[System]
Sex: Female
Age: 17
Experiment Tier: Leaf
Enhanced Trait 1: Enhanced muscle tissue
Enhanced Trait 1 Downside: "Enhanced" is being generous. She's just stronger than she would be normally for a girl her age.
Enhanced Trait 2: Pain receptor suppressant
Enhanced Trait 2 Downside: While the pain is ignored, the rest of the trouble that comes with the wound is not.
Faction: N/A (Nomadic)
Appearance:

Clothing: As pictured with a few odds and ends around. Mainly military-surplus grade clothing.
Personality: Quiet but not totally antisocial. Curious, but also cautious. Still prefers to be distanced rather than at the center of attention
Weapons: McMillan CS5 with suppressor, Rock Island Armory M1911, OKC FF6 Freedom Fighter
Equipment: Rucksack, TAC belt, side holster, ammunition pouches on both legs, knee pads, elbow pads, shoulder pad, sleeping bag, flashlight, bandages, tourniquet, pack of cigarettes, mini multi-fuel stove, canteen, multi-tool
Bio: Joy had the rough life like the other test subjects. She was an alternate, though. The government mainly kept her around just in cases they needed one more test subject to experiment on in the event they ran out. However, with the help of the Three Kings, she ran out first before they could get to her. Being older than the others, she had the luxury of getting some extra free time in which was usually spent reading old Tom Clancy novels and bugging security guards to show her tricks they learned. While most never bothered to give her the time of day, she managed to get some one-on-one time at the range during the off hours with a few. Marksmanship was an essential skill that needed to be honed, along with how to determine and eliminate priority targets. These were hard lessons that she needed to learn.

After the escape, Joy hung around with some of the other girls. Two injections gave her a muscle mass boost and a sort of regulatory strain that deactivated her pain receptors. Though not exactly on board with the idea of the last one, she figured that since she was being hunted now like the others that it would be better to go with what she could than not. After two weeks of being on the run, she became separated from the other girls. Lacking much in the sense of a personal arsenal at the moment, she snuck out and made her way to a junkyard. She now lives out of one of the vans, trying to keep her spirits up, her stomach full, and her head on her shoulders.

[User]
Joy snored loudly as she laid in her sleeping bag. She couldn't help it after the long night she had been through. A harsh banging on the back door of the van drew her slowly out of her slumber with each instance until she finally woke up. She unzipped her bag and crawled over to the back door. A small pair of curtains kept the sun out and prying eyes. She slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes and holding her handgun. Slowly she drew the curtain to peek out to the outside. An older man with graying hair under a work cap and a matching beard was standing there. The groundskeeper of the junkyard. Slowly she opened it and peered out.

"What is it, Big Joe? You know what fuckin' time it is?"

"Yes, little lady, I do. I also know that some military types were on their way through here. Said they had rights to search fer squatters and whatnot."

"Military? Oh fuck..."

"You and I both know they ain't here fer the squatters."

"Big Joe..."

"Don't make nothin' of it. Git yerself together and make yerself scarce. I'll try to keep them out of this area as long as I can. Saw one of their big vehicles out front too."

"That makes thing difficult. They near the break in the fence?"

"Not yet, but they may be soon."

"Alright. Take it easy, Big Joe. I'll be around sometime."

With that info fresh in her mind, Joy quickly popped some caffeine pills and washed it down with some rainwater she had been collecting from her rain catcher in the sunroof. She threw her jacket, her belts, and all her pouches onto her person. She tore down everything that indicated the van had been lived in and threw it into her rucksack. Finally, she holstered her handgun and stepped out of the van, pulling her hood up. She gave Big Joe a quick hug goodbye before turning around and high-tailing it out.

The junkyard was a maze, truly, which was both a blessing and a curse. She needed to get out, but finding her way around parts unknown was harder than it looked. At least she knew if she was always heading at least some direction, she'd hit the fence eventually. So even though the soldiers were out and around, they weren't aware that she was moving out. They'd be taking their sweet time, trying to sneak up on her and hoping to catch her napping. Not now, though. No, this time she'd be gone before they knew she was ever there. At least, that's what she hoped. Getting around was difficult, and she had to climb over car piles a lot more than she found comfortable. They were unstable, and it made her nervous.

Just when she climbed up and took a few seconds to judge the distance she was from the fence, she heard metal creaking underneath her. Thinking fast, she jumped and hit the ground on a roll. The four-car tower became a three-car tower as a sedan slipped off the edge and crashed. That was going to draw attention, so Joy beat feet onto her goal, which was almost in sight. Voices from behind her only served to increase her speed until, finally and thankfully, she was able to slip out. For now, she was okay, but it wasn't going to be like that for long. She kept up her pace to head deeper into New York, keeping a lookout on a place to dive in and lay low. An apartment complex that looked like it had seen much better days in the past (and more residents), seemed like a good place to stop for now. She slipped in through the front door after making sure no one else was around and sighed.

Out of the frying pan, but not sure if the burner was lit. Joy drew her 1911 and clicked the safety off. Leaving it cocked didn't hurt it, so she hadn't messed with it after her encounter with Miro. Miro...well, at least he was good for one thing: he let her know just how well her disguise was working. Well...from the neck up anyway. She looked down. With the rucksack straps around her shoulders, she noticed her prominent mounds under her jacket. Great. She cursed herself for her natural bustiness and vowed to try binding herself down with some pressure bandages later on. At least, if she could. The first thing to do was to make sure no one was going to fuck with her in this building, if there was anyone to do so.

Slowly, but surely, she carefully made her first steps inside and began to clear out as much as she could see from the building. She knew to pie her corners, but she really wasn't wanting to try jiggling door handles. Her combat boots also made audible noise that was only slightly softer the slower she stepped. Well, at least if anyone else was here, they'd be wanting to get the hell out. Combat boots were usually worn by the government types, and spelled trouble. Joy prayed that anyone would get the hell out at the sound of her footsteps if they were here. It was just easier. And yet, sometimes things are never easy, nor do they usually turn out the way we want them to.

[Assistant]
Miro's eyebrows lifted visiblely as his personal space was rudely invaded. Eyes met eyes, a jaded tired gaze, with a steely inquisitive one. Miro did only wander once to look at Bea's seat, now vacant. Apparently she had taken the Thinker orders at heart as well, too.

Lil' bugger knows when to fold em. He thought with a bit of relief, as he grew increasingly pressured by the awkward position the Thinker had when questioning him. Nice butt wiggling. Miro added, being slightly distracted before refocusing on the face of the older girl.

"I came for booty." He deadpanned, his voice following suit to his gaze. "You know, chicks dig heroic, reliable figures... and do you know how hard is to find people of my age? Really hard. But noo, you have to get in my way and don't swallow my lies!" He added raising his eyebrows and voice for a brief while, before letting a small chuckle.

"As if." Miro smirked. "What I told you before is what I honestly feel. Or what I want to feel at this moment. Of course, it's the edulcorated version. But you doubt everything thrown at him? Right. Hunt or be hunted? The world is full of liars? I know. I try not to lie. Much. An open hand is better than a fist." Miro scratched his head, his gaze now acquiring a rather serious intensity.

"But if you must know as a head honcho, I'll tell you that much." He paused, and inhaled.

"Reckoning. I want revenge. Justice. To see the responsible of all this dead and helpless. Words cannot tell how angry I am. They plucked out the flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. And I want them to PAY. Olga didn't deserve it. And I didn't deserve to be duped. like this." Clenching his teeth and fist he inhaled a second time, an effort to calm himself.

"But going like a crazy berseker yelling on top of my lungs is stupid. Stupid and selfish. Cooperation is wiser for the time being, brain for brawn and that stuff. It's still suicidal, not that I care that much, I mean, by my forties I will be a wreck with the conditioning my body already has." Miro added, in his calm voice. "So why not try to set rights for once, instead of wallowing in hatred and pity?".

[User]
"Only when I know they're going to return the favor at earliest opportunity." Adrian replied as he started laying pieces of herring onto each individual cracker, lining them up neatly and slowly and methodically chewing them down one at a time.

He listened to Joslyn's idea of following him everywhere, at least until she felt he could be trusted to make-good on the deal, and nodded kindly as he reached into his shirt-pocket.

"By all means, you may accompany me." He replied, as he pulled-out a flat metal flask; "this should help with your jitters." He offered, but seeing as she probably didn't trust him enough to believe it wasn't poison or tranquilizers, popped the cap and took a lengthy draught for himself before offering a second time, shaking it to indicate that the offer was not empty.

Joslyn stared at him for a moment, eyeing the flask before she reached out and took it from him, careful not to touch him before she brought the object up to her nose. When she was sure it was just alcohol, she gave him a look before downing some of what was in the flask and made a face. "You do know I am only 17 right?" she questioned as she looked at him, "And my shaking is a side effect of my heightened reflexes... there isn't really much I can do about that."

Offering him a shy smile, she plopped down next to Adrian and snagged one of the pickled herring covered crackers before popping it into her mouth. While it was not her most favorite thing on the planet, it was something that she could eat easily and it didn't go bad incase she wasn't home for days on end. Now she was looking at being able to get something good to eat and hopefully some decent clothing on her back minus the maybe two outfits and her experiment uniform that she had.

