[System]
Gender
Male
Age
23
Appearance
With typical Darcsen blue-black hair and a thin beard, Harald is nothing special. His off-duty wear consists of a well-worn traditional Darscen robe adapted for his former role as a police officer with a number of leather straps and sewn in pouches. When in his uniform, Harald shows his heritage with a sash worn across the chest.
Rank
Sergeant, Squad 4 NCO Commanding
Class
Scout
Weapons and Equipment

Gallian S1 Rifle and bayonet
Grenade bandoleer with space for three B-Type M1 grenades
Small Ragnaid canister and first aid pouch
Gallian Police Constabulary Service Revolver, .38 cal
Personality
Like many of his Darcsen brethren, Harald is calm and collected, possessed of patience born from a lifetime's persecution. He is likely to bite his tongue and walk away when provoked, but rest assured he will have his vengeance in the end, even if it is a petty one. When in the presence of someone who can see beyond his dark hair, Harald is relaxed and friendly, the very picture of a smiling bobby on the beat. He treats his subordinates like his own children and is prone to occasional fits of paternal rage if they are hurt or wronged.

Bio
The Gallian Police Constabulary rarely admits Darcsen as constables, but in the southern town of Rinneheim there are exceptions. Years ago the town was home to a large ragnite refinery and its itinerant population of Darcsen workers; even once the refinery went bankrupt and the industrialists moved on, the workers stayed to settle. By the time of the Second Europan War, Rinneheim was home to hundreds of Darcsen in various professional capacities, making it both a cultural melting pot and a tempting target for regular slaving raids from across the border. In order to maintain its appearance as a national force, the GPC loosened its recruitment criteria and a young man named Harald became the first Darcsen constable in the region.

Having lost his parents to disease and being bereft of siblings, Harald was raised on the street. His early years were nothing special; a mix of begging, stealing and odd jobs. During his compulsory military education he specialised in reconnaissance and demolitions, hoping to perhaps enter the Gallian Army upon graduation. Even his career with the GPC was uneventful, as Rinneheim was a peaceful city with little crime. However as the years rolled on and tensions rose across Europa, Imperial raids across the border escalated and the GPC soon found itself working as adhoc border guards. Failure by the government and the military to protect border towns such as Rinneheim led to growing unrest among the Darcsen minority, often the target of slave raids and sometimes outright ethnic cleansing.

Finding himself caught between these two opposing forces, Harald became disillusioned with his role as a constable and began to drift away from his increasingly right-wing co-workers. As March 1935 rolled around, Harald was questioning his life and role in society, questioning whether his loyalty should be to his state or his people. The events of that day in early March soon gave him his answer.

RP Sample
A lone figure strolled down Rinneheim's main street, his breath crystallising in the early morning air. AM beats were always his favourite; the air was crisp and fresh, the people too groggy to cause problems. He thought of it as a pleasant walk after a good morning coffee at the station. He rounded a corner, entering the area known among his fellow constables as Darktown, home to Rinneheim's vibrant Darcsen community. The change in atmosphere was sudden and drastic; Darktown was alive with the sounds of industry as a dozen blacksmiths plied their trade and apprentices ran to and fro across the street. The policeman smiled, nodding to the occasional worker as he rolled a cigarette. Just as he was sparking up, a melodic voice floated down from a second story window. 'Morning Harry! Still hung over?' The copper flashed one irate finger in reply as he walked on, not even deigning to look at the young woman. 'Oh really? Really, Harald? Same place, same time tonight or I'll rip your balls off!'

