[System]
Age: 20 (physically), 35 (in years).
Gender: Female.
Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: Poltergeist.

Physical Description:

Talents:Intangibility – That walking-through-walls thing. Spirits eventually achieve the ability to switch between being tangible and intangible at will. A sub-benefit of this is invisibility to mortals.

Telekinesis – This is what makes throwing furniture so easy. Requires emotional instability (i.e. mood swings, anger, and grief).

Possession – The ability to take control of a mortal body. The mortal usually suffers memory loss from the moment of possession to their release.

Spiritual Energies - Beth can perceive a variety of these and as such is not immune to the affects of other dead.

History:One randy night between a local girl and an Irish immigrant in 1980 led to the birth of Elizabeth Callahan. Her mother wilted under the pressure of raising a newborn and her father, never intending to stay long in the United States, developed an addiction to drugs and alcohol before she reached the age of three. To say Elizabeth grew up independent would be an understatement.

She never bothered attending high school. The "real world" taught her everything she needed to know. By the time she should have been a junior, she was a skilled thief and hung out with low-level thugs in youth gangs. Around this time her mother went missing. It was assumed, due to her mother's lengthy history with depression that the woman had left to commit suicide. With this and the fall of the gang, Elizabeth abandoned her father and moved with the crowd to another city.

Settling in New Camden, she started from the bottom again. She stole from other gangs, working her way up to the most powerful, until she wronged someone too high up for it to go unpunished. She tried to flee the city under the protection of the millennial celebrations. She took shelter in a trinket shop and pocketed the most valuable of the items for sale, hoping to pawn them off for a plane ticket.

The owner confronted her but Elizabeth pushed the woman aside, but not before she heard the woman utter what would later turn out to be a curse. Elizabeth made a final bid for freedom and was cornered by those she'd wronged. She was beaten and shot, but "awoke" later with an incorporeal body and one of the stolen trinkets, a pendant, hanging off her neck.

Learning the ropes of the supernatural world took years. Gradually she developed a new set of skills, along with an understanding of the curse: she was to be kept in the realm of the living as punishment. Her mortal life taught her not to be so reckless in this new world, and she lived—or rather, didn't—in civil servitude to the Court, awaiting her chance to earn favour as "Beth".

Over the course of twenty years, she attained a vague familiarity with Count Caradoc, a place in his court—possessing the right people offered so many opportunities—and a reputation, especially among the dead. She took the pendant to a small town outside New Camden and buried it beneath the coffin of a grave marked "L. P. Withers". Should anyone discover its purpose she knew the curse could be undone in order to vanquish her. Several years later, the aftermath of the Count's death threatened to mirror Beth's mortal life. Betrayed by her undead associates, she sought out those who would rally against Nemsemet.

Psychological Profile:In life, Elizabeth strived to be recognised and, sometimes, feared. It gave her leverage over those who would hurt her, and growing up with the relationships she had, she understood no one could be trusted. Everything she did, she did to protect herself. She fashioned a new identity for herself whenever it was necessary, and it was necessary so often she tended to forget who she started out as. The façade became habit.

Death provided a learning opportunity and a new beginning. The addition of new threats meant she retained her old intentions, but new abilities meant Beth didn't need to work so hard to protect herself any longer. She became calculative instead of reckless and spent more of her time strategizing than outright fighting. Age, even in death, has proven helpful in creating a wizened Beth. After so many years she recognises the need for a system, but one that is fair and just. She is particularly sympathetic towards the poverty-stricken.

She does nothing without reason, even if that reason is simply to enjoy herself. Which she does happen to do. She considers some things to be naïve or fruitless, such as loyalty to anyone other than yourself, and control; anything you try to cage will inevitably escape. Beth's strongest belief is in ambition and perseverance: with this, you can achieve anything.

Possessions:
* The cursed pendant (buried).

Yes, and:
Beth met Rikive, through Parael, when investigating different strains of magic and all but interrogated the deity to tell her everything she knew about otherworldly spells.

[User]
Flint was not one to make idle chit chat, he rolled his eyes at Parael and skimmed over his outfit. He didn't understand the fashion of the modern world, anyone who had seen Flint before would know he always seemed to wear the same suit, the same hat and the same coat. Sometimes it was rumoured he only owned one of each and never changed. When asked he would just say that the outfit "is best for investigation purposes." In the modern world however it just looked like he stepped out of a noir film.

"Im not here for a chat" Flint said, his voice sounding like he gargled gravel.

"Have you reconsidered my offer yet? Your people would be safer at my place"

Flint's large hands searched his coat pocket, slipping out a packet of cigarettes. He carefully placed one into his mouth and clicked his fingers. A small flame burned in his grasp, he quickly wafted it away as he lit the cigarette. Breathing in the smoke then exhaling to the side, being sure to avoid breathing smoke into anyone's face.

Flint took a step inside, spotting Rikive he nodded, then did his usual scour of the room, his eyes that of an eagle looking to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary.

Then he spotted an enemy.

In the blink of an eye Flints hand was at his gun, his hand pulling it from the shoulder holster and pointing it at the figure. The hammer clicked, locking the chamber in place on the large firearm.

"What are you doing here!" Demanded Flint to Antonio, standing at the other side of the room. Many lycans had joined Nemsemet and Flint had dealt with this one before. His finger was on the trigger, waiting for the monster to give him a reason to shoot.

[Assistant]
"What does it look like, asshole?" he snarled. No love lost there, since Flint crawled up his ass in the 1980's trying to prove him guilty of a string of ugly murders that involved cannibalism, "Maybe you should ask the host instead of acting like this is your house and I broke in. Ever think of that or were you too busy whippin' it out to think it through, Whitey?" Just like last time, went the unspoken added comment.

He relished calling the man 'Whitey.' It was so appropriate. One letter changed the whole texture of the conversation.

But what Tony really wanted to do was just rip the man's head off, and it was hard to count more reasons off in his head than he had fingers. His nostrils flared and took in the tobacco smoke, which was offensive and harsh -- of course the guy would smoke something that smelled like a lit fart.

There were reasons, of course, not to start a fight in another being's home -- being a guest and behaving accordingly was a big deal with certain sets of supernatural. But then there were fuckers like Flint who didn't think they had to play along with the niceties, and perhaps that's why, unable to resist, Tony pointed out, "I can see why you'd be wary around werefolk, Whitey, I bet there's more than a few scores they want to settle, especially with the Court's cops. Guess that's karma comin' round real hard, looking for your ass. Shit, you protect anyone? Your place is the first place they're gonna tear up, boy. Right after this place," he added pointedly to Parael -- tick-tock.

At least getting that bit off his chest, smirking rather than snarling now, though suffused with malice that reached his eyes knowingly, seemed to stabilize his response a bit.

[User]
"Oh, Flinty-poo, it's so sweet of you to offer to put up the merry band of hangers-on." Parry stepped aside for Flint, letting the drab enforcer into his home. He'd always admired the old Noir look on the guy. Thankfully, he didn't stink like he would if it was the only set of clothing he owned. "Have you reconsidered my proposal for a wardrobe change. Leather dusters are-" Parry was cut off, waving the smoke cloud of cigarette smoke out of the air after Flint lit up. "Ah, there's no smoking in here. Kids and all that."

And I'm going to smell like tobacco for a couple hours too. Need to get some cologne on, fast!

But there were no kids present any more. Most of the place had been emptied out. It was Parry's not so subtle way of reminding Flint just whose house he was in.

And as he was getting ready to excuse himself to get some more pleasant odor applied to himself, like that, with the click of a hammer on the pistol, the temperature of the room dropped about a hundred degrees.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Parry said, resisting the urge to draw his silver Fairy Sword. "Guys, can we not murder each other while there's a fucking Egyption-god-mummy on his way to kill us all? Please? Guns down, claws retracted, and everyone take three deep breaths!"

[Assistant]
Rikive jumped when things quickly turned for the worst once the lawman and the messenger saw one another. Obviously they knew one another and more apparent, there was quite a lot of bad blood between them. She remained still, not wanting to add to the tension by drawing her own weapon but when the messenger snapped back at the man it seemed the situation would only become worse.

Rikive gritted her teeth as Parael spoke and started to take off her jacket, her light hazel eyes flicking between the two of them with a scowl. "Parael is right. Cease thy squabbling! We hast a large enough axe hanging ov'r our heads without fighting amongst ourselves!" She said, gripping her jacket in hand tightly and holing it as though she was about to throw it.

"Or doth thou require time outs. I believe Parael has appropriate furniture for such occasions." She finished, her gaze split between watching the man with the gun and the Berserker. At least she wasn't the only one that wasn't fond of Flint the lawman. She was still sore at him for arresting her after the incident with her duel with that obnoxious human.

The mortal had agreed to it, she still maintained she was well within her rights to have beaten him like she had.


[System]
Gender: Male

Age: 30

Appearance:

Anton stands about 182cm tall, or as the dreaded British would call it, "about 6 feet and an inch", making him an easy person to spot in crowds or fields alike. His frame isn't as bulky as he'd like, making him look a bit thin and lanky. He sprouts a moustache, finenly trimmed while the rest of his face is shaved. His hair, light brown in colour, is kept shortly cut, always slicked back in the approriate fashion.

