[System]
Class: Mercenary (promotes to hero)
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Appearance:
Equipment: Iron sword, two concoctions.
Personality: Travis is a young man that can rarely be seen cracking a smile. He remains mostly stoic at all times and prefers to keep most people at a fair distance. However, those that manage to befriend him can easily obtain his loyalty. Travis is a very diligent worker who can constantly be seen training. Because of this, he tends to put more priority on keeping his body in top shape than improving his book smarts. While he isn't slow-witted by any means, he is considerably less learned than he should be. He can usually be very short-tempered when dealing with carefree people and won't hesitate to chew them out if he catches them fooling around. He tends to be very blunt when he's speaking, never hesitating to speak his mind no matter who he's speaking to. As a result, he often comes off as rude, which, in all honesty, he is. Travis is very aware that he lacks people skills and sometimes tries to remedy this, to mixed results.

Biography: Travis was born the son of a farmer named Hiram. His mother was nowhere to be seen, as she died soon after giving birth. While his father would sometimes show bitterness over this fact, he knew better than to force his anger upon the child.

For a good portion of his life, Travis would spend most of his time helping his father run their small farm in Ylisse. Their lives remained mostly uneventful for some years, that is, until bandits struck. They stole what they pleased, threatening to kill Travis and his father if they interfered. Soon afterwards, they left after taking everything they desired, burning down all of the father and son pair's property. With their only means of surviving clearly gone, both of them had to find new work.

They took what little farm tools they had left and became mercenaries for hire, using the tools as improvised weapons. For obvious reasons, many were reluctant to even consider the duo for work. After only a few days, the two of them became desperate for any sort of job. A new window opened up for them in their time of need. Not to say that it was necessarily a good one.

On their travels, they were offered a job by an up-and-coming group of bandits. While Travis was reluctant to accept, his father quickly convinced him to accept. By this point in time, they were already reduced to begging for both food and work. Promises of proper equipment for the job also sweetened the deal. The job? Raid a nearby village for goods and supplies. Not only would they be able to keep the weapons they got from the bandits, but also whatever items they managed to pillage. Their offer was suspiciously generous, yet they accepted it anyway.

When the time to actually do the job came, Travis was understandably nervous, as was his father. For the most part, they did next to nothing as the bandits stole supplies. Conflict soon came as the villagers fought back. Due to their lack of proper equipment, they were useless against the group. Travis tried avoiding a fight for as long as he could, seriously considering running away altogether. He wasn't given the chance, however. A young villager came charging right at him, giving him no choice but slash at his enemy to survive. Travis nearly had a panic attack as he saw the other boy's head laying on the floor.

Countless corpses surrounded the area after all was said and done. The village was noted by the bandit leader, Trevor, and was scheduled for a revisit in the future. While Travis was still getting over the trauma of having killed a person, Hiram was being paid their fee for the job. He, too, had killed on the mission, yet ignored any feeling of regret with the reasoning that he had to commit such atrocities to even stand a chance at surviving in the world.

Upon hearing of Travis's regret, Hiram comforted him by sharing the same thoughts he used to justify his actions. His words successfully calmed Travis down, only for his son's fright to be replaced by anger when hearing what else his father had to say. Trevor offered the duo a permanent spot on their still growing gang, which Hiram accepted. Initially, Travis was outraged. especially because. He thought something strange was going on from the very beginning. But when Hiram brought up that it was their only shot at a steady job, Travis had no choice but to accept as well.

For two years, Travis was forced to help the bandits with their raids. During this time, he noticed some odd changes in Hiram's personality. With each battle, the fury Hiram fought with increased each time. Over time, he had grown very accustomed to fighting with axes and his skill in combat had changed drastically. It seemed as if the man was born to fight, to the point where Trevor had even chosen him as his right-hand man for this fact alone.

Eventually, while attacking another village, the bandits were met with a group of noble warriors who had heard of the bandits' deeds. They went by the "Falcon". Unlike the others they've faced, these people proved to be a significant challenge. Well...to all but Hiram. On the battlefield, the man was an absolute monster. Death befell countless men that day. Travis, who was near the warrior, was still horrified by how much he had truly changed. Shockingly, he even smiled while cutting them down.

A realization dawned upon him as he saw this. That man was no longer his father. Everything he had been told about joining the bandits for self-preservation was a complete lie, Hiram enjoyed having the power to kill. After being weak for so long, the former farmer had been corrupted as soon as he got the strength he so desired. Completely sickened by the man, Travis decided that putting him out of his misery was his only choice.

Travis stabbed him in the back (both literally and figuratively), killing him on the spot. For the rest of the battle, he sat down with his sword right beside him, surrendering himself to the will of the opposing force. His former comrades all died one by one, including Trevor, signifying the end of his commitment to the man. Then, his turn to die seemingly came as the leader of the Falcon, Lionel, approached him. Before he could be struck down, he inquired as to why Travis sat down and did nothing. Travis replied that he knew the error of his ways and expected comeuppance for them.

Instead, he was given the offer of tagging along to the Halidom of Ylisse instead, which was where the band of warriors were formed. While taken aback by the offer, he consented and rode with the Falcon to the Halidom. During their traveling, Travis asked why Lionel allowed him to come with his group despite his actions. To which Lionel replied that it would be a chance to repay the debt he owed.

Travis would soon come to realize what that meant. Lionel personally welcomed him into his family, telling him that he could make up for his misdeeds if he chose to protect Ylisse. Travis accepted and was welcomed into Lionel's family. The great warrior had even chosen to pay for his admittance to a sword fighting academy. The boy was very young, only 15 at this point, but had great potential due to the experience he had as a fighter.

For four years he worked hard to become a powerful warrior for Ylisse, honing his skills. Soon, as the religious crusades began and the Champion of Naga sought people to help him, Travis decided to step up as his first official task as a soldier.

(yes, I have read rule 6)

[User]
In the tavern, on a stool a green-haired boy sat up. He peered around with a purposefully dumb expression on his face. "Waz all tha' ruckus?" Sanctus asked of no one in particular. He caught sight of the three mercenaries confronting a man outside. "Hey, Mercss!" He called out, his accent thick and his s slurred "Don't cha' think, three on wan iss alittle unfair?" He recognized the tactician, but he didn't show it. "And you're makin' so much noise itss hard to drink in peace. He paused as if to think. "And pick on ssomeone your own ssize while you're at it." He watched the man flee. and an idea occurred to him. He lifted his tankard to drink but it was empty, he looked at as if in surprise and asked the bartender for a refill. "I think you've had enough sir." Was his reply. "Really? Darn." He set his tankard down and pretended to stumble out.

 As soon as he left the place behind he ducked into an alley way and followed the mercs and the tactician. He lost them a few times, but he had a good guess of where they where going. He stopped in the crowd close them. But far enough that he was just another face.

[Assistant]
The thieves and archer surrounding the champion of Naga failed to notice two figures not a dozen feet away, sitting outside a small shop in the alley the boy had ducked down. The place was a small, local store that only locals typically frequented or even realized existed, but the older man between the two of them was an experienced wanderer and had come across the place last time he had passed through Yllistol and thought it was a good place to stop for a rest. The younger girl was keeping half an eye on her horse, which was tethered to a nearby post as the two ate their meals in peace. Well, peace until the bounty hunters went and tried to collect. The older man, relatively speaking since he was only really in his mid twenties, but was much older comparitevly to the younger healer woman, sighed as he saw the violence break out. "Ach, we cannae find a days peace without some damn fools going violent in greed after a lad, eh Niya? Reckon we intervene on 'is behalf, savvy?"

The younger woman quietly sipped from the drink before her, far weaker than she was used to but it would certainly suffice. The healer had her staff resting against the table as she listened to the man speak and she shook her head slightly. The young tactician, judging from his garb, was in well over his head and would probably need a hand or two in dispatching the bounty hunters. She stood up, collecting her staff and looking down at the mercenary who stood up with a grunt, sword sheathed at his side as he looked at the healer with a loose grin. The woman spoke briefly, already turning towards her horse, resigned to the fact the man was about to engage the bounty hunters on the young tactician's behalf. She intended to return to her horse and observe, to mend any injuries that might crop up from the upcoming violence. "You cannot leave well enough alone, Jerod. I'll be on the horseback if needed."

Jerod snorted, turning towards the surrounded lad and drew his blade, making a very distinct, clean noise that should be very familiar to the scoundrels ganging up on the lad. Face matched some posters he had seen, some nonesense about heresy and crime against the church, but frankly the mercenary wasn't really concerned with that. These rogues gave Jerod a bad taste in his mouth, figuratively speaking, and he was not fond of that situation. Besides, he and the church never see eye to eye, so he intended to give em a swift kick to the groin. Advancing, he opened combat without a word, attacking the closest thief without wasted time, a powerful cross strike that would leave him in a good defensive stance if he didn't bring the thief down low, forcing everyone in front of the lad and mercenary, speaking harshly now. "Alright, ye damned prancin' ninnies, these odds ain' fair at all. Now they are, but not fer you lot."

Niya untied her horse from the hitch she had left him at, and quickly hauled herself up and onto the saddle, turning the horse without a word. Despite her penchant for cheap shots, no one expected them from a healer, she was not, by definition, a combatant. So she brought the horse around to the rear of the young tactician and Jerod, foolhardy mercenary as he was, and he was indeed determined to intervene on the behalf of the tactician. Who he was was of no real concern to Niya, but she been stuck all but babysitting Jerod most of the time, so she was hardly ready to abandon ship, as it were, and just ride off without the man now. Damn the oath she had sworn some days, this man was getting her into all sorts of trouble it seemed. Thankfully they were not an official envoy of any land, or this could be rather complicated. "Call wounds out, or I can't mend them. I am not psychic and cannot know injuries the moment they happen."


[System]
Gender: Male

Appearance: The young man stands at around the average height at 5'9" and is fairly well built, though he tends to hide it with baggy band shirts and hoodies most of the time. He has light brown hair, which is straight and falls just below his ears. He often wears it with a fringe swept over his right eye. His eyes are a dark blue, though are rarely seen behind his hair.