"No, I did not. But I suppose I'm going to call-in a favor and have your papers forged in any case, if I expect you to work with me." Adrian admitted, as they continued to share a few more morsels, listening to her reason for having the shakes.

"And I suppose your sensitivity to light is enhanced, also. I'll make a point not to put-on any light-shows during your shift." He stipulated, before he froze for a second, trying not to make any noise so he could determine whether or not he was hearing things.

"Boots."
 He whispered, as he slunk over to the closet-door to fetch a pair of knives, one for Joslyn, and one for himself as he gingerly lifted the SR-25 and aimed it at the door, praying they wouldn't have to deal with any seekers today. He gave a glance at Joslyn, and tried to see if she had any access to a nearby fire-escape, but knew that even if there was one, a military operation would already have most escape-routes covered.

Joslyn focused on what he was doing for some time, her mind a little slow but she wasn't exactly worried. "It's only one pair, I doubt that it's anything to be worried about," she grumbled, slowly standing up before yanking the door open, her firearm in hand, "Seeeeeeee, one person... who is in my house... why the fuck is everyone in my god damn house?! First this guy and now... this... person... urg..." She simply threw her arms up and sulked back to where she was and flopped back down, clearly displeased.

Wait,

only

one?
 Adrian asked, stupefied by Joslyn's sudden carelessness... probably more to do with her lack of sleep than from some sort of yet-unheard-of alcohol-intolerance... That or she'd make for one really cheap drunk... easy to tell if she's sampling the merch...

He carefully peeked around the corner, and sure enough, only one person... still one person with a gun...

"You're... not military, are you?" He asked, "they don't send just one... you their decoy?" He kept the rifle trained on the stranger's misshapen silhouette, but things seemed to be de-escalating pretty fast despite the paranoia being thick enough to parkour from here to LA without your feet ever touching the ground.

[Assistant]
Well, there was the fire. Joy didn't understand much about why the other girl was so mad, but then again she had a run-in with someone trying to get into her home just today too. Still, the business end of a rifle made her stop and think.

"Jeez, that's a big gun. What is that, an AR-15? No, it's definitely longer. The magazine is also different. It must be chambered for seven six two then. This is bad. I hoped that they'd want to avoid contact but now I'm getting held at gun point. Is my safety still on? No, okay at least there's that but still. What are the chances that I can make a step back without getting shot? Not very likely. I'm still in no position to make any sort of moves unless I want a new hole. Damn, this isn't how it's supposed to go! Wait...a girl? Maybe...it's worth a shot."

Slowly, Joy took her left hand off the handgun from the Weaver stance she was in, and swung the 1911 around slowly until she was pointing it at the wall. There was a soft metallic click as she reengaged the safety before carefully putting it into her holster. She still had her knife, though, so she knew that if anything happened she wasn't entirely defenseless. She put her hands up, but pointed into the doorway. Hopefully, Joslyn would have enough mental capacity to be able to make the distinction from military to GMG with her dog tag.


[System]
With faded brown green scales, and clad in flexible leather armour and cloth, Kij strikes a formidable figure even standing only at 5'3.
Race: Slith (Lizardperson)

Personality: Kij'hara is, suffice to say, more comfortable in the company of shadows and thieves than the more socially acceptable kinds, finding they often tend to talk less than others. She prefers the quiet people, the people who don't need to say much to convey what they want or need, and she will often lapse into a 'comfortable' silence that can be misconstrued – by the louder types – as uncomfortable, or even expectant. She is unusually lacking in her ability to judge what would be appropriate to say and what would not, resulting in her often saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and getting herself in trouble. However, over time she has learnt to know when to not say anything at all, so as to limit the amount of fights she finds herself in due to her lack of judgement. Staying silent also causes anger, she has found, but it is often less physical. She is distrusting and fearful of Orcs in particular, and views each and every one as lowly mercenary scum.

Background: Kij'hara was born on the far outskirts of a small village in the west of Ruritania. She grew up with five other siblings, but would spend more time exploring the forest than playing with her sisters and brothers, preferring to be alone. Her parents were hunters who supplied meat for the village, and – knowing the local forests – let their children roam freely once they were able to look after themselves. Kij learnt how to climb trees, forage, and handle a knife, all well before the age of ten. On her thirteenth birthday, when most of her other siblings had left home to become apprentices (or were too young to do so yet), she asked to be taught how to hunt, and, in time, continue the family business. Her parents were glad to take her on as an apprentice and over the course of two years she learnt the job; how to shoot a bow, and how to move quickly and quietly, unseen by deer or a boar. At the age of seventeen, secure in her apprenticeship and almost fully trained, she decided to make her first overnight trip on her own, hunting larger prey. She set out at dawn, and returned with the carcass of her fallen prey at dusk of the following day. Welcoming faces did not greet her when she returned home, as expected, but instead she watched from afar as the corpses of her parents were cremated in the fire that ate through their house. Bandits, primarily Orcish, had raided her house, murdered her parents, and burned what they could not steal. She did not wait for them to find her, and turned back into the forest.
For the next few years she lived off the land and, although she departed the forests where she had been born after only a few months, did not go back to civilization unless the winter was particularly harsh and she was driven to buy food or clothing. However she began to grow tired of the constant restlessness of her life and sought to settle down, finally venturing into the city to find somewhere to live. She stayed for three months with her younger sister, but after many subtle hints (and being directly told to her face that she was no longer welcome to stay), she began to look for a job to earn money with. By a chance of fate, she heard the rumours regarding the Old Country, and – deciding that it was a sign that she was doing the wrong thing – set about finding more information...

Abilities: She is deft at using a knife and bow, and when she is unable to catch anything to eat herself can set traps that do the job for her. Although unused to climbing stone or buildings, she is nimble and can use her claws to find small pits and dents to hold on to, making her capable of climbing most structures, natural or unnatural. Her training and skill in hunting also result in her being light on her feet, able to blend in with the shadows and go undetected.

Equipment:
A flatbow and a knife. Though used primarily for hunting, they are also suitable for combat.
A water pouch and a basic medicine kit (which also contains rations of dried meat, etc).
Leather armour, worn and patched but still usable.

[User]
Caractacus took two steps back from the table. He had only assumed this armored individual was his contact, and made neutral contact. Suddenly he found himself joined by two others. The jester, and another newcomer, a Koraim. Today truly was a day of oddities. Despite his wish to study the horned human closer, he was worried he may have set the both of them on a complete stranger who had nothing to do with the contract. Caractacus did not want to stick around if he turned out to be wrong in his initial assumption, and he may have caused offense to the sitting elf.

Still, he couldn't give up after a moment of doubt. He'd have to make an inquiry. "I'm uh, s-sorry, you are M-Morro Aramat-to, correct? I d-don't have the, aheh, wrong person, right?" A wave of regret washed over him after Caractacus spoke. Know that he was aware of it, he could feel he was making a poor impression. He took another step back in apprehension.

[Assistant]
Morro was counting the cracks in the table when she heard the nervous greeting. She glanced up with a raised eye brow, to observe the person addressing her. Suffice to say, she wasn't pleased with what she saw. As a true warrior at heart, she had a certain... dislike of magicians, and she didn't intend to waste much time with this one. Probably begging for money. "Yes, I'm Knight Morro Aramato, messenger of the Three Nations. My time is precious, what do you want?" She spat out the word and glared up at the wizard.

While she was waiting for her answer, something caught her eye. Something big, and purple. Her gaze was drawn, and she blinked several times before she believed what she was seeing; a man, dressed in a white and purple jesters outfit, was moving her way. She should have slept for longer - was she hallucinating? In a backwater little tavern such as this... He had to be here for a purpose, and there was only one reason to come here if you weren't a local. Her suspicions, and hopes, were roused. Perhaps they wouldn't have to send troops into the mountain after all... And they were confirmed, as he asked about the Lich job. She doubted they would last long, but if people like these were interested, then surely others would be to. Her heart lifted, at least as much as a heart of iron could.

She was ready to answer when her attention was called on by another stranger. As much as she was happy about this, she regretted that she hadn't had time to have breakfast or fully wake up before dealing with a group of strangers. And they truly were a strange bunch, it seemed. She turned to the Koraim and found her eyes lingering on the horns, before she retook control of herself. Though she was good, she wasn't good enough to talk to three separate people all at once. She addressed them as one. "I assume you're all here about the Lich job?" She didn't wait for a response before beckoning at a large table in the corner of the room, and taking a seat there.

Kij'hara noticed the knight coming downstairs, but didn't move from her seat. She watched with keen eyes as the clown and the wizard descended on her, and scanned the Koraim that joined them. Were all these people truly interested in protecting the Three countries? What were their true motives, and were they all good? The table where the knight was sat was just in earshot, despite the already drunken shouts, but when she moved to the corner table it was well away from where Kij was sitting. With annoyance - she had been hoping to simply sit and listen - she twisted her way through the maze of fallen bar stools, broken tables and still intact seating to take a place at the table. She didn't say anything to the knight, but the elf registered no shock. Knight Aramato was good at hiding her emotions, Kij could already see that, but as she stared into the woman's eyes she could detect an underlying hate. She ignored it, for what did she care that this woman had something against her, and turned to see what the others were doing.