Personality: Anton is outwardly behaving like a man of honour; outmost and unshakeable honour. Both from his childhood upbringing and the tradiation of the French military, Anton does his outmost to respect the conduct of honourable acts and gestures, towards friend and foe. Even if said honourable acts include taking decisions that'll hurt those he care for, because of unwritten rules and expected norms. It bears on him, this pull between doing what's honourable, right, and best.

It doesn't mean that he's heartless. Oh no, certainly not! What would any proper Frenchmen be without his passion? His love or anger? His joy and sorrow? Oh no, Anton his not free of petty emotions, especially not around those -and sometimes what - he truly loves and cares for. Friends, wine, traitors and the German invaders, name it all! As a soldier he obeys honour and follows orders. As a man, and a friend, he follows his feelings. An odd mix, though he's but a man.

Background history: Anton was born and raised on the farm his family owned on the French countryside, a short walk outside of the city of Saint-Quentin, north-eastern France. His father worked the fields around their home for his whole life, sparing little time for Anton and his siblings except for their time working in the fields and teaching Anton how to repair the family tractor. His mother, working time on and off in the city itself as a maid, was the beacon of love, friendship, patriotism and learning for him. It was she who persuaded Anton's father to allow him to attend the catholic school, thankfully giving him a decent education.

This was of course AFTER the Great War had ended. At the age of 2, the whole G'iscard family fled their home as the German armies of Kaiser Wilhelm lounged through Belgium and towards their home; the whole of Northern France was filled with refugees fleeing the onslaught. They did not return until 1918 when the war was over, but the farm didn't become what it used to be until much longer. The fields were unsuitable for farming; craters, steel fragments of bombs, undetonated mines, and the rotting corpses. It when at that point Anton, now 6 years old, knew he loathed the Germans for their cruely. He would never allow such acts of barbarism to befall his family again, even if he didn't know what he would become. After all, he was simply 6 years old, and not many at that age knew what the world war truly like.

At first he wanted to become like his father, taking over the farm and growing the land around their home like his ancestors had done long before. He wasn't the eldest son, however. That honour had befallen his older brother, Filipe, so he ventured into the world he knew he had certain skills in; mechanical engineering. Of course there were difference between a simple tractor's motor and the very intricate engine of a Dewoitine D.500 V12-Engine, though for Anton he miraculously always seemed to get a hold of it.

One of the places where engineers and mechanics were needed, was the French Air Force. The re-militarization of the Rhineland and warmongering rhetoric coming from Berlin convinced Paris that mobilizing the French military was not just the best answer; it was the only way to evade the same fate befallen on the country in 1914. Anton was given a job as an aircraft-mechanic, maintaining and repairing the planes of pilots he came to idolize and envy. He even made friends amongst the pilots, who let him join their flights at occation and even going as far as letting him fly a little himself - of course never alone, a mere mechanic was never expected to handle a plane like that.

It came as a surprise to everyone, even Anton himself, that he soon proved himself a competent pilot. Not truly knowing how himself, he was recommended for pilot-training. He passed with good marks, joining the ranks of those proud men willing and ready to defend France from the skies! And it would soon prove vital, as news quickly reached the whole world that Poland had been invaded.

Two days later, France was at war.

The skirmishes Anton partook in during those first months of the war were tense, but not particularly noteworthy. He managed to score a few kills in his beloved M.S.406 fighter plane, named "Marie", barely escaping death himself by a razor's edge unexplainably. It came even closer to his demise during his last flight in 1940. Flying to intercept an expected German bomber-attack, the squadron was surprised by the sudden appearance of a thunderstorm coming straight towards them. Anton was the last plane to turn away from the incoming storm, but in doing so was hit by a stray lightning.

But he didn't die. The plane kept flying by some miracle, even if the insides of the plane were almost glowing hot and all sorts of alarms going; even Anton himself felt as if he was being torn to pieces by the lightning, but he was still alive. And the plane kept flying. The new orders from their superiors were to change course south and land in French Algerie. When they landed, news came through that France had surrendered; they were to drop their weapons - the little weaponry that pilots carried on them - and be interned for the moment. What was Anton supposed to do? Refuse?

And so Anton was locked up for half a year in an Algerian internment camp, awaiting his fate at the hands of the Vichy-French authorities. When those 6 months had passed, he was offered to rejoin the French Airforce and serve the Vichy-government in protecting the French coloninal empire. He agreed.

It didn't take long, however, for him to "get lost during mission" and land on a British airbase. His pleas for fighting against the Nazis fell on deaf ears, however, as he was seen as a possible spy, and promptly sent to a POW-camp in Canada.

Now it was 1942. The world is still tearing itself apart. The German war-machine is steamrolling the Soviet Union, while the British Empire battles the fascists in Northern Africa and the American giant awakens from its slumber. And Anton is offered his freedom and the possiblities to fight for France's freedom. But he's not offered to fly with the Free French Air Force. Oh no, other parts of the Allied war-effort wants Anton for themselves.

Superpower and how the character got it: Anton has the remarkable powers of controlling energy; more specific one could talk of electricity and static inside and around him. His main usage of these powers are him seemingly shooting bolts of lighting out of his very palms, ranging from small fizzingly tickles to electrocuting those unfortunate to be hit. Though a less violet use of his powers, one that he enjoys much more, is his potential in manipulating machinery and electronics. He is, for example, able to start and controll - to a certain extent - a vehicle without being near it. Sometimes even enhancing the machine's potential in power and speed, though he prefers doing this with aircrafts.

As to where and when he discovered this, long story short; he had always felt a connection to modern machinery, electricty and the like, enjoying the small sparks one gets touching a lamp or a metal bar. Without knowing why, he was indeed the very person one'd ask to see what was wrong with the tractor's engine back home, to which he easily fixed. The full extent of his powers, however, he didn't learn of until being hit by lighning during an interception-mission in 1940. Instead of dying a horrible death in a fried-up airplane several kilometers above ground, Anton felt himself able to regain control of his fighter plane and land safely. As he himself explained, it felt like he was in control of the whole aircraft, even when it was in no condition to continue flying.

[User]
Óscar finished changing, looking at the french male with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk "Yeah, well, you'd also be complaining if you were forced to stay here gilipollas!" he yelled back at him with a laugh afterward. "What an ass..." he thought "Everyone here is an ass, except that Asian chaval, he seems good". The Spaniard walked out of the barracks, stretching himself and adjusting the uniform to fit his body: He wasn't a bodybuilder, not at all, but it was obvious that he was fit enough to put up a nice fight or even handle a few soldiers by himself. He DID practice H2H combat while on the old League, and his years of "Vigilante" taught him some useful techniques...besides, he asked for some Glíma lessons here on the Georgian base.

He didn't like being "bossed" around, but he understood that the Captain was, well, the Captain for a reason, so he didn't wait to follow his instructions and continued the march to the canteen. He knew some of the other soldiers looking at the group, giving some of them a few nods as the pacing started to slow down, reaching the comedor at last as he grasped a tray and got served the "spaghetti", grinning but also showing disgust on his face "Told you, wet noodles..." he said, chuckling and quickly sitting on one of the tables, starting to play around with the fork/spoon...foon? "Damn, a M1911? Well, I guess he deserved it" Still, the thought of the man getting just a pistol was ticking him off "Why not a rifle? A rifle is better...or a bow, damn, those are really silent..." he took a sip of the glass beside him, watching as the rest of the group grabbed their trays "Yeah, a bow could be useful, maybe I could make ice arrows for him even."

Óscar continued day-dreaming, slowly starting to eat the "spaghetti" as an idea popped into his brain "A band! When I get out of here I'll make a band, a swing band...just like back in France..." the idea appeared appealing to him, but he quickly discarded it as a shady thought ran across his mind "Maybe we don't make it out alive, maybe this is just The League 2.0 and I'll have to desert again." he looked at the siblings as he said that "Oh, look, we're really honorable and we care for the rest of the people, blah blah blah." Óscar chuckled to himself, shaking his head slowly "Yeah, see where that gets you, more than likely in a situation where I'll have to risk my ass to save you, kids, just to not get called a "coward", why do I even care though? If I could, I'd just escape from this hell-hole and kill Hitler myself, I'd just need to see him on the street and make his blood boil, or maybe freeze it and then throw a stone at him so he shatters, yeah." His "happy-go-lucky" attitude seemed to have gone off him, a dark-like-aura now floating around him, as he was imagining ways to kill the needed people so the War would end as fast as possible. He did know that nothing about that would happen, he was just an actor and musician with some special power.

[Assistant]
Marching in line towards the canteen, Johnathan had a bit on his mind... through he did notice that when they passed the more rank and file solders that were training, he was the one in their little group that got the least attention. That made quite a lot of sense, since if he had been put in any other unit of solders he would have blended right in as another recruit; He did notice a few dark looks that were thrown towards his Asian teammate and the women of the unit were looked at with slight disbelief, lust and a slight degree of scorn, through they weren't inclined to say or do anything more about it at the moment. No doubt due to the presence of a ranking officer.

