[System]
Age: Unknown, lost track.

Gender: Male

Race: Was once human, now a Mutant.

Appearance:

Standing at six feet and five inches, Rafael is a pretty intimidating sight. He has a heavy build, although no one knows whether he just shapes himself that way or if that's how he naturally looks. His chitin is a matte black color with the occasional glowing red spot. The only eye visible is a pure white that has a dim glow to it.

Personality:
Rafael is a fairly calm individual, keeping his cool in most situations. This is mostly so the mutating virus within his body doesn't change him even more. Although once he does lose his temper it's best to just hide until he calms down because he grows incredibly violent much like the mythical berserkers. He tends to keep to himself as well, large crowds don't mesh well with him. Paranoia was his 'friend', due to being an experiment he was always looking over his shoulder for the next bounty hunter. Luckily he was very empathetic, able to read other peoples emotions easily to see whether they intended harm or not.

Biography:
Rafael honestly doesn't really remember much of what he was doing before he showed up in this weird plain of grass. He can vaguely recall that he had just finished with a skirmish when it felt like something hit him from behind. A white flash, either from whatever pulled him here or him falling unconscious, and he woke up to the feel of soft grass on his face. Hell he hadn't seen grass in years and he toyed with it for a bit before looking to the people around him. They were looking at the wall with the single opening. So off he went to go explore, since what else was there to do? He'd get hungry eventually and he doubted the people would like it if he ate them.

Class: Juggernaut

Gift:
Boosted Regeneration: Rafael naturally had regeneration but upon arriving in this world he noticed it was faster. Bones healed in a couple days, flesh wounds and smaller in minutes to hours depending on the severity. Less than a week for a limb to grow back instead of a month or more.

Natural Powers:
* Adaptive Weaponry: His weapons are a part of him. Fingers turning into long claws. His whole arm turning into a bladed whip with a range of fifteen feet. Whatever weapon suits the enemy at hand.
* Acidic Blood: Less of a power and more a 'miracle' of science. His blood is a highly corrosive compound that burns and melts everything but glass. A good "got ya" capability when in melee combat.
* Spawn: There are mouths in his hands that can lay a pair of eggs. They mature in seconds and turn into medium sized dog-like creatures with nasty claws. They're easily killed but there's two plus their creator.

Talents:
* CQC: Rafael is at home up close and personal with his enemies. He has few ranged capabilities so he relies on hand to hand fighting.
* Photographic Memory: He's able to remember everything he sees down to the smallest detail. It was handy where he was originally from.
* Hacker: He's from a time where there's a lot of tech floating around. To get around himself he learned how to break systems. (He knows the stuff but I personally do not)
* Body Shifting: This is less a power and more of a talent since it alters nothing but physical shape. He can go from a lean build to looking like he just ate a factory of steroids. His strength and mind are unaltered, just his bodies appearance.

Weaknesses: Rafael can not stand fire, it cooks him in his own chitinous armor plating. In his own words "If we were a part of a game we would receive double the damage.". He's not to fond of cold but it doesn't hurt or kill him, it merely slows him down.

Other: Refers to himself in plurals. Such as we, us, and ours.

[User]
Rafael

Rafael learned a little bit from the deaths of his minions. They were doing the three second bursts so that their weapons didn't overheat. He didn't know if it was just a functional thing or if the gun would actually explode in their grasp. But he figured it'd just make it so it wouldn't be serviceable anymore. It seemed the robed woman was being a decoy to draw enemy fire. Which wasn't a bad idea if she knew that the group could take out the robots before she ran out of energy. Well assuming she did, he had no clue what she was capable of really. One of the bots from the back abandoned firing and started hammering on the shield with its hands. That was one less gun firing.

The spider girl gave up information about the bots. How if one was destroyed then the rest got stronger. "Then just rip off their limbs before destroying them!" He called back, it didn't take much thought to come to that particular conclusion. His eye crept out of his face and looked around the corner, moving erratically up and down to avoid plasma fire. The one from the far back was gone and it hadn't gone to the left. I've been alive longer than you were even thought of... He grumped before turning while his eye sucked back into his face.

His arm that hadn't gone all whip-like flattened and expanded, turning into a crude looking shield as he went around the corner to his little hiding spot. As he moved up the narrow passage he kept to the left of it as much as the barrels there would allow. Who the hell used wooden barrels when you had friggin robots? Ah well, they could be storage or something. He got to see the 'captain' bot just as soon as it saw him. His whip-arm surged forward in an attempt to rip the gun from its hands while his shield arm was aimed to deflect plasma bolts sent his way. It wasn't his first, nor would it be his last, time dealing with plasma. He hated the stuff since it burned like a bastard.

[Assistant]
The clockwork human Sieve was trading ranged attacks with instantly lost interest and began to bolt away, leaving the proud doctor to feel a little down. He had managed to celebrate his heritage by burning things that he didn't like, and even developed a firm grasp on wind magicks! Still, it felt odd being around such competent teammates. His old squadmates would wrap their used teabags in his ribcage and would blindly send him to scout ahead, so having the robots imply that he wasn't the most eye-catching or expendable member of the team felt bizarre. The only option available was to adapt to the situation at hand, or in other words, chase the creature down.

The gliding skeleton made his way to the machine's whereabouts, his spectral movements halted by the spiderwoman's warning about defeating their foes. He quickly gazed around and was surprised at what he saw. The marked ones around him were shielding eachother, stealing weapons and fighting viciously. Sieve knew that they were to be a team from now on, but it was at this moment that the idea finally settled in his skull. The gray machina called out the sensible strategy of incapacitating their enemies, which would be difficult for a magician.

His target lay on the floor like a cockroach before dragging itself back up, after having been struck by one of its allies own weapons. As the struggling machine tried to click back into place, Sieve began to make grappling motions with his left hand, like crushing a ball of paper. The force in his fist began to fight back at being pressed so tightly, and the skeleton responded by only inhaling more air. This ball of wind would have to be as accurate as possible. Sieve carefully stretched his bones and launched the orb in a straight line at his opponent's left arm, hoping to amputate it. After this the skeleton glided in a half-circle around the robot, preparing an identical attack at his other limb.

[User]
Aleksander Slavik

---

Aleksander made no movement for the scrolls as several others did. He feared not what secrets some scrap of paper would reveal. His generally grumpy mood, however, perked up a bit when they headed back into the cavern. Any encounter in there would be better than standing around when he is so eager to leave. The next room held another field similar to the first, but lined with several walls and structures. Out of an interior room came several inorganic entities, hostile as told by the recording. Aleksander was happy to find another fight so soon, for what is a soldier without an enemy to kill?

Stepping back for a moment behind cover to consider his tactical options, he saw some of the others charge headfirst into combat foolishly but at least seemed capable of staying alive. The mage appeared to be capable of taking the brunt of the attacks with some kind of barrier, but Aleksander reasoned the strength of it would soon wane so he opted to take care of the two attempting to bash the barrier down.

Deciding on an angle that looked good, he briefly fired a burst of flames that arched over his cover, over the barrier and wrapped around the machines. While titanium has a far higher melting point than flesh, not even it could withstand the intense heat generated by Aleksander's Liquid-Tiberium flamethrower. The machines would need to choose whether to continue their assault and perish or retreat and douse the flames.

[Assistant]
Evfimiia Serdiatnitskiia

---

Having had no real ability to actually fight anything, much less these things throwing deadly bolts everywhere, Miia scrambled to the small building Rafael cleared. There was no way she was about to jump in whatever was happening right now; all she could do was give them information on things.

Several sharp snaps of those bolts came again, causing her to flinch, even if she was relatively safe inside the building.With the flow of battle being solely decided by those combat experienced people, she started to rummage around the boxes in the room. With neat precision, she pulled out a few unknown items, arranging them neatly on the ground before realizing they would be better off in the box if they win.

She pulled out an object that had the shape of a fehu rune. From its semblance to the rune, she surmised that it might be a charm for wealth or fortune. It had a strange shape for a rune, with a sort of a ring and a protuberance poking out inside the ring. Its body was a steely black, with a strange hole in one end of it's branch. As her hand glowed again, popping out another scroll from thin air, she held it gingerly in one hand before pulling on the small stick inside the ring.

[User]
The stripped robot saw It's target attempt to grab it's weapon, and unlike the first robot that had been too slow, they were just fast enough now to barely avoid such attacks. It leaped upwards nearly hitting the ceiling and fired a a ball of green plasma, aiming to hit past Rafael's shield. As it came coming down it attempted to send an axe kick to his head as well.

The MKIII that had been shot by Mable could do nothing to stop it's arm from being severed by Sieve. In a split second the robot decided that it was more of a burden than an asset and in a swift motion it drove it's remaining hand into it's face, destroying it's self. Once again the remaining robots had a jolt go through their glass faces.

