut up. If you have nothing else to ask please leave my estate before I call my maidens." Botis said obviously pissed off at the remark of Barbatos.

"Oeh, we wouln't that. Well say hi to Dantalion next time you see it and expect to see me drop by another time. Cheers!"

And with that the demon was gone again. Barbatos was a real jester, even though he dresses like a regular lute. He wandered from who he get the info that he was having several encounters with Dantailion again. Weird things are happening in both the Underworld and Overworld. Botis took another glance at his Venom Blade before returning upstairs.

The next few days passed by rather quickly. He spend some time with his maidens, them mainly asking questions about their higher mistress, as they were quite interested in Ciara. It was only on the seventh day when he suddenly noticed a disturbance. As if someone was pouring alcohol on a fresh wound. It was a quick and instant feeling, yet seemed to last longer. Only after seven minutes of nothingness the pain started coming back again, this time luckily not as stringy as the first time.

Botis hesitated on grabbing his sword... he almost decided not to but in a quick change of mind took it along anyway. When he stepped outside he couldn't feel at all where the source of this pain was coming from. He did a small patrol around his manor but unfortunately couldn't find it. He sat down at his throne inside again when suddenly the sentences surfaced again from his conversation with Barbatos earlier.

"Yet you haven't killed her."


[System]
Age:
19

Height:
7'0

Personality:
Alver is sort of quiet at first, mostly because he starts out suspicious of other people due to what his parents often warned him about and his previous encounters. Due to this, he can be sarcastic, sometimes a smart-ass, and let out a bit more of his dark sarcastic humor. He's also sometimes a bit mean and bitter when it comes to people who seem to feel overly sorry for themselves. He doesn't mean to be cruel, it just comes out that way. Often rebutting with 'Right, at least you can probably find someone who's like you. They even made groups for people like you. How many groups of albino do you see?' Since it's sometimes a lonely thought being the only one. He's never seen another person like him, can't even see if one is on the internet somewhere. Utter seclusion. It felt like he was part of a extinct species. However, he's a pretty mature, sweet and kind boy who's rather calm most of the time. Pretty level headed, and doesn't enjoy fights. He's naturally curious and adventurous and enjoys wandering about often, seeming to ignore any possible danger. Although he doesn't have a lot of social skills and finds it difficult on how to talk to others, he does want other people's company even for a little bit. Having been secluded most of his life. But he's always willing to lend a friendly ear to those who feel down, giving his own friendly advice and opinions. Quite a fatherly/brotherly figure towards those younger than him. He loves flowers, stargazing, singing and playing the piano. As well as practicing Judo his father taught him. He also likes animals. Despite his overall kind nature, he can be mischievous and enjoys teasing others and has a little bit of dark humor. Despite others not usually enjoying his presence and sometimes hating his own appearance, he has a small bit of pride in his looks and never really attempts hiding his hair anymore, even growing it out into a longer length. He also enjoys taking advantage of those who are a bit scared of him from the 'demonic, ghost, vampire' rumors.

Appearance:

Hobbies:
Piano, Violin, Singing, Dancing, Judo, Reading, Painting, Walking, Cooking.

Likes:
Doing his Hobbies, swimming, stars, moon, night time, strawberries, cherries, rain, animals

Dislikes:
Bullies, sunlight, indoors, heavy clothing, judgmental or overly religious people, broccoli, vehicles

Sexual Preference: He can go either, but he prefers guys.

History:
On the day of Halloween, October 31st 1995, gave birth to a boy with striking white hair and very pale white skin. Eyes a pretty light lavender color that often seemed to change color depending on where the light struck them. Sometimes lavender, sometimes a very light pale blue, and even a tinge of red people would say. His parents were quite shocked to see such a pale baby and wondered if he was just unhealthy, having never seen someone as pale as a ghost. He wasn't, the was just born with the gene of extremely rare pigments of a albino.

So, his mother named him Alver, meaning "White" in Latin-American, along to fit with his last name, Starlis meaning Star.

His parents worried over his well being, as the doctors gave them proper diagnostics of possible defects of albinos, as well as studying their own research. They feared he would burn easily and wouldn't be able to see well since he had such low pigments in his eyes, as well as feared of rumors that the internet spread. Many saying that quite of bit of people sell albino's over to Africa because those people believe the organs of albinos are some sort of sacred healing items.

Due to this, his family moved out of the city to a small town in a more secluded house near a meadow. Both to be away from many people, and so he could grow in a healthier environment. As he grew up, Alver's parents rarely actually let him out of the house, especially during the day. He was home schooled in order to avoid other people as much as possible, knowing full and well that he would only be treated poorly over being a albino. Often leaving him home alone when they had to work.

He was first allowed outside at the age of eight years old, when he begged his mother to take him shopping with her. However, she bundled him up in clothing. A coat, long pants, gloves, a scarf, sunglasses and a hat. At least it was during a chillier time of the season, but Alver detested it because he could hardly see anything or really move around with ease. Still, despite the downsides, he enjoyed being outside finally and helping his mother with shopping.

At one point, Alver saw a playground on the way home, asking his mother eagerly if he could go and play with the other children. She forbid it however, saying that it wasn't safe. When asked why, she answered 'Because you are different. They will hurt you.' Seeming to be absolutely sure he would just get bullied over his looks.

At the age of twelve, Alver grew a bit more adventurous. So when his parents went to work, he snuck out of the house during a cloudy day. He still wore long clothing, gloves, and brought a umbrella just in case. But felt more confident that he'd be fine during cloudy weather. The townsfolk had never seen Alver without heavy clothing covering his head and were shocked at what they saw. A child, pale as a ghost with such odd colored eyes and striking white hair had come of that house near the meadow.

Rumors speed through town like a fire, some saying he was really a ghost, others claiming he must be a vampire for no one saw him in the sunlight without excessive clothing covering his white skin.

When Alver attempted to play with other children, they were actually scared of him. Some were brave enough to call him hurtful names, but they retreated and ran home whenever he drew closer. When his parents got home and heard of the rumors, they scolded Alver for leaving home. It was too late though as now the whole town had heard of the 'ghost' boy.

His father at that point, tried to teach him self defense moves he learned in the police force. Alver was a fairly a frail person, but he learned to be quick on his feet and how to at least avoid being pummeled. It was just another hobby to avoid boredom since he wasn't allow to do much like watch tv. His parents feared his eyes would get bad if he watched tv or play on a computer.

Despite many believing he was some sort of spawn of satin or some undead creature, Alver continued to grow like any normal boy, only really coming out during the night when he was old enough to feel to wander around. During his teens, he often wandered around night, enjoying being outdoors as well as get inspired for his regular hobby of painting. During his lonely years, he learned quite a few things. Painting, dancing, singing, and even how to play the piano and violin.

Often, he can be found during the night in the meadow. Either stargazing, singing or playing the violin. His father sadly passed away when he was fifteen, leaving his mother almost broken. Now, she spends most of her time away from home, hardly ever being around. Always working or something. Alver at first detested being further secluded, but soon enjoyed being able to be outside more. Though he does still mostly avoid other people, tired of their murmurs and odd looks. Most of the townsfolk a bit intimidated by him since he grew tall as a teen as well as being the son of two police officers. That and the 'demonic' rumors of him. As he matured, he found himself being mildly attracted to either gender, though seemed to find amusement to being with another male. Though he keeps his gender preferences a secret and hardly ever gets romantically involved with anyone.

[User]
Continuing to cling to his seat, the tall pale man looked out the window, watching as as the mechanism raised them higher from the ground. Despite how uncomfortable he was with vehicles in general, including carnival rides, he didn't say anything or complain and just tried focusing on the pleasant view they had. Listening to Aaron whistling a tune, the lavender eyed man took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

As Aaron suddenly asked a question about how this whole town was pretty much a bunch of assholes and the church girl spoke how 'misguided' they were, Alver couldn't help but give a grunt in response. In his opinion, misguided could just mean they are a bunch of idiots.