The same old jokes, same old banter. Such was life in Darktown, where everyone knew one another, had grown up together; the same couldn't be said for the rest of the town. The up-town beat was Harald's least favourite, where the shop owners sneered as he passed, people crossed the street to avoid him... and worst off, the little old ladies never invited him in for a cup of tea. Philistines. As he strolled through the ghetto he passed the occasional empty building, barren and silent... The Imperial raids had grown worse recently, with entire families taken in the night. He shuddered to think what fate awaited those taken by the raiders, especially considering the... examples they sometimes left behind. Harald found himself subconsciously reaching for his old service revolver, conflicting feelings of outrage and responsibility weighing down on him. If things didn't change soon, if the government didn't take steps to protect its citizens... He glanced around morosely, reflecting on how fragile a place like Darktown was. If those raids ever became something more concrete... He stopped himself. Such pessimism had no place in the eyes of a on-duty constable. Squaring his shoulders and lighting up another cigarette, Harald set off toward the station to begin his next beat.

I want to be Nancy Dufour's Onii-chan.

[User]
Private Elise Louque

Elise wasn't sure whether she should begin by telling the darcsen to sod off with his inane orders, or if she should point out that she doubted this Hunt character could spot a wall if it was in front of him. She'd joined the army to do a job though, even if this wasn't anything like she'd imagined it would be she was still here to do her job. She bit her tongue. It wasn't a good idea to continue to antagonize everyone she ran into, regardless of whether she was having the worst day in a long time. Elise would simply have to use her discipline to focus on her job, and disregard the darcsens and other annoyances. "Fine, lead the way." She said to Hunt with a cold tone. Elise would go along with them for now, but it didn't mean she had to like it. Maybe she should send a letter to HQ asking to be transferred to another squad.

[Assistant]
PFC James Hunt|Le Haye Sainte

The walk was short, since it was just across from the only remaining house in the village, and James took up his position he had the previous night, aiming out of the whole he'd mostly found and partially set up, but scooted over so Miss Stick up Her Ass had a spot to aim out of as well.

[User]
Celeste
"Alright.." She answered while scratching the back of her neck. The order the sergeant had given her made her a bit unsure of her abilities. Celeste moved towards her lance and rifle, slinging her rifle over her back and picking up the lance. Turning her attention back to those that were still here. "Well, you heard the man, anyone who doesn't have any orders come with me. Meet at the destroyed tank in the crossroad, and we'll move from there."

After all the stragglers had joined up at the destroyed tank, she looked at the west road, then the east. "Alright, so here's how we'll do this. We're going to move west, and circle around the south and come back in from the east. And we'll continue this cycle until the Sergeant gives a new order. Or if the marksman team spots something north." She tapped her chin "We'll move in a wedge out in the fields...assuming everyone knows what that is. But we'll stay in a column when passing through the by here." Celeste let her lance rest against her "And we'll probably double time it through here as well, so our eyes don't stay off the rest of the fields for long. Everyone got that?"

[Assistant]
Private First Class Cecilia Rousseau
Le Haye Sainte

"Urghh...." Ceclia groaned, as he right hand moved towards her head. "Ah .... my head ..." Holding her head with one hand, and slowly, but surely, getting up, she found herself .... somewhere she had never been before. "This ... isn't the base .... where am I?" Cecilia muttered. She was still feeling the alcohol in her. Her head was splitting, she was hung over. Now ... how did this happen?

---

Last night
Base

A group of PFCs had gathered during the night, having a minor celebration over some recent victories for some squads. Some of these PFCs had gone to assist some of those squads, including Cecilia, so there she was, drinking with some of the others. "WOOO!!"
"YEAH!"
"And then we ..."
Stories and cheers were coming around in this party, and Cecilia enjoyed the mood, happily chugging her a drink. Although the quality wasn't the best, it was still something to enjoy at least.

After a few hours of drinking, Cecilia needed to get some sleep. She was pissed drunk, and there was no way she would get into her barracks without some sort of consequence. Her dad, did say something once, about his time during training. Most of the vehicles at the base rarely ran, so some people who got drunk occasionally would sleep in the vehicle to avoid getting caught drunk. Remembering this nice bit of information, she decided it would be better to get some sleep in one of the vehicles. It was dark, and a number of vehicles were around. One was unlocked so she got in somewhere and fell asleep ...