Meanwhile the robot bashing on Illia's barrier was joined by another, apparently finding her ability particularly troubling. It was then that Aleksander sent a wave of smoldering fire over them. At first they did not react, believing that the fire could not reach a high enough temperature to damage them. However their sensors quickly told them they were in danger, and they decided to move. But right as they were about to jump back the left side of the shack tore open. In less than a blink of an eye and with the crack of the sound barrier being broken they were torn in half. Past them a wall had a hole torn through it, and pass that a smoking hole was formed in the wall, which somehow sealed it's self shut.

The object Miia had found was a handheld weapon, a railgun to be exact. It's trigger had locked into place as a red light blinked on the tip of it's barrel, rending it unable to be fired at the moment.

At the same time, the robot besides the one attacking Rafael seemed to vanish only to then appear right in front on Mable. The Valiant was far too awestruck by what had just happened to react to the now ridiculous speeds it was moving at. A metallic kick was sent into her gut, sending her smashing into the wall by the entrance. Nothing was broken, but she was dazed and clearly no longer in any condition to move on her own.

[Assistant]
Rafael hadn't expected to just wipe the floor with the robots like they had the linebackers. But when the robot went airborne he couldn't help but laugh. It shot at him, which was blocked by a shift of the shield arm the hissed and popped under the heat. When it tried to strike him however he leaned away and grabbed its foot with his whip-like hand. When one was in the air, without thrusters, you couldn't dodge or go anywhere. You're at your opponents mercy at that point.

Unluckily for the robot, Rafael had no mercy. With the vice-like grip on its leg Rafael started slamming the robot repeatedly into the ground. Actually making the stone floor to crack with each blow as the armored plating of the robot dented and cracked. Shifting a bit he drove the robots back against the corner of the 'shed' he had first went into. Making the metallic beings back bend in the wrong direction. The shield arm reverted to normal briefly during all this pummeling before turning into a wicked looking blade.

A flip of his wrist his transformed arm lashed out and cleaved the robots legs off. When it landed the blade was there cutting off one of the arms, leaving the robot with a single arm. Even with the boosts from the other dead bots it probably wouldn't have the speed to avoid that last limb being removed. A kick and the wiggling torso and head were moved out of sight as the mutant turned his attention to the group. He got to see Mable fly into the wall from a kick of the last functional robot. "Ah hell..." He muttered before moving in to help with the final one.


[System]
colour code: [color=8FA1B4]
Age: 23
Hair: Black
Eyes: Grey
Height: 5'10" (or so he says)
Marks: * Small scar above left eyebrow from being pistol-whipped
* Nasty gunshot wound scar high up on his outside left thigh, just under the hip joint

Bio:* Mother was one of the palace seamstresses to the Romanovs, father was a brief fling, never seen again
* Grew up in a servant house near the palace, spent his days there keeping busy doing odd jobs while his mother worked
* As a ten-year-old he goes looking for his mother one day, finds her doing a fitting for an extravagant gown with princess Katerina. Sees Katerina in the dress, with her blonde hair, and thinks she's an angel.
*

Siege:
Siege happens when Feliks is 11 and Katerina is 9, the Bolsheviks storming the palace in the middle of the night in winter. Feliks' mother was staying at the palace that night, working hard with the other seamstresses to complete a set of new ball gowns for the princesses for an upcoming Christmas ball; Feliks, meanwhile, sleeps on a pile of fabric in the drafting room. Amidst the chaos of the siege, Feliks is separated from his mother. As he searches for her he sees Katerina running and Bolshevik troops chasing after her and he follows, scared that they might hurt her despite only having met her up close that one time. When Katerina is cornered, he intervenes by kicking out the knee of the guy chasing her; the shot the guy was going to fire at Katerina misses as a result, breaking the window behind her. The guy turns and hits Feliks on the head with his gun to knock him down, shooting him quickly, but this gives Katerina enough time to escape out the window, getting cut on the leg on the way out by a shard of glass in the frame. Meanwhile, the shot fired at Feliks had been poorly aimed, hitting him in the leg near his hip. The blow to his head knocked him out, and he bleeds from his gunshot wound; Bolshevik troops find him in a final sweep looking for Katerina. Thinking him dead, they haul him out and pile him up with the other bodies, where a commoner finds Feliks still breathing and takes him to a hospital.

Meanwhile, Katerina has fled into the city slums, and passes out in an alley after having a bit of a breakdown. She's found in the morning by a worker at a local orphanage, who finds her practically frozen and takes her in. The Bolsheviks had seen evidence of a gunshot and blood trailing off in the snow, and assume Katerina was shot and bled to death wherever she went. Satisfied that there's no way she could have survived a frigid winter night with a gunshot wound, they presume her dead and do not search for her. When Katerina wakes up in the orphanage, her mind has blocked out her trauma, leaving her with no memory of who she is or where she came from. Her nightgown is tattered from the window, and embroidered with the name "Katya" on the sleeve, so the orphanage assumes she is a street child who took the nightgown from somewhere and, with nothing else to call her, dub her Katya.

Weeks later, when Feliks has finally recovered enough for the hospital to let him go, he immediately returns to the castle in desperate hope that he might find his mother. He searches the whole place, but there is no sign of her aside from a bloody smudge on the floor of the corridor leading to the drafting room. Elsewhere in the palace he finds another former servant, a teenaged boy, who tells Feliks that he saw his mother get shot dead. Utterly shocked and feeling guilty, thinking he might have been able to save her had he not chased after Katerina, Feliks wanders the palace in a daze, eventually coming upon the room where he had helped Katerina escape. He sees the stain of his own blood on the floor, the broken window and the blood on the glass. On the floor near the window, though, he sees a necklace; the pendant is in the motif of a jewel-encrusted Faberge egg on a long gold chain. Fascinated by it, he keeps it.

Plot:* Feliks grows bitter and cynical over the years, never getting over his guilt surrounding his mother's murder and regretting helping Katerina in lieu of finding her; he considers selling the necklace multiple times, as it is a painful reminder of his mistake, but he can never bring himself to do it. He never tells anyone about what happened that night, instead always saying that he was at home in the servant house during the siege.
* He gets a job as a tailor's apprentice to honour his mother's memory, and by the time he is an adult he is a skilled tailor. However, the communist regime left the people poor, so the market for tailoring is very bleak; needing money, he figures out that while tailoring is dead, forgery is a booming business, as people are desperate to escape the bleakness of communist Russia.
* Hates the Bolsheviks and what they've done to Russia, but won't join any dissidents because he thinks nothing will come of a revolt but bloodshed.
* On the same day the rumour starts to spread that Grand Duchess Katerina might still be alive and that her grandmother, the Dowager Empress, is offering a reward to find her, Feliks happens upon a woman named Katya, who is looking for papers to travel to Paris. Seeing that she looks remarkably like the Katerina he remembers and surprised that she has no memory of her own past, Feliks has an idea that he could pass her off as the Grand Duchess for the reward money.
* He takes her back to the palace, where he hasn't been since he went back that day after the siege, and shows her around; when they pass by the section of the palace containing the drafting room and the room where Katerina escaped, Feliks gets emotional and says there's nothing down there for them. The pair continue on past and find archives about the Romanovs, deciding to study up so Katya can pass as Katerina. They decide to set up a little encampment there, Katya having no place to live and Feliks currently wanted and more or less in hiding, and stay there for some time, Feliks teaching Katya everything he remembers about royal manner.
* At some point he shows Katya the necklace, and she immediately opens it, revealing that it's actually a locket containing pictures of Katerina and the other Romanovs.
* At some point Katya decides to explore the part of the palace that Feliks has been avoiding, finds the room where she escaped and it triggers memories of her trauma and she freaks; Feliks comforts her and distracts her by telling her the story of when he saw Princess Katerina and thought she was an angel. Katya puts herself in Katerina's place in the story, thinking she's making up the details until she realizes she's actually remembering them, recalling a part of the story that Feliks hadn't told her. Feliks realizes she really is Katerina, and doesn't know what to do.