[User] Masrith walked through the swamp land heading for a place he saw on a poster called "The Mountain Tavern". He held out a sheet of paper and looked down at it. It was the paper the info was written on. He had no actual idea what language it was in. Just that his eye patch aloud him to read it in his language. The entire idea of the situation was an uncomfortable thought in his mind. He was in a 'world' he knew nothing about. His 'world' was the underdark. A place in the depths of the world. On top of that, he was an Illithid...or to be more specific..an Ulitharid. His race was seen as vile and despicable creatures that should be avoided. He had no friends or allies ever since he was split up from his group during the ambush. He knew they were alive. They were powerful individuals that were also intelligent. They had each other. Masrith had no one. Without even a trace idea of where home was except below the earth, he had no generalization of directions. He looked down at the paper again. "Morro Aramato". His voice was deep and menacing and was the only physical trait that rivaled his stature. Maybe his eyes. They were pitch white after all. That name was one of the only two directives he could conceive. Find the tavern and find her. A quest to stop the curse was something they had in common. The only thing really. It didn't take long to find the tavern. He had seen the location in someone's mind a few days back and it was firmly planted in his memory. The tavern didn't look good. Masrith hesitated to approach. It looked like a place blooming with trouble... maybe. He didn't know. The above world was strange to him. He also was a muscular nine foot tall purple octopus thing. If that didn't stand out then nothing else probably would. Despite his hesitant thoughts he approached the tavern. It was logically his best option. The only clear way to obtain any kind of solid ground on the surface. He entered the tavern to see some heads turn at him immediately. Seeing a muscular nine foot tall purple octopus monster was sure to turn some heads after all. He approached the counter the tavern keeper was standing at and put the paper on the counter. He pointed to it and said one name out loud. "Morro Aramato?" His voice was equally disturbing as his stature. He made it quite evident he was looking for whoever Morro was. He was hoping for any kind of physical gesture to the person's location as he did not understand human language. A mental link might also cause a form of hostility and trouble was the last thing he was looking for.

[Assistant]
Caractacus recoiled at the knight's rebuke. He took another step back, his free hand held out in surrender. "I'm h-here about the j-job. To fight th-the undead, yes?" After rifling through his robe a moment, Caractacus produced the notice he had found. "B-but if you do not wish my c-company, I underst-stand, and ap-p-pologize for wasting your time."

"I assume you're all here about the Lich job?" Morro addressed everyone at the table. She gestured towards a larger table, which Caractacus followed her to, stumbling over the strewn detritus of the tavern all the way. Choosing not to take a seat just yet, Caractacus stood near the table, hopefully not too close. Or too far. He didn't want to seem even more rude. He noted he was joined by the Slith from outside the bar. He hoped he didn't still seem like a coward. Maybe it'd be better if he sat down at the table?

Just as he sat down, Caractacus saw it. The Illithid. Nine feet tall, with a squid face, and eyes whiter than bone. Caractacus's eyes bulged, his stomach dropped through his feet, and his knuckles whitened with the force he gripped his staff. He stared as the Illithid approached the bar, and it practically shouted at the bartender, "Morro Aramato?" That did not bode well. He had heard tales from his master of the cruelty and destructive nature of the Illithid. If one was here, it could not be for a good reason. Maybe it worked for the lich!

Caractacus made a snap decision. He stood, and stepped away from the table. Bringing his staff to bear, Caractacus slammed it down onto the ground. Death magic swirled into the ground, and sought the nearest dead bodies. He was lucky he was under a half destroyed building. Two zombies punched and clawed their way through the floorboards and out of the ground. Caractacus pointed at the Illithid and shouted a command. "Illithid! Kill!"


[System]
Gender: Male

Age: 38

Race: Formerly Canopian human, now effectively undead with living weapon

Death Day: February 26th

Blood Type: B-

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 292 lbs

Likes: Desperation, not dying, karmic justice, underdogs, getting points across, and using the wild part of his brain

Dislikes: Pride, envy, wrath, greed, lust, sloth, gluttony, and having to use the human part of his brain

Living Weapon: Tick Tock – a clockwork heart of dizzying complexity, built to function like a parasite. Tick Tock has no mind of its own, performing an autonomous function. When Grumm's body is damaged, it goes into overdrive with tiny clockwork drones and chemical cocktails to repair the damage as quickly as possible. If part of Grumm is irreparably destroyed or separated from the whole, it uses scrap metal that Grumm has ingested to create new clockwork body parts.

Blockbusters:
Level One – Rot Wrecker - Grumm springs forward, spewing bile, and delivers a crushing hydraulic punch with his clockwork arm that will often cause a wallbounce.

Level Two – Clockwork Carnage – All seven tentacles erupt from Grumm's belly, weaving through the air in search of a target. Upon contact, they chomp down on the victim repeatedly before flinging it away.

Level Two – Grave Filler – Grumm hurls his axe ahead, and when it embeds itself in the target, he rushes across the ground, grabs the axe's handle, and then punches the enemy off of it with his clockwork arm.

Level Four – Vigilante Justice – Reaching out with his clockwork arm, Grumm grabs a close-by opponent. He forces it to its knees, spewing disease-ridden bile over their head as he does so. Finally, Grumm performs an inside-out cut with his axe, dealing both incredible damage and a DoT to boot.

Bio:
The esoteric Gurghamstead Revolt failed almost as soon as it was started. The Canopy armed forces overran the small but petulant cluster of farming villages, crushing their one uniting factor -political conservatism- by taking out the ringleaders and then extinguishing any fire that remained. One noteworthy thing did result of the Revolt, however; Percival Botley. The cold-eyed man because a vigilant, taking justice into his own hands when the hard-handed government failed to serve the people that it claimed to. Cloaked in black, he sought out and brought unnecessarily merciful ends to the cruel underlings of corrupt officers, executives, and politicians; soon, he targeted the string-pullers themselves. Canopy Kingdom was better served for his illegal but morally justified activity, however bloody and unlawful.

Still, Percy deeply regretted what he had done. However just his actions, he had still killed people—which flew in the face of his own moral code and religion, making him a glorified hypocrite. In the early days, after leaving his wife and child behind for their own safety and pledging to return, he had told himself that he was doing what needed to be done, and that nobody else had the courage necessary...but now, the veil grew ever thinner. Percy developed a consuming fear of death and judgment, fearing he'd be sent to hell despite all the good resulting from his vigilante campaigns. Terrified, he sought out what some might term a mad scientist and begged of him a means to cheat death. The man he pleaded with turned a sympathetic ear to his claims; the corrupt officials Percy strove to remove had confiscated his medical degree (For what ultimately proved to be good reasons) and subsequently ruined his life, turning him from an esteemed doctor into a crazed tinkerer. At Percy's behest, the scientist created one of the first living weapons, a clockwork heart which he dubbed Tick Tock, and installed the device in Percy's body. The incredible machine was designed to sustain him from the inside out, replacing Percy's organs from the inside as they failed.

At first, it seemed lucrative. Thanks to Tick Tock, Percy redoubled his efforts, finding death would always ellude him. Poison was ineffective; being shot a minor inconvenience. Even when Percy was seized by a crooked police squad, tortured, and robbed of his left arm, bronze mechanisms replaced what was lost. Suddenly, no mission was too dangerous and Percy could cast out for the biggest fish to fry. Justice, though, awaited the vigilante too. As time wore on, Percy found himself changing. Tick Tock was malfunctioning. It made more and more errors, failing to keep him healthy. Percy's skin turned pale and bloated, his blood clotted and green, and when his intestines were torn out by a particularly vicious street gang they were replaced were clockwork tentacles tipped with fearsome mechanical maws. All this, however, failed to alarm him. His mind was withering too, leaving only feral, killer instincts where a brilliant psyche had been. And yet, Grumm could not die. Finally, the Black Egrets captured the monster and, unable to kill him, made him into a secret weapon—a loose cannon able to be thrown at an enemy as a last resort. This was achieved by tapping into the part of Grumm's brain that was still human, and helping it to forget what it was fighting for.

[User] "No," Ash responds, simply enough "We might dump him in a dumpster and go flower shopping." she continues with a dreamy smile, already hoisting Liam over her shoulder. Ash turns around, and scans the crowd for Gale, until she finds her feral companion standing in front of a tall man in a onyx tuxedo, how strange. Ash begins to walk forward, but pauses when she senses Rorschach's attention shifting from that Jane girl, to a little girl standing at the large man's feet 'What is that?' Ash asks Rorschach, who says nothing. Nervously, Ash tip toes through the crowd, until she's standing behind Gale, looking down at the trio, as disgruntled Ferals and Dagonians press past the trio "Come on Gale, we're going to dump our Egret friends in a dumpster somewhere in the Meridian, then get more flowers!"

[Assistant]
Morgann

After walking around for hours now, Morgann's heels were killing her. It was not a good idea to go out for a stroll in these golden stilettos, but there weren't any other shoes that would quite match the entire outfit, and she always wore at least some part of Magnolia. Not only were all of her weapons in there, but her wallet, her money, and all kinds of goodies. It was easier having all of the necessities conveniently stored within your suit's never-ending "body", and that was exactly how she liked it. In past incidents, those who had attempted to mug Morgann and threaten her through physical contact found their bodies full of either holes for her tommy gun or wound up as a snack for the suit. She had no problem with causing physical harm to thieves or, to be honest, anyone that even looked at her wrong. She simply didn't.