---

Present
Le Haye Sainte

"Well, you've gotta be shitting me. I got myself recruited while I was asleep, and drunk? Without my gear? Probably someone didn't check the vehicle properly." Cecilia continued to mutter to herself. She was well aware, her headache was not gonna go away any time soon. Getting out of the APC, she only realized that it was an Imp APC that had been repainted. I must of been real drunk to not notice it was an APC she thought to herself.

Scanning the area, she noticed it had been a battlefield, one that probably was one only recently but needed new recruits. Most of the buildings had been destroyed, except one. It seemed the others of the squad were eating breakfast. Please, let them be quiet eaters. she hoped, as she made her way to the building.

It was bustling, and her head was splitting and hurting even more. This really sucked for Cecilia. All she could do was manage a sigh as she held her head with one hand, massaging it a little. With her eyes barely open, she looked at everyone's uniforms, more specifically their rank. Private, private, PFC, Oh a Sergeant The Sergeant was a man with black-blue hair and a thin beard. From this, she thought it was likely he was a darcsen, although, it was entirely possible that he might not be, like herself. Although her hair was dark, she was not a darcsen, proof being that she still held a surname from her parents who weren't darcsens. She has often, though, been mistaken as a darcsen, this lead to her not developing the same bias as others to darcsens.

Walking up to the Sergeant, she gave a weak salute. "Private First Class Cecilia Rosseau, Sir. Reporting for duty." Her voice was soft and a little weak. "Sorry Sergeant, but I have a request. You see ... I was drunk at the base and suddenly I wound up here. So there are two things here, I have no gear and I have a hangover. So can I at least get some sleep and then get my gear from base before actually being properly recruited into this squad?" Cecilia asked, as her salute changed at some point to rubbing her head.


[System]
Title: The Trickster

Age: ???

Gender: Male

Appearance

Rank: Mage

Personality: Flippant, reckless, careless, whimsical, mischievous, curious. Bristlebane is very random and contradictory. He really does whatever he feels like. Whether that entails playing for coins in a town square or breaking into a castle treasure simply to leave a calling card, or flirting with the nearest person. Bristlebane clearly has little purpose in life yet has large array of skills keeps him out of trouble moving from one place to the next. He will change his mind faster than you can realize he made it up in the first place. He is friendly, impossible to offend, and blunt as a hammer. Usually

History: Bristlebane either doesn't remember his past or doesn't want to. Regardless he has lived a life of taking odd jobs, adventuring, and every now and then, stealing to take care of himself. Due to his inability to use magic he focused on gathering a large amount of magic items to compensate, and still is. Bristlebane was so vexed by his inability to use magic that he decided that if he couldn't learn to use magic, then he would learn to do everything else. As a result he has an incredibly wide array of skills, everything from pick-pocketing, to blacksmithing, to alchemy. Finally Bristlebane decided that if he could ever learn how to use magic it would be in a guild focused on magic users, and so to fulfill this end he joined the guild Harpy's Wing.

Magic: Holder
Bristlebane doesn't have any "magic" per-say, instead he has something very different. An immunity to magic. Simply put magic doesn't affect him, much to Bristlebane's regret, this meant that he could use no magic of his own, though not due to a lack of effort. However this didn't stop him from trying for his whole life.

Cloak of Many Pockets: Bristlebane's patchwork cloak has a nearly infinite amount of pockets and all of them share the properties of a bag of holding.

Flickerstep boots: These boots allow Bristlebane to "Flicker" when he walks causing his position to blur and become unclear, almost making it look like there are two or three of him.

Gravity Badge: A small badge that doubles the gravity on whatever it is pinned onto. It cannot be removed until 10 minutes have passed, or the person who put it on takes it off. Then it needs to recharge for at least half a day.