Misc: * Feliks has a thin scar on his forehead above his left eyebrow from where he was pistol whipped during the siege, and he walks with a bit of a limp, his leg never having returned to full function after the gunshot wound. His injured hip hurts him when he gets up in the morning (feeling better once he gets moving) and if he has to walk a lot, or if it's cold or rainy (it's got hella arthritis but he doesn't know that).
* He's a smoker, and drinks when his leg is really bothering him
* Secretly misses tailoring
* Still sometimes thinks about Katerina even though he resents her (despite thinking her dead)
* While Katya is so focused on her past, Feliks claims to have forgotten the past and only care about the future, even though he's been dwelling on the past his entire life and still hasn't gotten over it
* The tailor he apprenticed under was a former tailor to a member of the imperial court, and he retained his stuffy high-society mannerisms out of spite for the Bolsheviks. He required that Feliks learn to be a proper man ("You must be a man of class to dress one") and taught Feliks proper poise and manners, and also how to dance. Feliks was never a good dancer, impeded by his limp, and hasn't danced since he first learned, though he'll find that he does remember how.
* The tailor who took him in (Mr. Ivanov, absolutely refused to be called "comrade") took on a pseudo-fatherhood role with Feliks, refused to let him roam the streets or get caught up with stealing and cheating like many orphaned children did, wanted him to grow up into a respectable man and also was pretty sure the poor crippled kid wouldn't survive on his own
* Feliks greatly respected Mr. Ivanov and grew close to him; Mr. Ivanov died of tuberculosis when Feliks was 18, Feliks couldn't afford to keep the tailor shop running so he sold its assets and used the money to give Mr. Ivanov a funeral worthy of a high-society gent like him
* Every now and then, Feliks remembers that Mr. Ivanov wouldn't be proud of his new line of work, but justifies it by convincing himself he has no choice.

[User]
Jesus, she was chatty. Feliks had been expecting some simple, unrevealing "I'm an orphan" answer, not a life story. Not to mention the sickening optimism. He would have envied her her naivete if he didn't think it was so foolish. Of course, as he listened, admittedly intrigued by Katya's memory loss, his mind couldn't help but wander to the possibility…

"A lot of children were lost in the siege," he said absently, eyes on the fire. Nearly frozen to death in an alley, huh? He supposed he could relate, though his circumstances immediately after the siege had also involved a pile of corpses and a gunshot wound.

There was a silence between them for a moment, Feliks turning his options over in his mind. He knew it was foolish, and impossible, but he simply couldn't keep Katya's eerie resemblance to Katerina from his mind. But Katerina was dead, he was sure of it. So why did he keep wondering if it was possible?

He supposed the ten million rubles might be part of it.

But it was ridiculous! What, was he meant to believe that God happened to smile upon him today, inform him of the reward offered by the Dowager Empress and then just drop a reincarnated Katerina in his lap? Preposterous. She was dead, long dead, along with the rest of the Vasilievs. Along with his mother, and every other innocent soul the Bolsheviks thought deserved to die that night. That reward was just the last remnant of desperate hope from a heartsick old woman in Paris.

"...I'll see about those papers," Feliks said finally, grasping the arm of the chair by the fire and using it to hoist himself painfully back to his feet. He clenched his jaw with the effort, but held in his usual groan, not one to complain around company. Already stiff from having been kneeling, his limp was a bit more pronounced than normal as he made his way over to his shelf, pulling out a folder and flipping through some delicate-looking documents within. Feliks stared intently at them, thinking. She needed a permanent exit visa to Paris, fine, but that meant she needed a passport to attach it to, which meant she needed a picture and a full name, information on her date and place of birth, occupation, marital status, all manner of overbearing government-required personal details. From someone who remembered none of it. Excellent.

They were just going to have to get creative.

He fingered through some other documents on his shelf, grateful to find a blank copy of a passport document ready to go. "I'll need some more information from you - we might need to fabricate a lot of it - and you'll need to get your picture taken," he explained, not looking over. He pulled a few more things from the shelf and crossed over to the document-strewn table, sitting gratefully at it. "I know someone who can do that for you, though he doesn't work for free. Once that's done, I can have your documents completed in about a day."

Finally he looked up, over his shoulder at the girl by the fire. "Are you living nearby? You won't want to go too far."

[Assistant]
Feliks' silence was a little concerning, but he wasn't calling her crazy, so that was a step in the right direction. As the silence stretched between them, she made sure to follow his lead and stay quiet as well. Not that she was complaining, it wasn't uncomfortable, he was probably just as focused as she was on warming up. The blonde was greatly enjoying the break from the cold with a forlorn sigh of happiness. She had half a mind to curl up on the floor and sleep, the idea of having a warm nap greatly enticing the woman as she hugged her knees. If she caught on fire, so be it, at least she would die warm and not frozen.

Once he would speak, Katya perked up with hopeful eyes. Maybe this meant she would be leaving sooner rather than later! She stayed where she was, turning to watch as he would make his way over to the shelf, curious to see what he was doing. Not that she knew; she had no idea how he would go about giving her the paperwork needed, but she wasn't going to question it. The less she knew, the better, anyway.

At his comment of having to fabricate the information, she gave him a shrug. Not like she had much choice; she didn't know anything, anyway, so it was best to do as he said. She did, however, brighten up immensely as he mentioned he would be able to have everything ready in a day. He was fast! She nodded enthusiastically, though she hesitated as he mentioned the picture-taker-man wouldn't take it for free. Well, she did anticipate this costing her something, so hopefully it wouldn't set her back too much.

"I usually spend the day doing odd jobs, but I can just stay here for today if it's easier for you," Katya said, her eyes wandering once again around the unfamiliar room. Actually, as long as she was here, she wouldn't mind exploring the place. "I'm going to take a look around the place." She wasn't entirely sure why she was even telling him, but the room alone wasn't enough to satiate her curiosity, her now-warmed legs energetic enough to at least take a peek back the way they had come.


[System]
Age: (actual:600+/appearance:23)
Species: Lasombra Vampire

Appearance: He's a rather muscular vampire standing at slightly above average height (6ft). He tends to wear a normal dark t-shirt and jeans combo in the modern nights.

Personality: Brooding and taciturn, this man isn't one for small talk. One look in his eyes or seeing his powerful Obtenebration and Potence in action betrays a storied past. Hector Sea is the classic lone wolf, a man of mysterious and seductive sight who, when forced to, knows how to deal with several situations. He is a quiet contemplative person who appeals for the analysis of the situation before acting. But when he is in action, no one can stop him.

Biography:
 In the Camarilla is a legendary figure known by his nickname, the Dark Angel. He has been around for centuries, playing a part in Camarilla activities around the world. He has recently gone into torpor and has been forgotten about by all but his deepest of enemies and greatest of friends. Now, he has returned from the bottom of the ocean, ready to impose his will onto Cainite society once more.

 Hector was born to parents in the Mediterranean. Growing up, he was trained for a career as a Navy man by his father. He was known for being the most talented of his family and for his hand to hand combat skills. He was quickly picked out of his siblings as heir for his self control and strength of will. However, it was his talents that lead to his family's downfall. He was picked out by a Lasombra Methuselah for an embrace, going after the Navy family. Hector's sire killed everyone in Hector's family and placed the blame on Hector, making him a target for the Navy. Hector was embraced as his only tool for survival in the predicament.

 A 6th gen Lasombra vampire, Hector became a Sabbat vampire and a pirate. His formidable Shadow Powers and brute strength (along with many other disciplines he's learned) led him to commandeer his own pirate ship, where he robbed and looted a fortune to becoming a bourgeoisie in the old world. Like many Lasombra, he hunted for power in the ranks of the Sabbat and became a Ductus of clan members, having the title of Dark Angel.

 However, Hector never believed in the antediluvians like most Sabbat (although he did believe they existed) and believed Gehenna was never going to come. He had many orders from the Sabbat to hunt possible antediluvians and their relics, but he never followed through. Eventually, he decided to leave the Sabbat altogether as he did not agree with their goals.

 As a Lasombra Antitribu, he has been hunted down by the Sabbat to no avail. He has taken down many Sabbat shovelheads and has gone across the New World and the Old World over the centuries keeping to himself, enjoying his treasures and the new technology of the ages and killing Sabbat who are after him. He eventually met Sebastian Lacroix and became friends with him, admiring his skill for rising through the ranks and his Dominance that was a match for his own. Through him, he got the goodwill to join the Camarilla and was one of the main dominating forces of the Camarilla on the seas. However, he was badly injured at some point and entered torpor and was resting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean until now, adrift at sea he landed on the shore of Santa Monica and into the embraces of his former ally Lacroix.

Supporting Characters: Lacroix, his old connection into the Camarilla and along with the Sheriff, helped to establish their presence in the Camarilla.

[User]
Collaboration with Letter Bee

Lucas Lee would not shared how he learned this fact, but one of the indistinguishible lowrises in Santa Monica's sprawling office parks held something different. If you approached at the right hour and told the security guard the right phrase, he'd lead you to an empty office, perfect for having a conversation with the technological equivalent of a ghost.

Lee would sit down on the available chair, and wait for the local Technocrat's projection to manifest. After a pause, the Episcopalian Bishop would then say:

"I found a new type of what your faction would call a 'Reality Deviant'. Are you interested?"