Age: 19

Instrument(s): Guitar (Main), Vocals, Keyboard.

Description: Marcus first comes across as quiet and introverted, and is fairly shy around new people. Once he gets comfortable, however, his true personality shines. He loves talking about his passions, especially music, and could talk for hours once he starts. He likes to feel useful, and is always there for his friends, or almost anyone really. He always tries to be on everyone's good side and is trusting to a fault.
As a lot of creative people are, he is prone to unexpected bouts of near crippling depression that can last anywhere from an hour to a week. This can often leave him bedridden for days on end. He also often puts other people's happiness and well being above his own. There are also short times where he will keep to himself due to thinking that he is just a bother to everyone around him. He often gets over it quickly, but it is always there at the back of his mind. He tries to be calm and collected, but is often quick to overreact and over think most things. Even the tiniest issue can turn into a horrible world altering disaster in his mind if he lets it.
Marcus is very opinionated, and often struggles to find the line between assertive and and aggressive when it comes to arguments, especially when it's something he's passionate about.
Secretly, he is a hopeless romantic. He often keeps it hidden to avoid getting hurt, but it's there, and he can't wait to find someone to finally share that side of him with.

Favourite Genre(s)/Band(s): Emo, Pop-Punk, Alt-Rock, Post-Hardcore.

Brief Backstory: There isn't much to say about Marcus' childhood. The youngest of 3 boys in a family of musicians, he was always supported when it came to music. His parents gave him all the support he needed, though made sure that he knew how hard it is to make it in the music industry, so that he wasn't blindsided if he chose to pursue it. Despite the warnings, Marcus always made it very clear that music was what he wanted to do with his life. He went through school as somewhat of a wallflower, sticking to his own small circle of friends and keeping his head down, and spending most of his free time in the music room.

Miscellaneous Info:
Is never seen without a pair of headphones.
Has a van.
Rides his skateboard most places.
Works in the only KFC in town.
His father works in the one Music store in town.

[User]
Appleford, a small town in northern Washington. It doesn't have a lot going for it, but it's not a terrible place either. Generally just a fairly quiet place where not a lot happens. There's one high school, one McDonald's, and only the one music store. If you've lived here your whole life, the chances are that you know at least half of the relatively small population. Most kids leave after graduating high school, to find bigger better things out in the world. But some stay, preferring to keep to the quiet comfort that Appleford provides. Or maybe they just haven't figured out what they want to do yet. It's not a bad place to try to figure that out.

Marcus leaned against one of the tall bar tables that were scattered around the crowded club. He held a bottle of beer with both hands, idly peeling the label off with the bails of his thumbs. He was alone, looking out at the sea of people from behind the hair that covered most of his face. He recognised a lot of them, of course. It was a small town after all. But he didn't really know any of them. He wasn't close with many people, preferring to keep a small, tight-nit group of friends. Because of that, whenever they were out of town, which they currently were, he was left on his own. He normally wouldn't go out without his friends to act as a buffer between him and the unfamiliar, but his favourite band coming to town was worth fighting the social anxiety. It's a good thing he had two dear friends to help him with that. Alcohol and MDMA. He scanned the crowd of people, to make sure he had no one's attention, before deftly popping a pill in his mouth and washing it down with a mouthful of beer. That'll calm his nerves, for sure.

The reason why the small pub seemed like it had half the town crammed into it, was Arctic Monkeys. In support of their new album, they just started a national tour, and much to everyone's surprise, Appleford was on the list. Gig goers from the small town were used to have to trek down to Seattle to see a band, but it seemed like Arctic Monkeys liked to play small towns. So of course, it got a good turn out, with a good mix of fans, and people who just wanted to see some live music.

Marcus stayed at his table for now, watching the stage as the opening act got ready to play. Some new, up-and-coming band that the Arctic Monkeys took along for the tour. That's the dream. Well, it was Marcus' dream anyway. He was a musician, been playing guitar since he was a kid, and his biggest goal in life was to tour the world with a band, playing his music. But, he needed a band to that. In such a small town, finding like-minded musicians was difficult. Most other musicians he knew were retired friends of his dad's, or had left for college. Still, he hoped. He had put fliers up around town recently, "Guitarist/Vocalist looking for a band." No calls yet, but it'd only been a couple of days. Can't give up yet. Who knows, maybe he'd meet someone at the show.

[Assistant]
"You know, most people wait until after their big break to start mixing drugs and alcohol. Oh, and check your blind spot before you do."

A soft voice came from behind Marcus, in the one spot his cursory scan hadn't turned up. Brandi was barely audible above the ambient noise of the club, her voice seemingly almost intentionally modulated to exactly that level. Her right hand was holding a beer bottle by the top, her left waving away any concern of her being a snitch. Her expression was her usual one--an airy, slight smirk that seemed to totally lack concern for much of anything beyond where she was at the current instant.

Brandi Michaels didn't really know Marcus Ainsworth. Marcus Ainsworth probably didn't really know her either, not more than anyone else. She'd not done music for years at this point, but his ad had caught her eye. Not because she was interested in responding to it, mind, that boat had sailed a long time ago--but because apart from the Arctic Monkeys coming to town, not much was going on for her right now.

She also didn't really know anyone in the bar, and that ad at least gave her an in to conversation. And she was so interminably bored.

Her eyes danced a little as she smiled, leaning back against the same bar table he was. "How's it going, Marcus? You come here often?"

[User]
Marcus damn near jumped out of his skin as he heard the voice speak up from behind him. The immediate thought that went through his head being OH SHIT I'VE BEEN CAUGHT I'M GOING TO JAIL! He calmed down quickly after the voice identified itself as someone he recognised. He didn't know Brandi very well, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't a snitch. One of the few things he did know about her, is that she sung in the school talent show back in middle school. He remembered it being pretty good. Maybe she could be someone to jam with?

"You scared the shit outta me..." He mumbled with an uneasy chuckle. He took a few moments to breathe and calm himself, before draining the last of his beer and setting the bottle down on the table forcefully. "I'm doing okay. I'll be doing a lot better in about twenty minutes..." He answered with another awkward laugh. "How are you?"

[Assistant]
She looked at him for a second, her green eyes wide with slight curiosity.

"Well, I only meant to startle you a little. Any more than that I apologize for, but maybe you should work on your nerves before becoming a full time substance abuser. I hear that makes 'em worse," she teased, as her slight smirk reasserted itself. A pop and the cap of her beer was gone--she took a sip, almost lazily, then looked around the bar. The bottle clanked on the table as she set it down.

"I'm doin' alright, thanks for asking. Bored, mostly, but that comes with the territory." Brandi gave him a once over. "You look like you've been doing okay since high school. Music dreams panning out yet? I saw the ad."

[User]
Lawson Hill-Porter

---

Lawson was bound to be going to the Arctic Monkeys gig. They were precisely his type of band. He was sitting near one of the tables, half a pint of a whiskey in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other. The joint was full of teenagers with fake IDs, 15-year-olds convinced that they looked 36, despite the ance. They were quite pathetic. Unfortunately, they were all avid customers at the music store which he worked in, so he wouldn't let himself laugh as they got thrown out into the street by order of their parents. They were no more 36 than he was.

He remembered when he was their age, unable to get into all the gigs olaying at his local pub. Even tonight he got suspicious looks from bouncers when he asked to be admitted. He downed the rest of his whiskey to stiffle a chuckle at the memories. The pub was starting to fill up, it wasn't every day that the Arctic Monkeys came to play at your small town. It was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity, as most of the people there would probably never leave town. Not Lawson though, he had plans for the future.

He'd seen someone put up a poster at his store looking for people to start a band with him, so he decided that he would put his name down for it. Unfortunately he hadn't phoned the person yet. If they were truly a music fan, they'd be at this gig. He made his way over to the bar to get a refill, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He noticed a guy a little younger than him stealthily popping a pill. How very rock'n'roll. He leaned against the bar, earwiging in on his conversation with some young woman he vaguely recognised. He must have seen them at his store.

He got bored with their conversation, until the woman mentioned an ad being placed, and something about music. Lawson was sure, this must be his man. He straightened his blue paisley bow tie, and sheepishly walked towards him. He quietly coughed to get the young pair's attention, took a drag of his cigarette and introduced himself.

"G'day. You the fella that put up that ad?" His Australian accent was strong, his voice deep. He looked Marcus up and down quickly. "You're only just starting a band, and you look high already. Must be a regular Kurt Cobain. So this girl must be your Courtney Love, eh?" He chuckled quietly, before continuing, realising he hadn't given the boy his name. "Oh, I'm Lawson. Lawson Hill-Porter, I work at the music store. I play guitar, and I wanna join your band." He stuck out his hand, an invitation for a response.

[Assistant]
Marcus couldn't help but smile softly at Brandi's apparent concern. He knew all about the dangers of addiction and substance abuse. His parents told him many stories from their party days that had kept him wary. He felt like he knew how to keep himself in control. "Yeah don't worry, it's not something I do often."

At the mention of his add, Marcus's eyes lit up a bit. So people had been paying attention. "Saw that huh? Yeah, all I've been doing since school is writing music, so now I'm looking for people to play it with." He was about to ask if she'd been doing anything interesting before a rather young looking Australian joined the conversation. He smiled at first, happy to see that more people had seen his add, though his face quickly went red with embarrassment at the next comment. "Oh, uh..." He cleared his throat nervously, not knowing how to respond. Thankfully, the other man was better at continuing a conversation and introduced himself.

Marcus shook his hand and offered a slight shy smile. "Oh, you work at the shop? My dad works there. Jason, one of the managers. I'm Marcus."