As she waltzed herself closer and closer to the circus, she also became closer to the country's coast. Walking along the bay and adjusting her mask each time the wind moved it even an inch, she noticed a commotion going on a far distance away from her. It was quite a scene to take in form such a long ways away, and to be honest, she wasn't quite keen on what was going on. "What the hell?" she breathed through clenched teeth, shoving her hand into her coat and pulling a pair of opera glasses from within her coat. After fiddling with its burgundy handle for a few moments, she finally had it adjusted so that it would lock in place and took a look. It looked like some sort of ginormous figure holding up another...pedestrian, she was assuming, and to top it off, some other girl was running away. "Now why would she be running away?" the magician wondered while tossing the tool back into the coat, tapping on her chin as she thought of the possibilities. She narrowed her leafy green eyes as she stared out through the mask's white fabric before thinking, "No one runs like that unless they've got something to hide..." Her attention shifted from the fleeing passerby to the woman being held upside down. "But damn, no one gets held up by some big lug like that for no reason, either."

"Hold on tight," she murmured to her hat, whose multiple hands held onto her light brown hair from the inside. "From now on, I wear some sort of flats when I go out," she growled, dashing as fast as she could in these heels that she could towards the situation. Skidding to an abrupt halt, she stared up at what seemed to be a man who was a few inches shorter than her. She looked at his black cloak that covered him to the axe in one of his hands, grimacing. "What drab attire," she thought in a disgusted tone, clearing her throat loudly. "Excuse me," she announced loudly, tapping her shoe's tip against the ground. "What are you doing to this woman?"

Gale

Turning his attention from Pharona to Ash, Brandy nodded and relinquished Gale's body back into its rightful owner's control, her entire body shuddering visibly from the abrupt transition. "Just going to toss him into a dumpster?" she whispered to her roommate, scuttling back up her tall form to rest on her shoulder. "Are you sure that this is the right thing?" she asked, before shaking her head, "No, you're right. The bosses wouldn't like us throwing this trash at their feet." Curling up on the Gigan's shoulder, she yawned and stretched her small wings before uttering a small, "Let's go."


[System]
Age: 17

Heritage: The son of Hatter Madrail. Ghent's mother was murdered a few years after he was born.

Adoptive parents: Frederick and Elise Preston. Elise was the first to find Hatter's son; she was astonished to discover him in the woods near their home, disoriented and impossibly lost.

Appearance: Thick, medium length black hair. The style is unpredictable, but the layers sometimes give it an unruly appearance. His bangs fall in front of his eyes, which are blue in color and have a sharp, piercing quality to them. The rest of his features are dark and seem to contrast against his paler-than-should-be skin. He has a lithe build and currently stands at 5'9", but has about a year left to grow.

Distinguishing Marks: A few light freckles running across the bridge of his nose. A more noticeable one is underneath his left eye. He has a small scar underneath his jaw.

Clothes Wear: Whatever's comfortable. He usually wears hoodies, jeans, worn out sneakers, and three quarter/graphic t-shirts.

Abilities: Strength and magic, both inherited from his race. As far as magic goes, Ghent was completely unaware of the ability until Drust and Elayra came to earth. Understandably, he is inexperienced but has the potential to become better with practice.

Weapons: A staff, given to him on page 13.

Personality: It's no secret that Ghent can be a pain. He isn't malicious, but he enjoys pushing the buttons of others in order to get a reaction out of them. His sarcasm usually lands him in trouble, but his past experiences haven't been enough for him to keep his mouth shut. Despite his immaturity, he has a good heart. Ghent has lazy tendencies, but can be hard working with proper motivation.

Major Positive Traits: Compassionate. Empathetic. Hardworking (sometimes).

Major Negative Traits: Sarcastic. Cocky. Klutz. Impulsive. Awkward.

Weaknesses: At times, Ghent doubts himself and his abilities. The fear of failure usually prevents him from achieving success. Having lived in two worlds, he struggles with deciding where he belongs and where his loyalties lie.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: Fidgets a lot, often with the drawstrings of his hoodies. When he's faced with a situation he can't wrap his mind around, he will pace and/or mumble to himself until he can make sense of what's happening.  Tags: "Cut me some slack!" "Great." "Wait, what?"

Fears: Ghosts. Failure. Being unable to return home. Wonderland in general.

Short Bio: Ghent's story could have been a tragic one, had he not been found. He was discovered in a forest as a toddler, and later adopted by the very family that took him in.
 For much of his childhood, Ghent lived in the comforts of a small farmhouse in the country. Life was serene, quiet, and good. He grew up happy and healthy, with a mother who doted on him and a dedicated, hardworking father.
 Things changed when they moved. Seeking better employment, Mr. Preston uprooted his family to the city, which is where they remained for the years that followed.
 The city posed many differences and challenges, but Ghent learned to adapt and knew his way around. Unfortunately, street smarts didn't help much in school.
 As Ghent grew older, the nightmares and flashbacks became more frequent. Different events or images would trigger a memory, many of which involved Elayra and Drust. The memories confused and frightened Ghent. He never forgot Wonderland, but he learned to stop talking about it after his parents sought him professional help. It was something his mother made the mistake of telling her longtime friend, Mrs. Saxon.
 News spread and rumors started. High school proved to be Ghent's biggest obstacle. He became an easy target for jokes and ridicule, and his grades began to suffer for it.
 Motivated by money and the desire to help his family financially, he began to take on odd jobs. His fifth job turned out to be his favorite: a part-time shift at Frank's Book Barn.
 Even there, Ghent wasn't free from Wonderland. Flashbacks would hit him at the most inconvenient times…and they didn't cease until became reunited with two important faces from his past.

Other Important Characters

Name: Henry

Age: 14

Appearance:  Henry is thin, wiry, with no muscle tone whatsoever. He makes an effort to look neat, but his untamed shock of ginger hair betrays him by looking a mess and his freckles are out of control. When reading, he wears thick black glasses over his large, brown eyes that give him an owlish appearance.

Clothes wear: Henry wears an odd mix of clothing. Most of his clothes are hand-me-downs from previous cousins, including Ghent. When his options are limited, he can be found wearing faded graphic t-shirts (he favors Disney ones) and jeans that have been rolled up at the cuffs in order to fit.

Personality: Despite a rocky home life, Henry remains optimistic, but he has a sensitive side that results in him crying at the drop of a hat. Although he has a sweet, childlike innocence about him, he isn't foolish. He's remarkably intelligent and has a great love for reading and learning. Because of his OCD, Henry is always cleaning and organizing, and likes to keep busy in order to make himself useful. His desire for perfect order can be a little overwhelming at times, but he means no ill intent and has great respect for his family and friends.

Bio: Henry is an only child who never longed for the company of a sibling. Growing up in the country, he had plenty of family and cousins to spend his time with. The families all lived quite close in the rural area, including the Preston family.
 Even as a toddler, Henry was fascinated by Ghent and seemed to gravitate towards him, viewing him as an older brother figure. To the delight of their parents, the three year age gap and a difference in personality didn't prevent the two boys from getting along.
 After the Preston family moved to the city, Henry was heartbroken. The families kept in touch when possible, making multiple visits during the holidays. The visits lessened over the years, but Henry took it upon himself to keep in touch through any means possible. To Elise's delight (and to Frederick and Ghent's dismay) Henry has been known to leave long rambling phone messages, sends more texts than a teenage girl, and writes letters so long, they need to be mailed in multiple envelopes.
 Henry is the only one Ghent continued to trust with his few memories of Wonderland. Their efforts to uncover the mystery were admirable, but brought nothing but disappointment and wild theories. Eventually, a disgruntled Ghent gave up, but Henry continued to search for the truth behind his cousin's past.

[User]
Ghent squinted at her. He considered teasing her, saying that she must have wanted to watch him change, but she turned before he had the chance to dig his own grave.
 After a pause, he returned his attention to his new-old clothes and started to dress.
 Selecting the shirt first, Ghent worked his arms through the long sleeves. The fabric was somewhat coarse, thin in some spots, and itchy in others. He found that the neckline was cut in a V shape, which could be pulled closed thanks to two leather cords laced between the fabric. The back of the shirt was plain, save for a hood he hadn't noticed before. The shirt was something he could see Henry wearing at a Renaissance Festival, except that Henry refused to wear anything blue, for some unknown reason.
 "Earth bag..." Ghent snorted lightly at Elayra's name for the backpack. His smirk dissolved at the order. He wasn't attached to the backpack itself, but what it represented. It was the last thing he bought before leaving Earth.
 Ghent sighed, silently chiding himself. A secondhand backpack was the least of his problems.
 Before Ghent could work on his pants, he stiffened, a sharp itch between his shoulder blades demanding his attention. Scratching with one hand, he tugged at the shirt with the other to keep the source of the itch away from his skin, the sensation agitating him. It seemed that even the clothes in Wonderland were against him.
 "At least it's warm. And dry," Ghent mumbled to himself. He dropped his hand to his side and scowled. The same couldn't be said for his boxers, but he didn't exactly have anywhere to change out of them. So, they remained.
 Quietly fuming at the injustice of it all, Ghent worked both feet through the legs and pulled up the charcoal-colored pants. To his relief, the pants fit around the waist, but they were a little long. Not as long as Drust's pants, though.
 Ghent moved over to his backpack and crouched down in front of it. He found that the fabric was less coarse than the shirt, something he was immensely grateful for. He hoped that the length of his shirt would help hide the fact that his underclothes weren't fully dry.
 "Giving what more control?" Ghent caught the end of Elayra's statement. He peered over his shoulder at her, brows raised. He couldn't tell if she was talking to him, or to herself, but he didn't have time to question her. Drust was heading their way.
 Hurriedly, Ghent emptied the contents of his backpack and shoved everything into the bag as instructed. He gripped the empty backpack as he stood, stiff as a board, like a cadet facing a sergeant. His eyes flickered between the Wonderlanders, a too-familiar feeling of panic settling in. The feeling urged him to say something.
 "The..." Ghent blanched. Drust had sheathed his weapon, but he didn't exactly seem calm. His fingers were curled into a fist. "The clothes fit," he stammered, a weak attempt to pacify him -- and the Curse.