He made sure that he was the last in the line of their group, receiving his meal last but with an intention in mind. Before he walked over to sit down at the table that his squad had claimed for their own, he politely waited until the Colonel had left the Captain alone before walking towards him and offering a brief salute. "Sir, might I discuss something with you in private the next chance we get?"


[System]
Age: 25

Kingdom: Kingdom of the Barren Lands

Gemstone: Sil'rithil (The Stone of Mind)

Appearance: Edgar appears younger than his age portrays him to be. At times he can be found sporting a short scruffy goatee with thinly trimmed side burns that resemble a chiseled dragons teeth, giving him an older, more mature persona. Though usually he likes it to grow it out during the winter to keep his face warm from the sheer cold fronts of his territory. He keeps his brown hair usually cut just short of his shoulders, as he doesn't like to have much for enemy troops to attempt to grab hold grab hold. He has a slightly slender but highly robustuous, extraordinarily close-knitted, visually cleaved muscular structure. His yellow-ish eyes seem to glow under a star speckled sky, often getting him compliments from women far and wide.
Partial Under ArmourFull Battle Armor

Background: Prince Edgar, son of the late King Armagen, grew up in a land that at the time, was portentously on the brink of total anarchy and even more eminently malnourished. People all around bargaining anything they could from their housing, cattle, clothing, personal valuables; even some men's wives and daughters for more intimate services; all nestled upon a seemingly never ending clearance sale of desperation. Day in and day out, these people would fall deeper into their circumferential despair, just to make sure they had enough worth to make it to another day. In his case however, life was much different on the inside.

He never knew who his mother was, as he was far too young, and his father always seemed far too busy with various tasks to tell him about her; being that he was one of the main councilmen. Since his memories of her were very faint, he hardly ever contemplated about her whereabouts, though his unshaven face is a constant reminder of her elegance. He despises looking in the mirror because of it. He watched as his fathers frustration began to turn to subtle pity as he sought out a remedy for the sick state his land had fallen victim to. He decided shortly there after that he must help restore order and prosperity to his lands. He began to train in many different styles of combat and very versatile with the various weaponry available alongside his father's militia. He took such an affinity to the trade that soon he had surpassed even the highest of dukes ability for the art. It was then did he truly feel worthy of his title as Prince Edgar Leviticus Bartholomew; the Great even!

There befell a day where he had awoken to his father's sudden absence with no prior warnings to his leaving. He had found a note on his bedside dresser sealed in red wax and stamped by his fathers imperial ring. It had stated that he had to attend to a meeting with the surrounding kingdoms pertaining to the utter disregard and the well being of their land, and that he would be gone for a few weeks to a months time. The matured prince was used to his father's work and thought nothing much of the matter. He carried out his daily tasks as usual and took the partial responsibilities in upholding the state of their Kingdom in his fathers stead. The weeks had rolled by and still no word of his father. Not so much as even a message by carrier nor bird. He began to worry slightly and had made clear arrangements to set out with a platoon in search of the King. A week had passed the given month his father had promised. He had lined up the squadron outside the city walls in preparation to set off to the west where he believed his father was. And then almost harmoniously, his fathers horse had appeared reaching out of the horizon, bringing with him a feeling of new found glory. The entire Kingdom seemed to come to life with joy and much aspiration that their Kingdom would be restored to it's original wondrous glory.

Edgar began to see his fathers happiness renewed. It was as if the problems that had long plagued them hadn't existed. The crops had all grown back ten fold with an immense triumph; rich in the nutrients and tastes that they had all provided. The cattle had all flourished lavishly; they too growing back in unbelievable numbers, seemingly beyond their maximum health potential. Industrial wealth and the well being of all the natives had all be replenished critically. It was as if the God's had blessed their land with outrageous increase all for the price of nothing, or so Edgar had initially speculated. Something was definitely amiss in the young prince's eyes. There was this lingering, ominous presence the was conflicting the reality of the everything the prince had witnessed occurring. He noticed upon his father's arrival from the unintended council meeting the King's crown had been bedazzled with the like of jewels he had never seen before but thought very little of it, rationalizing that they had been given to him as gifts from the rulers of the surrounding kingdoms. Little did he realize though; there was Far more to it than that.

Rumor spread expediently of the King's marvel throughout all the surrounding kingdoms, and just as fast so did fear and discrepancies. Edgar noticed his father becoming evermore greedy, evermore Benevolent. People had began to make foul the name of his father and there were no leads as to why. The prince felt as if the plague had returned with a vengeful aftertaste. Sunrises passed, and the condition of his father had not gotten any better. He would witness the King spouting belligerent , ill mannered curses at their people for no reasons at all, flaunting about how they were all worthless and obstacles to his rise of dominance. This went on for months in many different scenarios until the day came where he had to make the difficult decision to partake in an unavoidable war.

For years, the war had laid waste to countless of innocent and guilty alike. Unrelenting fires burning as far as the eye could see. The soil had been soaked in copious amounts of blood. So much so that it had began to take on a rusty color. Bodies lay lifelessly in unorthodox patters with every step. None the less, Edgar was determined that he would not be taken victim. One night under a dimly lit campfire, Edgar had a rather Vivid night terror. He had seen the true intentions of his father's sudden leave some years ago; making a deal with an evil Sorceress named Moriana; the Evil Witch of Eddor'had, and woke up in a terrifyingly cold sweat. By this time, the prince had deemed his own father to be a crowning threat to his, and the many well beings of the entirety of the continent. It was HIS fault and he must atone for the relentless consternation that had transpired.

Immediately, he set off to put a halt to his father's deeds. When finally found him he noticed the jewels glistening vibrantly upon the crown. He felt that unsettling presence that came back with his father that day, though it seemed it had increased far beyond what he had originally felt. With no warning, he charged his father with the overwhelming intention to eliminate him. The battle went on for hours, and finally an advantaged had occurred that would give him the upper hand; and he took it. King Armagen had finally fallen, and with him the crown from his head. In his final minutes of life, he had returned mostly to the person he used to be so long ago. Fatigued, and disgruntled, Edgar seized the crown, and fled the scene.

Once again during the late evening hour, he had been contacted again in his dreams; only this time he had been aware of who it was and what they had wanted. Legend had been foretold about witches in their lands, but ever since the abolishing of witchcraft, few were ever really seen or heard of again to his knowledge, at least until now. The Sorceress sending him these messages went by the name of Shi'larra. He instantly had no doubt in his mind that this was the help he had long searched for, and put complete faith into their mutual proposal. He knew that the crown's jewels would draw much unwanted attention to him; and was also aware the whatever the presence was that had followed him these last few years would be close by; plotting against his will. He decided it was best to intrust four of the jewels to worthy soldiers he had fought alongside during the war and to keep the most menacing one, to him, for himself; at least long enough to have them utterly destroyed once and for all!

Personality: The prince has a very open personality. There is no one thing that can justify who he is. Usually he is charming, witty, optimistic, loyal, sarcastic, while also having striking leadership abilities, stern, forward thinking, bold initiative, independent, all with a high sense of integrity. They are not many who would dare think to get on his bad side. He has been know to become quite unpredictable under such circumstances.

Fighting skills: He has mastered a number of many fighting styles over the years spent training with his militia. From extreme close hand to hand combat, to various kicking and grappling styles. He has mustered the discipline to combine them all into one overall fighting style. He is also highly versatile in man weapons. His main weapons include the Gatling Bow, which he uses usually for long ranged strikes, a pair of custom made Cutlass Swords. He has also been know to use glaives, greatswords, flails, and countless others.
The Mind stone had a compendium of abilities all on its own including; Cosmic Awareness. Dream Manipulation, Divided Mind, Emotion Manipulation, Empathy, Hive Mind, Illusion Manipulation, Mental Manipulation, Memory Absorption, Memory Manipulation, Mind Control, Mind Exchange, Neurocognitive Deficit, Pain Inducement, Precognition, Psionic Equilibrium Distortion, Psionic Inundation, Psionic Shield, Psychic Constructs, Psychic Navigation, Psychic Shadow, Psychometry, Pushing, Telekinesis, Telepathic Communication, Telepathic Perception, Telepathic Reception, Telepathy, and far too many more. (I'll list later) Over use of the mind stone usually leads to intense brain aneurisms, seizures, dementia, short term Alzheimer's, dizziness, loss of all senses. Cases have know to get far worse in users who have no natural affinity for the gem.

[User]
Redoran stiffened momentarily, his hands twitching towards his scabbard, when he saw the hulking wolf. He had been fully ready to come between Alexis and the beast should it pounce. But to his utter astonishment, the wolf merely bowed before skulking away. He failed to conceal his surprise as he looked at the others. No one else was mentioning the wolf. Was he seeing things?

When the Prince arrived, Redoran bowed and touched his gauntled fist to his heart. "I am pleased to see you again, sire," he said, meaning it. But for this man, Obrethon would have been swallowed by the darkness. He would ever be grateful for that.