[System]
Appearance:  (Preliminary image. 30 minute sketch.)
Class: Myrmidon
Age: Unsure, appears to be early 20s
Sex: Male
Weapon Rank: Sword E
Equipment: Ancient Sword (Basically a Bronze Sword)
Skills: Avoid +10, Amnesiac (Poor Skill and EXP Growths)
Plot subjective: Yes
Personality: An odd mix of humored and indifferent. He often does his own thing, but the moment he's pulled into conversation, his true nature of a complete space case tends to show. He's not unintelligent or careless, but rather off in his own world. However, in the face of a pretty woman, he tends to lose all focus. Basically, he's an idiot.
Biography: A swordsman who can't even remember his own name. The first memory he held was waking in a Plegian cell. He managed to escape and gather a sword that he'd apparently had with him when he'd been captured, and he felt an odd affinity. Since his escape from Plegia into Ylisse, he's been working as a piss poor sellsword. It seems that it's only through a miracle that he has not died due to his own lack of skill with a blade. Or perhaps there's something more. Either way, the man cannot tell. He was conscripted into the military more for his own protection than for any semblance of skill he might have held.

Over the past 6 months, he's proven to be somewhat capable, or at least durable, able to support others in combat without becoming a liability himself. As of late, though, he's been plagued by odd dreams about dragons and a far off land. Trying to push his concerns to the background, he's started to become more focused on his tasks as a combatant. Perhaps there's hope for him yet.

[User]
Chloetta went around the Church Camp tending to the wounded. "Wounded" made it seem a little bit less serious than it was as most of these men were able to fight through the pain for Bern and the Church of Naga overall. Some wounds though could not be most easily healed through magic and made them unable to fight.

Still, it was the desert and Plegia was not the most caring of places, with neither the landscape nor the natives. Regardless of Grima worship or not, the people of the country were not happy to have their citizens attack. If Chloetta could do anything more to stop the violence she would, but sadly there was little she had the ability to do.

"The main army will leave with me in thirty minutes, the scouts report heretics to the south of us. We will teach them the error of there ways to save our children and all future generations pain that the Fell dragon has caused." A voice called from the center of camp. A voice she was all but too familiar with at this point.

"So it's another slaughter, is it Bern?" The troubadour asked herself. If she were to say that to Bern himself. . . Well, she didn't want to think of that branch of fate. Still, she thought that she needed to stay behind to make sure the injured didn't try something stupid and told one of the soldiers to spread that she would stay back in the camp. As they left, she wondered just what horrible atrocities the soldiers would commit in the name of Naga.

---

Hours later and Chloetta had mostly finished all that she could do for her patients. For now, she just needed to keep a eye on them and sit back for a bit. The injured that were awake were thankful enough and praised Naga for her abilities. In their place, she'd have done the same but could only wonder why Naga continued to allow those that called themselves her servants to go about executing others for their beliefs. "With everything calm, perhaps now was a good time to check on Franz." Chloetta considered to herself before letting the conscious soldiers know what she was doing and to call if something happened. Some gave a smile and let her know they'd call if needed. The horse hadn't been fed much, so now was as good a time as any to make sure that happened. She placed out his food when she heard noises from one of the entrances to the camp.

"So the army returns." She muttered to herself and grabbed her staff, ready to heal the injured. To her surprise though, there was no army. Just a few people. Bern, the stubborn and malicious man he was, Genna, his archer, and a priest. So many things could have happened but she only needed to ask. "What happened? Though, I guess before that I should ask if any of you are injured." She showed her staff to them offering aid if they needed it.

[Assistant]
Guillame deRossane

---

 Really, of all the places to land, it had to be Plegia. It wasn't like that was the exact opposite of where he wanted to go. Not at all. When he left the army, he had done so to get away from that blasted crusade, not towards it. Of course, he hadn't really bothered to ask the Captain exactly where they were going. In fact, he hadn't asked him much of anything. He had just hopped the first boat across the ocean he could find.

 He hated the term 'stowaway'. He much preferred the term "Clandestine Passenger". Far less callous.

 Still, he couldn't change the past, so as soon as he was in Plegia, he made the decision to be out of Plegia. Easier said than done, of course, but people were happy to point him towards the border ("East!" seemed to be the general consensus). It had been some time since he had landed, but he had managed to find his way from village to village, stopping at night to rest. People were more than willing to accommodate him, which wasn't that surprising, really: Nobles were a varied sort, and one could be a saint while the other starts a 100-year war because some bint looked wrong at him. Folks, though, were always the same. They don't much care for who's king so long as they can live their lives away from the wrong end of a spear.

 That's why he couldn't bring himself to stay in the military any longer. He had joined to live a life of glory and wonder. Even when those dreams had worn off, he stayed for the camaraderie and prestige soldiering brought. But when news of a crusade spread, he knew he couldn't, in good conscience, stay. People believed things because that's all they've ever known. Besides, there wasn't ever really a question to Grima's existence, even if he did try to destroy the world.

 Not, of course, that he'd be willing to stay. Plegia was hot, and not in the "My, what a day out! Make sure to bring water before you go a-tilling!" sense, more of a "Stay inside, the sky itself is on fire". And the sand! It was course, dry, and it found itself into the most cumbersome of places. Part of him understood why the Plegians must've wanted to end the world; it had to be better than living here.

 He kicked the ground in frustration.

 The desert regarded him dryly.

 At the very least, he took some solace in the fact that he was, apparently, awfully close to Ylisse. The last place he had visited had told him that the border was only a few days away. He could stop at one of the smaller towns on the way, and be across the border in a day or two. Or, at least, that had been the plan.

 But even from a distance, he could something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the town as a whole just didn't seem right. Whether it was paranoia or providence, he elected to march ever towards the border, praying to whatever god was listening that he wouldn't catch ill-fortune on the way there.

[User]
Matthew was making his way towards Shepherd barracks, he'd decided to go around into the town first however then make up to the old part of the castle. He was constantly moving through alleys and only talking to the few shopkeepers he trusted. Collecting his book orders, he'd put out of several volume's on heroes of old like Marth, Mark, and Ike. It was mostly for a study he had been doing before hand, however now they would be useful for him to learn to lead soldiers in the field.

As he made his way down an alley, when saw a rather strange girl trying to push a table back into the alley. The back legs snapped and she fell face first, then went the back legs. It left her laying on the ground covering her face, poor girl could be hurt. Matthew jogged down the alley, carefully. "Miss are you alright? Are you injured?" He asked in worried tone, offering her a hand up. That's when he notices the time, past midday, he'd taken to long getting these books! Saya could already be waiting for him at the barracks, it would be rude to keep the Exalt waiting, worse so if you were supposed to be her family. "I'm really sorry miss, but I'm very late reporting to Shepherds barracks!" He said before running off in a hurry, he hoped he wasn't to late he didn't need a repeat of Saya's birthday party.

Out of breath the tactician managed to get there in just a few moments, what he saw surprised him. The place was being cleaned up some it seemed while a large group of people milled about. "Uuummm hello?" He said to the whole group in particular, wondering if they were bounty hunters or people who wanted to help. "I'm the Tactician put in charge of getting the Shepherd set up... Who are you all?" He asked carefully looking into the building some as he stood outside. If anyone had seen the wanted posters, well there was you perfect match to the description. He looked between them putting his weight on his back foot and his left hand on his sword hilt, his right hand held about six books clutched under his arm.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Bern looked between what remained of his camp. "Plegia's forces countered attacked us. They trapped us into the town and began slaughter the healers then continued the rampage. The Raven Lord himself and the Queen of Bandits led the attack." He answered Chloetta. "They teleported their soldiers in used dark mages to attack our normal units and sent barbarians and mercenaries after monks and healers." He said walking towards his tent.

"Genna let everyone know we are packing up camp and reuniting with the bulk of our forces along the border. With our plan in Ylisse about to be complete we can take our best troops and the and good number of the recruits back into Plegia. It's time we killed the Raven Lord before he causes us anymore trouble and pain." With that Genna put up a sign and instruct other to help move the wounded or ready them for transport.

Bern sat in his tent writing up his next speech, cursing about the Grima loving dogs and their stupid sand filled backwards country. He hated it here, just because he was native didn't mean he wanted to stay here. In truth when they returned they would attack the Raven Lord and then go south. He Chloetta one of the commander with the force in Ylisse, perhaps she could bring down the Heretic champion and make Bern's life easier. With that little tactician around it would only undermine the Church's power. Lady Tiki may have named him that but the whole backing of the bishops and cardinals were behind the Crusade and how could they be wrong? He scoffed chuckling to himself knowing that if he could just make sure Plegia fell easily then he could probably receive a sainthood.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Sules had wandered out from the town, mostly bored with the corpse looting and giving his ravens a chance to eat before he continued. He danced a little, bored until he saw someone walking towards the town a new friend! Or someone to murder violently! Both were of equal joy. He skipped towards the man Sules swung his arms like a school as he did humming until he neared the man. "Hello mister! What's your name and what are you doing here?" He asked as one of his ravens landed on his shoulder. "I'm Sules, this is Pinky he's actually the smartest of the Ravens I own but he's kind of a grumpy gus." Smiled the Dark mage as he extend a covered hand to Guillame. "So are you just passing through on your way to Ylisse or are looking for somewhere to stay Plegia? Cause if you keep going the way you are now you'll reach the border." He finished now waiting for the man to reply, he silently wondered what his screams sounded like compared to his voice. No, he couldn't waste time on random wanders, black magic torture was current reserved for any who survived he and Vera's attack.

[Assistant]
"Nah, nothing like that," The resting man said to the axe holder. The thing looked grisly. It had been recently used by his reckoning. He didn't care, but it was worth notice. "Bunch of military types told me to come clean up this place because someone heard that her excellency and the... Uh... Dragon boy? Mack or something? Yeah, told me to clean up this place because there was a rumor one of those two were going to be setting up shop here." He explained as another person slipped through the front door. "Huh... That's different," he mumbled, a bit surprised that there was so much activity going on all of the sudden. He guessed the rumors must have been true.

It was not long after that another arrived, immediately going into some rant or another.