"...Seems that way.... Their 'misgiided' ways seem to enjoy looking on those who are different. Apparently doesn't matter if it's by looks, personality or just who you are.. If it's off the norm, you might as well be considered rats that they want to use mousetraps on to get rid of them." Alver answered bluntly, his light eyes looking down at the land below. Watching as people scurried about in their own business.

[Assistant]
Amy held Jackson lightly with one hand, knowing that Jackson wouldn't fall, but ready to grip him tight. Just in case. She took a few brief moments as they rode the Wheel to study her companions. Her eyes were drawn to Reyna, who although Amy couldn't be sure, appeared upset. She caught her looking away from Jackson, and Amy looked to her son. Despite the circumstances of his conception, she wouldn't change having him for the world. She kissed the top of his head, and looked back to Reyna.

She reached out and took one of the younger girls hands, giving it a quick squeeze, before returning her hand to the light grip around Jackson. Jackson looked about, at the others as well, and then wriggled out of her grip. He trotted over to the pale boy-and just when would she get his name?-and happily climbed up on the seat, with a little bit of difficulty as his short legs squirmed for purchase.

And then Aaron asked the question. Amy looked out the Ferris Wheel, listening as the others answered. "It's not so much if you are against the norm. Its...if you challenge the...norm. Its if you challenge the religion that this town is obsessed with...then you are considered wrong. It just seems that this town is uneducated, in the...realness of the world" She looked back to the group, eyes automatically falling on her son. "It doesn't matter to me. But I know it will effect how people see him"

[User]
Aaron listened to the responses of his carnival companions. As soon as they answered, he felt slightly embarassed, though not for any public shame sort of reason. Asking that kind of question just wasn't in his nature normally. Most of the time he was a bit of a child, thinking that everyone was good in their core and that it was just their teenage years causing them to act like jerks. With this group though, he had started thinking differently. Or maybe just thinking in general.

So when Reyna gave her answer of good people being misguided, Aaron was silently admonishing himself. She was right, or course. There's was no reason to generalize an entire town full of people, each with different minds, personalities, upbringings and goals. Judging an entire population was just as wrong as how they were treated sometimes.

Though, Aaron realized that the pale guy was right, too. Some people in this town were acted like jerks, plain and simple. Even the adults had their moments, like with Dr. Saunders. And some of the teachers. Maybe some people just never grew out of their jerk phase. Maybe some people just didn't know how to be decent people.

Then, Amy offered her opinion on the matter, about challenging the norm and the faith of this town. That had merit too, religion probably played a big part of it. Not that religion made people ignorant, just about every group on the planet has their share of thick-skulled and hateful people. But with a town built on the foundations of their faith, where religion played such a big part in everyone's lives, it was bound to attract some crazies. When Amy mentioned Jackson and how some people saw him, it made Aaron sick again. Childhood was everything, not to mention the responsibility having to raise him in a sea of ignorance. Aaron never thought of himself as chivalrous and he still didn't, but everyone needed some help. Or at the very least, a friend. He made a mental note to ask Amy something when they were done with the festivities for the night.

"I feel like it's about intent, too." Aaron said as their seat drew closer to the ground again, bringing them back to Earth and away from their sanctuary in the sky. "People can say and do awful things with the best intentions. My folks are like that. They just want me to be happy, and they think that the only way I can be happy is if I conform to their idea of what makes people happy. But that's not what I want. I have my own ideas..." His thought trailed off. Aaron was silent for a moment before whipping his head towards the pale guy, asking, "Okay, just what heck is your name?"

[Assistant]
"I don't remember reading 'Shun thy albino' in the bible nor have much choice in the 'challenge' matter considering I'm born this way. Unless I want to do the other thing that they look down upon, which is dying the hair. Makes me wonder which they would prefer at this point." Alver grumbled at Amy's reply but resumed staring out the window.

"But maybe it's just a whole bunch of different reasons or excuses. Maybe they just want to feel better about themselves by looking down on others remotely 'off' even just a little. Maybe they think they are showing pity, or maybe they really are just a bunch of... Sour apples." The pale man said before glancing his lavender gaze toward Aaron as he spoke once more.

Perhaps intent was indeed another factor, he himself could sort of relate. His parents had brought him up distant to others, hiding in the shadows. They were trying to do what's best for him, and he knew they loved him... But they still treated him as 'different' and something unusual. Could he hate them for that when they treated him differently but still loved him?

As Aaron questioned the taller male of the group of a name, Alver simply blinked thoughtfully before innocently grinning. "Mhmmm a lot of names. Vampy, pale guy/boy, beanstalk, Ghosty, Mr. Starlis." he mused before looking to the blonde.

"Why do you want to know?" Alver asked, genuinely curious. After all, this was the first time anyone bothered asking. It seemed so odd now having to be questioned on it. Most instantly came up with some sort of nickname and just called him that whenever they saw him. As a child, he got mad at it, but now he simply didn't care anymore.

To have someone actually ask though... It was odd. To him at least.


[System]
Dame Charlotte Encore,
The Duchess

---

Basics
Nicknames, titles, etc.:
"The Duchess" - One Hive City gang, The Gentry, is lead by someone referred to only as The Duchess. For the Duchess' protection, only a handful of people, The Counts, know their real identity. Said handful would know The Duchess to be Dame Charlotte Elizabeth Encore.
"Dame..." - As Charlotte's identity as The Duchess is kept secret, she poses as a Dame within The Gentry. This means that she can wield a minor amount of power among them without revealing her true identity. She is, however, expected to earn her keep like any other low-ranking member.
Age:
39
Species:
Human
Gender:
Female
Height:
5'5"
Weight:
136lbs

Appearance
As is custom among The Gentry, almost none of Charlotte's natural appearance is visible while she is. Excessive makeup veils the colour of her skin, an intricate mask covers most of her face, and a dramatic dress hides her figure. The effect is an appearance of wealth and power, as well as a certain kind of artificial beauty. Her appearance is often comparable to a porcelain doll, which is, again, a common feature among The Gentry. It creates a sense of anonymity, to the point where, with the changes in a person's outfit from day to day, it can become impossible to recognise one of the Gentry as one seen before. This adds another level of protection against would-be assassins - even if they were to discover the Duchess' true identity, it would still be very difficult to recognise them.
Behind all the makeup and masquerade is a very different woman, in more than just appearance. Modest, brown hair that falls just past Charlotte's shoulders, a slight build and pale blue eyes. While her public appearance is the ultimate display of wealth and confidence, Charlotte's private self is a more unassuming character. Certainly not someone you'd expect to be leading one of the most dangerous criminal syndicates out there.

Capabilities
Charlotte carries an estoc and a cinquedea (a thin thrusting sword and a long, wide dagger). The shorter cinquedea is used for parrying blows and trapping an opponent's weapon, while the estoc is used in attack, and is adept at piercing metal armour. Both are heavily stylised and look extremely expensive, in keeping with The Gentry's style. Additionaly, though Charlotte is not especially strong, she is an expert in wielding both weapons, and extensive use of two weapons at once has rendered her ambidextrous. Of course, Charlotte is intelligent enough to wear a layer of leather armour underneath her clothes. Even a noblewoman is better off discomforted than dead.

Personality
As leader of The Gentry, Charlotte is the ultimate representation of what a member should be. She is polite and well-mannered, and has an excellent poker face even before her manner of dress is considered. She practically lives her life by the idea that there is a time and a place for everything, but realising this means everything has a correct time as much as everything has an incorrect time. She'll use violence and deception in equal amounts: whenever it is the correct time and place. She'll show off just as much as she'll keep secrets: whenever it is the correct time and place. She is powerful, and wealthy, and she wants to be more powerful, and more wealthy. The method does not matter to her, she just wants to see her organisation succeed.