[Assistant]
Unthinkingly, Elayra glanced toward Ghent when he addressed her discovery. She cringed, ready to look away, but thankfully, he'd dressed. Alas, she didn't have time to answer before Drust neared.
 She watched, begrudgingly impressed, at how quickly Ghent dumped the contents of his old pack into the stolen one. She turned her attention to Drust. He stopped about two sword-lengths from the teens. The Knight gave Ghent a quick once-over as the boy stammered over his words.
 Drust nodded jerkily—or perhaps it was just a twitch. Elayra wasn't certain. The dark lines snaking from the corners of his eyes spread outward like roots, reaching and pulling back as Drust fought to keep the Curse manageable.
 He grunted his approval. He jerked his chin toward the thicker line of trees. "In town, stay close," he began, his voice clipped and strained. "If we're lucky—" He cut himself off with a sneering humorless chuckle at the concept of them being 'lucky.' Gritting his teeth, he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other at his temple, and took a deep breath.
 Elayra rested her hand on her saber's hilt, making the action look as unthreatening as she could. "We don't need luck. We have our skills," she offered.
 Drust snorted. "No matter what,"—his neck twitched violently—"Get. To. The. Rabbit Hole. Understood?" He raised his head, his eerie eyes shifting from Ghent to Elayra.
 Elayra met his gaze. The black-webbed red of his irises had turned his pupils nearly to pinpricks, the colors at war.
 "Understood," she echoed. She nodded slowly, trying to convey that that applied to more than just his order.
 He snorted, his lips curling into a sneer. Not waiting for any other answer from either of them, he strode toward the trees.
 Not wanting to keep Drust waiting, Elayra deftly attached her quiver to her belt. Abandoning the idea of taking the necessary time to pull out her bow, she closed her pack and shouldered it.
 She hurried to Ghent, grabbing his wrist to get his attention. "He's giving the Curse more control," she whispered, at last answering his earlier question. "If it's stronger in him, it's more likely we'll have extra time before the Curse-ridden realize we're Omitten." She glanced uneasily after Drust, then looked back to Ghent. "You need to be careful." She looked away with a quiet huff. "We both do," she admitted.
 She released him, and quickened her pace after the White Knight.


[System]
"I can't give up, everyone is counting on me."
Title: Prince
Race: Hume
Job: Samurai
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes

---

Appearance Information

Physical Features:

Standing roughly 4' 8", Ryouji is quite short for his age. A scrawny 95 pounds would make him an easy target if not for his Royal heritage. Steel grey hair adorns his head, a genetic gift from his Father, and his eyes shimmer in a pale cerulean like his Mother. His youth is ever apparent in his skin tone and complexion, and he has taken great care to avoid poor hygiene. Though, he has managed to build a small amount of muscle, thanks to his swordsmanship training.

Clothing/Armor/Weapons:

Normally, he is seen wearing the traditional dress of the Kimuran nation, a simple indigo kimono with his family crest embroidered on the back. He carries a ceremonial katana with him nearly everywhere he goes, though it once belonged to his grandfather and is merely a placeholder until he is old enough to forge his own. If he were to engage in combat, Ryouji has a set of Kozane, lamellar leather armor that his Father had made for him.

---

Psychological Information

Personality Traits:

Brave | Naive | Well Mannered | Timid | Determined
Quick to trust, and sadly easy to manipulate.

Likes:

Swords | Friends | Legends | Rainstorms

Dislikes:

Chocobo Riding | Mud | The Color pink

---

Personal History

Hometown:

Kimura

Current Residence:

The Palace of House Yasuharu, on the southernmost peninsula of the Island

Occupation:

Studies Bushido from his Father, practicing his swordsmanship and political manners daily.

Backstory:

Not much can be said about his upbringing. Life in the Palace was only noteworthy during his time training his sword skills with his father or reading old Legends about ancient Swordsmen and Heroes. Though, there was one time when he was very young when he was bitten by a Chocobo, thus starting a lifelong distrust for the bright yellow birds.

Other:

One day, he hopes to be the greatest swordsman who ever lived, even greater than the Legendary Gilgamesh.
He always carries more Gil then he can really understand the value of.
Even though he has no magical skills, he has named his attacks after powerful techniques used by Legendary Warriors, just in case one of them actually works.

[User]
Ryteb the Awesome
City of Thorne - Running for his Life

There were times when "it doesn't get any better than this" springs to mind. This... was not one of those times.

It all started earlier today, when he had entered the city of Thorne for the first time in about four years. He knew there was a reason he had been avoiding the capital, though he figured that if he couldn't remember it probably wasn't that important. Hindsight is kind of a bitch.

So, what was the reason Ryteb was avoiding the capital? Well, it's actually quite simple. In his infinite greed wisdom, he had decided to obtain the legendary blade of Kyreth-tan. You know, standard treasure hunting. Only problem was... The sword already had an owner, namely the Kyreth-tan Assassins. Apparently they had a 2000 gil bounty on his head. Insulting really, Ryteb thought, should be at least 5000.

Naturally this offer of coin attracted much bloodlust, and almost as soon as Ryteb entered the city the cry of "Get 'im!" Began the rally of the uneducated brutes who thought a ponce like Ryteb would be easy to catch. Those guys were easy enough to escape from, but soon he sensed a much more terrifying presence, that of a professional assassin, and that just made his day a perfect storm of awful.

"Look, I don't wanna die yet!" he called back to his mysterious pursuer, "Can't we settle this in a way that doesn't involve sharp objects?"

[Assistant]
Dandy on Vacation - Ersatz

Thorne City - Grand Market

Celebration was in the air. People from all walks of life could be found in the metropolis to commemorate civilization's victory and triumph over evil. However, this festival also drew in some men of questionable moral fiber to the capital. Among them is Ersatz, who was primarily here in the hopes of breaking the monotonous routine he had found himself while living in Calestani as a machinist apprentice. At the back of his mind though, Ersatz had hoped that he would find some merchants he had associated with from his past. After all, what better place to sell wares of questionable origins than a market that both buyer and seller might not even lived close to.

(Un)fortunately, Ersatz was unable to find said merchants at the Grand Market. However, he was able to procure some elemental shells of fire, thunder and ice variety that was compatible for his firearm, along with some directions to a tavern that he might be interested in. Once he had entered the tavern doors, Ersatz did a quick glance at the bar patrons and a paladin at a corner table was the only person of interest that he noticed. Ersatz would then pull up a stool to the bar tender's counter, placing a stack of Gil in front of him. "Shot of your finest, barman." Once he would receive the drink, Ersatz would raise his glass and say "Prost." before downing it.

Whatever it was, the drink was burning Ersatz's throat. He would then put up three fingers up in the air, signalling the bar tender for three more.

[User]
Clementine Haschwalden
Thorne City

---

You have been assigned to guard duty for the duration of the festival.

Those were Clementine's orders. But that's not very helpful, he had protested. Or specific. Where am I supposed to guard?

Unfortunately, his orders were delivered via letter, which he opened over breakfast the day festivities would begin. That's just not helpful at all.

And so he went wandering the streets, feeling more like a tourist than an employed soldier of Throrne and emissary of Cronquist. Which wasn't altogether bad, of course, but did make him feel a little guilty. You can't help it though, not on a day like this. Clementine, slightly but not altogether unwilling, felt every part of him relax. During the heat of the morning, he bought a snowy white-blue popsicle, and ate it in the shade of the arena. Confetti and flower petals blew through the air like swarms of happy bumblebees.

Eventually, however, common sense got the better of Clementine, and, feeling a little red-faced over wasting the whole morning, went out in search of an officer. Most of the soldiers couldn't give him much advice. In fact, most of the soldiers were busy engaging in the festivities. Eventually, he found one soldier who told him, rather awkwardly while eyeing his armor, "Commander Amelia is in charge of the Knights" and, eventually, another, just in front of the Temple, mentioned, "I think I saw her pass into that tavern across the way."

Tired, rather frazzled, but mostly pleased with his detective work, Clementine pushed his way into the bar. It wasn't hard to spot her; the Knight-Commander's paladin armor was bright and mighty even in the dim, orangey tavern-light.

He approached her table, a lonely little corner of the building, his helmet tucked under his arm, and said quietly, "Um, excuse me, ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but my orders, the ones I got this morning, I mean—"

The Knight-Commander was quite tall and serious looking, and Clementine became keenly aware of his rambling.

"What I meant to say, ma'am, I was assigned to guard duty, but I'm not actually sure what that means, and there weren't any further orders to clarify where I was to go or who I'd be working under. Someone mentioned that you were in charge of the knights, and I thought I might find you and ask if there was anything you needed. From me, I mean."