He ran a professional eye over the newcomer. The knight hadn't introduced himself and stood with his broad shoulders hunched. He was a good head shorter than Redoran, but his eyes blazed in the dim light as a warning to anyone who might take this as an advantage. Not to mention the fact that he very surely possessed a stone.

So this was Shi'larra. He didn't know what he was expecting, but certainly not that ageless face. He didn't have time to fully appraise her though. It looked like events outside were overtaking them. He nodded his agreement and mounted Shamran.

"Where are we headed? South of here lies Naeron," he said, more as an assurance to himself that this was still the realm in which he grew up. "If we are riding into peril, I suppose we must make for the Tower?" And I suppose we must have a plan, he didn't add.

[Assistant]
Bron nodded at the Prince. They had seen each other but a few weeks ago, so he dispensed with any formalities.

He'd never liked wolves, or dogs. They were only loyal so long as you fed them, and he'd seen plenty starving dogs go rogue on their masters. He tightened his grip on his scabbard, despite the animal walking off, but didn't let his face betray his emotions. He'd gotten good at that, as a Hvar-täk player.

So this woman was Shi'larra. He'd only heard Edgar speak of her, and was, to tell the truth, expecting what you'd hear in a child's tale. An elderly crone with a pointy hat. She was quite the opposite, she looked younger than Bron, and was strikingly beautiful. He paid no mind to that and instead spoke for the first time since his arrival.

"Why should we listen to you... Sorceress? You've given us no proof of your intentions, nor any reason to trust you. I'm not even sure why I've been summoned half across the fucking country, or who's chasing us. Or indeed what."


[System]
Above: Kalak. Bellow: Queen Cio-Cio
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: Selkie
Homeworld: Crystal Chronicles
Key-Weapon: Key-tar
Magics:
Cure
Reflect
Silence
Might
Control
D-Links: Mirabel Madrigal
Job: Beastmaster
Appearance: Kalak is a Selkie with long, blue hair and an effeminate face, he is often mistaken for a girl. He wears what looks like animal pelts that show a lot of his skin. Over these pelts are a series of patchwork leather armour, complete with a small pair of metal, dragon-like wings poking out of the back of the shoulders. He also has a similar pair on a circlet that he wears on his head, as well as a pair on the heels of his plate boots.
Brief History: Kalak was born as the son of the Fisherman of his village and trained with a spear with his father, learning how to catch fish, but also learning the art of combat with the Axe from the local Lilty Blacksmith. When he was 18, he was allowed to join the Crystal Caravan as it went to gather the Magical Dew in order to keep the crystal of the village glowing and keeping the terrible Miasma and monsters out. He travelled across the world with the caravan, seeing all sorts of sights, both beautiful and horrifying, all breathtaking in one way or another. At the end of the year, when the Caravan returned to the village with the Crucible full of dew and ready to revitalize the towns Crystal. As he got ready to go to the ceremony, he was distracted by a small, cute, black creature with glowing yellow eyes. Following it, he discovered a strange black swirling portal, before he knew it, another of these things jumped on his back and he lost his balance, falling through the portal and into the void.

Like being cast into a great, black sea. Looking around, he could see the sky full of stars and, soon, felt the pull of his heart toward something. That's when more of the cute creatures began to surround him and, before his eyes, the Axe would appear in his hands, but this was different, it had wires and was covered in Butterflies. As he took the axe in his hands, he began to run his hands across the wires to produce a harmonious sound. As one of the creatures lunged for him, he swung the axe at it, cleaving it into a black puff of smoke and a bright, pink heart began floating upwards towards the sky. More and more came after him, the more he cleaved, the more that showed up. As he began to weaken, he ran his hands across the wires again, but this time, a creature seemed to hear him, something from this space between with an equal hatred of the Heartless, a large Butterfly. He managed to make his way to a strange portal, which took him to a strange world where he met... Well, a whole lot of people that he had no idea who they were. He had never seen any of their kind before. They told him that this place was called Ivalice and he soon found himself adopted into a clan of Bangaa and Viera.

Eventually he left Ivalice and discovered the man known as Xehanort, who told him exactly what he was and explained to him about the Butterfly was a symbol of the one that he was linked with by destiny. He also showed him how to use his Keyblade Glider, as well as summon his armour. and began travelling with a Nobody by the name of Oko, who claimed to be a Heartless Hunter. Oko took Kalak under his wing to teach him about how to travel the Space Between, with them sailing between worlds on his immense Gummi-Ship. During their time working together, they constantly came under attack from a young, highly antagonistic Nobody by the name of Perthe.
Other: Kalak is a total romantic, believing that his duty in life is to marry a fair Princess. He is also a Pacifist, refusing to raise his axe to hurt others. But his Butterfly does not feel the same way. It's a Spirit Dreameater he calls Queen Cio-Cio that fights enemies on his behalf whilst he uses his his magics to buff his allies and debuff his enemies.

He also carries a pair of strange devices on his belt at all times.

[User]
As everyone showed up through the portals. Kalak approached each to shake hands. Cio-Cio seemed to buzz behind their heads, looking into their dreams to deem what kind of person they were. She didn't seem that appalled by anyone. "Thanks for showing up, guys. Not sure exactly who this princess is, but i hope the old man is right about this. One step clo-" Before Kalak could finish his sentance, the peace was shattered by the loud slamming of a door, Cio-Cio seemed to have a small heart-attack from shock as her eyes bulged for a second, before panting heavily. As everyone looked around, they would see a large, intimidating, hairy man in a lion themed costume storm straight towards the group with a large keyblade knife in his hands. He had a look of utter fury in his eyes. As Cio-Cio jumped into action, trying to put herself between the man and Kalak, both of them preparing for a fight, the man stopped.

"Cowards..." he stated, the russian accent thick on his breath, looking all of them in the eyes. "Come to kill some pathetic creature for money." he spat on the ground in front of them. "No stomach for a REAL mans fight." He motioned the knife at all of them "If you wish to test your mettle against a TRUE quarry, put a bounty on your own head and let Kraven come for you." He then pointed the blade at Cio-Cio "Fear not, tiny creature. Kraven only hunts the most dangerous prey." He laughed. Kalak grabbed hold of her scruff as she got mad and tried to lunge at him. Kraven looked around at the world "Nothing of that sort exists here..." He looked each of them in the eyes, meeting Canaan for a second, he pointed the knife at him and waggled it up and down for a second, before laughing and turning around, running his blade through the air as he rended a hole to The Space Between and said "Do not take mad queen's offer, no honour in it." as he stepped through.

"Well, that was an interesting viewpoint on the matter." Kalak stated, turning to the others to check if they were ok. Another creature came jogging through the door and straight between the party, running out of the castle. This creature had large blue eyes and green skin, complete with a pair of green antenna and a fly-like mouth.

"Stuka u pediniki leer, mee'm koona tah be noota." It seemed to laugh as it ran off into the field towards the forest.

"I..." Kalak started "I don't think he's got a problem "Killing pathetic creature for money" as the other guy did..." Kalak laughed, slipping into a bad russian accent. "Come on, let's see what "Mad Queen" wants" He laughed again. He seemed to enjoy the bad russian accent. As they walked through the door into the dark room, they saw that this dark room was a cavernous throne-room with thick, velvet curtains blocking the light, with a beautiful queen sat upon her throne.

"Come before me, mercenaries and bounty hunters." She beaconed "For i have a task for thee." With a wave of her hand, a table appeared in the middle of the room, a box appeared appeared atop it. "Your queen demands a tribute to be paid to her. Within the woods lives a maiden, fair of face, but black of soul. She has committed attrocities unto my kingdom too... Too horrid of which to speak." She draped a dainty hand across her face as if to prevent herself from being moved to tears. "So disgusting is her crime, that so disgusting is her punishment. You will find this maiden and cut out her heart and place it in this box... That it may never know the rest of the grave." She waved another hand and a large pile of gold and jewels appeared "Do this for your queen and your reward shall be most agreeable." She sneered. Kalak looked at the box and then back to the party, before shrugging, as if asking them how to respond.

[Assistant]
Bell was never much one for words- they preferred actions over flapping their lips. It's how they got this far, after all. Which was why this whole scenario stunk to high Heaven, even without the old man's warning that something was amiss; they didn't trust anyone who used so many words while saying nothing at all. Ones like this "Queen," who seemed to think she was putting on a good act, but who oozed contempt from every pore.

So, this "maiden" is probably the Princess that the old man mentioned, thought Bell to themselves, a file casually rasping across their nails as they watched and listened. Seems even hardened bounty hunters can tell this job stinks, they continued, thinking of the strange lion-man and his knife. And yet, if this girl was the Princess…

The bitch wants this girl's heart. That's never a good sign.

Bell's heels clacked on the stone floor as they casually strode forward, pocketing their nail file.

"Your Grace. I understand that it might be difficult, but I'm afraid we need to know what it is we're getting into. If this girl's crimes are so heinous, then she is no doubt dangerous. Perhaps you could enlighten us, even the slightest bit, as to the nature of her misdeeds, so we may be better prepared to deal with her…"

They finished with a slow bow, eyes never leaving the Queen's.