"You imbeciles, the Shepherd's garrison has long been a testament to Chrom and his companions' ardor. I will not stand idle while you and your goons desecrate the greatest reminder of their actions. Your men and yourself will disperse from here and now, regardless of where your orders come from, lest you wish to incur my wrath."

"Eh?" The man looked up, a bit confused by the sudden hostility. "Yeah, so I'm the appointed ground keeper here as of today, so it's less desecration and more cleaning this place up for her excellency and Mack." He said, taking a look at the speaker. A smile crept across his face. "Though I'd be happy to show you all the work I've done, milady," he said, standing with a small bow.

Before any chance came for more discussion, yet another arrived, this one carrying more books than was reasonable for someone. "Ah, I've seen you before. You're Mack, then," the swordsman said with a small wave and a smile (Though not one as big as he'd given the threatening woman). "Guess you guys really were going to be using this place then. Still with all the books, eh?" He asked. He'd met the tactician and the exalt exactly once during some joint meeting of the Ylisse military divisions. The most interaction he'd had, of course, was accidentally stealing a meat pie from one of them and getting chewed out, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember if it was Mack's or the exalts. The two had been stuck together like glue, after all. "Been a while."


[System]
G E N T L E
The humans called us monstrous, so monsters are what we became.

B A S I C S

---
AGE

128

RACE

Minotaur

CLASS

Cleric/Barbarian

OCCUPATION

Lay Brother of the Temple of Apollokeos

ORIGINATES FROM

Achea

IF OUTSIDE TORVELT

The Human Republic of Achea is a loose collection of city states far to the South-West of Torvelt. The climate is hot, and the terrain mountainous, though the people have risen to the challenge of taming such an arid land, becoming famed for their exports of grapes, olives, gold, and marble. The Achean's stand proud of their achievements, proclaiming that their society is the greatest in all the wide world, pointing to their democracies, philosphies, music and art as evidence of this, though it is whispered in courts around the lands that the prosperous country wouldn't be half as impressive as it is if it wasn't for the broken backs of the monstrous slaves it has all been built upon.

P H Y S I C A L A T T R I B U T E S

---

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

Large even by Minotaur standards, Gentle stands taller than eight-and-a-half feet, over nine if you included the tips of his gently curving horns, which you probably should when measuring a Minotaur. He's broad too, as the 'proverbial' bull in fact, and hasn't he heard that one more than once since coming to Torvelt. His once bulging muscles and steely thews are running to fat a little in his old age and relative indolence, but he still possesses the kind of physique that would give even the most confidant pitfighter cause to pause.

To his intense consternation his lustrous black pelt is being invaded by unsightly streaks of iron-grey. Swirling blue-grey patterns are tattoeed across his arms, shoulders, chest and back, intricate patterns of some hidden meaning which Gentle hasn't shared with anyone since arriving in Torvelt. Age has also stolen some of his vim, and the spring from his step, but his hands are still strong and his horns still sharp. It will do, he tells himself.

STRENGTHS

* Physically powerful
* Experienced combatant
* Access to divine magic
* Rough wisdom

WEAKNESSES

* Large and heavy
* Moderate rheumatoid arthritis
* Fading eyesight
* Rage

P S Y C H O L O G I C A L A T T R I B U T E S

---

PERSONALITY

Pragmatic – Melancholy – Ponderous – Wistful – Studious – Mercurially violent (though working very hard not to be)

SEXUALITY

Pansexual

FEARS

* Heights
* Deep, fast moving waters
* Large canines
* Small, enclosed spaces
* The ghosts of his past

GOALS

To find the prince, stop the Fog, and achieve personal salvation.

S K I L L S

---

Labyrinth Recall

He can perfectly recall any path that he has taken.

Great Weapon Fighting

Perhaps unsurprisingly giant bull-men are pretty good at swinging large, sharp pieces of metal with the intent of hurting people. Who knew?

Sense of Smell and Hearing

A Minotaur's sense of smell and hearing is several times more advanced than that of a humans. Gentle has found himself relying on his more and more since his eyes started failing him.

G E A R

---

ITEMS ON PERSON

* Heavy iron bracers
* Travellers pack (sleeping roll, tinder box, dried rations etc)
* Icon of Apollokeos (Small golden pendant featuring a rising sun over a river)

WEAPONS

* Large wooden post (Functions as a quarterstaff/club)
* Great Sword

H I S T O R Y

---

The Minotaur known only as Gentle first walked into Torvelt about fifteen years ago, with nothing more than the clothes on his frame and a rolled bundle of leather upon his back. From there he wound a slow and gradual path towards Koprust, eventually arriving in the capital city and taking on a slew of odd jobs, seemingly happy with working hard manual labour for minimal pay, simple food and somewhere dry to sleep. On those rare occasions that he was approached by those not intimated by his monstrous visage he was found to be polite, but distant, seemingly happy to nurse his ghosts in solitude.

He eventually found himself working for the Abbott of the Temple of Clean Waters, a holy place that venerated Apollokeos , Lady of Dawn and New Beginnings. Gentle quickly fell into life at the Temple, becoming a lay brother and settling in for what he imagined would be a life of quiet contemplation and honest labour.

The God's, it seemed, had other plans.

He'd had nightmares for as long as he could remember, horrible and twisted visions from his past that tourtured him nightly without reprieve. However one night, when the horror had reached its zenith, he found salvation. The Lady Apollokeos visited him, in all her golden splendour, and explained that his redemption was in reach. She tasked him with joining the quest to find the Prince, and that through that labour he might just find the peace he so desperately desired.

When Gentle awoke he thought the dream no more than that, the fantasy of a tired mind, but later that day he met a man who introduced himself as Minoas, the fabled absent father of the Minotaur race. Minoas reinforced Apollokeos commands, urging Gentle to join the quest before disappearing.

One visit from a God he could ignore. Two would have been pushing it. Collecting his belongings and making his farewells, he made his way towards thee castle.

[User]
O L A A L - F A R E S

---

Ola drew the sword fully through the trolls leg, the sharpened steel parting the rotting flesh and bone with barely a tug at her arm. It made her shudder inwardly and her nose wrinkled at the stench of the beast. Severing its tendon had a two fold effect; it slowed the troll down, but also caused it to lurch sideways and slam a hand down to maintain any semblance of balance as it launched the vile, green and black loogie she had ever seen.

She was unable to follow the projectiles flight path, she was top busy dodging the crashing fist. She was close, maybe to close, the only danger of being a melee fighter when you ran into something undead. Mud spattered her face and cloak and she spat to try and clear the taste even as she scrambled back to put a even a few feet of distance between herself and the huge rotting hand.

Only once she had gained a bit of purchase in the mud did she flourish her sword, sending the remnants of her first cut splattering into the mud away from her new allies, and then hack two handed at the arm that was in the mud. If she could sever another limb it might bring the creature down low enough for someone to destroy its other brain. Unless she was mistaken, and had certainly happened from time to time, if they destroyed the brains, the undead would cease to function.

[Assistant]
STUR
__________

The familiar jolt of the axe burying itself in flesh and bone rattled its way up Stur's arms and across his body, causing his teeth to click sharply together. At the same time, an unusually cold spray of blood spattered his face.

Ordinarily, the mercenary would have welcomed a little blooding in a fight. But the strange wrongness of the stuff caused him to flinch away in disgust, and then a half-second later in pain. The cursed ichor began to burn and almost sap the strength from his body as anger and bewilderment continued to grow inside his heart. Eyes momentarily blinded, Stur instinctively yanked on the haft of the longaxe to free it from its resting place in the ruins of the troll's second head, but instead found himself tripping backwards in the mud as his hands failed to find a grip on the blood-slicked haft. He cursed loudly at the thing, throwing himself into a clumsy backwards roll, coming back to rights with his dirk firmly gripped in one hand and his right side splattered in mud, but now blessedly free of the troll's poisonous blood.

Cautiously opening one eye, he took a moment to survey the situation. The troll was down a leg, scrambling for purchase in the mud with one hand thrust out for balance. His wayward axe was serving as a fair replacement for the abomination's missing head, haft jutting straight out to the side like a sapling grown into the side of a mountain. The new arrival was, to her credit, right in the thick of things, hacking away at limbs seemingly without a fear in the world. Stur felt a brief surge of respect for the woman, though whether she was to be trusted remained to be seen. The troll's ire was focused on Brynan, who was still knelt in the mud after her initial strike.

Deciding that the quickest way to finish this was to get the enemy on its back, the battered warrior took advantage of his being behind the troll and undetected, slipping carefully up to its unprotected flank and plunging with the dirk towards the back of its one intact knee.

[User]
---

I M A L E S S A S H A R I S

---

Imalessa's arrow had hit its mark, and yet the troll still had some fight left in it. Cursing under her breath, she marveled with a sick curiosity at how the thing was still kicking. But the arrow had seemed to do something, if not kill it. She nocked another, watching as it reached out and grabbed at Gentle, preparing to bite. There were no gods she believed in, let alone bothered to pray to, but she hoped she could get lucky once more and loosed her arrow.

[Assistant]
---

B R Y N A N I A N Y R E

---

Having sliced deeply into the trolls legs, Brynan came to a sliding stop in the mud, her lips pulled back in a grimace of grim satisfaction. She watched as it buckled, trying to regain its balance, only to have one of his legs cut out from underneath it by another blade - that of the sodden stranger.

"Beautiful, woman!" she cried out. But she didn't pause to celebrate. The fight was far from over. She adjusted her grip on the scimitars and tensed her body in preparation for another attack.

Aiming to slice at its throat, she looked up at the troll just in time to catch a face full of loogie. It covered one of her eyes, entered her parted lips and slid easily down her throat. White-hot pain immediately accompanied it, but Brynan cared little; all she felt was disgust. A primal scream tore from her burning throat and she launched herself at the diseased creature, both blade tips pointed at its distended belly. She would run it through.