[Assistant]
Sayuri Takashi
|Seedy Grand Market Tavern|
|Interacting with Amelia and Clementine|

Sayuri rubbed her temples as she walked along one of the main roads to the Temple. It wasn't even that late in the day and it was already wearing on her. The merchant she'd come in with had tried paying her less than half what they'd agreed, she'd taken care of that right quick but it was still a pain, then her parents were both out during the festivities so she couldn't see them until late that evening despite the fact that she'd specifically sent a letter saying she'd be here and to top it all she'd ran into Wedge. It didn't end with much more than words, mostly cause she left as soon as she saw an opportunity, but still soured her mood further. At least the day was most likely going to improve from here. She was hopefully going to meet an old friend of hers that she hoped still remembered her. That could easily go badly though and she knew that much when she sent the letter. Either way it would be nice to see how she's been. After that a long day in the market and hopefully some good fights which she would top off with a nice dinner with her family would definitely raise her spirits.

When she reached her destination she'd almost missed it. It'd been so long since she was in Thorne that she'd almost forgotten her way around. Pausing she lets nostalgia wash over her before making her way into the tavern. A smile instinctively made its way onto her lips as she did as memories came back before quickly fading and leaving her with a sigh. Looking around she spots her target in a mostly empty corner of the tavern with a nervous looking kid wearing dark knight armor. Shrugging she makes her way asking one of the bar wenches for a glass of their best on the way. She catches the last little bit of the kids request and nods at him before dropping into the chair across from Amelia. She waits until Amelia responds to the kid before speaking, "Hello there Amelia it's been a long time hasn't it? Eight years or so?"


[System]
The Barman
Species: Human (?)
Age: He's not quite sure. Adult?

Appearance: The most average man, with the most forgettable face. He'll look fine no matter where he is in the universe (yes, even among the superintelligent shades of colours), and people who see him will think nothing of him. In fact, they'll completely forget his face as soon as they're gone. It's a quirk.

Personality: He's a good listener. That's literally all that he's good at. Somehow, everyone he talks to always have a sudden urge to spill their entire life story to him. He's nice, friendly, a good chap, and knows which questions to ask.

History: If you ask him, he'll tell you he's just an average barman, even if he's serving a bar in the oddest restaurant in the universe. However, if you tell him, perhaps gruffly, with irritation of unknown origin, that you want to talk to the manager, he'll smirk and tell you, completely deadpan, that he is the manager.

And he's right. The Restaurant is, we could say, his creation, if the result of a catastrophe can be called a creation. It costs him quite a lot: his identity, his previous place in the universe, his sense of time. Nowadays he doesn't mind it as much. There's always something new in the Restaurant, even if it's hard to tell what's new in the simple sense of the word.

How did you get here?: He's always been here, since the begining, whatever that beginning is.

Where you came from: He couldn't quite remember. There are humans, and they've taken to the stars. Technology is advanced and only going to advance further. Time-travelling is a known thing even though it's banned in most societies.

[User]
The Infamous nodded to his two girls and they walked away from him, to opposite sides of the restaurant, as if on guard. Meanwhile, the evil warlord himself walked into the bar, ignored the giant dragon-amoeba, and headed straight for Levi. He exchanged smirks with Abigail, the new author's ambassador, as he placed his hand on Levi's shoulder.

"Mr. Half-a-Jeans-Company!" chuckled the Irishman as he vigorously but good-humorously shook the fictional author, as if glad to see him. "It's been awhile, mate!"

Levi lowered his head in despair. "Not real, not real, not real..."

"D'ren," Abi said to him, offering him his plate of burritos.

"Oh, thanks, love," said The Infamous, whose first name was D'ren, and took the proffered plate.

The Infamous sat down on the other side of Levi and started eating. With his mouth full of bean and cheese and sour cream (for whomsoever does not put sour cream on their burritos are not truly human), D'ren turned to Levi and playfully smacked his arm.

"Oi!" he said, "Did you save the multiverse after I died or what?"

Levi gave him an incredulous look. "You remember that? What...?"

Abi answered for him, "Yeah, the WorldWeaver let him remember everything that ever happened to him before his current age, 28."

"Oh," stated Levi. "So he doesn't know that he turns good soon and helps save people with his nemesis, a hero."

"A hero!?" D'ren spat, throwing his fork down on the bar. "I would never!"

Levi smirked and took a bite of his own burrito. "Yeah, you'll see...mate."

Abigail snickered darkly. "The WorldWeaver is a meta master, is he not?"

Levi ignored her. He continued eating. Realizing she was being ignored, Abi scowled and turned to take a bite of her own burrito.

As if to explain, Abi told John, "The WorldWeaver has eaten bean and cheese burritos almost every day for the last ten or so years. So naturally, we love burritos too."

[Assistant]
The train came to an abrupt stop at the station, the sudden jolt waking Yylya who was sitting in one of it's seats. She became startled and confused, the only thought in her mind was that the train was about to leave! This was her stop for school! Yylya grabbed her bag and bolted out the door, just as the doors slammed shut behind her. She stood there for a while, breathless as the train started to depart.

That was when Yylya noticed that this was not her stop! She had got off one station too... Where was this station? Yylya didn't recognise it at all. Oh no! She must have caught the wrong line! Panicking, the girl looked around for the screens which said when the next train was coming. All of them were blank. There was no voice announcements and nor were there any other people standing around. The windows were closed and even the vending machine was turned off and empty.

"Where... am I?" she said the herself. "Hello? Can anybody help me?". There was no response. Yylya started to become worried. This felt like a dead town. What happened here? Did a nuclear bomb go off? Why would the train let her off here. Yylya looked towards the distance and there was no sight of the train. Her hands trembled a bit as she stepped towards the road outside, not finding anything. No vehicles, no guards, nothing.

All except for a building in the distance. She had an assignment due in today, so Yylya ran across the road and burst through the door. Not paying much heed to the other patrons, she rushed up to the bartender. "Excuse me, do you know where the nearest train station is? I have to go to school, but the one outside seems closed. Can you please tell me where I am?" asked the girl worriedly. Was class starting without her?

[User]
Religious people have, on the whole, probably started more wars in their efforts to bring peace and prosperity to all sentient beings than those sentient beings would've if left to their own devices. Some of them were of the opinion that the other bastards just wouldn't shut up and let them get on with spreading spreading the good word, but others saw the situation with a slightly more nuanced gaze and realized that if all the religious people could just agree on one god, which was provably better than all the others, then all these problems ought to go away.

 With that in mind, they set to work; they created a whole religion (scriptures and everything) based around the worship of an utterly omnipotent being who was so pure and innocent that they couldn't possibly bugger everything up like the others. With that (and the help of an old fashioned finite improbability drive combined with a damn good cup of tea), the religion of Perfectism (an irritating name that was unfortunately the best they could get that wasn't already copyrighted) was born, along with its Goddess, Sen.

 There was a problem, however. They hadn't quite accounted for what someone would need to be for them to be so utterly innocent like they had asked for, and it was to their extreme annoyance that when Sen finally appeared on the nice alter they had made for her, she was a little girl of about six years old, and she would stay that way, because they had been very clear that their god was an eternal one, damnit, none of this "Dead but dreaming," bullshit.

 An omnipotent little girl was not really something anyone wanted; sure, she wasn't vindictive or cruel, but she really wasn't cut out for the job. Worse, all her followers had to obey her orders (a fact that one of the scripture writers got fired over) so they couldn't really do too much to fix it. They sort of just had to guide her and go along with her ideas. When, for example, she was in a meeting with another god who mentioned the end of the universe, and somebody else mentioned that he had once had a damn good lunch there, she absolutely insisted on going to see it.

 So, here she is, at Milliways. She doesn't look strange per say, she's wearing a comfortable robe (one of the best things the Greek gods invented, in her opinion) and has her hair long and intricately braided (which she hates, but her advisers insist is only proper; In reality, it's just so she'll at least somewhat match their branding). The only strange things, really, are the two guards flanking her, dressed in holy garb that rather clashes with the laser pistols they've got strapped to them. They're more there to keep her from screwing anything up, honestly, though an assassin could, in theory, simply shoot her and put an end to the whole church. Goddess she may be, but her body is still that of a child.

[Assistant]
Sandra was asking for a refill on her cup of coffee. Wait, Sandra? She didn't look like a Sandra anymore; she didn't look like on before, but now even more so with that indifferent look on her eyes. John decided not to bother too much with the details and just poured her another coffee. "Here you go, Ma'am."

The diminutive dwarf covered in piles of fabric was asking for Octornapie. Octornapie. Octornapie. He pulled out his Guide from under the bar: a thin sheet of plastic with the knowledge of the worlds in it (along with small friendly letter on its side which for some reason says "ON'T PANI". It's slightly smudged). He scrolled through the screen. Octornapie. Octopipie? He remembered some squid-headed water god buying that to make fun of a linguist. No, that can't be it. Octornapie. Ah, here it is. A pie made of a specific variation of octopus.

John touched some buttons and went to the microphone at the back wall. "Hey. Someone ordered an Octornapie. I just sent the details. Get Ryan on the temporal drive to get the ingredients, alright?" John paused and glanced at his customer. They seemed completely famished. He went back to the mic. "Actually just get the pie there and bring it with you, just so- oh, ok. That was fast."