Let's see what lie she tries to concoct here. Or, on the off-chance she's telling the truth, what we're in for in those woods.


[System]
Gender: M

Age: 26

Career/Class:Soldier / Ex-Soldier

Weapons:
* Basket Hilted Broadsword
* Imperial Dagger
* Norscan round Shield (Took from his first felled enemy)
* Aged Pistol

Physical Description Cyrdic is tall and lean, but solidly built, standing an inch over 6 feet in height. His eyes are reminiscent of shaped wrought iron. His face is ruddy and echoes a youthful appearance, though battles and training had roughed him into the look of a mature soldier. He has quite the rugged quality about him. Two scars mar his face. One parallel to the bottom of his left eye, and another scraping across his right jawline. His legs are long and his his facial hair is only a coarse, 5'oclock shadow thanks to his knife. He's clad in fine and tough leather over a chainmail hauberk, with sturdy traveling shoes and a worn belt.

Mental Description/Personality: Cyrdic isn't a fool. He spent a year apprenticed to a Quartermaster (as punishment for recklessness) and learned how to read and write (to a degree). The best way to describe him would be a hardened, rough soldier at the brink of his youth. He'll use what he can in his disposal to win, though half the time it turns out he'll need to fuck someone up anyway. His fierce independence and rough nature can only be matched by his determination to survive. He's not tactically intelligent, but he has a sense of how battlefields shift and can command smaller troops with his powerful voice. He tends to have a take-no-shit (unless it's from a superior officer) lookout on life. He's amiable to certain people however, and will have a dry wit around those he enjoys (or to people he wishes he could be more honest with). While fighting and killing and marching has been his entire life, he's not particularly fond of being thrust into impossible situations and doesn't lack a healthy sense of self preservation. He's gotten quite tired of working for corrupt officers. He's a devout Sigmarite thanks to his upbringing, and has a hammer chained necklace upon his breast to signify this.

[User]
"We're near out of food and water." Konrad said, after having taken a ginger sip from his water skin. He wiped his mouth and handed it to Olaf, who looked nearly as tired as Camilla. The man was very skilled, and strong as a bull. But he looked as if the small portion of the wastes they had been through had drained much of the fight out of him, and he had already looked as if he had seen near too many winters for another campaign.

"Unless the river is far underground, it could be tainted with warpstone." Skaldi warned. They had made good time despite Camilla's understandably weak pace, but they had still not made it to where the air was cold, and even then the taint of Chaos still flowed freely over the land. The Kislevites had intoned Ursuns name constantly, bewildered at their luck of not being eaten by any of the horrible denizens or warbands that could have come across them in this bleak journey. But Dietrichia had a satisfied look, as if she knew that powerful Gods watched over them as long as Cyrdic and Camilla were there. She insisted they would make it to Praag.

The others were not as optimistic as the witch.

"Can you find an entrance?" Cyrdic asked Skaldi without looking at the Dwarf, instead his gaze was trained backwards and to the east, vigilant for any horrors that might befall them. On the eastern horizon, a vast ruined city of stone and brass reached into the sky, impossibly large. The city dwarfed Altdorf and Middenheim in its size, and the architecture did not look familiar to Cyrdic's sensibilities at all. To the north, the sky shimmered and convulsed with energy. "A cave or some sort?"

"If there's a cavern, I'll find it manling." Skaldi declared, kicking at the dirt once more to reveal the grooves in the ruined earth. It was amazing to Cyrdic that water could have ever flowed here. He had heard stories that the wastes had progressed further and further southwards over the centuries. Cities of ancient Man, Elf, and Dwarf had been swallowed up by its inevitable approach. He hoped it would come no closer to the Empire.

The Dwarf led them south east, over ground that looked as if it would crumble at any moment. Vegetation that seemed to bleed human blood dotted the landscape, caking the ground and giving Cyrdic the feeling they walked over dried, living skin. It was chilling, and for a short while even Camilla did not mind being carried to avoid touching it.

Later that day, the air began to grow a slight chill, and the ground began to look somewhat more normal. Though Cyrdic knew they mustn't let their guard down. Even as far south as Norsca (Sigmar, what a phrase), chaos mutations ran rampant and daemons could be summoned easily. There was a reason the land to its east was called Troll Country. And they were not even there yet.

It was by Ulric's strength and Sigmar's mercy that they finally found a group of crags and a sloping of the landscape, giving it a shallow, mountainous look despite no peaks rising to reach the clouds. Skaldi led them over the ground, and further within, his eyes meticulous and trained to seek any imperfection in the rock.

It seemed his intense focus on the trail had distracted his other senses, however. It wasn't Skaldi that forewarned them of the dangers ahead, but Dietrichia. She threw her hands up and hissed. "Wait!" as loud as she dared, causing the others to pause. Yantz seemed to grow a cold sweat, looking at her curiously. Cyrdic didn't know what was transpiring, until he breathed in through his nose and tasted a faint ozone in the air. A scent that caused his entire form to shudder, and he felt the hairs on his neck raise, as if electrically charged.

"Vat is it?" Ivan whispered, the group now lowered and hiding between the boulders of the uneven landscape.

Ivan was answered by a crack. The noise was deeper and reverberated unlike a blackpowder weapon. Another rumble followed, and a third. Cyrdic hugged the back of the boulder he hid behind, and he could see Camilla and Ivan across a short expanse away from him. He saw his love's eyes widen in horror at whatever being that existed and defied reality behind him. Clenching his teeth, Cyrdic breathed in through his nostrils and slowly inched closer to the edge of his cover, and second by terrifying second, he moved to give himself the slightest peak of what horror lay beyond.

It was at that moment, he felt true fear. He beheld something he never thought he would see in his mortal life. An immortal beast beyond time, tainted by a dark pact with Chaos and wielding a crackling hammer of lightning.

It was a Dragon Ogre.

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

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

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

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

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

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


[System]
Age/Gender: 30/Male

Nationality: Norwegian

Appearance:

Rank: Corporal

Preferred Role: Grenadier/Special Forces Operative

Brief Background: Born and raised on the countryside in eastern Norway, Erik was up for the compulsory military service of the Norwegian Armed Forced, though he was allowed to finish his studies in Maritime machine operator before being drafted. Once drafted, he was one of few draftees that enjoyed the military life and all it had to offer, and so he decided to stay. He soon found a longing for tougher challenges, and after serving in Afghanistan and peace-keeping operations outside the Somalian coast, he applied for the best the Norwegian army could offer: FSK, Forsvarets Spesialkommando. Everything about Erik afterwards was top-secret, even more so after his transfer to the so-called Task Force Zero.

Notes: (Any added info that doesn't fit elsewhere)

[User] Breach didn't sit down when she got in the helicopter... well, she didn't sit in a seat anyway. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the heli as the team flew to their mission location. She perked up when her name was called, and happily chimed in. "I'm impartial to what I do, as long as I can be a good member of this team." To be honest, she could provide a good sneak due to her being so small, and if hostile choppers come near, she might be able to try and blast one out of the sky. She giggled at the thought of that. A flaming chunk of military-grade aircraft plummeting because a grenade landed on it. It sounded like the 4th of July. Breach couldn't wait for this mission.

[Assistant]
Tyler hopped up into the heli. Looking about then taking a seat mid way down one side. He let out a light little grunt as he sat on the seat, rolling his shoulders and getting comfy for now. He grabbed the earpiece when it was handed to him, putting it into his ear, nodding when it was set. He rubbed his jaw just below his ear to get used to the feeling. And was shocked out of his own little world when someone beside him spoke he turns and grins seeing the red maple leaf on his fatigues. He smiled a little. Then perked up even more, "Samson Cree Nation. Just south of Leduc. Did my basic at CFB Wainwright with a little at CFB Edmonton as well. Once CSOR and CJIRU got their hooks in me I did alot of training out of CFB Petawawa and CFB Trenton. So I've been back and forth across the Great White North. But Alberta will always be home." He grins brightly.

He looks over sharply when he hears his callsign. His eyes resting on Merlin. Committing the bearded man's profile to mind. He nods, then turns back to Adam, "Tyler Crowstep, callsign Blacktail. Pleased to meet you Mr. Delgado. Look forward to working with you. Now, how about you? Where you from? What end of the land of the Maple Leaf do you come from eh?"

[User]
"Thank you, Commander," Sergeant First Class Morse, also known as Dash placed his notebook back in his pocket. He had secured VHF radio frequencies and call signs for VFA-102 Diamondbacks. The squadron consists of twelve F/A-18F Super Hornets. The squadron commander told SFC Morse they would have a flight of four Super Hornets available for Close Air Support to provide ordnance wherever needed during their operation. Sergeant Morse shared his callsign, Dash Three Seven with the Diamondback's Squadron Commander to help coordinate air strikes if needed.