The flickering image the machine in the corner projected had little color or details, making it look like the figure was in silhouette. Looking at the build it appeared female, but anything more specific was tough to discern from the darkness. She spoke "We value information, but each item is only worth so much. If I had more time I'd refer you to some of Shannon's theorems, but my agenda is rather busy. Much of what we know is private, if you are claiming to have found something unknown to us and significant, I am willing to discuss this matter further."

Lee nodded, and pulled out a dossier from his robe, holding it up to what he presumed was a scanner in the conference table. The reason he didn't use a USB was because the Technocracy might mistake it for a mystic cyberattack. This dossier contained data about Lucas, his exorcisms, and his powers. Not merely that, but also contained were an account of Priscilla's encounter with the cult of Cidhal...written before Prisicilla even reported it to her superior.

"Basically, a new type of sapient supernatural who can suck 'Demons' into himself and destroy them, and manifest Light. He also has attracted the attention of demon cultists and a Vampire," Lee summarized. "Significant enough?"

The figure absorbed the information unnaturally fast, pausing for only a moment before replying. "What you have given us is interesting, though we will verify it to root out any falsehoods present. I will admit, it deals with matters that have been recieving less resources at present. Are there other matters you wish to discuss?"

"Currently, the Camarilla are more powerful than us Traditions, and thus more of a threat, am I right?" was Lee's answer.

"I will not comment on matters regarding our current strategic position. We remain interested in the activities of both groups" she said

A nod from Lee, before he said, "Well, all I'll just say is that we've received...news that the Camarilla are preparing something major, something that might cause a war between the varied factions of bloodsuckers in the city. Not to be optimistic, but they might be exposing themselves to cracks in their structure..."

She had another short response. "We are monitoring the situation. If you have anything related to that matter, I invite you to share it now."

"The Camarilla have acquired an ancient relic, the Ankaran Sarcophagus, which, despite their disavowal of 'Noddist' Legends, they think contains an Antedelluvian," Lee spoke plainly.

"Thank you for being willing to share with us. Is there anything else you know about this matter" She replied, again showing little emotion.

"Nothing more," Lee was sincere; although it was unknown if he would have told anything more if he knew. He then checked his watch, before saying, "I think I used up my free hours; there's a sermon I have to preach soon."

"Once again, thank you. You may leave the same way you came. If you wish to reach us again, ask the security guard for your phone on your way out." She finished, knowing that the guard had not asked for his phone in the first place.

[Assistant]
Hector Sea

 Hector stepped out into the parking lot and located his car, fumbling around with the keys and unlocking the door. Hector entered the car and located the ignition, and pressed the key first the wrong way and then the right way into it. This would be his first time driving a car, but he had ridden in one before and was given lessons in how to drive courtesy of the Camarilla. Hector enjoyed the new technology of the ages, but he needed some time to get acclimated. He put his feet on the gas pedal and the car exploded forward, Hector slammed on the brakes and went slower on the gas next time. He worked his way out of the parking lot and headed out into the road.

Hector remembered the man with no mouth, and that he was being targeted by the cult. Hector drove out back to the warehouse, and went to were the man was being held. He activated his Auspex while touching some of his blood on the floor, and saw a vision of a scarfed man sitting in a church. Hector knew where he was how to find him. He headed out back to his car, but saw something strange on his way there.

 There was a woman with scales, horns, a tail and wings overlapping a normal looking figure. Hector found this to be bizarre, this was a supernatural he had never occurred in his 600 years of life. He approached, cautiously, and said:

 "Excuse me, but what are you?"

[User]
"Ahhmmm~~~" Elleonora made a pleased sound as she stretched her arms, leaving the building where the self defense classes took place. Today was actually payday so she now had good money in her pocket. Frankly... she was making a living albeit just enough. With the money she got from her side job as model for usually adult magazines, she somehow or other managed to keep just enough money in hand to live a good life with enough luxuries to not have the right to complain about. Well it wasn't always nice because of this dual nature of hers. She felt that half her being was content with this life and the other half hungered for something way greater. She had decided never to complain though, so she simply took life as it was, struggling to maintain the point of equilibrium.

 Best thing was that she could take out Jane for lunch tomorrow, after paying her part of the bills. Thus in this fine night, with a smile on her face she slowly walked down the streets, just waiting to reach her favorite side alley where no one was ever present, just so she could take off and stretch her wings properly.

 She was currently dressed in low cut jeans and open back frilly shirt made of thin veil like material that was blowing gently by the air as she walked. Elleonora had just about reached the alleyway when she heard a voice call out to her. She turned to the side, raising an eyebrow as she faced the man who talked to her." What is it that you mea...n... ohh" She started quickly with the standard question to divert from the topic. She was pretty sure there weren't humans who can see her form, but it seemed this one was not human... This was something else. Judging by the pale skin..." Bugger..." She mumbled, making an expression of complex thinking." Frankly nothing that would concern someone like you. Or to be precise nothing that you should concern with." She stated, just in case the silly humans were listening. Not that changelings like herself were harmless, far from it. Just that she didn't want to really get involved in anything of this kind. What a bad luck for someone to randomly spot her. He must be using an ability to see through the mask. She really doubted they were looking for her in specific. She very briefly considered just bolting into the alleyway and then flying up.

 "Can I help you with something or you just wanted to ask that?" She asked, wanting to know before hse decides on a course of action.

[Assistant]
 The woman just nudged him off with a blunt remark, Hector didn't take to kindly to this. Hector's Auspex faded away as his vision returned to normal. He saw that the woman who once had wings protruding out of normal body was now just a normal woman. She must be hiding herself with something. As long as she didn't reveal the supernatural to humans, Hector didn't have a problem with her, but just in case Hector let her off with a warning.

 "Reveal that form to any humans and we're going to have a problem. We don't want another Inquisition on our hands, but you're probably too young to know of it." Hector said to the girl. Before she could retort to his warning, Hector dissipated into Dark Shadows and went to his car. He turned the engine on and headed for the church where Lucas was taking shelter.

 Hector pulled up to the driveway of the church and took a look around. It was a quaint little place, there was some greenery which you didn't usually see in L.A. Hector could hear the birds chirping-the sun was going to come up soon. He had to be quick about this. He entered the church and used Auspex, locating Lucas easily. He approached him, and as he looked into his eyes he Dominated Lucas. Hector threw a pad and a pen at him, and told him to write down everything he knew about the Demon Cult of Cidahl.


[System]
Nicknames/Aliases:
N/A

Age:
23

Gender:
Female

Rune/Location:
Kenaz, located on Dawn's left wrist.

Rune Powers:
- Can weave temporary illusions, such as creating a door that isn't quite there, or causing a target to hallucinate that they're in an orange orchard. While she can make smaller illusions that can affect most within a certain radius, anything particularly complex requires her to hone in on a specific target.

- Heightened ability to understand and retain new information, allowing her grasp concepts at a faster rate than before.

Description:
Clocking in at roughly 4 foot 9 inches in boots, and without much muscle mass to speak of, Dawn isn't exactly the most imposing figure around. Her face is soft and open, with ash-grey eyes and light skin. Her hair is black and thick, and Dawn has grown it to her hips- although, as a result, she has developed a habit of styling it in a side plait to keep it out of the way most of the time.
Dawn usually tries to "dress to impress", donning skirts, tights, cardigans and flats to work and throughout everyday life. Winter sees her swapping to a modest sweater and slacks, and warm seasons have her lose the cardigan entirely. In more casual settings, she'll don a simple pair of jeans and a shirt, but there's one constant throughout many of her wardrobe changes- a hat. Regardless of setting, she'll often be found wearing a hat of some kind, although her apparent favorite is a black sunhat.

  Personality:
By nature, Dawn is a gentle soul, soft spoken and polite towards strangers and friends alike. She tends to be quite protective and maternal towards friends of hers, and makes an effort to grant a level of respect to most. However, while friendly and slower to anger than some, she is not necessarily a yes-woman- oftentimes, when made annoyed by someone or a situation, her irritation will manifest itself as a dry sort of humor and a somewhat snarky commentary. This humor tends to be present regardless, however. When genuinely angered, Dawn grows calm to the point of frigidity, becoming vengeful and keeping her grudges close at hand.
While Dawn attempts to stay composed and professional for the most part, she can quickly become taken off guard if the right buttons are pressed.

 Skills:
- Has pre-existing experience with handguns, and can shoot one well enough. Carries a Bersa Thunder 380 on her person for this purpose.

- Knowledge of the law.

- After the development of her power, Dawn has taken to picking up various knacks and skills in her free time.