[User]
Kull had no intention of miming a cigar store indian, waiting to be crapped on by a bird. He'd wanted to make sure she was resolute to see it all through to the end before he went on the offensive. He whipped his gladius out of its sheath and brought it to a half raised position when she finished talking, and clapped his empty left hand to his right clavicle, the silvery glint in his eye all but broadcasting that he was ready to punish should she try to stop him from retrieving his weapon before she regained all her senses. She'd been asking for him to attack, and so he would.

He abruptly took a big left step forwards and tore loose his cloak, whisking it over his right shoulder and hurling it fluttering towards her upper body, a crimson curtain signifying the end of the show. Again he was acting on the most important rule of fighting. You can't fight what you can't see, unless you're Spiderman or something. After throwing it he'd weave to his left in case she tried stabbing straight through the cape on reaction, dipping after her so he could catch her if she tried to backpedal, not that she'd be so quick with a bad leg. His gladius could stab right through her leather, but from whence would it come? Her entire body was a target for his biting edge, each stroke liable to maim or kill. How she handled the cloak obscuring her vision was key to survival.

[Assistant]
Use of the cape in battle. A popular strategy in fencing, but always an annoying one. Typically one would simply move out of the way, as a cloak throw was almost always followed up with an attack. Besides, it's simply stupid to attack through, and leave oneself open to retribution.

Kull was correct in that an injured right leg would slow a backwards retreat from where he was now standing, as putting large amounts of weight on it would be painful. However, Charlotte could bring her right foot, which had been in front during the previous attack, back next to her left, turning her to face Kull's new position in time to duck the cloak before he continued to move in that direction.

The question, then was how to respond. Kull was undoubtedly stronger than Charlotte, so a close melee could not be prolonged in her favour, without an outside advantage. Yet, she could not reliably hit Kull with her estoc, without an outside advantage. Without an outside advantage.

A disgustingly brutal idea came across Charlotte. Not something she'd ever consider doing normally, but Kull had annoyed her, and it might be necessary for her survival. Without an outside advantage. What was her best advantage over Kull? His injury.

Dropping her estoc to the sand, Charlotte leapt up (two feet to two feet, keeping her leg in mind) from her ducking position and jammed her right thumb into Kull's injured eye.

Should her attack work, she would grin, and say to her opponent "You know what might have helped there? A mask."

[User]
It would've been brutal, had Kull not acted on yet another rule of combat. If you can't reach your opponent, then you can at least reach their reach. Quite frankly, it meant that if you were facing an opponent that was risky to attempt body shots on, you should go for their arms. Dame dropping her main weapon only aided Kull in his endeaver. He kept his head turned towards her, focusing his good eye on his opponent to keep from being blindsided. He reacted quickly to her counter, as if it were a jab during his regular barefisted sparring sessions.

The scarring on his face had mostly come from fist fighting, and so he well knew how to handle hands flying at his mug in a jiffy. He tucked his chin down, lowering his face so her thumb instead collided with his forehead, his raised and ready gladius flashing down to slice her arm in twain just below the elbow and send her hand skidding across the sand before she could yank it back. It was a strong, compact swing, his armpit not open and left vulnerable for any stabs, even if she had the presence of mind to try and immediately attack with her dagger after potentially losing much of her arm. If she tried defending with her dagger, the burlier gladius would be liable to pound it out of her grip and still give her a nice cut for the trouble with its greater momentum.

[Assistant]
So Kull wanted to cut off Charlotte's arm? It was a fair plan, but a doomed one.

First of all, Kull's comparison of Charlotte's attack to a jab was logical, except in one manner; while it would take momentum to deal damage with a punch, it would not take momentum to inflict the pain desired by putting force on the wound. Therefore it was a simple matter for Charlotte to simply slide her thumb down into Kull's forehead and into his eye. In fact, she probably could have adjusted course mid attack, but it was too late for that now.

The sword. The sword was still a problem. But, again, there was one mistake in his logic. High school physics: when pushing a lever, the further away from the fulcrum you are pushing, the less force is necessary to move the lever that far. The lever being the gladius, and the fulcrum being Kull's hand, this would mean that his additional force from momentum could be rendered irrelevant if Charlotte could meet his blade at the middle with the handle end of her blade, and, considering that the wide blade of the cinquedea was meant for parrying anyway, she could feasibly stop the gladius in its tracks. So, that was what she did.

[User] The reason Kull liked to take hits on the forehead? The forehead was hard. He'd messed up the knuckles of many fighters by letting them sock his brainplate. Dislocated knuckles, fractured metacarpals... Though it depended on how hard they attacked. She'd tried to jab at his eye, and might've ended up jamming her thumb good on his helm instead. That being said, she'd be able to slide it down into his eye, extracing a roar of pain from the man. It took his breath away, how much it hurt. It was very painful, yes, but not at all lethal and Kull knew it. He had to keep fighting for his life, had to kill the urge to cringe or pause to take a breather, had to own up to the pain and power through it. In a reactive flash, like when you slap a bee that's stung you, his left hand surged up to sieze her right hand in a crushing grip and wrench her off his grimacing face, twisting cruelly to lock her arm out to the side, all the while keeping his head turned enough to maintain sight of her with his good eye. He'd abruptly spit a fat gout of blood at her eyes, accumulated from his damaged sinuses, potentially making her flinch. He wasn't worried about her attacking with her dagger, though he was anticipating it. To do so she'd leave herself open, and Kull had many ways of creaming someone. It was her only remaining defense, and she probably knew she had only one shot with it.

[Assistant]
This might be a problem. Right arm twisted away, painfully - useless. Left arm free, but necessary for defending against that gladius - useless. Legs unable to reach any vulnerable targets, right leg in particular weakening - both useless.

And then Kull spat blood in her face. As he'd planned, she flinched. She didn't want blood on her mask, after all.

Charlotte's opponent was stronger than her, so freeing herself would not be easy. Her right arm's position was limiting her movement - unless she moved with it. She stepped in the direction he was twisting her arm, moving so that it was still trapped, but no longer painful, or in danger of breaking. It did, however, put Charlotte behind Kull, facing away from him. Hardly a suitable position to fight him from.

The best she could come up with from there was a sharp back kick with her left leg into the inside of Kull's right knee, in an attempt to unbalance him and possibly loosen his hold. Regardless, she quickly had to return her left leg to the ground, as she doubted that her right would be able to take her full weight for more than a few moments.

[User]
Kull was no aikido master, but he knew how to hurt a human body. It was like the opposite of the golden rule; do unto others what you don't want done to yourself. As Dame flinched from his bloody spit he employed his own brand of improvised martial arts. He threw a swift snap kick with his rear left leg, seeking to dislodge her right kneecap from its socket with the unforgiving metal toe of his greave whilst she was distracted, before levering her hard to the ground by her twisted arm. If all went well, she'd wind up on her back with her arm still stiffly held, and the looming Kull's gladius half raised and ready to fall like the wrath of a Hyborean god. He'd be near her right side. His legs were the most available stabbing targets, but it'd come at the cost of her life to attack, if she wound up in that position. He was also aware that she could spit at him in return, and was deadset not to let his guard down. He'd had many a foe try to use his own tricks against him in a tight spot.

"I'm not trying to make it personal, damn you! You're a toadhumping duelist or something, not a gladiator! I don't want to have to- URRRRGH!! How can I say it!? Does a baker try to bake in the workshop of a shoe maker!? Can a shoe maker find pride in making better shoes than a f*cking BAKER!?"

"OOOH, IF THIS WERE A KITCHEN I'D %$#@ YOUR ASSHOLE, SHOE MAKER."

"OH NO, I'LL KILL YOU FOR DARING TO BAKE BREAD IN MY ANUS PUCKERING WORKSHOP. ALL I DO IS POOP OUT SHOES ALL DAY LONG LIKE AN OBESE ELF WITH THE SPICY SCOOTS."