Stone Of Traveling: A small black stone that looks like the eye of some strange creature. Stored in one of his pockets it can be thrown, and when it hits something the user will teleport to the stone and it will go back into his pocket.

Jet-fire Ring: Allows generation of a stream of fire.

Aquatic Mirror Ring: Allows generation of a shield of water that can be launched towards an opponent.

Golden sword- ???

Other: Uses variations of break-dancing for physical combat and he loved the card he has in his hat.

[User]
Caroline

Caroline stood by and watched Xavier, or what she assumed was Xavier, fighting with the enemy. She watched his movements as they advanced, becoming smoother, faster, stronger, and glanced back at the unconscious body of her guildmate. "I hope you know what you're doing, Xavier."

Suddenly, vines sprouted from between her feet, forcing her to back up. Putting her hands together, she started forming the sign for Ice Make, but changed her mind and shifted to Artifact Make. "False Requip, Magmolten Lash!"

A long, black whip formed in her hand, and as she drew it up and snapped it back down on the vines, it lit itself ablaze, burning the vines. As more vines sprouted in their place, Caroline kept attacking, never taking a step away from Xavier. "Come on," She muttered, glancing furtively at her companion.

Nathan

"Don't blink," Said a voice behind Lu, just before Nathan brought his fist down with more force and speed than almost anybody could hope to stop. If it didn't hit it's target, it would surely impact the pillar below him, shattering it into shards.

"Or else you might miss me." He finished, disappearing again. He phased into existence about three meters away, waiting for a reaction.

[Assistant]
Oriel

Oriel followed up the instructions given to her to a T, something that may have seemed really strange given her usual behavior, but she seemed pretty diligent now that she had to train to become a mage hunter, or whatever it is called. She just wondered, how come she was selected to be one? It's not like she had been for a long while in the guild, to be honest, and this Ajax guy seemed to have just gotten to know both Aiden and her, so what brought up the recruitment bit? Maybe that just showed how friggin' awesome she was, or at least that's what she thought. Having gone into the guild just a bit ago and alraedy having her abilities recognized by the big shot like that, it was truly something to be proud of.

After getting the supplies and everything else to the place Ajax told her to, Oriel got ready for the next part of their training. She took her tonfas and got ready to rumble, going up the stairs just below Aiden. Once on the outside, she whistled with amazement. Rather than hostile it seemed.... desolated. And that same thing made it dangerous. There was about nothing around in an incredible radius all around the facility. "Seems dandy for a picnic, don't you think guys?" Oriel said, smiling a bit.

Then again, the next thing that came out from Ajax mind did come out as a surprise for Oriel. Ajax said that they needed to fight him at their fullest, but that was definitely not possible. If Oriel went all out on the fuy, Wizard Saint or not, Dragon Slayer or not, he'd burn to a crisp without a doubt. Not to say anything about how Oriel would end up, with barely any strength to stand. Ajax would have to make do with Oriel's maximum output without raising her trump card. "Okay! But don't come crying to us when you get your ass kicked, Jaxxy!" With Ajax's newly acquired nickname on him, she snapped her fingers and made her tonfas ignite.

She decided to let Aiden have the first strike, and she saw him being serious for the first time. That dragon whatever mode he had looked really dangerous. After Aiden finished up his attack and said that they should see how far they can push him, a huge smirk came to Oriel's face. "I'm on it!" It was now Oriel's turn, and she took a running start, ready to strike at Ajax.

She jumped and aimed a kick at Ajax's head, making sure she didn't get in the way of Aiden's attack, hoping a two pronged attack would do the work. He did say that he wanted them to come at him with all they had, even if it meant that both of them attacked him at once, or at least, so Oriel thought. "This kick ain't got no fancy name, but it does hurt like hell!" She said. Of course, she wasn't sure of whether or not the kick would connect, but regardless of the outcome, she'd roll away from him and wait for him to make his move. She was reckless as fuck, but she didn't plan on dying anytime soon, and something told her that messing too much with this guy would end up in just that. So, they had to finish things up quickly, or face the consequences.