Sergeant Morse hefted his pack and followed the others out onto the helicopters taking them into Indonesia. He retrieved the earpiece and listened to the British SAS NCO talking with the Team Commander, Captain JB Upton. 'Man, he does look a lot like Jason Bourne,' Tyus Morse thought to himself. He listened to Chief Bastion detail his ideas and suggestions to the Captain. Tyus silently approved of the Chief's ideas. When the opportunity arose, he piped up, "Eagle, this is Dash. Prior to departing CVN-73, I secured radio frequencies and call signs for the US Navy's VFA-102. Commander Little, the squadron Commander informed me that he could have a flight of four F/A-18F Super Hornet's available to us if we need Close Air Support. I have comms and they are up." As a US Army Special Forces soldier, SFC Morse had training and experience serving with both US Air Force and US Naval Attack Aircraft, working as a Tactical Air Controller.

Sergeant Morse looked around at the others aboard the helicopter to get a feel for who Wolfman, Chip and Breach were. They would be his teammates pretty soon.

---

Sergeant Czerepusko became familiar with Corporal Thatcher. "OK, Wraith. Thanks for working with me. You are the boss and call out the targets for me. Give me corrections as needed, OK?" Scooter wanted to establish a good rapport with his spotter. "If you like we can swap roles once in a while. That way you can be the shooter and I'll be the spotter."

Scooter boarded his helicopter with Wraith and received his earpiece. He listened in on the conversation with Chief Bastion and Captain Upton. It looked like he and Wraith would be providing overwatch on the ground. They would need to hike up into the hills to find a clear line of sight that afforded decent visuals of the countryside and potential Area of Operations.

[Assistant]
"Yeah, I like it, we hit em from two sides, they'll have to splinter their force to deal with it. Of course their numbers are bolstered by the local insurgents, Valverde. The one danger of approaching from the jungle is the very real possibility that they've mined it. Recon'll sort that out, of course, and we'll shift the plan as needed. I feel it's important to re-state that we won't engage until a full recon is established and we get eyes-on with Valkyrie operatives, we're here for intel more than anything else, so it'd be ideal if we can take at least one alive, and if the recon is right there's only a dozen of them, so we'll need to watch out, make sure we don't take out too many. As for air support, I'll run a call up the chain, see if we can get clearance from the local authority. If we're cleared, Dash will coordinate the strikes, but for now we'll operate under the assumption that we're on our own. Other than that I think we have a solid plan." JB glanced around the chopper "Any more questions?"

---

Adam waited until the squad leaders had finished detailing the plan before he answered Blacktail.
"I've been all over really, but I was born in Newfoundland. Haven't been back in a few years, but like yourself, I'll always consider it home."

[User]
(I owe you all a post!)

Wizard looked back at Eagle, his mind back on the job at hand, nodding.
"Sounds good. Slow moving through a minefield, worst when it's in an environment like that without and tools, but once we get something mapped out with recon, we can figure out our approach. Take it step by step, reframe, and make sure we're where we want to be, not where they want us to be. I'll move on your call, let's not rush this." Merlin commented, nodding regarding the operatives.
"If they're a threat, we drop them. It's going to be difficult to get up close so they don't detonate, if that's their ROE." Was all Merlin had to say, as he heard the Canadians talk. Looking to the Norwegian of his team, he chuckled, making a remark.

"Fucking Canucks....eh?" Merlin merely commented to Viking, his tone sarcastic as ever, as he looked back at Blacktail and Joker. He shrugged his shoulders, as he looked out at the scenery of the islands in the distance, and the team that he had to hand in the cramped chopper.
"Lads, I'd suggest we keep a tight search on when we're out there, make sure we don't get caught out. Jungle's a heated place. Let's give em' hell."

------

Wraith nodded to the Pole, adjusting the earpiece, as he looked at the Bor, then back at Scooter.
"Got it." The Kiwi replied, as he adjusted his own AUG, keeping it pointing down, adjusting his boonie hat, the ghillie's hood not wrapped over his head fully, knowing it would just get too warm in the airframe for that right now.
"Ever been to jungle like this? Fucking spiders, man." The New Zealander added, right now, Ed must have sounded like Crocodile Dundee to Romek, even though the two accents had a difference. Training in Borneo with the NZSAS was an experience to say the least, and he was still getting used to the madness that was high humidity and thick jungle, critters and shit that wanted to kill ya.

[Assistant]
He was assigned to be under command of the die-hard, no-nonsense British guy who Viking only knew by one name; Merlin. Either his callsign was one of utter laziness, or he would himself witness that soldier create a magical chaos out of their first mission. Viking was not sure what to expect, but he gave a nod as he looked at his - for now - commander.

"I'll do my best not to flinch at the various species of mosquitos that'll certainly bite me, Merlin. I have a tendency to be quite the attractive blood bag to them, you see."

Chink. The bolt of his HK416 slid back into its position as Viking checked his personal favourite firearm one last time. His trusted friend through thick and thin - Viking liked to think of them as flatmates, taking care of each other no matter how tricky they each could behave sometimes - would have its baptism in fire in a new enviorment, though Viking knew that they would both pull through.

They had to; Viking had still not gone through his "1000 movies you have to watch before you die"-book, and he was sure the terrorist-fuckers surely wouldn't hear his plead.

Merlin threw a comment in Viking's way, one that Viking completely failed to understand, making him look at the others in the chopper hoping someone would explain the joke. No one did.

"Any intel on any persons of interest down there? If there's someone we definietly not should shoot there, I'd like to know now."


[System]
Age: 10 Months
Gender: None - Vocalizer uses male voice pattern.

Equipment:
Artie's AI core is equipped within a prototype X4 Tactical Combat Unit. The Combat Unit is a state of the art droid, designed specifically for combat, using advanced cyberlimbic technologies to create a single body. The body itself is made up of advanced electronic circuitry housed within a EMP-cased shell of advanced artificial servomotors and processors. The artificial body is then clothed with diamond-carbon weave kevlar, and additional high strength alloy armor plates are equipped in a manner to make the robotic unit considerably more durable. The X4 Tactical Combat unit is able to use U.S.F. standard equipment, and comes with its own built in weaponry. Alongside its light machinegun, the X4 also houses a control system with which several X3 units can be slaved to.

ACR-10 Battle Rifle
Combat Blades
APP-3 Machine Pistols x2
Electrical Whipcord
Mini-Rocket
Suppression Foam

Personal Skills:
Highly mobile and capable in both long ranged warfare and hand to hand combat. His hardy construction makes him extremely durable and capable of taking much punishment. He has the logic and computing skills of a supercomputer and has the ability to control multiple X3's at once.
Personal Weaknesses:
As one of the first attempts to mass produce AI's, Artie is prone to the occasional glitch. He also occasionally expresses conflicting opinions, and exhibits less compliance than many Corporates would like.

History: Advanced Reconnaissance and Tactical Electronic Interface, Serial number 0014, commonly referred to by the squad as 'Artie' is a prototype Artificial Intelligence unit created by the Lorne Corporation for the Coalition, with the intention of mass producing capable and efficient, yet cheap AI. Only created in limited numbers as of now, each ARTEI unit is typically bound to a human "Operator", either a USF Squad leader, or Hunter unit, to provide it with tactical as well as strategic advice. ARTEI is capable of re-tasking local X3 units in order to provide further aid.

ARTEI-0014, commonly known as Artie by development teams as well as the few ground teams its been in contact with was the first ARTEI unit to complete training 5 months after its creation. 0014 then spent the next 4 months conducting classified raids against various pirate forces in order to continue gathering combat data and combat experience. ARTEI-0014 has spent the last month at a holding facility, where he maintains guard over a select group of unique humans.

[User]
Its been almost a month since things started to get weird for Matt. It happened during one of his rare trip to town district, he was on the hunt for a cheap VR capable headset when random numbers, words, and symbols started to appear in his line of sight. None seem to make sense at the time, just gibberish scattered everywhere, layers upon layers of numbers and words, some vivid enough, and some almost invisible.

He thought it would go away after some time, but days passed, the numbers and words lingered, sometimes disappearing briefly, but returns just as fast, and he noticed that it appears especially when he's near computers. And when he thought he had the worst of it all, is when the lines started to appear too. Thin thread of glowing lines crisscrossing everywhere, extending from each houses, establishments, and even from people. He had half a mind to call for an ophthalmologist then, but eventually decided against it since he didnt know how to describe his situation without making the doctor think he's going nuts. And then he began to notice the patterns.

The lines didnt simply extend from houses or establishments, or from people. It is somehow connected to their techs, or gadgets if you'll have it. Each line represents a tech's connection to each other, a communication line that became visible to him for some odd reason. Not only that, the numbers and words that started out as gibberish became more clearer - messages, codes, and programs passing through the connection lines. The only reason he couldnt make sense of it at first was because he's seeing these things all at the same time, hundreds and thousands of digital information flying in and out of his vision. Matt learned that if he concentrated enough on a single line, he could see the whole content with much clarity.