Weaknesses:
- Is naturally small and petite, meaning that she can be physically overpowered quite easily.

- While her illusions are naturally potent, they only last for a certain amount of time, and crafting anything particularly detailed or long-lasting will require to put more focus into the task.

- Her knowledge ability allows for her to learn at a faster rate, but that does not necessarily let her become immediately capable of a skill- for instance, Dawn might know how to weight-lift, but she physically wouldn't be able to until she trained her body to accommodate it.

Brief History:
Dawn had a normal enough upbringing. The second child of a teacher and a lawyer, the family lived far from the edges of their city, where wargs and giants staged their attacks time and time again. It was a peaceful enough existence, and for most of her early life, the matters of the of the world were a distant thought to her.
However, sometime during her second year of middle school, there came an announcement that three of the students had gone missing. It left much of the community in a state of shock- the families had lived near the very center of the city, and, while there were signs of a struggle reminiscent to that of a warg's attack, there were no bodies or parts left behind. Eventually, funerals were held, and the defense in that area was simply reinforced, but it left an impression in Dawn. She had known one of the three, and, while the two hadn't been friends, it left her unsatisfied with the answer given. Dawn grew up to pursue an education in Law Enforcement, and went on to become a private investigator.
She held this position for a few years before one day, she awoke to find a marking had appeared on her wrist, and that she found herself solving cases at a faster rate than before.
And that, occasionally, her coworkers began to try grabbing mugs and opening doors that weren't there.

The Blessed found her after a short time, and persuaded Dawn to go along. While she was more than happy to help save the world from danger, the fact that she was forced to quit her job hasn't sat well with her. Or the fact that she is no longer allowed to visit other cities.

Other: - Enjoys cheesy films and novels.
- Is anemic, and takes iron pills to make up for it.

[User]
Today marked a month, right on the dot. It was exactly a month ago that the rune- that was its name, Dawn had found- had branded itself onto her wrist. She found herself examining it in the thin glow offered by the overhead lights, tracing the patterns with idle fingers. It had been nearly three weeks since the Blessed had found her, firmly insisted that she went along with them, and brought her into their fold. Not much had happened since then, really. There had been a few tests run, a few rounds of training done, but for the most part, the whole situation felt more like a vacation than anything. The Blessed had been bending over backwards to accommodate those marked with a rune; providing them all lavish rooms to stay in, offering full use of the base's facilities, and letting them move about as they pleased during their free time.

Well. As long as their destination was within the city's limits, that was.

Even the room that Dawn found herself waiting in now was clearly made to impress. The couch she found herself seated in was made from fine leather, and paintings that looked to be worth more than her car were hung neatly up on the walls. It was an incredible kindness that the Blessed were giving them all, but, in truth, all the cushiness and the pampering made Dawn feel somewhat...uncomfortable, really. The staff had been swearing up and down that simply following the path that the Allfather intended for them would be enough payment, but...

Dawn took a long swig of her coffee. It seemed a tad unnecessary- especially seeing as how the rest of the base seemed to live rather modestly in comparison. It certainly provided quite a bit of motivation to give back for all that had been done for them.

They, the marked, would all be meeting officially today. Group training, apparently. She had seen a few others like her in passing, but it would be the first time that all nine of them would be gathered anywhere together for a prolonged period of time. It would be a lie to say that Dawn wasn't curious when it came to her new coworkers.

She took another sip.

There was nothing to do now but to wait, and to wonder.

[Assistant]
Maeve did not like it.

The way her bedroom carpet squished under her feet was weird, the fact that someone turned over her bed sheets when she left the room was unsettling, and the ever-present shadow of a supervising Blessed that followed her outside of the facility was enough to make her insane.

There was nothing that needed to be done, and there had not been for the entire three weeks she had been trapped.

She woke up. She went to the gym, then showered. She went around the corner to the liquor store with a credit card that never seemed to reach a limit. Drink, eat, sleep, repeat.

Sometimes she would cross paths with another body in the halls, but it was impossible to know who there was like her, and who was one of them. She could have asked, of course, but she never seemed to get that far in conversation.

Mostly because she didn't talk in the gym, and she tried to avoid talking while plastered. Given her current schedule, there had not been much chatter save for mild smalltalk.

But this morning there would be. They had taken her liquor the night before, and (she suspected) hidden her left gym sneaker to be sure she would not skip out on the meeting.

Maeve sauntered in, a bit more early than she tended to be to most things, and spotted a vaguely familiar face. Denise? Dalia? She had seen the smallish woman around quite a few times, and swapped words briefly a time or two.

Danny? Darcy?

She came to stand behind the couch, opting to lean rather than sit.

"It's all very 'lamb to the slaughter,' isn't it?" she asked, her tone nonchalant. "Plush it up so they don't see the knife and panic, I guess. Dawn, was it? We've uh, I think we've bumped paths a few times."


[System]
Age: 27

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Class: Berserker

Body Augmentation:
Gareth is unable to conjure magic into corporeal existence or supply mana towards hexes/rituals. His talent for magic is seemingly rock bottom of the deepest ravine. However, that is not the case in the slightest; rather, Gareth is able to infuse magic into his own body, increasing his reflexes, speed, power, coordination, and pain threshold to a certain extent. Unfortunately, the method of self augmentation is extremely exhausting to both the mana supply and the vessel, thus only allotting Gareth a very aggressive, short term method of fighting.

Enchanted Blades:
During his travels, Gareth managed to procure a set of blades varying in size enchanted to increase their durability. Although the sharpness of the blades are fairly standard, they repel blood, do not rust, and fail to dull with wear and tear.

Bloodlust:
The longer Gareth is engaged in combat and the more he kills, the more enveloped in combat he becomes. His focus becomes inhuman as he is able to improvise on every movement. Unfortunately, his defense decreases drastically as his priorities shift from survival to killing, and eventually, if the battle toils on for long enough, he reaches a threshold where he is unable to tell friend and foe apart.

Picture Reference:

Physical Description:
Gareth is a 6'4" god of death coated in layers of lean muscle and scars. What he lacks in bulk he makes up for in battle-tested, streamlined sinew. He generally has a frivolous smile on his face intermingled with a faintly wild luster to his gaze.
Doesn't have the wings pictured.

Personality:
Wolfish in nature, Gareth is both equal parts playful and vicious. A battle-maniac at heart, he enjoys the hunt even more than the kill. Gareth finds no qualms in consistently engaging in lascivious activities and could be considered extremely libertine in every sense of the word. Although wholly wild and aggressive in both his pursuit of fights and women, he is extremely loyal to his family like any good mutt, whomever he considers that to be, protecting them with his life.

Extra Details:
Due to his self-augmentation, Gareth causes the innate strength limiter in his psych to disappear, often ending in heavy internal injury, making him quite the burden after heavy combat.

[User]
He woke before dawn and stood from his bed in the dark room with a grin on his lips and made his way to his nightstand where perched nearly two dozen scented candles. Grabbing them all, he placed them in a large circle in the center of his room, proceeded to light them, then sat in the center, within the amber glow of the candles. On his lap rested his for large swords, and above them, his porcelain mask.

Kaito Fen studied the mask, holding it before him, gazing into its empty sockets. His breathing changed then, deeper, fuller, allowing the air to travel into his stomach as he brought a cloth damped with scented oil and began wiping it over the mask. Once he was done with that, he proceeded to unsheathe one of his blades, brought out a whetstone and began, rhythmically, gliding the stone along the single edged blade. Over and over, until it seemed with each thrust, the blade sang, screeching its dreadful promise.

He did this for all of his four swords, and by the time he was done, his naked upper body was sheathed in sweat, a deadly calm settling on his shoulders. He rose in one smooth motion and looked out his singular window. False dawn had arrived, and the smile returned to his face.

Walking over to the wardrobe, he picked out a particular set of robes, the left half of the upper body cut away – like most of his robes. This particular set was a mottled blue and white, stitched at the right shoulder and upper arm with small square plates of leather and steel; the flanks at the waist were also stitched with pyramidal steel studded leather. Underneath the robes, he wore loose pants of the same color and a sash across his waist where his swords hung.

Putting on his mask and slipping on a pair of slippers, he walked out of his rooms and out to the back of the guild house where he saw the tournament grounds prepared. He saw Artura in her armored splendor seated on a throne and smiled internally.

Then she called his name.

He regarded Grey Skies for a long moment then turned his head and walked over to the circle, hoping it looked somewhat ominous and foreboding. He was going to make a show of this, how could he not? Everyone was watching. They were here to witness.