[System]
5'9 | 145 lbs | Green | Blonde

"In this world, there are many sorrowful things. Feelings that cannot be expressed. Thoughts that I cannot come to understand. Even so, I will venture forth."
Age:
23

Gender:
Female

Appearance:
Standing at a height of 5"9', Eila is a lovely girl with flawless skin, long, luscious blonde hair, and sparkling hazel-green eyes. She has a fairly curvaceous figure, tends to move gracefully, and carries herself with pride as a woman who is keenly aware of her own looks. Her clothing leans towards elegant yet fabulous with a preference for clothing that flows with her. Her current ensemble consists of a simple white dress accompanied by a dark green shoulder top with a pair of trailing, translucent capes. She uses a floral hair pin to keep some of her hair pinned back and wears a pair of short boots. She carries the symbol of Lady Azaiza around her neck at all times.

Classification (Aetherborn Only):
Animas - Physical (Healing Specialty)

Abnormality:
For the most part, Eila's features are unaffected. However, the color of her irises changes color depending on her mood. Stronger emotions elicit brighter colors, and while the intensity varies, her eyes reveal the truth of her feelings.
Hazel-Green - Default, as well as her natural eye color
Red - Anger
Orange - Anxious
Yellow - Focus
Blue - Sadness
Green - Happiness
Purple - Curious
Pink - Love in the form of tiny hearts
Grey - Emptiness

Personality:
Eila is a proper and prim young lady, unflinchingly polite and formal to a tee. While some may be put off by her formality, in truth she is personable and generally open-minded, making her easy to talk to. Her sunny disposition is accompanied by an endless amount of optimism as she does her best to find the silver linings in even the worst situations. She gives it her all no matter what and tries to help in any way she can, quick to help those in need.

Under the surface, however, there is an unsteadiness. The thought of disappointing someone makes her give her all, and as a result, she puts a lot of pressure on herself even if she is told to take it easy. Despite having an overall warm and gentle nature, she avoids opening up to people even though she likes it when people confide in her. Her tendency to keep people at a distance is somewhat contradictory, often confusing people, but it's clear she has a lot of trouble expressing her true feelings.

Bio:
The Aurelios family has lorded over several mines of gold and jewels for a long time, their name coming from an ancient word once used to describe gold. The Stirgios family has designed each Grand Marshall's ceremonial jewelry since Buscon's beginning, their name known even outside of Relfin. Both are well respected in family and duty, so their union was not only convenient but made logical sense. And so Ellowen Aurelios wed Lorelei Strigios, and the marriage resulted in Eila. The elf has exhibited a thirst for knowledge since the day she learned to read on her own. To call her a prodigy was an understatement; there were few subjects she couldn't grasp, and she was christened as a gifted child. Her enrollment into the Mage's Consortium wasn't a question, it was a manner of when she was ready to take that next step.

Entering the Consortium at the age of five, Eila was introduced to the world of magic. Of course, the Consortium had a reputation for being aggressive in its curriculum, forcing her to focus on nothing but her studies. Her 'gifted' label quickly faded as she was surrounded by the best of the best, though she refused to let herself drown in a sea of mediocrity. As both her mother and aunt were of the guild--the former one of the twelve and the latter the Grand Sorceress--there were great expectations placed on her. Said expectations hung over her every day, threatening to crash down with every mistake made. With time, however, she thrived, falling in love with magic and aether.

There were three main things that helped her keep her sanity during her tenure, with the first being her loving aunt's endless amount of encouragement. While she would never question that her parents cared for her, her aunt was the one that she looked to for familial affection. The second was a slow-growing archery talent. Focusing on something that wasn't related to her studies and could be taken lightly did wonders for her mental state, providing a nice escape and fresh air to accompany her. The last was her worship of Lady Azaiza. When all else failed, knowing that everything she was going through was the Empress' plan for her comforted her in a way.

Once she graduated, she made up her mind to do the impossible: her life's goal would be to create an instrument to measure aether. She was keenly aware of the monumental task in front of her, and so she spent a few years getting her hands on anything that would teach her about aether in order to better understand it. However, her father seemed to disagree with her decision, feeling it was best for her to turn her talents elsewhere. When the two couldn't come to an agreement, Eila decided to strike out on her own and see what the world had to offer. This decision was also met with opposition, but after gaining her mother's reluctant blessing, she decided to head to the new Bounty House, hoping to find adventure.

Likes:
* Books are basically like sweets to her. Storybooks, biographies, fiction, non-fiction--if it is something she can read, she will like it. While she has a preference for anything that can add to her arsenal of knowledge, she does enjoy a good story once in a while
* Her family. While her father is distant and she relates more to her aunt than her mother, she still loves them dearly.
* Being compared to her mother or, more likely, her aunt. She is eager to prove herself worthy of them.
* She adores the theatre and used to attend nearly every show from her favorite troupe.

Dislikes:
* Not finding what she needs.
* She understands why merchants require their coin up front, but she's spoiled from simply flashing her family's crest so that the estate would be charged. Also counting money gets old after a while...and it gets heavy.
* Being compared to her mother or, more likely, her aunt. She is also acutely aware that she has a massive legacy to live up to.
* Commentary on her aether abilities. Yes, her aunt is one of the most renowned Water Primordial Aetherborn, yes her mother is also a powerful Air Primordial Aetherborn and it would have been nice to have Primordial magic, but she was not born with those abilities and she is not upset about that at all but she would very much like it if people stopped bringing that up. Please.
* Dirt. No explanation needed.

Habits:
* Her handwriting is absurdly small, yet legible...if you squint.
* Once she is on a roll verbally, it's hard for her to stop talking.
* Has mastered the art of multitasking during her reading sessions.

Inventory:
* Her trusty longbow and quiver of arrows
* A satchel for her belongings
* A mostly-blank book and pieces of charcoal for writing
* A silver dagger
* A second necklace adorned with a golden crow used for prayer
* Her coinpurse is currently carrying 3 gold, 7 silver, and 6 copper.

[User]
---

Huh. The theory about their heads had been correct. Or they were waiting for a chance to spring up again, but the boy solved that quickly enough. Ceolfric would've preferred to keep the body where he could see it, but he'd settle for removing it from the equation altogether. The rest of their team didn't quite fare as well; they looked to be in varying degrees of distress - Freckles was a goner, Eila would probably join him soon enough - but then Kyreth veritably exploded. The bandit thought it a trick of the necromancer at first, a last ditch effort to kill them now that they'd discovered the trick to subduing the wolves, but given that the wolf already had Kyreth dead to rights and there was no reason to waste a corpse like that, it finally clicked that the fire might've come from the boy underneath.

Cerric finally moved into action after Storyborn tossed the beast with her mind, only to douse the flames and nothing else. They could all fucking die, but gods forbid a tree burn down. Piece of shit. The damn horse didn't help either, it strained against its mental shackles just enough to keep Ceolfric consistently annoyed. The final nail in the coffin was Esvelee's pointless shrieking. Useless woman couldn't even control her own pack animal and she had the audacity to critique them while she cowered inside the wagon.

Speaking of useless women, Eila still hadn't made any progress on her assailant and Ermes seemed to have noticed that he was evidently incapable of handling the wolf himself, given how he'd summoned Ceolfric to help. The bandit rushed past the cart, giving him opportunity to release the snare he held on the horse's mind now that he was no longer in stomping range. It would give Esvelee something to content herself with since she had time to whine. As the wolf reared back to lunge again, Ceolfric thrust the rim of his shield into the side of the beast's head, hoping to exploit its earlier show of poor balance and at least keep it from ripping another chunk out of Eila, if not collapse its other orbital.

"And here I thought elves were nimble," he grunted tastelessly as he raised his sword and slashed wildly at the neck, "Another restraining spell would be nice, one of you."

---

[Assistant]
✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 4 copper ✧ Interactions: ✧

Irrigans femur what the fuck was that? A burst of flames emerged out of Ermes's periphery. Where once laid one of the tainted entangled with a wolf, now was a ball of flames and the scent of burnt decaying flesh that began to permeate the air. He froze as images of his past flashed behind his eyes. The scent of burning flesh reminded him of the raids he'd encountered when he was younger. Scenes of oil lanterns being spilt over as it enclosed families within their house flames, parents braving the fires to rush their children's out to safety only for the parents to be struck down by the Sahagin menace, leaving nothing but an immolated corpse behind. This temporary lapse made him slow, unresponsive as the wolf had already chosen its new target. Whereas before he was prepared to strike, now he just stood there in the same pose, seemingly not there.

Esvelees shout was enough to snap him back, shaking off the memories he'd tried to bury with the dead. Ceolfric seemed to have made it towards them, the fire had been handled, and for the most part the tainted twins were fine. Eila on the other-
Dear gods. He nodded towards Ceolfrics request, but it'd be a waste of Aether to consistently conjure up solutions for their own shortcomings. He had a limit, one his perception made him gravely aware of. So Ermes beckoned his creation over, the large skeletal hand using its fingers to drag itself and crawl like a nightmarish creature towards them. Once it'd reached the wolf it came down, piercing its sides as it lay on the ground knocked over by Ceolfrics advances. The fingers went through and into the ground, pinning in place with the pinky through middle fingers while the thumb and forefinger pinned either side of the head to keep it straight and from moving.

"You have your restraint, now finish the damned thing." Ermes replied, a slight edge to his usually melancholic voice. He went over towards Eila, his pointer finger out as he spun it in a circular motion, moving it backwards to create a spiral of Aether around Eilas calf before solidifying it into a bandage. "Enwrap. There, that should help with the bleeding, though you may want to readjust the pressure. I'm not exactly skilled at bandaging others yet." Ermes got up from his kneeled position making his way towards the wolf and Ceolfric, the head would fall faster if they alternated chops. So he pulled his sword up, aligning it with the extended neck and began to help hack away.


[System]
Rank (If applicable): Major (Swords of Sanghelios)

Species: Sangheili

Appearance: Standing at 252 cm (8'3") and keeping his brown eyes to himself most of the time, Yalu is the model of any Sangheili soldier. His average grey complexion only conforms him further. Without his armour, he barely sports a somewhat wide chest and mandibles to give him an individual appearance. His combat harness at least allowed the expression of his lineage; a refurbished assault pattern harness he brought out from family storage shortly after The Great Betrayal ensued.