A door slid open on the wall, revealing a freshly-made octonarpie. John took it gingerly and served it to the fabric-clad dwarf. "Here you go. I hope it's to your liking."

John took a glance at the other customers. Levi was chatting, rather unhappily, with Mr. Trouble and his entourage. No problems yet on that front. And on the front door-

A teenage girl burst in.

"Train station? Ah, err." John blinked. Yet another person who only vaguely looked like someone who looked exactly like them. The new girl was the splitting image of Levi's previous companion, Yylya, but with wildly different temperament. "There's no train stations here, girl. This is the Restaurant at the End of the Universe." He pointed to the sign above his head.

And after that, from the front door, came a little robed girl flanked by guards. "Welcome to the Restaurant!" John waved merrily at at the newcomers. The Restaurant was getting some very interesting customers one after another.

---

Just arrived:
- An omnipotent little girl, flanked by guards. All in holy robes.

People on the bar:
- Sandy Cane, a space bounty huntress, having her fries and hot dog.
- Ziggletrox the Destroyer, a dragon-shaped amoeba, perpetually drunk.

Chatting with each other:
- Levi, a bearded 33-year-old man in a sports jacket, sulking.
- Abigail, an Author's Ambassador, also an angry woman in a dress.
- The Infamous, flanked by scantily-armoured drow and vampire.

Ordering something to eat and drink
- Pridopus, a short figure covered entirely in fabric, awfully hungry.
- The Authoress, a teenage girl who previously introduced herself as "Sandra"

In a corner:
- Cledwynn Magouloura, a half-ghost half-mechanical, a bit tense.

Not seated:
- A teenage elven girl (Yylya)

Other Staff
- Robin, a human waitress, currently behind the bar.


[System]
Appearance

Gwendolyn Historia Gospel
Female|17|Isenbergan|A-Rank

---

Nickname

Gwen

Guild

Fenixtear

Guildmark

Lower Middleback, Blue

Ice Breaker

Gwen is the older sister of Ria, both of them originate from Isenberg.

Personality

Contrary to the courteous Astoria, Gwen is cold and brash. She's ambitious and prideful,quick to throw insults and sarcastic one liners to psychologically discourage her enemies. Gwen is keen to detail and while she yaps a lot, she's well meaning and realistic in approach than fluff and sugar coat. Due to her sharp tongue, people often forget that she's competent,hence, she takes them by surprise.

Competencies

• Hardworking
• Strategic Team Player
• Tough Love
• Stealth
• Dual Broadswords

Incompetencies

• Anger Management Issues
• Workaholic
• Perfectionist
• Stealth, the escaping part
• Vengeful

Equipment

Ice Devil's Cold Air— Enchanted Slayer Factor Dual Broadswords

Magic

Dry Ice Bomb(干氷爆;Kanhyōbaku)
Gwen dons an explosive, colder and destructive Ice Magic that especially reacts to heat: Dry Ice. This grants her propulsive maneuvers that are far reaching — dry ice explosion covering a wide area of effect which can be extremely loud. The drawback of Gwen's magic is the lack of physical conditioning, without it, her body will be unable to withstand the force she emit behind the dry ice. While resistant to fire magic, potent fire magic and spells can melt dry ice.

Ice Devil Slayer Magic
Requip—only for clothes.

Slayer Spells

Ice Devil's Rage
Ice Devil's Zeroth Spider — Gwen ignites condensed omnidirectional cold beams from her fingers. She cuts and freezes steel and small buildings to cinders, even tornado twisters into bits. This spell consumes hefty amounts of magic power to maintain.

Ice Devil's Zeroth Contract — A Unison Raid that lets Gwen share demon slaying attributes with those she partners with. This also means that the effectivity of her slaying is weakened due to sharing. It takes a huge magic power cost to maintain this spell.

Dry Ice Spells

Dry Ice Bomb Propulsion — Gwen emits a jet propulsion of dry ice from her hands and feet for mobility purposes, propelling her forward. She can do control the direction trajectory she's heading to.

Dry Ice Bomb Heavenly Piercing Ice Wall — Gwen's preferred fighting method is to freeze everything around her with multiple geysers, as this is dry ice, it explodes upon release; spreading in a far reaching area, leaving chunky trails of ice.

Dry Ice Bomb Rampart — Gwen creates a massive wall of dry ice, any contact with the defense, explodes.

Dry Ice Bomb Flashbang — A literal cold flashbang.

Dry Ice Bomb Wave — Simultaneous waves of dry ice bomb explosions that covers a wider area big time. It's dangerous as it got Gwen the moniker of property damage. This is a more potent version of her ice wall.

Extras

---
Age

18

Mage Rank

B Rank

Magic

Winter Dress

Description
Giselle is one of the survivors of the demon torn Exorcist Gospel household and a practitioner of Ice Magic. Attending Era University, Giselle serves as the Secretary of the Student Council and coldly disciplines troublemakers and those who trespasses the school's premises. As a Gospel — Giselle has a high moral compass, she goes beyond service to better set expectations and servitude.

Giselle is a reserved individual, she's fair to judge though critically, fair to make decisions with a sound mind and abhors evil. She's detached to the nonsensical norms of teenhood and a very goal oriented person: her ambition is to find the survivors of her clan. Giselle was born under the Kaiser family of the branch Gospel household and was later absorbed by the main family for her unique Ice Caster Magic invention, Winter Dress. Among the household, Giselle was one of the children that had candidacy for inheriting the heirloom Ice Devil Slayer magic, which would make one Chief of the household. Unfortunately, Giselle declined the offer and would rather follow her educational pursuit and reunite with a friend who left the household a year before the massacre.

Anything about the Gospel massacre, Giselle tries as hard to bury the past though it would be nice if there's someone who can bring her family to justice.

She's in the same class as Leon Aldehart and often serves the class as interim Homeroom Representative. Giselle ironically treats her classmates with bias, as she gives them advanced notes about their magic lessons, albeit chill and lenient compared to their actual representative. To her credit, she's successfully made her class one of the best class since First Year.

While Giselle has the potential to join a guild, she'd rather serve Era.

[User]
Enishi@Sho Minazuki@Spectral@Sanguine Rose

---

In terms of everything, Jessica was grateful to learn Reynard's name finally, after all the talking, but everyone has their way to do things. " Nice to meet you, Reynard." Jessica said with a kind tone in her voice. As such, she did notice Reynard staring at her sword, but he probably had some questions about it. However, Jessica heard the person who was excited to meet her sentient sword talk about the mystery reward. " Ah, yeah, that is pretty interesting and curious indeed." She spoke towards the one who was interested in her sword. Only when he looked directly towards her, and her sword was Jessica a bit interested in what he was going to say. She wondered what he would say to the sword. Additionally, what Reynard would talk about her sword would be interesting too. However, this wasn't really a point of contention to wonder about what he would ask. " Hmm... I do wonder what he wanted to say before starting this." Jessica thought with a bit of wanting to know but can wait for it.

The Sword's voice pierced the minds of Gwen, the interested one, Reynard, and Jessica's mind once again. It's so nice that someone would be so lovely only because of what the man had said. " Thank you for the interest, sir. Indeed, that is very interesting to be a guild with a Blacksmith, with Forge Magic. Yes, Jessica can show that off when there's some combat since the other magics involve that field." A beautiful young adult female's voice telepathically spoke to the four people in question, yet again. There was quite an interested tone to the blacksmith. The bluish silver glow got even brighter as if the sword was thinking about something else. As such, it already knew the names of the three individuals even before Jessica knew them. Basically an information type of advantage over Jessica, but Jessica wants to know everything for herself.

Jessica had a look of oh, so that's why he was interested in the sword, he's a blacksmith. She slightly giggled when he spoke about forgetting to introduce himself. " It is quite alright, Asher Lancaster. Everyone gets caught in the moment, even I sometimes." She spoke with a great understanding of that. It's always good to have someone that can repair gear or other stuff in a team. Jessica understands it is better to be prepared than not. " Alright, hopefully, it's going to be an excellent trip to the museum then." She spoke with a kind tone towards Asher.

The Sword's voice pierced the minds of all the four people in the group and had a slight giggle. " Jessica, the only time you get caught in the moment is when you are drinking or fighting… But it's time for us to go to the museum." A beautiful young adult female's voice telepathically spoke to the four people in question. It was always great to tease Jessica from time to time. The bluish silver glow got brighter still as if Tearsy was laughing slightly at Jessica somewhat.

Jessica sighed in slight annoyance when Tearsy teased her, but what she said was true. It was clear on her face, and she gets a bit annoyed when Tearsy does tease her. In terms, she was blushing a slight bit and had the look of please stop, Tearsy. As such, Jessica had somewhat facepalmed at being teased by Tearsy because what she said is true.

---

Jessica was thrilled to be on the job in Fenixtear after her stupidity of quitting the Crimson Mare guild. However, she was staring at the client in the museum, and he looked interesting, and she smiled at him. " Hello Carver Mandrake. My name is Jessica Viola Tranzell of the Fenixtear Guild, with three of my guildmates. It's a pleasure to meet you. We came here for your job request." Jessica said, with a nice-looking smile on her face. She would allow the others in her party to introduce themselves to Carver, and she does have to keep up appearances for her family.