"Well I got news for you, sexy woman! If a shoe maker killed a baker, HE'D GO OUTA BUSINESS..."

*Beat*

*Kull realized he'd strayed a little off track.*

"And... Argh... It's my responsibility to apologize for the MORONS that took you out of your bakery. So... Don't make me kill you, dammit. Settle for a thumb war with me instead if you're that pissed, or Rock, Paper, Scissors!"

[Assistant]
There was nothing Charlotte could do. She was up against a superior fighter, and she had lost. It was like a game of chess, when you can see that you're in a losing position and all you can do is watch and delay the inevitable.

Her already weakened right leg collapsed from under her, and she fell. The wrenching pain that tore her right arm intensified - no doubt Kull could break it if he wanted. Meanwhile, her left arm was free and uninjured, and though she could interpose her weapon between Kull's and herself, she doubted the sustainability of that plan. But what else could she do? Not much, that was clear.

"I don't want your mercy. I'm not afraid of death. You said before that winning here only earns you another day of your life. What makes you think my home is any different? Here, the hammer and sword, there, the poison and lies. My death has been coming for a long time, but I refuse to hide from it, even if oblivion is the only other way out."

All she could do now was delay the inevitable. So, she delayed the inevitable.


[System]
Appearance:
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 120 lbs
Hair Color: Pale Blonde
Eye Color: Yellow
Age: 23

History:
The assassin known only as the Crimson Streak is a mystery and an enigma. No one knows where she came from or how she got her reputation. Actually, no, that's false. People know full well how the girl got her blood-soaked title. However, the answers end there.

All anyone knows is that she served under the Imperium for some time as one of their leading assassins before apparently defecting to take the life of a Mercenary. Wandering around for some time, fate would eventually pair her with a certain Taskmage, and the two have been partners ever since. And thus, the mystique surrounding her continues. No one knows her true name, except maybe her partner in crime.

Personality:
Sable generally has two expressions written on her face: neutral and frowning. Perhaps at one time she was less stoic. Maybe. Now though, she'd much rather just not talk much to anyone at any time or anywhere. And if she does talk, it will be in a monotone voice and expression.

As an assassin greatly feared, Sable is a killer with a stone face. Often, the last thing her victims see before their passages into death are her cold visage and blank eyes. Thus, she appears at times distant and robotic, and to some extent she really is, only allowing her mind to focus on tasks at hand. She has a polite dislike for nobility and royals in general, though she will rarely say so. Much like anything else actually.

Maybe she's just shy? Who knows. The only person she says more than three words to is her partner. And even then, it's hard to get any emotion out of her.

Weapons:
Vim and Vigor: A pair of black and white daggers that are noted to be oversized in appearance. They are often used both in a sword-like fashion as well as traditional dagger play. The weapons themselves lack any sort of special abilities, save for one sole function.

Each of the daggers was created for the purpose of nullifying magic. As such, Sable can use them to cut away most forms of magic used against her, and the sight of her slicing away at flames of streaks of cast lightning are not uncommon. The blade's true potential, however, can be utilized further in dire situations.

When sensing a situation in which their master is in danger, Vim and Vigor will increase their anti-magic qualities to the point where Sable can severe the particles of magic in the air from at least a two-foot radius. When this state is achieved, next to all magic is canceled two feet from Sable's form. Because of her only magic of summoning as well, Sable can also use Vim and Vigor as projectile boomerangs along side close-combat.

Abilities:
RE-Arch: Sable's only form of magic; it is a type of summoning magic that can call forth as well as store her weapons Vim and Vigor from thin air. In practical hindsight, it's simply a convenient method to arm herself quickly. Because of this utilization, she often uses it to call her blades back to her near-instantly, making the tactic of using them as boomerang projectiles quite effective.

Other:
Although she is known to rest of the world as either Sable, or the Crimson Streak, only one individual dares to give her the affectionate nickname, Crimson Steak. This certain person also has a bad habit of calling her other meat-themed names as well. Furthermore, the full title of her magic is "Repeatable Equip Armament", or, "RE-Arch".

[User]
Sable sighed.

It was starting to get late, and frankly, she didn't like the idea of wasting any more energy mindlessly slaughtering the predators of the night. So she turned in the direction of the nearest town, ready to make the long trek there. She fully expected Atreides to follow her when he was done conversing…but what about the others?

As if unconsciously, she felt her feet carry her towards the strange girl with the orbs, eyeing yet another stranger who was standing atop the dragon and ranting about food. Or something. It was probably best not to let these younglings run around.

And at that, she sighed again.

"No, that girl is not my offspring," she answered with no emotion to the girl with orbs. "Can you care to introduce yourself? Also…I see that I have mildly scratched myself during the last target elimination."

She held up her left hand to reveal a small criss-cross of scratches, probably when slicing away at that dragon's scales. Nothing too serious, but she figured she might as give the girl what she wanted.

"If you wait shortly, we will find food at the nearest mess hall in the nearest town," she called out to the girl still standing near the dragon.

[Assistant]
"Oh, alright. My name is Exoris.~ And it's a pleasure to meet you, madame. You're quite interesting despite your frosty demeanor- oh. You did get hurt? Alright, lemme fix it. Just stand still!"

The orb at her side floated upwards, right over the woman's head as Exoris hummed a tune and held her index finger upwards against the sphere. A small beam, no bigger than a beam of her pinky, shot out from the tip and into the orb that had grown a bright, sweet pink color. Ah, yes, there it was. The shift in her weapon to turn it into a conduit for nice things!~ With the beam converging into the center of the orb, it would shoot right down on the entirety of the red-clad woman in front of her. What looked like an actual attack was instead a spell turned into a healing light. The crossed wounds would close up as it touched at her skin and Exoris would cross her arms soon afterwards with a satisfied look on her face.

"I doubt the details of how it works is important, so I won't bother boring you with the details. I'm tagging along until you die, if you don't mind! And come on, little girl! Or do you wanna be carried?"

Yes, despite the fact that the girl was only a year younger than her at most, she was still calling her "little". It was an endearing nickname! After all, who thought to go and try carving up a dragon for the sake of making a meal? That deserved some credit to her for creative eating...If not slight concern for how that thought process went to decide that big, green, and scaly equaled beef jerky for dinner.

[User]
"Name... my... name..." the ghostly knight had not been asked for his name in... well he was unsure if just how long had passed. He began running through most all the words in his memory, desperately searching for something to call himself... what was his name? Finally a word caught his attention... it would have to do, "I... was once... ca... called... Gilligan... long ago..." hopefully that would suffice. Though the number of the living had quickly grown since the fight, with more coming from seemingly no where. A strange girl with floating orbs, her soul two very different sides of the same coin. A boy already walking... his soul lobotomized... and temperamental... and fraying. Another woman long in hair... and with the least of corrupted spirits... and a white haired man... wielder of the relic... but his soul carried terror... and the bloodthirsty amulet only inflamed the aggressive soul... a strange group... Gilligan was unsure if they truly knew about even themselves. Gilligan... he would have to become use to calling himself that. Again his vision strayed to the Crimson one... Sable... her soul was strange to him... almost familiar... again memory overtook him... bright light and green grass... a wide beautiful field... and the form of a person... obscured by the sun... and again he was wrenched back to his half existence... how strange...
Returning his attention to the man before him, the soldier managed to sputter out, "You seek... the relics... I will accompany you... and... sable... this... is... Un... ne... negoti... negotiable..."