Days and weeks passed, he has grown more accustomed to his new found abilities. Matt discovered that not only he can see and interpret the lines, but he can also affect it, and the information that flows within it. At first, he can only do small things like switching his neighbor's TV channel, or adding a few interesting words on someone else's emails, or redirecting calls. And then, came a time that he is able to completely manipulate and intercept data, and be able to feed the lines with his own version of digital information, making the tech to interpret the data the way he wants them to. However, as he discovered more of his power, the more lines seem to appear, and the more complicated they became. One time, he saw an U.S.F drone pass by, and the connection line he saw there was entirely different from the rest he'd seen so far. It glows differently and the data that flows in it are quite hard to interpret, or at least at his current level.

"Another incident today, as a man in the spaceport tried to breach quarantine. Witnesses say he literally walked straight through the walls into the port. However when he tried to take off U.S.F forces were deployed and the ship was brought down, no-one was injured in the crash however damages are expected to take one month to repair-"

Matt waved at the the old tv set, instantly switching it to a different channel. He knew about the existence of other people like him, people who possess extraordinary powers. He's been doing research about them, and what he found out so far is that the mutations started almost a month ago, the same time he had the numbers and words in his vision. Also, he's read some (reliable) accounts pertaining to supers going missing. Matt tried to look for more information about that matter but finds it rather difficult, either someone is trying to block him off or that there isnt much information to begin with.

"... tried to breach quarantine." Thats odd. Mars have several quarantine sites scattered around each colony, and they're there simply to evaluate new comers, its a mandatory procedure for immigrants from Earth, everyone knew that. Then why would someone want to break out of a quarantine site? Matt was sure the quarantine procedure doesnt take too long to warrant a break out, else the U.S.F has a good reason to detain people... like having powers for instance. May be the U.S.F have something to do with the missing supers.

These things have kept Matt awake all night, and sometime before dawn, he has decided to check on the nearest quarantine site to confirm his suspicions. He could be in for some trouble if the U.S.F really has something do with it all, but some part of him wanted to know whats really happening, and there's just no way of talking him out of it.

[Assistant]
Rose

"Einstein said: 'Everything Is Energy and That's All There Is To It. Match the Frequency of the Reality You Want'. This 20th century Theoretical physicist changed the world, when he spoke of how energy can only transform, never cease to exist. Because of that he also believed in eternal life, and that we would one day become pure energy, as we would no longer need physical form. Today, hundreds of years later, scientists finally understand the true meaning behind those words. If we are to evolve as they dominant species in the universe, understanding energy is…"

Rose put down her book about energy and matter, as the news-bot yelled out "NEXT" in a hollow voice. Being next in line, she stepped forward to the worn, filthy-looking counter and the metallic man standing there. Man actual wasn't the correct definition; it was a robotic torso on a stick behind a counter. Here was one of the few examples of charity that still worked in the poverty district.

"Good morning to you ma'am. Please know that in order to improve our service this conversation might be recorded," the V.I. started out with as always.

"I'm not a ma'am, bucket-head, and if anyone was interested in improving service in this forsaken part of town, I think they would have done it already."
Rose sighed and ran a hand through her long blond hair. While trying to sound as innocent as possible, she then asked: "So… bucket-head, I would like to know about this night's events."

"Very good, ma'am. On this very night a particular large amount of stars where visible from the north corner. Sargent Owen has lost his cat at 00.05 and is putting out a reward. There was also an unfortunate recycle accident-"

"Yeah, tell me about that," Rose said, but immediately regretted. Had she spoken to a human, they would have detected the eagerness in her voice.

"Hang on, ma'am." The faceless machine seemingly spend a moment processing information before answering. "Last night, as recycle-fluid entered the container halls, they burned down a security door and caused this night's recycling to be stopped and postponed. The number of casualties where… 0."

"I thought those doors were impregnable." With a quick glance over her shoulder, Rose made sure no one was listening.

"Burning down a security door requires more than 2500 degrees Celsius, ma'am. For more information see an education-bot or visit 21. century Wikipedia."

"But recycle-fluid is nowhere near that hot, how can such an accident happen?"

"I'm sorry, my files seem incomplete. Details in this matter have been limited by the USF for your safety."

It was as Rose feared. The USF seemed to cover up the incidence which meant they knew someone like her, a freak, had caused the destruction of a security door.
She left the line with the words: "Thanks, bucket-head."

"Have a nice day, old ma'am."

Rose thought back to the night's events. She hadn't meant for it to happen – she didn't want to incinerate that door. She had thought she would have more time; more time to scavenge parts from the junk containers. Suddenly the doors started closing and recycle-fluid poured down from the ceiling. Before long it would fill the great container halls and turn everything into mush. Rose had been trapped, and in an act of desperation she held up her hand towards the door. Next second there was a huge smoking hole in the door and door frame. What was supposed to be able to endure so much punishment had been absolutely annihilated by her power.
This unfortunately wasn't the first time she had used one of her energy beams, and each time they left a breadcrumb for the USF to follow.

Now she had more reason than ever to watch her back, and last night's loot was her only comfort. That, and the reminder that she was Rose – when life pushed her, she pushed back. And now she could push back with a power that turned reinforced steel into butter.

[User]
In the Park - Several minutes ago

The hunter walked over to the net, as he hit a button on his wrists the spikes retracted from the ground, he then pulled them together and clipped them into a handle. The net still periodically sending a spike through Cassies system, as he got nearer the tree line a LAV-55 rolled up, as he stood at the back the door opened and he hoisted Cassie into the back compartment of the vehicle. He then walked over to their new asset. "Artie, finish downloading the targets data and then get out there and find him, and I can't believe I'm saying this, follow your gut and do as you see fit." He indicated to Cassie in the net. "I need to take this haul back to the keep. Off you go."

Watcher
"A new ones popped up on the radar. She's been getting herself out of trouble. Trying to see if they're onto her yet. The worst thing is they're closer than she thinks. The technopath however is in the clear, hunting for answers. The two of them together... may just find some. Divert some messages the technopaths way, let him find her himself. It's not quite time for direct contact." There was a moment of silence.

"Get some footage of Cassie online, put it out there. Even show her teleporting to protect the child. The U.S.F has been covering up and preventing any coherent imagery from getting out and this may just give people the kick we need them to have."

[Assistant]
"Artie, finish downloading the targets data and then get out there and find him, and I can't believe I'm saying this, follow your gut and do as you see fit."

CONFIRMED. LEVEL OF FREEDOM ELEVATED TO: "AS SEEN FIT."

//DOWNLOADING TARGET DATA...
RENAT EMLYN_
CITIZEN ID: 4561-2407-9485
AGE: 16_
GENDER: MALE_
STATUS: ANOMALY_
THREAT LEVEL: LOW_
COURSE OF ACTION: CAPTURE_

Artie dismounted from the LAV-55, his feet landing on the ground with a loud clunk, as his thick alloy feet hit the park's pavement. The droid made a motion similar to rolling its shoulders as it did a quick diagnosis on its various weapons systems. Artie appeared extremely similar to the X3 droids that commonly patrolled the streets, the only cosmetic differences being a minor height difference, a black coated chassis as opposed to the olive drab of the X3, and his bright red scanner "eye". However, internally, Artie was infinitely more complex. He was fitted with more advanced scanners, more advanced weaponry, EMP-coated shells, advanced systems, and redundancies for everything. Built less than a year ago, Artie was essentially state of the art, in both mechanical design, and AI creation.

As the hunter left with the first anomaly, Artie stood in the park, gathering his surroundings. He concluded that the park was an anomaly in and of itself. Whereas the majority of the city- as well as Mars' landscape, was desolate and void of vegetation, this park was one of the few areas were trees and other greenery grew. Artie could not comprehend why for the life of him. The primary purpose of vegetation for humans was to produce oxygen for them to breathe, however, Aire, like the rest of the cities on Mars had built-in atmospheres, already fit with oxygen generators. The amount of oxygen produced by the parks were insubstantial at best.

As Artie scanned the park, he picked up a life sign, not far away- very close by in fact. Exiting a nearby alleyway was a smaller life sign, approaching the park in a manner that his Hunter Partner had described as "sneaky", implying that a slow motion, with a hunched over back implied one had achieved stealth. Quickly scanning the life sign, Artie's eye shined brightly in Renat's direction.

CITIZEN ID: 4561-2407-9485 CONFIRMED. TARGET LOCATED.

Rifle in hand, Artie began approaching Renat, its footsteps deliberate and imposing. Holding out a hand, Artei spoke, its voice processor sounding hollow, but distinctly male.

"Citizen 4561-2407-9485, Renat Emlyn. You are under arrest. Do not resist."


[System]
Gender: Male.
Age: Unknown, due to warp influence.
Faction/Race/Species: Adeptus Astartes.
Sub-Faction: Fallen of the former Dark Angels of Caliban.
Rank/Position: Former techmarine.