Skills: Close to medium range combat, vehicular combat, and just about any situation requiring improvised solutions under pressure. Not the strongest or most resilient, but fast of body and mind.

Preferred Weapons/Equipment:
- Type-57 Carbine [T-57 C] or Needle Rifle [T-31 Needle Rifle], though any good marksman's weapon will do
- Concussion Rifle [T50 DER/H]
- A Brace of Plasma Grenades [T1 Antipersonnel Grenades]
- Wrist-mounted energy dagger
- Whatever else is at hand

Background: Yalu began his career from an unassuming life on Sanghelios, indoctrinated like many of his peers into the Covenant dogma and piped into its military training. It quickly became clear that he was a fast fighter and a faster learner. Merit in training carried him into promising early missions for his masters. He distinguished himself enough to earn respect -- a reliable soldier with strong initiative, a level head in a crisis, and always looking out for his team mates. His superiors saw enough potential in him to present fitting challenges, but he generally fell short in one key aspect. His kill count was low for a soldier of his capabilities. He was promoted to major only when most at his cohort and skill level were already each majors for at least three years, and he never earned the right to carry a sword.

Those Yalu worked alongside could not begrudge any lack of skill or courage. He knew when to strike and was a fantastic shot in amongst any firefight, not to mention no one could recount a time he seemed to panic or give any indication of retreat. When the time for slaughter came, he simply feigned advance when everyone else rushed forward to take scalps for personal glory.

Superior officers spoke with him about his reticence, but there was always an excuse or a dodge he had. They most eventually tolerated his behaviour as a lack of ambition. That was until he was assigned to an Ultra with a deep seated bloodlust during the Human-Covenant war. Yalu faced the most dangerous months of his life in that time, as he was thrown into mission after mission with the tacit (and sometimes clearly stated) objective of killing as many as possible. It was in this time that he grew resentful and empty. He might have lost himself completely as he justified the missions as a path to the Great Journey.

Then the prophets stole away everything. The Sangheili were replaced by the Jiralhanae and the truth came out about the Halo rings' purpose. Yalu's commanding Ultra tossed aside any notion that the prophets were in the wrong as if there was hope on the other side for any of them. Yalu, with the support of the soldiers around him, called the Ultra out, accusing him of dishonourably feasting on blood rather than granting mercy to worthy opponents. The Ultra drew an energy sword and a duel followed. Yalu won out by taking a cheap strike at his opponent's jaw to shed one drop of blood, before claiming it was the only honour he had to spill. The Ultra lost his temper and fell into all of Yalu's traps until he collapsed into a battered heap, beaten to within an inch of his life by the butt of Yalu's carbine. In one more act of mercy, Yalu obliged the Ultra's next order to end his life to cover his shame.

Thankfully, Yalu was not the only one resentful of their position and betrayal by the prophets. The battlegroup agreed to find and defect to the separatists. Once again, Yalu fought for a cause in a way he could agree with.

After the war, Yalu's body count was still abnormally low. While respected by his peers, his new leaders resented his lacking approach to his personal honour and glory. The prospect of Aegis Team was the perfect way to dispose of Yalu while still providing a top notch fighter with a cooperative spirit to joint operations.

[User]
Tasumameyofaxre<< Mgalekgolo Hunter >>
<< Autumn-class Heavy Cruiser - UNSC Chorus of Thunder >>

 The Mgalekgolo was pensive, entire wars had been fought over these Forerunner structures. The Covenant itself went to war with the ancient Lekgolo over the Forerunner structures over Te, and after the Covenant brought the Lekgolo into their fold. The Great War had many objectives tied to Forerunner artifacts and ruins, and after, the Covenant was destroyed. The Sangheili took their freedom back from the San'shyuum, and forming a friendship with the humans that they fought against not long ago. It seemed to Tasuma that whenever Forerunner anything was involved, great change would follow.

 When the team assembled to the hanger, Tasuma felt particularly alone. Before, it would always be with his bond brother. They were in constant communication, and while it was some consolation to know that Iteyi was alive and healing, the colony missed its brothers. The ODST Platoon was strange, Lt. Horn kept his troops on a tight leash. They were all so used to fighting alongside each other that they seemed more akin to a Lekgolo colony, than a unit of human warriors. They were often so rowdy, loud, and many of them liked to crowd around Tasuma. With them, it felt connected, feeling so many familiar entities around it. It reminded it of Te, a little. The Hunter looked at the Mammoth. Human war machines. They were beautiful in their own way. Practicality and usability seemed to be at the forefront of human design doctrine, and Tasuma could appreciate that. It sometimes sat down with some of the ODSTs, and listened to them discuss the many vehicles of the UNSC. It had heard of the Mammoth, supposedly a rolling firebase in of itself, armed with a 'mini-mac', a massive cannon that could fell spacebourne warships. This particular Mammoth was missing its weapon, to make it lighter and quicker. But its thick armored shell and massive wheels still provided protection and speed.

 Tasuma walked over to a small stack of crates near the Mammoth, marked with the symbol of the Swords of Sanghelios, and spray painted with the ODST's flaming skull droppod. It instantly knew what it was. It gently removed the tops of the three boxes, revealing its Assault Cannon, Pavise Shield, and a pouch with straps. It opened the pouch, and removed one of many rolled pieces of cloth. Tasuma unrolled it and draped the grasslands camouflage cloak over its head, shoulders and back. It wiggled its spikes, revealing that the camo cloak was cut in a way that allowed its spikes to move freely. Tasuma then strapped the pouch to its leg, and looked at the Assault Cannon and Shield. The Assault Cannon was a more modern variant, it had been using it for a number of months before joining Aegis, and along with the newer cannon, it had been given a newer version of the Pavise Shield. While Tasuma accepted the newer equipment, he only replaced his pauldron for the newer one. Opting to keep the older, longer and heavier version of the shield. It grabbed the pauldron and fastened it to its left shoulder, then placed both of its hands into the shield and cannon. Lekgolo worms flowed forward, filling the space.

<< Shield World 006 "Sarcophagus" >>
 Inside the Pelican, Tasuma's spikes were flowing freely. It was sensing its teammates around it. It was familiar with most of what was around it... Spartan-IV, Human, Sangheili, Unggoy. But some of the Spartans were different... very slightly different, but the differences didn't escape Tasuma. Were they from a different Spartan clan? And the one Tasuma had apologized to before, Aviza, it noticed the addition of something that wasn't there before. Perhaps it would ask later.
"Contact!"
Every Lekgolo in Tasuma's body tightened together, and in an instant the Hunter brought up its shield arm, slamming the tip of its shield into the ceiling of the Pelican, denting the metal plating. Tasuma took a step forward and braced itself, its spikes pressing flat against its back, and its gun arm pressing against its chest. Tasuma felt the drop ship rock back and forth, then there was a lurch.
"We're hit strap in!"

 Not long after, the Pelican hit the ground. Another lurch, with violent shaking as the Pelican skidded. All the while Tasuma stood unmoving, having braced itself well. When the shaking stopped, Tasuma removed its shield from the ceiling, then approached the rear exit in a combat stance, assault cannon at the ready. Tasuma's spikes slowly rose to a threatening height, and it growled. While it didn't know how Aviza or Vael would command the team, it did know how a common Sangheili Commander in the Covenant Era would face the situation... likely with Unngoy and Kig-yar moving out first to attract fire, leaving the Sangheili, and Sharpshooter Kig-yar to destroy the Sentinels. It also knew how Lt. Horn would react, likely having some of his troops rip out armor paneling from the Pelican to use as shields, and then to destroy each Sentinel with focused massed fire. But with Tasuma...
"Enemy, I attract. On your ready." Tasuma spoke.

[Assistant]
Spartan Lucas Ryker

Admittedly, Lucas hadn't anticipated any issues arising as the team boarded the Pelican and each found seats. As he settled into his own pre-mission flight routine, he pulled his sidearm free of its holster and started to disassemble it in his lap and reassemble it. He proceeded to do this several times over the course of the flight before finally reassembling it one last time and holstering it again before pulling one of his modified energy daggers free and activating it, letting the crimson colored energy hum quietly as he flipped the blade around in his hand.

It was a joint Sangheili and human design that had only been issued to a handful of specialist SPARTAN-IVs with orders to give regular updates on things such as strange fluctuations within the blade, if it cuts out mid-combat, performance against other shielded enemies, such as Sangheili loyal to the Remnant, and other such odds and ends. Sending the regular reports back to the eggheads was somewhat obnoxious, but making the design more stable, and therefore more readily available to the rest of the Swords and Human military, was an important thing to do.

Finishing the usual non-combat observations, he deactivates the blade and stores the hilt and starts filing away the usual report to be sent at mission completion after he'd had a chance to confirm the usual combat effectiveness when the pilots shout "Contacts!" Report filing forgotten, Lucas is already moving between members of the team to make sure their harnesses are secure before swiftly moving and securing himself.

"Fireteam secure, Team Leader!" And not a moment too soon as he felt the Pelican shake from impact. The sound of the Mgalekgolo securing itself in place was startling, but not unexpected given it was too large to actually use the seats in the transport, but it was certainly unorthodox and an issue that they should address before the next mission. Bracing in his seat, the SPARTAN-IV rattled a bit with the rough landing, but other than that was fine and as soon as the ship quit sliding, was unhooked and had the twin SMGs in his hand. Vael'Virisusai made a good point about the issue with the precision weaponry against the Sentinel plating, but then, there was always another option, which admittedly required an answer to his question. "Are we looking at a group of Sentinels or a swarm? If it's a swarm, we may want to just get to the Mammoth and hope it's got enough turrets on it."


[System]
Age:
16
Race:
Human (?)
Nationality:

Personality:
Stalwart.