However, the Sky Tears Sword stayed quiet and didn't want to invade the mind of their requester for the job. The bluish silver glow was pulsing brighter to dimmer as if Tearsy was thinking about what it always does to Jessica. The sword wanted to embarrass Jessica pretty badly, nonetheless. However, it will wait for the perfect time to do so. At least they arrived at their destination without too much trouble.

[Assistant]
Tone

---

The sudden arrival of Zenith, with Akemi in tow, got Tone's attention immediately. "Hey man, I was just walking here," he defended himself, opening his hands from his fists to put up a defensive posture. "Then this guy started it." The other mage grimaced, only sparing Zen a single glance. "Sorry but your friend Tone here just hit me in the face. My nose might even be broken! That is unforgivable!" With no further regards to the interruption he threw the fireball at Tone, the fire suddenly growing into a massive torrent that washed over Tone entirely in an instant. "Danse Inferno!"

There were several gasps from the crowd and many stepped even further back to avoid the wave of flames that had engulfed Tone, but the fire didn't spread any farther. Instead the inferno began shrinking, quickly catching the attention and confusion of the mage that cast the spell. "What!?" As the fire continued diminishing it soon became apparent what was happening. From within the depths of the flames everyone could now see Tone inhaling the fire around him like a vacuum. The mage was dumbfounded and just watched in awe as the flames were entirely consumed, leaving only singed marks on Tone's clothes as the only sign they were ever even there. Tone himself was completely, surprisingly, unharmed. "Look, now he's setting me on fire and stuff. He has it coming to him," Tone complained to Zen, motioning towards the mage. "Meteor Dragon's..." Tone dropped into a combat stance, not unlike one taken in karate, drawing his right hand back at his midsection and tightening his fist. "Wait, hold on!" The fire mage was already sweating in fear, taking a single step back as he brought his arms up in a defensive stance.

"Crashing Fist!" Jets of blue flames erupted from Tone's arms and legs, propelling him forward in the blink of an eye. The intensely focused flames made a pitched "scream" almost as he flew through the air just a few inches off the ground towards his target. And just as he reached striking distance the flame propelling his right arm increased in intensity and his fist blasted upwards in an uppercut, creating a resounding boom for everyone to hear as his fist broke the speed of sound. But despite the incredible speed in his almost instant gap close and attack, Tone's powerful uppercut only hit air. As he came to a halt and the flames on his body vanished, Tone looked down to see the mage was on his back on the ground unharmed. How did he... "Greetings." Standing next to the fallen mage was a young man with blonde hair and glasses. "My apologies for intervening but I realized your attack might have done considerable damage to my comrade."

"Ah, so you want a piece too?" Tone suggested, putting his fists back up in another stance. "Negative. You seem to have misunderstood me. I do not wish to fight you either, but we at Blue Pegasus pride ourselves on our fashion and our beauty. Had your attack connected you may have damaged some expensive clothing or caused scarring that would damage our reputation with our clients." At this point Tone was confused and his stance dropped slightly. He looked over to Zen, hoping perhaps that his guildmate might understand what was going on better than he did. "Uh... Alright then?" The newcomer reached down and held out a hand, helping his comrade back up to his feet. "Sorry, Jimmy. He hit me right in the nose." "It looks bad, but I don't think it's broken. We don't need to fight today." As the two began conversing Tone couldn't help but take a few steps away from the weird mages and stand next to Zen. "Do I just let them go?" he whispered to Zen, still unsure of whether he was still in a fight or not. He had a feeling the fight was over but it was so strange that he couldn't be certain.

And that guy must be insanely fast, he thought, keeping his eyes on Jimmy. He knocked the other guy out of the way in a split-second. I didn't even see him. After the two Blue Pegasus mages finished their conversation the elder one turned back to Tone and Zen one last time. "My sincere apologies for this event. Even for a guild that prides itself on its manners we, too, are imperfect beings and make mistakes from time to time." "Hell of a mistake." "And it will not happen again. I hope you can enjoy the rest of your day, sir." The two Blue Pegasus mages made their way back into the crowd, which itself soon began dispersing and going about its business like normal. After a moment of silence Tone looked over to Zen and Akemi. "Well anyways, I was looking for you earlier Zen but I decided to take a walk first," he began, completely casual as if the fight that just broke out never even happened. "I been thinking and if I'm ever gonna stand a chance at getting my brother back then I need to be duking it out with strong people to train rather than taking mellow jobs with little action. You wanna go a round sometime? Akemi can join in too, I wouldn't mind. The worse odds the better."


[System]
Nickname(s): Sy

Gender: Male

 Age: 16 human years, 200 elven years

 Year: 2

Birthday: September 2nd

 Astrological Sign: Virgo

 Species: Elf

 Class: Ranger

 Weapon: A bow and enchanted arrows that serve a myriad of purposes. These are as follows:
fire (erupts in flames on contact with something)

lightning (Pulsing electricity, shocks living targets and is obviously also useful for damaging Earth technology)

leech (drains magical energy from target at a steady rate, causing target to weaken and makes it much harder to cast spells. Only works if it pierces skin, can only by stopped by being physically removed, i.e pulled out)

paralysis (target is paralyzed around arrow site until arrow is removed, as muscles around the area become useless as long as it's there. If shot in the leg, target will not be able to walk as well, if shot in arm target cannot swing weapons using that arm. again needs to pierce skin)

 World: Lucis

Short Biography: Sylus grew up quietly in a small elven settlement deep in the forests of Lucis. When the Black Gale appeared, Sylus's father, a well-known and accomplished adventurer, became a gatekeeper, only to vanish about 3 years ago. Sylus believes that becoming a gatekeeper himself would be the only way to find out what happened to him, so it was a no-brainer for him to accept entrance into the academy. His mother warned against him going, as she didn't want to lose her son as well, but Sylus sees no other acceptable future for himself.

Personality: Sylus is rather shy around unfamiliar people, especially in large crowds. He slowly becomes more comfortable around people as he gets to know them, and once he has made a few friends he is quite friendly, optimistic and outgoing around them.He has a serious attitude when it comes to his studies, as he wants nothing more then to follow in his father's footsteps, and hopefully find him. He is also very fond of nature and spends as much time among plants and animals as he can, preferring to study, eat lunch and such around school grounds rather than indoors.

 Partner: (TBA)

Fear(s)/Weakness(es)/Limit(s): Sylus frequently has night terrors, and as such he sometimes avoids sleeping and has a habit of sneaking out of his dorm at night. He will often go out of his way to help people he cares about, often times endangering or exhausting himself in the process. Using his healing magic drains his mental strength and can be quite detrimental to his health. As archery is his only combat skill, if caught in close-quarters combat he will be at a disadvantage.

Skills/Abilities/Traits: Moderately skilled Archer. Knows basic enchantment which he uses to create magical arrows for different purposes, also dabbles in alchemy and can create various poisons to coat arrows with. He is studying druidic magic, which is magic derived from life and nature, and used for the benefit of it. he can communicate with animals fluently as if they could speak, and has a natural gift for befriending them. He can sense energies within living beings if he concentrates, such as magic energy, and life force. This allows him to sense beings that would otherwise be hidden to him, and tell how much life force a being has (how close to death they are essentially). He has learned how to channel his life force into other beings in order to heal their wounds or cure their ailments, however doing so is, for obvious reasons, extremely physically demanding. The energy required to heal another is proportionate to the severity of the wound or ailment. The more energy he uses to heal others, the more he risks passing out, becoming ill or worse.

 Other: He has formed a strong bond with a bird he named Feena, who lives in a tree on Academy grounds and that he visits every day. He can play the lute, and enjoys doing so as a hobby.

[User] "Ha, you're telling me. Archery is a far more effective method of combat when there's any sort of cover or higher ground present." Sylus also turned to cautiously gaze at FL. "I'm not sure about him, or if he can even communicate... though I highly doubt he'd be here if he couldn't. I'm suspicious that he might be waiting until we both turn our attention entirely away from him, so we should avoid doing such a thing for now. Now then, let us see if we can't find some other way out of here then resorting to violence, if you please." Sylus put the arrow back in his quiver and let go of the bowstring, still gripping the bow with one hand in case Uriel had other ideas.

[Assistant]
The trip was uneventful, though exhilarating as always. That's griffin flying, for you. Chris said his goodbyes to the griffin after the landing, and promised to come visit it soon. This was the griffin that had taken him to the academy in his very first year, and every year afterwards. He became friends with it quickly after a few visits to the school's griffin nest in his first year, and started taking it out for flights. They're cool, extremely intelligent, majestic-ass beasts. Who wouldn't want one?

Chris strolled across the courtyard, and into the main hall casually. He was a little late, sure, but- Oh. The speech was over. Shit. He didn't think he wasted that much time getting there. It seemed only the fifth years seated conveniently close to the back of the hall where he was, were left. Walking along the back row, he noticed that they were monitoring groups of what appeared to be students in white boxlike rooms. Some fighting, some talking, some sitting quietly... Interesting, but nothing really surprised him from the school anymore.

Taking the closest convenient seat, he looked behind him to see Zarbaha and Raule. He retrieved his own holopad from his duffel before tossing the bag lightly onto the floor, and leaning his rifle up against his seat. "Zar, Raule. Hey." he said, while powering the device up. "I take it I missed Ier-Briar's spiel. What's happening?"