[Assistant]
Grey had been awake for hours, staring at the gentle moon filling the sky with her light. So many songs could be derived from her beauty alone, as she stood with such grace among the stars and clouds alike, reflecting the harsher light of the sun. In her hands, Grey held her oud, occasionally playing a few lines of harmony to accompany the sounds of the evening. Sitting atop the Guild's base, she felt at peace with the world. She could hear the songs of nature, whispering in her ears- the distant crashing waves of the ocean, the breath of sleeping animals, even the bits of wind trapped among the leaves.

The sun began to rise, and Grey felt a yawn burst forth. She slipped into a shadow, flitting between darknesses until she found herself back in her own room. Barren as an empty sea, the only decoration was a stand in the corner, onto which she placed her oud. Her grey robe hung from a rod beside her cot, alongside her dress and cloak. Considering the manner of the tourney, she chose to wear the robe.

First, though, she pulled from beneath the cot a roll of cloth bandages. Careful and delicate, she wrapped her chest and groin lightly, to bind herself to a manageable state to fight. The robe was shapeless enough that no one would see this work, but it granted her a sense of security anyways. She slipped the silk on, over her body, and lowered the hood over her face, casting a shadow across her features. The dim nature of the shadow over her face offered her a sort of invisibility; one could see her, just as one can see every piece of furniture in a room, their attention would just be diverted elsewhere. She was, when her hood was down, nearly impossible to pay attention to- until battle begins.

She was a bard, sure, a classically trained one at that. A half elf, even- she was meant to be dramatic. But it just was not in her nature, an affect of her personality gifted by her deceased mother, no doubt. It was not modesty. Merely, she had grown up not wanting to stand out, and this had affected her personality and style alike. Thus, Grey simply walked out of her room, and through the halls, until she reached the grounds for the tourney, and waited until the others arrived. She considered a nap, watching the sun with scorn in her eyes.

When Artura entered, Grey remained hidden in her dark corner, unseen, and quiet. Grey watched the guild mother with the corners of her mouth almost twitching into a smile. She loved Artura, almost as much as she loved the moon. Not wanting to delay the start of the tourney, Grey stepped out of the shadows, and waited to be noticed. Kaito entered soon after the announcement, with his flare of exuberant flamboyance. Grey admired his strength- for a man without a face, he was the most expressive she had ever known. Grey maintained her composure, face locked in a serene look of ambivalence, and walked up to the circle.

She removed her hood, and held out a hand.

[User]
Shandria was in the usual place she could almost always be found in. Somewhere close to Artura. Perhaps sprawled out across the top of the throne-like chair, or resting her head on the armrest. Her exact position changed over the couple hours of the morning that everyone was gathering and she looked rather tired, or like she was about to fall asleep. Most knew that was the usual state for her, bored and on the verge of needing a nap no matter how rested she truly was.

Now just because she sat there next to the throne on her knees leaning against the throne, or atop it lying on her side, this didn't mean she was some kind of pet. Just because she shared characteristics with a dragon didn't mean she was an animal... and besides dragons were the furthest things from beasts one could get. Except for maybe the Angels but, who knew if they really existed. Angels were a concept of but one religion of many and they certainly hadn't come to help when the demons invaded.

Either way the reason she was always so close to Artura was because of their history together and Shandria's mentality of looking up to the human. She had lived three nearly five times as long as this human and yet she felt there was so much she could learn from her, and felt her own strengths paled in comparison to hers, especially in the wisdom department. After all, in just under fifty years the human had created a guild that protected an entire kingdom from threats the army couldn't deal with. Heroes of the people, champions of the land... in over two hundred and thirty years, what had Shandria accomplished? She was just a member of that prestigious group, and only for a couple years now.

The Dragonkin sighed to herself as Artura called out who would be fighting, signaling the beginning of the tournament. She herself wore little more than strings, but Dragonkin were very different from other mortal races. They had little need to cover themselves up as their scales were natural clothing. It was difficult to ever consider a Dragonkin nude when they had nothing to hide. Plus she didn't do armor, it wasn't her thing. Her scales were like steel as it was, and she preferred staying far from her enemy regardless.

She watched the two enter the little arena, her tail swaying about as she spoke up just barely enough for the two to hear her. "Oh my, Kaito is doing his quiet ominous act. Shh, don't tell him how silly he looks or he might break his composure. And we'd never know! Also hope Grey doesn't pass out... isn't it like way past time for her to be sleeping?" She said this genuinely, not in a mocking way knowing the girl was usually going to sleep around this time.

[Assistant]
As for Silvia, well she was there to enjoy the spectacle for what it was, and that was mostly just some friendly bouts. Rather than trying to pull out something to sit on, she was content to lay spread out on the ground, her arms resting behind her head as she watched the proceeding fights as well as to wait for her own match to start. Clad in some light leather and flowing cloth she certainly looked like an everyday villager, yet she was most certainly not one, still she could understand if someone were to make such a mistake.

The Pugilist strained her neck upwards to glance at Artura, the Guild Master, looking regal as always in her full plate. Silvia could never understand why anyone would wear such heavy armor, it slowed a fighter down so much, yet at the same time she recognized how much their fighting styles differed. Then of course Shandria was right there beside their master like always, and Silvia couldn't even start to guess how deep the relationship between those two really was, still just looking from the outside she could at least tell they were pretty close.

When Artura announced the next fighters, Silvia sat up to get a better look at the upcoming spar. Kaito was interesting and mysterious, mainly due to the mask he always wore. She also found watching him fight to be pretty fun, so to hear he was about to enter the ring was fairly exciting. Plus he was just fun to hang around, she definitely liked how he could joke around so easily. As for Gray, well honestly Silvia didn't have much to say. The half-elf has always kept to herself which didn't exactly facilitate friendship in a certain Pugilist's modest opinion, but maybe with time she could finally open up a little. Whatever the case was, Silvia was looking forward to seeing their little bout, although personally she hedged her bets on Kaito, not that she was actually gambling any coin.


[System]
Age: 777
Gender: Androgynous (often answers to male pronouns)
Breed: Retired Celestial ('Nephilim')

Physical Description: (Because I can never get pictures to work right >.< )
Parael stands just shy of 6 feet tall, near 130lbs, with long golden hair grown down to his shoulders, often done up in a ponytail. When working at his center he's dressed in ragged jeans and a clean vest with a diaper bag over his shoulder. On the streets he often wears a button up vest, while channeling his powers can reveal ethereal wings that no longer physically exist.

Talents:
Parael lost most of his Celestial powers after he retired and became Nephilim, but he has picked up a few skills here and there since becoming half human...

- Divine Light: Normally deadly and natural to a full Celestial, Parael was taught to channel Divine power through his human hands roughly 500 years ago. Through human conjuring, this power is little more than a bright and hot flare.

- Glamour: By necessity, Parael has learned to harness human illusion powers to maintain glamours around himself and his place of business, disguising himself against mortal eyes.

History:
Parael doesn't like to discuss his history from before his retirement to the human world ("I abhor getting involved with all the human dogma over whose Creator is right. You all need to stop worrying your lovely faces about that and get to the business of living!") But certain individuals believe that he was present shortly after the moment of creation, this revelation coming from nights involving too much alcohol and pillow talk- and as with all such talk, could easily be a fabrication. Whatever precipitated Parael to hang up his wings in the Middle Ages is between Parael and whatever Celestial ordered him around at the time.

After coming down to Earth in the Far East during the Middle Ages and being tutored in human culture by a Chinese dragon, Parael hitch-hiked across the silk road with a Djinni caravan, partied in Europe among the Faerie courts through the Renaissance, sailed across the Atlantic to South America to run with were-jaguars during the Age of Exploration, chillaxed in the Caribbean with wizard cabals through to the 1800s, and finally settled in New Camden during the modern era. It wasn't until settling Camden that he actually began to buy into the tributary system and managed to cultivate a number of relationships with the ruling council of the city ("'Cultivate' is such a cleaned up word, darling! I got around. A lot.")

Celestial blood is a much desired commodity in the magical world, being used for anything from spell components in Elixers of Life to psychotropic drugs for werewolves. His identity as a Celestial would be impossible to conceal forever, so Parael worked out a deal with the city's vampire leader Caradoc de Lacy to provide a certain tithe of blood every month, allowing the vampire to store and imbibe it whenever he liked- negating the deadliness of sunlight to the city's leader for a few hours at a time. Being able to surprise his foes at high noon while they plotted against him was a boon the vampire couldn't afford to pass up. Caradoc, meanwhile, protected Parael's identity as a Celestial from the general supernatural population, eliminating anyone who got too close to the truth of how he could move about during daylight hours.

This protection became doubly handy when, in the Moral Panic of the 1980s, the human city council tried to shut down Parael's daycare center under the pretense of "protecting children from the homosexual menace." Caradoc stepped up and bullied the council into keeping away, but the Celestial soon found himself in deeper debt to Caradoc for the intercession.