If there were ever a single word that could aptly describe Aurelius's character, it would be stalwart. Steady and sure, Aurelius stands as impassive as a looming storm cloud, towering and lumbering over all those around him, being as constant and power-exuding without the need to mutter a few words. While capable of antics of frustration or irritation, Aurelius's true emotions never surface unless he's truly sincere about his resolve in committing to it. Like the rumblings of ominous thunder, Aurelius would often quell arguments by brief flares of rising temper to settle meaningless debates even within a town, whether he knows them or not.

Whenever someone challenges him outright, Aurelius often displays dispassion towards the challenger. However, if they goad him through taunts or threats towards his comrades, or have actually aimed to harm an innocent, Aurelius's instincts of protecting the innocent would surface. As if the sound of thunderclap, Aurelius's determination and killing intent would rise dramatically and would not hold back a single ounce of pity to those who have challenged him so willingly.

Backstory:
Born to the bloodline of King Arthur Pendragon, Aurelius was destined to rule the Kingdom of Camelot. From a young age it was noted that the young prince had a higher than average willpower, not due to his bloodline. His father, Arthinus, plunged his son into the role of up and coming knight from the very moment that Aurelius could walk. There was never any consideration to Aurelius's feelings, instead his father manufactured the boy's manufactured love for their families' legacy. Aurelius saw King Arthur as a true hero which helped his father bring him into training. Even though Arthinus took precedent over Aurelius's training, Gwyn, his mother, stayed strong willed about keeping their son on a path to choose his life first and foremost. Aurelius bonded with his father like master and student, giving them a stunted parent-child relationship; Gwyn instead fostered a relationship built off the love for his child, a love that would stay with him forever.

Aurelius was only twelve when he went through one of the most traumatic moments of his life. During one of their secret training sessions, Gwyn and Aurelius were betrayed by their own butler. Forced to run farther into the forest, Aurelius and his warrior mother found themselves at the lake of legend where Arthur was said to meet the Lady of the Lake prior to acquiring Excalibur. Gwyn, injured and bloodied, could barely protect her son from a large scale fire spell, burning and knocking Aurelius into the lake behind him. That's when he met.....her. The Lady of the Lake aka Lala helped the young prince, her being a child of roughly the same age for reasons unknown to Aurelius. His burns covered his chest and left arm,left eye damaged,his mother sacrificed her life for him, his father distant, and now he had an annoying chick following him every where, what more could get worse?

The years only passed as Aurelius trained and lived through his mother's memories, his father still unable to bond with his son, instead deciding to sign him and Lala up to a certain school. Aurelius would soon learn to be the man that he always wanted to be, the king of heroes.

[Stat System]
END: 65 (D)
STR: 30 (D)
DEX: 90 (C)
AGI: 65 (D)
INT: 35 (E)
WIL: 50 (D)
CHR: 30 (E)
SPT: 15 (E)
LCK: 20 (F)

[Combat]
-Equipment-
Weapons:

Gwyn- A sword crafted for his mother prior to meeting her husband. The blade was damaged during his last stand to save her child, and Aurelius applied wraps from one of her dresses to cover the scarring like he does his own arm. A tough metal allows the sword to clash with others and carries a deceptive weight.

Gear:
Light Spellbook

Other:
N/A

Independent:
Unknown Blood - Aurelius holds something that is neither Arcanis or Earth human within him. It only seems to activate whenever he is pushed in a corner, increasing his STR and INT by 20% until he is healthy again.

King Arthur Descendant - He holds the right of kingship over the lost Kingdom of Camelot. Is this mere boasting, or was this myth true?

Stalwart Sword - Aurelius is able to avoid being knocked away by bracing himself for an attack, as long as he's using a sword. Doing so increases his END by 10%. This increases further to 40% (only while bracing) if he is protecting someone. The bonus will only activate when he's bracing.

Soul of the Duelist - When directly challenged, or when challenging someone directly to combat, his sword strikes are more potent and more likely to overpower. This will not activate during a brawl against multiple enemies, but it can work against a boss if he manages to be the sole fighter.

Major Skills:

Magic Circuit 1: Tidewalker - The basic circuit for the Abyssal Knights. The water-based circuit is the most basic, and it's purpose is general-purpose combat, increasing speed, power, and durability all in equal measure. It also allows the use of all spells in the Abyssal library.
Incantation - "The waking waves hide no lies, let the waters wash over thy soul"

First Form - Arthur
Execution - The blade is lifted vertically upwards, pointing the blade essentially at the sun as if to gather strength. Eventually it is brought downward vertically with intent to split the helm. Even blocked it can push through with the help of gravity.
Principle - The basic style taught to knights of Camelot. Arthur is the go to form that teaches a balance of offense and defense. Can use all sword techniques.

Second Form - Lancelot
Execution - The sword is held upward parallel to shoulders, blade pointing forward. Quick thrusts are initiated through this stance, focused primarily on using precise thrusts to target vulnerable areas of the body.
Principle - A full offensive form meant to use reach and speed.

Third Form - Galahad
Execution - A quick step to the right, using momentum to carry the sword through the abdomen. A fast movement that is followed by flips and rolls to strike from various points.
Principle - Created by Aurelius to utilize his environment, flexibility, and footwork for a offensive style that teaches him to attack at different angles and not be predictable.

Fourth Form - Gwyn
Execution - Placing the sword to the side of the body, exposing the whole body to an attack, preparing for a counter attack.
Principle - A form created by Aurelius' mother, Gwyn. It works by feinting and baiting and helping Aurelius learn to read body language.

Minor Skills:

Studied: Wild Blade Style - Form 3 Galahad

Spells:
Wave Sword - A simple swing of the user's weapon will cause a blade of water to extend their range. The range can be controlled and this move used frequently.

Tidal Dragon - A sword technique where the user does a spinning overhead slash. They can spin in a somersault or horizontally, the entire point is to obtain momentum. The move has a dragon trailing the attack.

Frost Javelin - The user will summon a javelin of ice and throw it. If the user uses a spear, the spell will have more piercing power.

Lightdash Stride - A simple spell that moves the user quickly on a path of light. The user need not make an action but are free to do so during this.

Flash Barrier - A quickly cast barrier that can negate spells or deflect melee attacks. Not particularly strong but can be disruptive.

Magic Missile - A projectile with no particular magical alignment, cheap and effective, but requires technique and proper application to execute properly. It can also be attuned with an element, becoming <element> Missile. Uniquely, it can be case a huge multitude of times without the need for modifiers, but modifiers do increase the maximum. (Starting maximum is 10 missiles plus 2 for each point in Intelligence).
Incantation - "Answer my call, <number> spirits of <element>, strike true upon my foe"

Fire Ball - Form a ball of fire that can strike with concussive and burning force.

Techniques: (Techniques are unique to characters, and while some may learn techniques from their masters, they can absolutely invent their own techniques, essentially their own 'interpretation' of their forms)

[User]
Edward Lachance

Edward would never forget last night, but simultaneously, many of it's details were... hazy to say the least. Seeing that ice palace, for the first time, and when it became bathed in crimson, those vistas were seared into his skull. Aresvius being pierced, almost watching another young man die... that too, would stick with him forever. But the fight in between, while it seemed to last forever in the moment, he couldn't place much more than the emotion of it all. Fear. Complete paranoia as these magical forces he had just begun to understand clashed right in front of his face-- even trying to kill him! Luckily, Lorelai and Rodrick were there, along with a variety of other students, that ended up protecting him, along with the teachers that swooped in like Power Rangers. Their P.E. teacher's entrance is also something he'd remember forever.

But if there was one thing to take from yesterday, it was that Ed was out of his depth. He'd never been in a fight in his life until Rodrick came along, and the princling who just two days ago seemed to want his head was about all that stood between him and a cold, cold casket. Hopefully Ed's complete ineptitude in that fight helped show Rodrick just how wrong he was about Ed being special. Or at least, intentionally special. Previously, Ed had felt out of his element in a very positive way. He was being introduced to this amazing new world that he had always dreamed of... but last night Ed felt the flipside of that. Being new, and weak, and powerless and confused. It kept Ed up all night. He just wanted to hold onto Ramyu or Rodrick or Lorelai and never let go, because otherwise he'd get squashed like a bug.

This paranoia followed him through the rest of the day, along with his lack of sleep. For once, he couldn't take any notes in his classes. Ramyu and Rodrick were also no where to be found, but as his afternoon P.E. class rolled around, he noticed a peculiar coincidence. Or at least it was framed as a coincidence, but it couldn't be. Everyone present during last night's... affair, sans the other teacher, was here. All beat tired, obviously, but here nonetheless. Ed listened as intently as he could, expecting some kind of follow up on what had happened, or at least a confirmation that Aresvius was still breath, but it never came. Coach just talked about ki and chakra and what not. Normally, Ed would be all over that but he just couldn't focus on that today. Even if he wanted to get stronger.

He could gab at Lorelai or Rodrick but for some reason he didn't feel ready. Maybe it was the shame of not having participated in the fight, or how tired they were, but he struck up a conversation with Mr. Bakusatsu instead. Pretending to be working on his Kata, Ed slowly inched closer to the coach, and waited for an opening, when he wasn't instructing any students, before semi-whispering to him.

"Uh, hey, coach Bakusatsu, Is Aresvius okay? Is that Noah's descendant guy gonna show back up again soon?"

[Assistant]
Silver Gate Academy Grounds - Soccer Field
Komedy@Lonewolf685

---

Kaidan oversaw the class, giving some brief instruction once in awhile, though to varying degrees of success. Some students seemed to understand his hot-headed way of explaining things, while others struggled a little, but it was clear he was quite sincere in his methods. As everyone began to settle he noticed some were not quite completely there today... He pondered for a bit before he pulled out from a satchel what appeared like a protein ball, and walked up to Lorelai,

"Here, try some of this", he offered. Whether or not she would eat it, she would find herself taking it either way. What this was in fact, was a shinobi medicinal ball, which should revitalize anyone who eats it. There were recipes for it included in the Iga-ryu scrolls too. As he handed that off, he was approached by Edward, who asked out of concern of what happened last night. Not many people knew of the descendants, and frankly they preferred the students didn't learn of such high level beings so early in their lives or even ever at all, still, what happens, happens. Kaidan furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin,

"Hmmmmmm, well Aresvius will be okay, he's just out of commission for awhile. Being what he is, he'll recover with just some rest. As for the other guy... Well, I'm not sure. Then again, it may not be best to talk about him here, but please rest assured! The teachers and even the principle are onto that guy, let us handle him", it was a vague answer regarding the latter but there was something reassuring about this gruff and buff man giving a friendly smile.