[User]
Jeanne - The Archangel

"Good day to you as well, Revan. Pleasant, is it not?" Jeanne quipped amusingly as the two caught up with Hana. With the illusion long gone, and the true scale of the desolation in plain view, it was truly a saddening sight to see. What was just as troubling, if not more was the way by which Hana spoke. Even for an S-Rank Magi, it seemed as if she were going to be acting far too reckless for the situation.

She could sense it, pulsing in the depths beneath the travesty that lay before them. A true monstrosity, a wielder of power beyond her own imagining lay in the deep, simply waiting to be reborn.

Beyond anything, even at the cost of her own life, it must absolutely be stopped. Yet this concern did not display itself upon her complexion in the least, as she glanced to Revan as Hana left in a blur of speed and reckless abandon. With a sigh of resignation, the Angelic Magi looked to the Demonic.

"Well, it seems as if I'll be indisposed for awhile. Do take care, Revan." She uttered softly, reaching over as she drifted through the air for second to caress his cheek. With a radiant smile to him, she furled her wings inward to drop towards the earth, only spreading her wings wider yet at the last moment and turning towards the direction by which Hana had sprinted off. Using the speed gained by the fall, she arrived only a few seconds after that of her comrade.

With a gust of wind that announced her arrival, her toes lightly touched the ground first as she arrived and descended slowly. To Hana, she would hear but a singular phrase. "Fret not dear Hana. I believe we can depend on our other teammates to hold off a little while longer. Let us work together here and expedite this, shall we?"

Casting her hand to the side, a flash of glistening light signified the creation of several dozen swords of pure white fire to appear in the air. Five dozen of which cast themselves into the sky around Augustine. Two dozen of them stayed with Jeanne. While the towers attempted to collapse but failed in taking so many with them, the swords poured in not moments later and claimed just as many if not more. Hewing many an adversary into two separate halves while righteous judgment rained from the sky. After crippling what little weakened defense might have remained, the blades continually rained divine punishment upon those that would do evil. The numerous vines that had been summoned would easily find themselves suddenly rend asunder by Jeanne's vengeance.

It were almost as if it could sense them, and if it did, it would hunt each monstrosity down with zealotry comparable to the inquisition chasing heretics in the days of old.

For those who served the darkness, no longer was there a place that was safe. There was only death, and it came swiftly.

Hana then recklessly rushed in, and Jeanne calmly proceeded in behind her. Walking, instead of running. With a maelstrom of holy fire swirling about her.

Any evil that dared attack herself or Hana would be either cut to ribbons, or promptly turned to ash.

[Assistant]
Niti Laevis

"Things are getting a bit shitty," Niti muttered under his breath as his sunny environment quickly dissolved into one that is filled with blood, ruins, and hooded cultists. There wasn't much to worry though. Sure, there were more enemies who popped out of nowhere and claimed that everybody will feast on the flesh of some beast called Walpurgisnacht (whatever that is), but the upside is that back-up came in the sudden appearance of S-Classed wizards. If he were to look off into the distance, he could see some of the Harpies and Bolt Vypers already in action.

"Welp, better not disappoint my team. Can't let them have all the fun." The Soap Mage pocketed the note that had smacked him from behind, and turned to Mamba with a playful wink. "Still need that barrier, Dreamboat?" Without waiting to hear an answer, Niti raised his arms as he close his eyes. He concentrated his magic and took steady breaths, preparing for what's to come. Above his head, a green magic circle appeared. Materializing an armada of bubbles, they rapidly fired into the sky in one giant column of shimmering orbs. They soon began to stack on top of each other and started to surround the town with its vast numbers.

"Bubble Barrier!" With a flick of his wrist, the bubbles merged into one smooth surface.