[Assistant]
Time had passed, and Yem had made it to the inn. He was currently lying down on a straw mattress, thinking. He was in possession of a legendary old relic. By all means, he was now a rich man, should he decide to deliver the relic to the authorities. But Yem had little trust in said authorities, and craved no riches. He craved knowledge and power, and something told him the relics held both. He would have to learn to somehow decipher them to obtain it, but that was a problem for later. Right now, he was looking at his amulet and thinking about the strange experience he'd had earlier that day. Someone had been in his body, making it move, using sorcery that Yem himself had no knowledge of whatsoever. That someone could still be in his body, Yem had to admit, but he thought it more likely that it was linked to the amulet. He wanted to communicate with it, speak with it, learn from it, but he was unsure how to do so. Letting it take over had come so naturally for him before, and he was sure he'd be able to do it again, but he couldn't for his life remember how he'd done it now that he was out of the moment. It was probably more of the relics doing than his own. He pondered some more, and then decided to just try something. Experiment. He held the black stone to his chest.

Who are you?, he thought, And why are you in the stone?

There was no answer.

Who are you?, Yem asked again. He wasn't giving up that easy, Tell me who you are!

Still no answer. Yem frowned.

Can you even hear me, or am I making a fool of myself?

Not a sound. Perhaps if he approached it differe-

I can hear you, though whether you're a fool or not I'll leave to future judgement, a voice in his mind suddenly said.

Yem was startled but quickly regained his calm. He collected his thoughts and emptied his mind; whoever it was could hear his thoughts. Best not give too much away.

Why didn't you answer me before? I've been asking your name.

Because you were rude. One doesn't ask for names before giving ones own. It's common courtesy, really.

I see. In that case, I'm Yem.

Yem. What an odd name.

So I've heard. Will you not give me yours now that I've given mine?

I never said I would.

Yem smiled. Tricky. He liked that.

That's rather rude of you, don't you think?

Perhaps. But I've never claimed that I'm not.

He could see that he wouldn't get anything else out of the entity living in the relic tonight, so he decided to retreat for now and return later when he was better prepared.

Ah, I see. This has been illuminating, but I fear I must rest now. We will talk more later.

If you say so, Yem. If you say so.

He put the relic down beside him and wrapped it in a piece of cloth. Hopefully, it couldn't read his mind if he separated himself from it like that. He would have to think of a strategy to get the truth from the being in the amulet.

[User]
Atreides listened with surprising patience as the cursed soldier worked his way through his fractured mind and manner of speech, eventually giving forth the name of Gilligan. Well, that was better than Cursed one, although that would no doubt suffice in a pinch. The being proceeded to mention accompanying Sable and himself, and the matter was not up for debate. Well, that meant they had an undead and near indistructeable, from the showing he gave with the dragon, soldier following them around that could not speak very well. This would make visits to town far more entertaining, he thought with a mental sigh. Well, that did mean things would be easier in sheer violence situations, although why the cursed one insisted on the matter was a mystery to the Taskmage. Depending on how fractured the being was, Gilligan might very well see the past in them and be clinging to it. Or he was very perfectly all there and was putting on a show. He couldn't confirm that either way right now, and for now, it wasn't worth the pain.

"Well, Sir Gilligan, I won't tell you where to go or who to go with, so by all means, let's get the ladies and get moving."

Atreides turned towards Sable, seeing she already had a little gang of her own and snickered, a sound that she would be familiar with as a prelude to some sort of mockery or ribbing that was about to drop. Approaching the woman, whether cursed soldier was in tow or not, he crossed his arms with a sardonic smirk on his face.

"Look at you Meat, got yourself a little girl's night out club and everything already. No more babysitting for me, it seems. On a serious note, its late, we need to find someplace to put up for the night. Town sound good?"

[Assistant]
Sable's ears slightly twitched at the familiar snicker, a frown already deepening onto her face-wait, no. She was already frowning. Well that saved her some effort. Turning around, she met the image of her smirking partner with a look of clear disapproval.

"We are not a girl's night out club Atreides," she pointed out with no emotion. "We are simply travelers going the same way. I think a fan club would be more appropriate to utilize."

With that said, she looked back at the girl with the pink healing light. Testing out her hand, Sable nodded in approval at the renewed flesh.

"Thank you…Exoris. I see there is no debating the issue of you following me. Therefore, do not expect me to save you in times of dire need. That is all."

She turned then, giving Atreides a curt nod before heading for the nearest town. Dusk was soon approaching, and with it, the predators of the night. Not too far away from them, those very same predators had their sights on Ugnis and his green Relic.

Watching. Waiting.

Of course, none of that was on the Crimson Streak's mind. No, no, she was wondering just what ever happened to her first fan, Muzai?

Back in town, Mal would find quite an interesting sight to greet him. For one reason or another, Imperium soldiers were on foot and looking for…something. Probably the Legend Relics, and that made the most sense. They didn't notice him, and probably wouldn't unless he caused a scene.

He could probably slip by and get a room without worry if he kept his composure. With that demon festering inside of him, it was certainly a large gamble.

Far away in a similar town, Yem had finished his attempted conversation with the black Relic. As he departed for the night, a presence was watching him from the darkness. They waited and watched, before slipping inside his lone room through a window. Keeping themselves into the shadows, they focused on his sleeping form.

At once, they drew a crimson blade and became poised to strike.


[System]
Gender:
Female

Birthday:
08/24/102

Age: 70 years (appears 18)

Height & Weight:
174 cm
58 kg

Appearance:
Tanned from her near constant time spent outside, her seemingly thin stature belies a body of virtually entirely muscle, built up from constant battle and her hewing from a godly fabric. She normally has on a wolf-pelt cloak, which she uses to guard her skin from the frosts of the North.

Equipment:
Wulfaz- A weapon far taken from its homeland, to the eyes of a modern scholar this weapon would be recognized as a "ji," a form of Chinese weapon similar to a halberd, composed of a pointed tip, bladed edge, and counter-weight opposite to the blade (usually in the shape of a spike or wedge). It is a weapon hewed of the finest Damascus steel from blade to shaft, an impractically weighted weapon that to most would only be a display piece, covered in innumerable rubies and a sheet of gold, at least where they haven't scraped off (looks something like this i.imgur.com/Sfr53c6.png). Sanngridr knows it as the weapon she stole from the shop of some trader while raiding the city of Muziris, who was left baffled (and dead), as he thought it would be impossible for any one person to lift. This is Sanngridr's favored weapon, a gilded weapon of death, and perhaps among the only like it many have ever seen. She keeps it wrapped up in a purple piece of silk when not in use.
Iron Claymore- Your typical iron claymore. Roughly hewed and dented, this is Sanngridr's preferred weapon for dealing with that she does not feel warrants her best.
Gladius- A looted Roman short sword, Sanngridr uses this as a weapon in close quarters to help even out her close range defenses.
Leather Armor- A few pieces of leather armor used to give her some form of covering and basic protection against strong attacks, not that it would do much. Has a tendency to get destroyed in combat.

Psychoanalysis

Merits:
Warrior's Courage- The ability to overcome fear of death in the face of violence, even when death is truly certain.
Undying Loyalty- As well as her eternal servitude of Odin, Sanngridr will always stand by her friends or allies to their deaths as long as her duties to Odin do not command otherwise.

Flaws:
Blood Rage- Sanngridr's nature as a berserker and as a spirit stemming from violence gives her a deadly temper, and one she is not easily take out of. She can slay whole villages if she is perturbed, and rumors say she has before.
Unto Valhalla- Sanngridr believes that those slain in battle should be sent to Valhalla, whether they're actually dying or not, and people with serious but not life threatening injuries often end up on the end of her weapon if she has her say. This, combined with a general loathing of the undead, can cause serious friction among her allies.

Tragic Flaw:
-

Personality: Sanngridr's life, and mindset, revolves around the fight, the battle for survival inherent in society. She believes in a dominance of the strong, that life should be a contest of champions, a world where the law of the blade trumps all and the souls she gathers can ride onto Valhalla, brilliant and untainted by the excesses of peace. Sanngridr wants war, battle, and a valiant band of soldiers to face it. Everything else is supplementary.
In a interpersonal sense, she's loud, gruff, and incredibly blunt, Quoth serving as her negotiator for polite society. She does not hide her Id behind a persona, and does not expect others to.