Caradoc's human rival, Baroness Augusta, a wizard with an arsenal of magic at her disposal, lost three magi trying to discern how Caradoc could move about seemingly at random during the day. When she discovered the existence of Parael, the two leaders called a council to discuss his presence in Camden. Parael doesn't know what accord they came to, but the inquiries from the city's wizards did stop.

To the supernatural "public" of Camden, Parael is still an eccentric magi who is good with kids and operates out of a daycare center on the East Side. Parael pays tribute by watching over the children of other paranormals, occasionally enchanting them with glamour to pass under mortal gaze when not in full control of their powers; and most importantly, by his blood tithe to the Prince ("And judging by how Baroness Augusta's wrinkled face is looking, the covens are getting a cut too. Unless that's Botox she's taking and I'm wrong.")

With the arrival of Nemsemet and the eradication of the Count and his court, Parael is feeling the pressure whether to go underground or to step up and fight. Coming out of retirement is not in the cards, as a full Celestial entering battle with Nemsemet may emerge victorious, but the clash could level the city of New Camden and everyone in it. For now his daycare center has turned into nothing less than a fortified bunker with wizards and faeries placing wards all over the grounds to protect their next generation from the wrath of Nemsemet...

Psychological Profile:
Parael is a bubbly, flirtatious individual who is absolutely enthralled with the modern mortal world. The iPhone is a greater wonder than all the stars in the sky ("Except for Orion, that sly stud!"). His identity as an ex-Celestial is a closely guarded secret however, and he is supremely sensitive to anyone bringing up the idea that he could be one.

Possessions:
Parael travels light in his day-to-day work. He always has a slick, designer diaper bag on hand from which he pulls all manner of items including toys, food, spellbooks and extra clothes. Buried beneath the floorboards in his bedroom is a dirty, dented iron longsword which he treats with all the reverence of a Colt .45 when in hand.

He does keep an enormous collection of mementos in his apartment. He still has a silk robe which he picked up from his landing in China, which he often lays about in during his off hours, a set of jeweled earrings from India during his trek across the Silk Road, a silver Fairy Sword he got from the Queen of Spring in a tournament ("I'm not bragging, but it was actually the prize in a beauty contest."), and a collection of Obsidian daggers and war clubs during his time in the South American jungles with the were-panthers ("I've yet to find better steak knives and meat tenderizers!").

Yes, and: Parael Magnus hunkered down right after the appearance of the dread Nemsemet, warding his daycare center to try and hide the fact that he was a Celestial from the enemy and providing a place of safety for anyone else who needed a way to lay low...

[User]
Claudia stiffened as the man turned to look at her, obviously reaching for his weapon. She cocked an eyebrow at his demands, communicating her disapproval and exasperation as she crossed her arms over her chest. He knew she was there, which meant one of two things. Either he wasn't as human as she'd thought, which which would explain the odd déjà vu or she wasn't as good at hiding as she'd thought. It had to be the former, as the latter was simply ridiculous. She was like a shadow, no one could catch her. Right? She was shaken from her musing as the door burst open, revealing an odd sight to behold. In the door way stood a tall man with long blond hair and wielding both a sword and a diaper bag. Claudia flinched and hissed at the intruder, caught off guard. She felt odd at this person, as if physically repelled. He wasn't human, his odd swords and too-sparkly-to-be-human hair made that clear, and by what Claudia's instincts told her, he was probably from the opposite of where she was from.

After recovering from her shock, Claudia chose to give Parry an incredulous stare. He said something about leather and dead cows, and Claudia felt slightly offended at the insult to her wardrobe. This is what she had, sorry if it didn't fit in with snobby rich people standards... Finally the man paused in his gibberish to question the two at his doorstep. Instead of answering him, she went over the pieces of information he had given her, before pausing. Had he just called this man Karram? Claudia narrowed her eyes, slowly turning her head to glare at Karram. So this man was the same one who had put her in jail, made her lose Tom? Grief clawed up her throat, feeling like it would choke her. Anger mixed with the grief, creating a dangerous mix inside of her. She knew that it wasn't his fault Tom had died, but if she had been there she could have stopped it. And because of this man, she wasn't. All the more reason to kill him.

More people shuffled towards the door. Great, just what she needed today. A scene. Claudia opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by a distant whistling, steadily growing louder until it had become a shriek. She turned in time for the first explosion. Cursing, she shoved Karram backwards. This was herkill. She had received the order to take him out, and she felt that she deserved it. No way were these rocket-firing idiots going to blow up their asses. She kneeled down, quickly shedding the uncomfortable coat and grabbing two guns, firing at whatever shooters she could see in front of her. It was like some of the territory disputes her gang had with others, only with more explosions. There was a sudden sharp pain in her calf, before what felt like fire shot through her leg. Of course she had been shot. Ducking to the side, she checked her wound and reloaded. It wasn't as bad as other things she'd been through, but having a bullet in your leg still wasn't rainbows and sunshine as mortals put it.

[Assistant]
The call was short and to the point. Autumn always did have a good sense of purpose. Another reason to add to the list on why Gray worked with her.

Shy footsteps treaded down the hallway so Gray took a stance next to the door and drew one of his Glocks. He was expecting Autumn to arrive soon but caution didn't hurt. Instead of knocking she slipped a piece of paper beneath the door which he didn't completely expect. Scooping it up, he read it off quickly and confirmed it had to be her. Holding the handgun close to his chest he unbolted the deadlock and pulled the door open. He motioned her inside while glancing down either side of the hallway before closing the door. It didn't matter to how she found him so quickly.

Gray kept his voice to a moderate level as he started going through details. "Strange to see you in person on the job. Last time this happened was on the ghoul job in Vancouver." A smile streaks across his face. "They had good spaghetti." Ghouls generally had the same traits as zombies except they were fast and smart. That group almost outplayed Gray using the abandoned tunnels. Clearing his throat he went to business. "I'll tell you what I know so far." Gray lowered his voice so that only she could hear. Crappy walls were a hazard but the place was affordable and defensible - mostly. "There's a sorcerer or witch doctor of ridiculous power out there. I can't leave and I doubt you can now. I tried earlier. Felt like the seizure my brother describes on occasion when I tried to. Crazy part is I saw other people leaving the area just fine. I didn't know magic could get so specific. Whoever's behind this is organizing the monsters. There's been a lot of abnormal activity so I've been playing it safe for now but I have a hunch that slaughter is on the horizon. It's not looking good Autumn. Seems to me we're staying for the party so we'd best get comfy."

Gray continued habitually peeking out the windows through slits in the curtains, making sure not to ruffle them.


[System]
Alias: El Diablo

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Alignment: Helios

Skills: Was a professional boxer, learned many other fighting styles like jiu jitsu, learned how to use a katana very well as well as pistols and many other weapons.

Powers: All of his senses are enhanced 2x above an average human being, so he uses a bit more percentage of his brain than others.

Equipment: He's a bit old fashioned so he uses a katana that he keeps by his side. He also uses a pistol in his other hand which he fights with both in some fights.

His pistol uses cybernetic bullets

Personality: He's not a very nice person due to his dark history which messed him up pretty bad. Anyway he can be harsh and sometimes even rude but if on a job he will get the job done. There are some times when he can be nice and kind but he doesn't let anybody see that part of him. He is tough, stubborn, and most of the time he is expressionless and doesn't like losing at all.

History: Max is the name his good for nothing mother named him, she was a drunk, smoked constantly, and sat around the house doing nothing but watch tv. His father was the leader of a huge gang that did many crimes especially big drug deals. They would also kill people if the money was good, Max's father was a very scary man with a lot of respect.

Then one day when Max was 8 his mother died of lung cancer which wasn't surprising since she smoked a lot. Max didn't have anywhere to go but with his father with his gang in their hideout. His life was already rough and when he went to his father his life became worse. Everybody was rough on him teaching him how to fight by beating him up everyday to teach him. His father was especially harsh on him and taught him how to assemble and disassemble a gun and how to shoot. By the time he was 15 he could fight, shoot, and move faster than everybody in the gang. He would take many lessons on different fighting techniques but his favorite is boxing. On his birthday his father gave him a katana which he learn how to use very well by 17. By then he was going on jobs and hits on people with the gang but would always stay away from smoking even when the gang said it was cool.