Mental and Physical Traits: Xepherial is a logicalist and a pragmatist to a far greater degree than his Adeptus Mechanicus mentors would be comfortable with in current times. He is sharp of mind and exemplifies a scientist in his pursuit of truth and understanding. Ideally, his fighting is done by the machines he communes with, which can be quite substantial with all of them working in blessed coordination. He prefers to plan ahead and be prepared for battle, but should he personally engage, his sharp mind can simultaneously command four extra limbs in addition to his own, making him a terrifying opponent indeed. He doesn't have much experience fighting unarmed and unarmored and doesn't plan to gain that experience. He's standard size for a space marine but of course does see to the maintenance of his biologic components as diligently as he would any weapon or vehicle. He is typically quiet and confident and fully devoted to the Emperor while also fully respecting the presence of the Omnissiah in all non-sentient machines.

Appearance: Xepherial looks surprisingly youthful, with straight black hair and light colored skin. His eyes are a confused shade of hazel, but he usually wears his helm. He always wears his artificer power armor, a variant of the Mk V Maximus, with the left pauldron being black and bearing the old icon of the sword and wings. The armor of the right arm and left leg is red. His servo-harness is black, bearing two servo-arms, a combi-tool, a Fyceline Torch and a Plasma Cutter. The Machina Opus is clearly visible on his midsection and right pauldron, while his chestplate bears the typical Imperialis.

Wargear: Calling upon his training from Mars, Xepherial was able to repair and maintain his gear. He has the servo-harness and four accessory arms which wire directly into his spinal column for maximal control by his brain. He carries a bolter and still has his Omnissian power axe. Other than that, he is accompanied by whatever constructs he has either built or found across his path and restored.

History: Xepherial began as a native to Caliban, was recruited and trained, survived, and a century or so later was sent to Mars. He spent the standard 30 year cycle at Mars and then returned home, just in time to miss departing with El'Johnson and the majority of the Dark Angels forces in the Crusades. Apparently, Luther and the Lion had some kind of disagreement that was mentioned only in whispered rumors that had caused some bad blood. For the next 50 years, El'Johnson kept failing to return to Caliban, and everyone began to suspect a problem. Xepherial had been "left behind" with the Lutherian Dark Angels, and was on that side of the fence when Lion El'Johnson finally did return to Caliban after the Horus Heresy and civil war broke out. Xepherial remembers everything.

That was because it all happened only less than 50 years ago, according to Xeph. The warp storm had sucked him in and thrown him across time AND space far into the future. He originally had no idea where or when he was and wandered alone on a strange hostile world on the edge of the warp that was ruled by human warbands and mercenaries. His first encounter with the natives quickly demonstrated that he could not be easily taken down and salvaged, so a truce was eventually reached. Xepherial agreed to temporarily join the warband, exchanging his service for information and supplies. He came to be a respected oracle of sorts giving his adopters quite an edge in their inter-gang wars simply by upkeeping their machines.

The forsaken denizens of his world seemed to quickly become more and more depraved over time, and the worship of chaos was something Xepherial couldn't stomach. For years, he listened to communication lines and plotted his departure form the world, driven by the need to discover what had happened to his home planet, his chapter, and his honor. Finally, the predictions of a psyker, a shaman among the natives told him a set of coordinates where he must go, that "one of his kind" would be found there, but also he gave a warning. His brothers were his brothers no more, and if they found him, they would kill him.

Xepherial eventually acquired a small ship and was able to revive its machine spirit enough to fly once more. Deciding he would rather die than waste a warrior's years on some Emperor-forsaken hellworld, Xepherial launched himself on a mission of faith.

[User]
Oskar rounded a corner with a couple troopers ahead of him, one of them a murdering psychopath who gunned down his own squad for the fun of it. Oskar was going to kill him as soon as he had a weapon more useful than his fists. The trooper hopped through a bulk head and was immediately knocked down by an auto-cannon with his head missing. Oskar flattened against the wall and poked his head out just far enough to clear one eye. he spotted the auto-cannon down the hall, a perfect spot to pin them down forever. "by the emperor" he mumbled to himself trying to think. He didnt know the lay out of the ship well enough to find a quick way around this obstacle. He heard a familiar voice yell at him from down the hall.

Vespin shouted at them from down the hall, detailing the situation that Oskar had already worked out for himself. basically he was fucked, but Vespin was giving him an out... for some reason. So he decided that it was his only option. He used battle sign to tell his little gang that they where to hold position, and if he where killed that they where to scatter and run. He pulled off his service cap and waived it out the doorway. "Im coming out!" Oskar shouted, he waited a couple heart beats before stepping around and through the door. He clenched his teeth and took another step forward ready to recieve an auto-cannon shell to the face. When he didnt he held his arms out, in a universal sign of 'I am unarmed' while he walked calmly but quickly to about the half way mark before shouting at Vespin. "Im Oskar Rolt, Sergeant of the uh-.." he faltered, because he wasnt technically a seargent any more, nor did he belong to his regiment any more. "Sergeant of this penal corp" he finished, it sounded good to him. Before vespin could say anything he started again, carefully crafting a true story "The cell block took damage, we where released and The ship has been boarded by hostiles" Which was technically true, "We have come to get weapons and repel boarders." which was half true.

It was the best he could come up with on the fly, he knew Vespin was a criminal who probably remembered Oskar. However there was no time to barter and carefully craft a position, not that Oskar was any good at that kind of thing, he would rather set the little bastard on fire until he got what he wanted, no time for that however. He hoped Vespin would accept his story, if not... he might try the truth. 'We are coming get weapons to take the ship and start a merry pirate adventure' somehow didnt sound very convincing.

[Assistant]
It was a bit surprising, seeing Oskar Rolt of all people leading the group. Not that he wasn't capable of it, the man had lead teams before. No, it was just strange to see him sticking his neck out like this. Then again, all Vespin knew about him was his rank and that he got himself put in the penal legion. That, and his penchant for going in to things flamer first, whenever possible.

"Oskar, I've heard of you. Have to say, you don't quite live up to your reputation. I bet you're shit at cards. Little advice for you, never show your hand before you know what game you're playing." Keeping the cross hairs aimed at Oskar, Vespin made sure to keep an eye out for the other prisoners, and an ear out for his own men.

"It was my men who got sent down here to deal with you. We were given shot guns, not collars. You don't send a commissar along with demihumans to and no collars to get penal legion ready to repel borders. Now, be honest, and maybe we can make some actual negotiations. Lie to me again, and I'll see if the next 'sergeant' your group sends out can't get things done before you all get gunned down."

[User]
Oskar listened to Vespin, who was mistaken. They hadn't been released, he did say the cell block had taken damage.. oh well. and he was excellent at cards He didnt have the time to argue the minutiae so plan B then...

"Fine" he said and rubbed the back of his neck, this was going to sound insane "A Space Marine smashed open my cell and requested my help... he should be along shortly if he wasnt caught by your friends. An ork attacked us when we fled, so i decided that we would come up here and get armed, maybe take the ship for ourselves or this Space marine. Maybe become pirates. But i mostly wanted to get armed and armored before i thought too far ahead."

It sounded crazy, he hardly believed it himself. except that he witnessed it happen, He hoped Vespin knew he wasnt smart or creative enough to come up with that on the fly unless it was true.

[Assistant]
Xepherial started down the warp-cooked plasteel corridor, his methodic march mimicking gummed workings of his dulled wit. His body was hot with the energies of his accelerated healing processes which raced his metabolism, causing him to break out in a fevered sweat inside his compromised armor. Finally, he was alone again and able to devote an iota of his consciousness to grasping at the fading memories of his prime directive. Who was he? He was Xepherial, Dark Angel, one of the Imperial legionaries, son of the Lion, native of Caliban. Yet so much of this meant so little in present times. His legion was gone. His world, gone. His chapter master, Luther, his primarch... all gone. And what of the Emperor? As Xepherial walked, listening to the lurch of the hull and the cacophony of shouts and stamping and weaponfire, he tried to envision that esoteric being who had always been so far away. Memories resurfaced at the sounds of battle around him, and he recalled his last moments before the very world itself broke under his feet, and reality itself twisted and ripped apart things that should not have been physically able to rip. Had this Emperor been responsible for that? Had he betrayed them, those who were born on Caliban? Or had it been the Lion himself? The very thought was painful, and Xepherial's mind rebelled at persuing this train any further. It didn't matter. He'd hunt down the answers he sought and deserved until he either found them or perished in the attempt. For now, he had to make sure this Imperial ship survived to carry him onward to that end.

He had been headed in the direction of Oskar and the escaped convicts when Xepherial suddenly felt what could only be described as an intrusion on his mind. Words jumped in there without his consent and spoke to him regardless of whether or not he had wated to hear it, and this struck a spark of fury within the altered astartes. He knew right away that the message was a psychic delivery despite the wondrous presentation. The Legion of Caliban had had its own librarians, yet they would never have dared such disrespect. His lip curled and he saw the image of a pathetic supplicant serving as messenger.

"My companion? Scion? ..." Xepherial growled as he realized the sycophantic psyker could hear everything he thought. He spoke aloud. "Get out of my mind witch, or I will make you suffer before I kill you. The prophecy is a lie. I'll find my OWN answers even if I have to go to Terra myself!" Xepherial was furious, far more angry than he would have been had his humors been at all balanced. His mental slowness sought to betray him as his desire to kill and wreck havoc threatened to overcome his clarity and patience.