Recorded Information

Culture and Country:
Germanic

Languages:
Germanic, Latin, Tamil

Public Record:
Took the souls of many Teutons slain in the first war with the Romans.
Has been implicated in the mysterious and violent ends of several small villages.
Known as a valiant and bloodthirsty raider to many Norse sailors.
Feared and hated by a large swathe of southern India as a monster and demoness.

Private Information:
Does not really have significant others (people are turned off by her personality), nor too many friends outside of her warband

Faction Information

Loyalty:
Arnbjorn's Blue Bears
Discovering the warband whilst returning to her homeland after a long sojourn to distant lands in the midst of a raiding party, Sanngridr had tired of being forced to take her wrath out upon those who could rarely put up a good fight. She, promised a chance at blood and glory against the forces of the mighty Romans and their mystic soldiers, gladly accepted the banner of Arnbjorn, and joined the ranks of her countrymen for the chance to send the souls of innumerable Romans to Valhalla.

Military Rank:
N/A

Magical Girl Rank:
Heroic- Iron

Magic

Soul:
0/10

Magical Familiar:
Quoth the Raven: A generally intelligent and subdued raven with a snarky personality, and a love of luxury (enjoys soft and warm fabrics especially.) Has an obsession with shiny round things in its quest for eyeballs to consume. Actually a good strategist when he cares to help out, and serves as Sanngridr's superego and "universal translator" of sorts.

Magic Trait:
Positive- Battle Immunity (Grazes, minor wounds, and weaker attacks cause no damage), Frenzy (In battle, all attributes are increased, but their fighting style becomes animalistic),

Negative- Lead From the Front(They're at the front of the charge, for good or ill), Frenzy(Not in total control of actions. If stress occurs, there's possibility they will lose control of them self for a period of time. If ego loss occurs ??? happens)

Magic Abilities:
Flying- 1 (Rank 1 from Valkeryie)
Familiar (Raven)- 2 (Rank 1 from Valkeryie)
Battle Frenzy(M)- 1
Animal Taming (Wolves)- 1
Counter Magic- 1
Silence- 1
Animal Form (Bear)- 1
Enhance Attribue (Strength)- 2

Power Manifestation:
Flight of the Valkyrie- Wings are generated from what seems to be an air stretching from Sanngridr's back, allowing her limited ability of flight to be used.
Berserker Battler- A combination of her incredible supernatural strength, weapon skills, and general frenzy allows Sanngridr to be a fearful presence in battle, especially among the uninitiated in magic.
Runebreaker- Using her skills in the art of countering magic as well as aptitude in defense, Sanngridr can, through her own action, becoming a living magical dead zone, preventing the majority of simple spells from being used and countering those that are.
Bear-handed Battle- By turning into a monstrous, and bipedal/quadrupedal bear in battle, she can not only intimidate her foes but destroy them in much the same manner a bear could.
Wolf Pack- Sanngridr has taken control of a pack of normal wolves via force, intimidation, and magical aptitude, and is able to give them basic commands in battle. She uses them as escorts and shock troops, and keeps them well fed on the flesh of the dead to give them the proper taste for it.

Skills and Metastatus
Skills:
Heavy Weapon (Mastery)
Light Weapon (Trained)
Riding (Knowledgeable)
Light Armor (Knowledgeable)
Hunting and Gathering (Trained)

Fate:
(The number of Fate points you have. This will be assigned to you.)

Miracle:
(???)

[User]
The Road to Knowledge

The speeches given by the war maidens had the desired effect, the crew and Cuinte's hired hands quickly surged back into battle with renewed vigor. However, the battle quickly became less than that, it had become pure chaos. Pirates and crewmen alike screamed in horror as lions, boars, and some great reptilian beast began to tear men apart. Such a sight was more than enough to break merchant sailors and simple thugs. One poor soul was pounced upon by a great cat, his throat torn out by its mighty jaws, while another man was rammed into the edge of the ship, gored on the tusk of a boar. The latter of these two was however quick and still strong enough to thrust his dagger deep into the swine's eye, a hateful blow to assure mutual destruction. Indeed, the confusion caused by the savage beasts had stirred their own 'allies' to attack them, fear of life and limb clouding judgement. A great cat fell to many blows to its head by the clubs of the ship's oarsmen as the beast maimed one of the raiders. Soon both oarsmen and pirates were attempting to slay the beasts just as eagerly as they were trying to slay one another, survival driving them to fight in the face of no escape. Throats were slit, bodies maimed, one poor boar was impaled by a spear and pinned to the ship on its side. As it struggled to free itself, the would only grew and grew, the hog's intestines beginning to slip and pour from the gigantic gash. It eventually stopped struggling.

In the presence of the great lizard, many from both sides deemed it worth the risk to jump ship, jumping either to the mercy of the sea or attackers. Both seem preferable to being ripped apart by the reptile's claws and teeth. Those of greater will and confidence circled the beast, what few spearmen the enemy had keeping the beast at bay.

The second ship had forgone ramming their target, and simply pulled along side the merchant ship to contribute to the boarding action. Though these raiders were met by a fierce wall of roman legionaries, the trained soldiers easily dispatching the pirates that dared to charge their formation. Wiser assailants used their more brash allies as a distraction to sidestep the bodyguards and join in the main melee, while others attempted to strike at them from the rear. One soldier fell in defense of his others, dragged down by three assailants and a knife thrust into this throat. The three attackers were quickly dispatched by a group of oarsmen, heads cracked open and ran through by long knives.

All the while, Cuinte sat below deck, whispering to himself as he read through his book again for the countless time, his bodyguard quickly strapping on his armor and ever vigilant for intruders.

[Assistant]
The Road to Knowledge

Amelia was usually a calm, rational person who enjoyed a good battle, and this was originally supposed to be a very nice way to let loose and get some good old fighting in her daily schedule. However her lightness and excitement vanished quickly as she watched what was supposed to be a simple battle disintegrate into a mess of chaos and fear.

"Hold your bloodlust, oarsmen the beasts are with us! Don't - damn, call the beasts back! Godelva, call them back!" she shouted, taking advantage of her wings to distance herself from the battle temporarily so she could call out that suggestion to her fellow war maiden. "They're doing no good out there!"

She was somewhat upset that her fellow war maidens saw fit to make such grandiose moves, but she did not chastise Godelva for her mistake. She knew that the tamers of beasts could be quite close to their animal companions; for them to have been killed in battle would surely be causing her enough stress, no less than the fear of seeing a close friend fall in combat. As such, she hoped that, for now, this emotional impact would be enough of a lesson for her. Hoping that would suffice, she then flew right back into the battle, towards the encirclement that surrounded Kara, making a point to cut down one of the enemy spearmen.

"That's enough, men! Leave this one to me!" she shouted, hoping that the other Meguca was at least listening and get the hint that she wasn't really contributing to the battle in a good way.


[System]
Lara Alderliesten

Character Quote: To Fight for What is Just, to do What is Right.

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Character Summary
Aliases: Sviti, Helen Falk (False Name)
Age: 21
Birthday: May 7th 1923
Death Date: November 13th, 1944
Ethnicity: Dutch
Birth Place: Was born in Giethoorn, but moved to Amsterdam when she was six and grew up there.
Godly Parent: Tyr, Keeper of Law and Justice. The God of War, Courage and Duells.
How Many Years At Hotel Valhalla: 76
Gender: Female
Languages: Old Norse, English, Dutch, French, German, and a little Yiddish.