[System]
Title: -

Age: 11

Gender: Female

Personality: Senna is a happy sort of child, the kind that isn't easily brought down and who recovers quickly when they are. She's a survivalist by nature, a careful, practical girl who can be trusted to be reliable during tough situations. She has a certain, cat-like curiosity to her, but she is always sure to keep a handle on herself so that it doesn't get her into trouble. Her sense of adventure is strong, despite her general level-headedness.

She is a person who puts the most importance on self-interest, and considers the needs of others second. She's not above using underhanded tactics to keep herself going, and unlike what you would expect from someone her age, violence is not something she's a stranger to. Having lived most of her life toughing it out in the wilderness, concepts such as luxury or extravagance are lost on her, and she would be more than happy to enjoy a simple, peaceful sleep in the crook of a tree branch if the situation called for it.

When it comes to her interactions with others, Senna is sensible, and usually to the point. She does engage in basic deception, to the degree that benefits her, but is just as likely to display a simple honesty when she has no reason to lie. She has a tendency to subtly imitate or go along with others around her, more out of habit than anything else, and this does help her come off as more likeable where otherwise she may seem a little stiff.

She actually does have a sense of humour.

Biography: Orphaned at a young age by an epidemic, Senna was adopted by the local woodsman and hunter, often referred to as the "Shadowcat". He was somewhat of a local legend, but he had a weak spot for kids, and took her in as both his adopted daughter and his student. She took to him immediately, with his quiet coolness and the fleeting warmth of his smiles at the nightly campfires. She looked up to him, as the one who provided for her and who shared cool stories of the adventures of his youth.

From him, she learned the arts of the wilds, and how to live off the land. While she frequently visited the village, she spent much of her time out with her new father in the nearby forests. When she did spend time in the village, she was certainly well-liked by the people there, possibly because her biological parents were quite well liked as well before their demise. She was often jokingly called "Shadowkitten" because of the way she stuck to her adopted father like glue, stalking along in his shadow pretty much whenever they were together.

The older she grew, and the more she learned to do things herself, the more she started to help her father in his work. She never stopped learning, of course, and there was no chance of her catching up to her teacher anytime soon, but about when she reached the age of ten she begun to be able to manage hunts on her own. When she realized she could fend for herself, she would often go for long treks into the woods on her own, and had all sorts of adventures, ranging from the discovery of an ancient tower to a close encounter with a fearsome Grizzly Bear.

When word reached the village of the God's descent, along with it came information on some of the gods that were seen. From this, she learned of the existence of a Ranger Goddess, which perked her interest almost immediately. That said, she probably would never have left if it weren't for her teacher's urging, telling her she should go and make a name for herself under this new Goddess. The entrance to the Labyrinth was close, so she had no issue making her way there, and in contracting with the Goddess she sought.

Now, it was just a matter of what she wanted to do.

Skills:

Sharpened Instincts: Heightened intuition and senses, honed through a life of hunting and outdoor activities. While not on the level of her teacher, Senna is more than capable of using her instincts to seek out and avoid danger in her surroundings, and can usually determine when somebody means her ill will with nothing more than her intuition. She's a bit more perceptive than most, and can easily get a grasp for when something is "wrong" with a situation or place.

Hunting/Tracking: A necessary skill for somebody forced into her position, and a skill that was honed greatly under the tutelage of her Teacher. She can track targets across long distances, find signs of prey movements, or activity, and make use of a range of hunting techniques including trapping, tracking and skinning.

Aptitude and training in stealth is a given. Used for hiding one's presence and making use of environmental features to conceal themselves from detection by foes or allies alike. Control of the body and mind is very important, so a certain degree of natural calm and quiet is to be expected. Footsteps, breathing and movements can easily be masked, allowing for silent approaches or escapes, depending on the situation. Camouflage, misdirection and the hiding of motives are all also possible.

Ranged Combat: An invaluable skill for a hunter, allowing for a fast, accurate kill at a range, if you have the knack for it. With her sharp eyes, careful, calm nature and capable fingers, Senna found that she was more than capable of preforming in Archery and other forms of ranged fighting alike. Able to throw axes or spears effectively, due to her having some training in these areas. Doesn't apply to more complicated weapons, such as throwing knives or chakram.

Survival: A set of skills necessary for survival in the wilderness. Excluding those already mentioned, the skills included are basic first aid, herblore, fishing, wood carving, cooking, shelter creation, fire-starting and straightforward wilderness knowledge. Senna isn't an expert, but she can manage. Not effective at winning, but great at not dying.

Includes a capacity to move through the world and manipulate her limbs in complex manners, necessary for navigating terrain more complex than a clear, open meadow. Allows for feats of advanced mobility like tree-climbing, swimming and generally agile, acrobatic movements. As somebody who spent a great amount of her time outdoors, these skills came to her naturally. She's quite quick on her feet.

Guild: Cernunnos

Equipment:

Throwing Weapons: One steel-tipped spear, usable for throwing or melee combat. Two throwing axes with steel heads.

Bow: A beautiful, hand-crafted bow, perfectly suited for Senna's height. Includes a quiver and cleaning supplies, with 10 steel-tipped arrows on hand.

Survival Gear: Includes rope, string, a pot, a bedroll, fire-starting supplies, a skinning knife, a carving knife, some bandages (and herbs for cleaning wounds), salt, a large skin for water or alcohol, and some basic rations (Dried/Smoked Meats, fruit). Contained in a "Bag".

Currency: One gold, and five silver. Contained in a small, independent purse.

[User]
"Yeah, go ahead. Let me know if Thoth finds anything worthwhile with the leftover slime please," Alexander muttered as he stomped his feet a few times to get more feeling in the legs. He had planned to bring some flasks to gather the stuff next time around, but if Vincent could let him know whether or not it was worthwhile than that would be great as well. He watched as the other adventurer made his way into the Labyrinth before he finally figured he had recovered enough to at least begin making his way back to the Coliseum.

He stumbled more than a few times on his way through town, and his thoughts were far from pleasant as the thought of replacements for his lost equipment came up. Nonetheless, despite his condition and bleak thoughts, he managed to make it to the building of his Goddess. While it wasn't the barracks, he did allow himself to slide down the wall and take a seat with a tired gasp once he was actually out of the public's eye. He would go get cleaned up, head out and grab something to eat, before finally meeting with Ares.

---

He spent longer than he thought he would in the communal baths the Coliseum offered, though again, surprisingly he didn't see any other members of the guild. As the warm water washed away the exhaustion the use of Ares' boon had resulted in Alexander sighed and sunk a bit further into the water. Eventually he climbed out, got dressed in a set of casual clothes, and left to find a stall for some grub.

He returned to the Coliseum in short order with a half-eaten wrap stuffed with shaved meat, shredded vegetables, and condiments in hand. Then he began to try and find the Goddess for a bit of advice. Could she train him to help improve his skills, and if not, what he could do to get stronger outside from the Labyrinth? If the monsters didn't reappear, or did so at a slow pace, his ability to improve was highly limited at the moment and that was... annoying.

[Assistant]
As it turns out, Alexander didn't have to wait too long.

This is because, when he arrived at the Coliseum, Ares was standing in front of the structure, glaring forwards angrily. It's almost like she was waiting for someone, but who could she be-

...oh.

Oh no.

Striding up to Alexander before he had even reached the entrance to the Coliseum, a very annoyed-looking God of War slapped the half-eaten wrap out of his hand silently, the sinless food flying through the air and falling haplessly onto the ground.

"Follow me. Now. I am going to beat some sense into your wasteful mind. You'll get your status update and second-order blessing when I'm satisfied."

Seething out these words, Ares turned on her heel and began walking back into the Coliseum, muttering under her breath. Alexander might have been able to catch a few snippets.

"Wasting fucking medallion on first floor guardian...money to have Heka make another...underwear missing...Loki pretending she's me..."

Ares had a hard life.

[User]
He might have looked towards the wasted food if it weren't for the fact that his Goddess seemed most irritated at him. Yeah… he had definitely fucked up with the choice to use her gift. Like a scolded child, because really that's what he basically was at this point, he followed after her into the Coliseum wordlessly and with a grimace. This was bound to be unpleasant…

He couldn't hear everything that she muttered, but it seemed that his dumb idea wasn't the only problem she had to deal with at the moment. He sighed, unable to really feel cheerful at the moment, and simply resolved to try and move past this incident as soon as he could.

[Assistant]
Ares continued to lead Alexander, the human and God entering the Coliseum. Walking rather briskly, Ares took a hand-and-a-half sword from the barracks in passing, tossing it behind her back at Alexander without a glance as she continued walking. Eventually, the War God came to a halt, standing in the center of the Coliseum. A handful of Guild members were up in the seats, evidently enjoying their food and the weather, but seemed confused at the entrance of Ares and some guy to the arena.

After finally coming to a stop, Ares turned around to face Alexander-

[Divine Rights accessed, 2/4/5.]

[Divine Right: Lord of Battle's Dominion Area]

[Divine Right: Lord of Battle's Omnipotent Strike]

[Divine Right: Lord of Battle's Consuming Maw]
-And space seemed to bend around her.

Without warning, Ares's "presence" became tyrannical, an oppressing air that bore down on Alexander. Even those seated in the seats, eating obliviously, were jolted to a halt as the crushing feeling of power radiated off of Ares. In the God's right hand appeared a one-handed longsword, undecorated and unrefined.

"Try to hit me."