After a bit Max finally received respect from his father when he came into his room to talk with him. His father proposed a bank heist that would be very dangerous and that he had everything planned out. But in the middle of the bank heist everything went downhill from there. The police arrived much quicker than the plan said and it became a firefight by then. Then a grenade launcher was shot near Max's right hand which was blown right off. He managed to escape with some other guys and then later found out that his father was shot in the head in the middle of a firefight. His father took out 24 cops alone before he was shot. Without a leader everybody made Max the leader of the gang but they also thought he needed an arm so after a few days they kidnapped a person who could put a cybernetic arm on him. After the surgery for some reason all his senses were enhanced high than any normal human being. So Max wears a black glove over his right hand so his cybernetic arm doesn't show. This all happen when he was 20 which after getting his arm he was already planning things and went back to stuff they usually did instead of big heists. After a few years he had already became well known and people were very afraid of him, some even say he is way worse than his father. He thought that maybe he should put his skill to some use so he left the gang and join Helios where the money was way better.

Appearance:

Other: His arm is set to if someone were to hack into his arm and try to control it, his arm will disconnect from his body and in 10 seconds it will explode.

[User]
Artour had been in his living quarters for the past few days. He hadn't left it once. Other people had been bringing him his meals and whatever he needed. It wasn't uncommon for him to hole up in his room until a mission started. He hadn't been doing much, anyways. He had no talents outside of the battlefield.

For the past 12 hours, Artour had been taking apart his large sniper rifle. He had been doing so in such a slow and meticulous manner. Anyone watching would be bored by the third minute. Every time Artour removed a part, he wrote inside of a small notebook. Each "chapter" had almost the exact same writing as the last. Every small blemish on a single part was noted by Artour. Any rational person wouldn't notice the small fragments of missing metal. Due to his precise writing inside of the book, Artour always noticed.

Nobody called Artour "Artour". They never called him anything because he was always alone, writing in his notebook. People who did want him tended to call him Hush, as they would never remember his full name.

Artour had finished has catalogue of his rifle. The large period of silence had given him time to think. He had thought about many different things. Things such as why he helped the freedom fighters or what traps he could make. He gave a long sigh, and began to put his sniper back together. The process was much faster. He didn't inspect each bolt, screw, piece of metal or glass this time. He just put them together with his eyes closed.

Once the Artour put the sniper together, he placed it on the large table next to his bed. From outside of a drawer from that table, Artour brought out another notebook. This notebook had the word "14" on the cover. Artour flipped the pages and found an empty section. He began to write in this one too. His writing was much faster than his inspecting. Artour omitted the smaller details. He drew a picture of a cylinder with a valve on it. Inside of the cylinder was a small disk that would open up when someone would turn the valve. A small trap that would someone would never use. Artour wrote many chemical names next to it. He connected each chemical and where it would go inside of the tube with a line. Underneath was. Artour wrote "For use with pipes with valves" at the bottom.

In truth, someone wouldn't use most of Artour's traps. Still, it was a hobby that Artour enjoyed. It kept everything nice and quiet. Just like it should be.

Artour sat on his bed, waiting for something eventful to happen.

[Assistant]
"Firepower, huh? Yeah, I can do that. Then ima go take a patrol of the Glade. I'll leave the paperwork to you." With heavy steps, the one-man tank marched in teh direction of the firing range. Most doors weren't constructed for his bulk, but he really didn't mind. He simply raised a foot, and made his own door. It was fairly obvious that if this had been the second floor, Micheal would likely would have sunk through the floor like it had been wet tissue paper.

The firing range currently accommodated several of Helios' elite troops. Specialists in their particular fields, each armed with high-tech weaponry of one variant or another. As Micheal took his place however, he knew he'd draw some looks. His weaponry and armour was a step above most, the newest of the new.

First, he chose to demonstrate perhaps his most impressive weapon. The Magnetic Pulse Generator, or the Power Glove as he liked to call it. The Gauntlet was equipped with a series of powerful electromagnets that could be rearranged to form a variety of patterns. They functioned as a kind of railgun, rapidly accelerating any metal thrown object to supersonic speeds. It could further be used as a shield that deflected incoming bullets, and a piston allowed it to fire part of the gauntlet forward. Thus punches with his right hand could hold the power to crush even heavy tank armour, as it was briefly accelerated to nearly supersonic speeds.

A large block attached to his right shoulder ejected what appeared to be a tank shell. He caught it, and extended his hand towards the target range. An automatic targetting system wtihin his helmet allowed him to aim with impeccable accuracy. As the electromagnets fired, the shell launched with a short bang. It exploded upon contact, annihilating not only the target, but the wall behind it, and anything else within 3 meters of it. Shrapnel tore through bricks like butter, as the tungsten high-penetration tip continued through the back of the facility. It was a good thing the target range pointed out towards a forest, because that tip was intended as an anti-tank weapon.

His other weaponry would have to wait. Micheal felt he'd left the impression he needed to leave. Equipping himself with his modified Heavy Flame Thrower and a secondary shoulder-mounted fuel canister, he left the facility. He'd been stuck in a lab for two years now, moving through training simulations, fighting captured foes, practising combat in a variety of martial arts. And all the time he'd hungered for some action, to personally bring the light of civilisation to the savage mutants. And he had the intention to do just that, as he set out to find the rebel base. If he did, he would singlehandedly bring it crashing down, or at least so he believed.

[User]
Dr. McNivens
____________________________________

Dr. Rodney McNivens started pulling the mother of all sneers. War doctor? The sciences he practiced was such a degree above any petty warmonger that being relegated as some petty li-hello there. There it was, the magic word. Funding. For ages, all of Dr. McNivens work was operating on the barest of shoestring budgets, constantly overlooked in favor of unbelievably sub-par projects. Such as the strike force whose office he was sitting in. Or the large armored man that had been in the room with them. All he had to do was sell his work to this soldier. Should be easy, right? Any fool with half a brain could see his vision!

"Insects are insects, Mr. Hawke." He smiled. Or tried to, considering that it's a face he doesn't usually put on. "And, even if we could create an insect that was stronger or faster than most insects, this does not change the fact that it is nothing more than an insignificant bug, eternally convinced that it's view an inch off the ground is all the universe holds." He takes a rather poignant glance to the hole left by Micheal.

"No. In order to truly free ourselves from scuttling around the ground, we must break free from this. We must evolve, we must break free from our paltry bonds and escape from the bondage into a higher plane." Careful there, Rodney. You get worked up when talking about your vision, and that's turned away more than a couple of investors before. He clasps his hand together. "The metamorphosis, the evolution beyond our life as insects into a true power on the cosmic stage. Truth be told, I am on the verge of some rather...interesting breakthroughs, however I am missing a few key points of research. I was quite hoping that these 'metahumans' may have been have stumbled upon some useful pieces on their own and that I may...acquire them. Should that prove fruitless, then they could at the very least provide some useful testing subjects. On their own, they may very well prove useful in some way, shape or form. All I require is a proper envoy, as my funding is rather...limited. At the moment. Research we all shall benefit from. Yourself included. If you wish to see the experiments I am currently working on, I would gladly set you up to tour our facilities, yes?"

[Assistant]
Seeking Intelligent Logistics Assault System (S.I.L.A.S.)
ICARUS Command

As Silas continued to make his journey from the Armoury to ICARUS Command, he observed the many equipment and technologies Helios seemed to use. They just seemed rather... primitive. Then again, it would probably be best to ask some guy he met along the way for the date.

After all, it was was year 2731 back in his world. His world. Silas knew that even his inbuilt processing matrix could not predict how long he would be here. Come to think of it, the compound sure was pretty, with its mostly black walls and shiny gold trim. He had heard that Helios made some good machinery and weapons, and he could only hope that they would work on him, as he made modifications to himself every now and then. Maybe he might even find better armour for his battle-damaged exoskeleton. He doubted it, though. This world appeared to be nearly two-hundred years behind his. But hell, the money was great! He had more advanced equipment than what he observed the other grunts and drones carrying around. Silas didn't think any of them could deploy a nearly unbreakable dome shield.

Of course he didn't like the looks that the other Helios soldiers gave him, but he was used to it by now. His tall frame and reflective material attracted a lot of attention, even though the metal plates we slightly dull from years of use and battle. He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the admittedly small entrance to the office of some guy named Shadowjack, the apparent leader of the strike force ICARUS. Strange name. But he had time to think about it later, as Silas pushed the door open.

The door of ICARUS Command flew open with slightly more force than Silas expected. Nonetheless, the mercenary walked in, his metallic feet clanking with each step. Already, he could see that there were a small number of people in the room. He scanned each one of them. One was an enormous figure in bright red armour who was slightly taller than the Metallic Mercenary. One was some guy in a tuxedo and had a katana behind his back. Another was a guy who wore a jacket, jeans, and a bulletproof mask that resembled... His own face? These people were weird. The last one was wearing a cross between a lab coat and a sharp black suit, obviously a scientist. God, how he hated scientists. Now, Silas could see that all the eyes in the room were on him.