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Appearance
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 125
Body Type: Slightly curvy but also a bit muscular underneath
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Blond
Skin Tone: Pale with freckles
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Plenty of scars on her hands, arms, and lower legs, from her life occupation.
Personal Style: Lara tends to wear the style she was comfortable with when she was alive, which was blouses and skirts and occasionally pants, but this is mostly in her down time. She'll braid her hair or pin it up in a bun or in curls, which again was what she was comfortable with when she was alive. When she is on the field of battle or training she will concede to wearing exercise pants and a tank top, as well as sports bras. (She finds them terribly comfortable compared to bras of her day.)

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Psychology
Friendly * Single Minded * Determined* Easy to Anger * Kind *Burdened

Sexuality: Demisexual but she doesn't understand that concept.
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Lara like many people can be summed up in one word: complicated. On the surface she is a very kind and sweet young woman, always willing to help out, or stand up for what she believes is right. Once you get to know her, there is the lingering sadness and regrets she has from her life, as well as the overwhelming feeling of loss. She tries to keep up the friendly appearance, but with those she doesn't get along with the most she will muster up is a polite smile.
Fatal Flaw: Overzealous sense of Justice, to the point that she feels that any wrong committed before her is a slight that she has to fix.
Habits: Fidgets with her necklaces, stares off into space when thinking, will mutter in Dutch sometimes when she's cursing, always fixes her shoes when she leaves her room.
Hobbies:
Fears:
* Rifles
* Dark Water
* Watching the World slip back to like one she knew when she was alive

Likes:
* Pulp fiction Books
* Tea
* Pastries
* Tulips
* Setting her hair
* Slow dance songs

Dislikes:
* Literal Nazi's
* White Chocolate
* Cats
* French Fries
* Acne
* The Sea

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Skills
Demigod Abilities:* Oath Binding
* Keen Sense of Law

General Skills: * Medical
* Sewing
* Reading
* How to make a hiding spot
* Code breaking/ puzzle solving
* Baking

Combat Skills:* Spear Fighting
* Shield Use
* Sword fighting
* Archery

Magic Item: * Her Spear Which can shrink to the size of a pendant
* Her Shield Which can shrink to a bracelet.

What Do They Carry On Them:
* Clothing - A Star of David necklace, always tucked under her collar. A simple ring with a small gem in it on the same necklace as the Star of David. She tends to wear simple flats, a nice blouse and a knee length skirt as her daily clothing. Her shield bracelet and her spear pendant.
* Purse/Wallet - A simple black handbag
* Wallet with $200 American money, and around 300 euros.
* Faded picture in her wallet.
* Extra dagger just in case
* Tissues
* Some make up
* Extra socks
* Some Pulp Novel she's reading

Possessions In Hotel Room:
* Extra practice spear
* Extra practice sword
* Work out clothing
* Extra shield
* A small worn book
* Old worn passports
* A hide of a wolf she took on a quest
* Extra books

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History

Biography: Lara was born in the village of Giethoorn, a small canal based village, and she lived there for the first six years of her life. However, she had been left at a hospital, abandoned by her birth mother. She was adopted by a lovely couple, the Alderliestens, who had been unable to have children, and never treated Lara as anything other than their true daughter. Shortly after her sixth birthday, her parents moved them and herself to Amsterdam, as they were looking for better work opportunities in the big city. However at this time, the world was changing and not in a good way. A huge economic depression following on the heels of The Great War was leaving parts of Europe and other parts of the world in desperation.

During the 1930's Lara attended school, trained to be a nurse, and watched as the world changed around her. An angry man rose to power in Germany, while another angry man rose to power in Italy. Thankfully, in Amsterdam she was safe, even as people came to the country to try to leave.

Then in 1939 War broke out. Her home country tried to adopt a policy of Neutrality, but Lara was outraged at how the world was treating some people. Thankfully her parents agreed with her and they decided to turn part of their house into a hiding spot. The Alderliestens quickly turned their house into a place where those that were hiding from the Nazi regeim could seek refuge. At this time, this is when Lara's life would change. A family moved into their attic/ hiding part of their house with a son just a few years older than Lara. His name was Levi, and he was a scholar that had once studied at the nearby university.

The two would talk most days for a little bit, sharing their thoughts on the war, on books they both enjoyed, and snippets of the news that she would bring to his family when she brought them their food. Little by little the two fell in love, until one day in 1943, after a few years of hiding there, Levi proposed to Lara, and promised they would get married after the war was over.

Tragedy struck at the end of 1943, and while Lara and her parents were out attending church, their house was raised and Levi and his family were captured and sent to concentration camps. That is when Lara's life changed, and she took up as part of the resistance, and started to try to find her lost love.

How Did You Get To Hotel Valhalla: Lara had finally gotten a tip that Levi had ended up at Westerbork, which was infamous for being the last stop for many people. Once they left, they were usually gassed or killed. Lara couldn't let that happen, so she as well as a small group of resistance fighters went there on November 13th to liberate as many prisoners as they could.

Armed with a gun and a sword, they managed to get a few prisoners free before they were noticed. Lara held out her gun and knew that she would probably die either way… so better to let others live. She encouraged them to flee while she started taking shots at the guards coming their way. After running out of bullets she turned to her sword and was about to take out another soldier when the fateful bullet entered her chest, ending her life.

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Additional Information

Theme Song: This is War - Thirty Seconds to Mars

Extra Information:
Aesir~~~
Sample Post
I agree to follow the rules for this RP and understand that if I do not follow the rules, the GM or Co-GM may kick me out of this roleplay.

[User]
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Location: World Tree
Skills: Climbing

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"Elizabeth!" Lara couldn't help herself from crying out as she saw the other woman get knocked out of the branches at that point by Ratatoskr. Honestly, the words he was saying were ringing a bit true. She was worthless, wasn't she? She had failed to find Levi... she didn't know if she had rescued him. However, she looked at the group around her and knew that letting herself drown in those deep waters of regrets were not going to help them.

"Ratatoskr, we have been tasked by the Allfather on this quest, to find the lost god. Go back and carry out your mission and leave us to ours!" Pitiful words, at best, from Lara, even as she climbed down the branches. She was trying to focus now on the fact that she had done good. She was not worthless, she was one of the chosen! One of those that got to eat at the feast for the fallen. She had done good in her life. "Follow my voice Elizabeth, and I'll help you get down the tree."

[Assistant]
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Runa Johansson

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Location: Hotel Valhalla - the World Tree
Skills: Stamina, Agility, Norwegian

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 Runa nodded meekly at Klara's words of encouragement. She reminded her a bit of the guidance counselors at school - idealistic and chatty. She was waiting for Klara to start talking to her about transcripts and personal essays and what universities she was interested in applying to and what she was intending to study. Runa never really was interested in higher education - she wanted to just do her own thing off by herself. Maybe she would have opened up a metaphysical shop on Etsy, as she wouldn't need to see anyone ever and she could just spend her time off in the woods. That wasn't really in the cards anymore as she was dead and on a hopeless quest to save some supposedly dead god that she had never met before.

 As she continued to climb, she braced herself as the squirrel barked at her - apparently bark was another English word for insult, she noted. She blinked and then smiled slightly. "Det er det? Det har ikke vært en dag jeg ikke har ønsket å drepe meg selv i årevis. Jeg hater hver centimeter av meg selv. Jeg føler meg som et spøkelse som har et lik. Du kan ikke få meg til å hate meg selv mer enn jeg allerede gjør," she whispered to the squirrel.

[User]
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Location: Hotel Valhalla: The World Tree
Skills: N/A

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 "Ugh, he just needs to learn how to shut up!" Klara snapped with a bit of an eye roll to go along with it. The squirrel really needed to learn how to just shut up and not talk to anyone. But clearly he didn't have better things to do, but who really knew what squirrels did in their free time. It wasn't typically a question that she had ever thought to ask herself until that moment right there. There was no point in trying to respond to the squirrel, they were better off just ignoring him all together, but that was just her opinion.

 Of course, Elizabeth (seeing as she almost fell off) decided to talk to the squirrel and more or less threaten it. Yeah, like that was going to end well. Then again, no one said anything about Elizabeth ever being considered smart. Actually she was pretty sure the girl was almost completely useless because of her attitude alone, Klara at the least didn't want anything to do with her and she wondered if anyone actually would want to work with her. Oh well, at least she was on a different assigned team to go off on this thing, so Klara could happily ignore her entirely, and at least she had no problems staying on the tree and she easily climbed to the next branch.

[Assistant]
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@BlueSky44@Natsu@kittyluna45

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Nadia Petrova & Arnora Skadidottir

Location: Yggdrasil Branches -> Boston
Skills: Enhanced Tracking

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Nadia was a little bit worried about Runa as Ratatoskr had insulted her, and just about everyone else as well to. "No one even loves you child of Baldur. And you have no friends child of Loki!" Ratatoskr yelled as Nadia looked down and noticed a shimmering portal on one of the branches. They needed to get there as soon as possible she wasnt even sure where it would lead, she did hope that it would be able to get them all back to Midgard as quickly as possible.

"I see a portal you guys." Nadia said, as Ratatoskr took another swipe but it was aimed at Nadia, cutting her back rather badly as she stumbled forward wincing in pain. "Trying to reason with Ratatoskr will not do anything which will make it pointless Elizabeth." Arnora called out to her, Ratatoskr was more focused on giving Veðrfölnir the hawk on top of Yggdrasil lies and insults as well as spreading rumors and doing the same to Níðhöggr at the bottom of the world tree.

Nadia stumbled through the portal, as well as Arnora jumped through the portal as well to as they both started to look around seeing that they were in some kind of alleyway. Nadia walked forward seeing a few cars driving by and noticed a newspaper on the ground from the Boston Harold letting out a slight sigh that they were where they needed to be right now as she turned around waiting for the others to get through the portal as well.


[System]
Type: Imperial Fleet
Faction/Unit: Galactic Empire
Synopsis of Role: 12th Fleet, also known as the Imperial Uslam Fleet. Originally just the ISD Warspite, Venator Absolution coupled with two light cruisers, it also gained the addition of the Victory Star Destroyers Punisherand Vengeance, two more Imperial Star Destroyers Vronskr and Valiant as well as four more light cruisers after the revolt on Uslam entered full swing, and the interference of the Rebel Alliance was predicted.

[User]
Corte I
Grolsk Reserve

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Corte ejected the A280's power cell and inserted another, back pressed up against the sandbags. At least, against what little of them remained.

Her position had been eviscerated in the initial exchange, crimson bolts tearing through the meagre fortifications she and her squad had prepared. The roof they'd put up for their makeshift shelter was gone, and the occasional flake of snow fell on the open foxhole. Bodies littered the floor of the shelter. Only she and Vash were still on their feet. A third soldier, a young human male whose name Corte couldn't recall, laid on the floor, tying his leg with a tourniquet.

The Falleen peered through one of the portholes they'd dug out, face strained and dark hair matted with blood. "No visual," Vash said, lowering his carbine. Corte nodded.

"Sergeant Glaato, do you copy?" she asked, raising her wristcomm to her mouth. No response. The silence was tense. "Sergeant, come in."

"Lieutenant Adala," a rough voice responded over the sound of blasterfire, "this is Glaato."

"Report, now," she ordered.

"We're under fire. Two wounded," the Nikto replied. "Do we have orders?"

"We're following standing orders, Sergeant, hold your position," Corte answered. "I'm bringing my squad to you. Adala out."

"We're moving?" Vash asked.

"Can't stay here," Corte answered, gesturing to the squad's devastated defenses. "If we take another engagement like that we're all dead." She moved to the fallen soldier and offered her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. "What's your name, Private?"

"Josko," he answered. "Jasko Bravic."

"Private Josko Bravic, can you walk?" Corte asked.

"I think so."

"You don't really have a choice," she said grimly. "Lean on me, we need to move now."

They made their way out of the shelter and into the open, forested field of the Grolsk Reserve. With Private Josko unable to walk easily unassisted, they moved slowly. Vash took point as they moved from tree to tree, keeping as low as they could and moving as quickly as they could while in the open. Glaato's position was a kilometer or so from theirs, and they could hear the blasterfire in the distance. And then, very suddenly, it was much closer.

Violent red-orange light was joined by the crisp smell of ozone as blaster bolts flew. Josko screamed as a bolt caught him in the side. The three rebels went to ground behind a wide tree as they took fire. Corte laid Josko against the tree as Vash returned fire. The private was unresponsive. She checked his pulse, and found it perilously weak.

Cursing, she joined Vash in defending the position. The Falleen did not shoot wildly. With a blaster in hand, Vash was a predator. Each squeeze of the trigger was well-chosen, precisely timed, lethal. Corte, stock to shoulder, peered around the other side of the tree. A squad of snowtroopers, now less a few soldiers, were scrambling for cover, replying with wildly inaccurate fire in their haste.

She lined up her sights, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger.

[Assistant]
First Shot - Phase Line Alpha, Grolsk Wilderness Reserve - 4:37 AM

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As the sound of shots lingered in his ears among the newfound silence, Stojan made his move. He was in his trench, dug into the snow and connected to the First Section's, his headquarters's sections, shelter. Dug shallow but large enough for a crouching partisan to take cover in, it was inconspicuous, and seemingly that aspect had shown. The first phase line had gone off with relative success, an encroaching squad of stormtroopers eliminated by part of the 7th Uslam Liberators, the far off moans of the wounded all to remind of what losses they had taken.

The shots had come from their right, one of the other companies of the 7th. He'd known that it'd only be a matter of time before the Imperials shelled the whole grid square. And he didn't dare wait when the word was passed down the line that Phase Line Alpha was being abandoned. He snuck along his section's trench, clutching a DL-44 in his right hand, and a fusion lantern turned to the lowest output in his left. He came behind his second in command, a good friend, Lieutenant Milosevic, who sat staring idly at a manual clock by moonlight. Stojan spoke quickly but clearly, in a whisper-yell tone. "We're abandoning the phase line. Have the RTO inform the Colonel. And get a runner, I want all sections out of these trenches and to Phase Line Bravo in no more than ten minutes."

And suddenly, fire erupted far off, much further right than the last. Another engagement. Stojan took his leave from the Lieutenant, ducking into the section's shelter and stepping over bedrolls and cots strewn on the permafrost dirt, coming to his own paired with his rucksack. He expertly packed them all, slinging the rucksack with attached bedroll across his shoulder as other personnel around him did the same. As they all exited their shelter and dragged their bulky, snowsuit-clad bodies out of the trench, one of the Privates trailed behind, laying a detonator fuse into a wireless detonator. The mines that laid just under their trenches and on the roof of their shelter were armed.

They moved in columns by section through the pitch dark forest, ever wary of the far-off blaster fire as they trudged along, making idle corrections of direction with their compasses as they moved. The columns were dark, and silent, each section dragging their repulsorlift snow sleds behind them, with only the section leaders having their lanterns deployed, and not for light, only just to guide their sections.

First a pop as they trudged, thought as just a large branch cracking under the weight of trudging feet, but the ensuing flurry of red bolts proved otherwise, sailing over their heads. Repulsorlift sleds were deactivated and used as cover, the trees being cut and lit aflame for moments as falling snow snuffed the blazes. Fire from A280s and DH-17s answered, garbled encrypted speech from advancing stormtroopers putting pressure on the partisans.

Something needed to be done, and Stojan was mulling the thoughts as he was face down in the snow. He turned over, proclaiming in the native Uslam tongue. "Make a tactical withdrawal! I want the Second Section to lead, Fourth follows! First and Third, put out cover fire!" And he himself sprang to his knees, extending his DL-44 with one hand and aligning the sights.