The whole town was soon inside a giant translucent dome with walls more durable then it seems and capable of doing one noticeable feat. If an attack or person attack the barrier's with enough power, numerous bubbles would emerge from its surface and wraps itself against the strike, either immobilizing the person or cushioning enough of its power to cancel out the attack.

"No enemy will escape this town!" Niti announced with tired pride, his voice quivering slightly under the heavy use of magic required to cover the entire town plus any allies within his radius. Perspiration coated his form as his skin looked slightly paled. Nevertheless, he stood strong despite the mass amount of magic that seeped from his body and into the barrier to keep constant maintenance. He let out a small smile at the sight when radiant beams of light rain down from the skies of Augustine. Large quantities of debris that came from the destroyed towers and spires fell from the sky. Some of the wreckage hurdled toward the town only to bounce off the barrier harmlessly, leaving not even a scratch on the surface and maybe a few residues of bubbles.

"Well, at least, not if they wanna live." He added, recognizing the destructive Magic that belongs to a certain guildmate. "Anyone else wanna help with the barrier?"


[System]
General Information
* Gender: Female
* Sexuality: Heterosexual
* Age: 21
* Home Nation: Half Hearing, Half Touch

Appearance
Penetrating green eyes, a delicate and elegant face and immaculately white skin and hair give Karina quite the unique and exotic appearance. Her body although small and apparently delicate hides a surprisingly agile, dexterous and flexible frame, fruit of her training. Usually wears an military style uniform with her hair tied and a cap. On formal occasions she unties her hair and prefers to wear dresses.

Bio
Karina was born out of the unusual union of a scholar from the Nation of Hearing and a general from the Nation of Touch. By the choice of her father, she went to live on together with her mother on her home nation as he wanted her to have a peaceful life, away from the chaos of war. On the Nation of Hearing, Karina would show her love for knowledge as her and her mother often passed their time studying together.
But unfortunately, having a life away from the was wasn't something that Karina would be able to enjoy for much longer... When she was only 10 years old, her mother fell ill with a very serious, contagious disease. Without any other option, Karina had to go to live with her father on the Nation of Touch.

There on the Nation of Touch, Karina's father became cold and even more distant, dedicating his entire time to his work trying to forget the pain from losing his loved one. Karina on the other hand was literally raised amongst soldiers and other high patent officers. Her education was already very good, in fact, it was better than most people, since she was herself the daughter of an scholar, but there were some things that her mother couldn't teach her in the pacifist Nation of Hearing. It was only natural that being so instructed and intelligent, she would learn certain military knowledge fast as she heard her father talking with other officers. But another one of those things was Fencing. After seeing two high patent officer sparring, she immediately fell in love with the Rapier. It didn't resemble violence, it was almost a dance. The way the officers moved almost effortlessly through the room, their rapiers singing as the edges kissed themselves... It was the perfect balance between violence and art. Since that moment, fencing became another one of Karina's hobbies, other than studying and debating with other officers about military strategies & etc.

As she grew older, as the General's daughter and after proving herself to be knowledgeable enough that not giving her a patent was deemed an absolute waste of talent, nobody dared to mistreat her. Known as the 'flower' of the military due to her beautiful looks and because she was always walking around the headquarters, either reading, talking with seasoned officers (often surprising her due to her intellect) or practicing her fencing, her influence grew both by her father's position and her patent.

Maybe because of her mixed blood or maybe due to her spending half of her life on the Nation of Hearing and the other half on the Nation of Touch, when Karina turned 15, a very unique magic awakened on her. Completely the opposite from the usual Tempraisionism magic that was common to the Nation of Touch, Karina was able to use the humidity and the cold on the air in various forms. Incredibly dangerous against other Tempraisionists due to her strength being their weaknesses, it was almost an irony that an officer from the Military of Touch having such magical talent... After that fact became known by the others on the Nation of Touch, she started being referred by some people as "The Ice Flower of the Nation of Touch".

Personality
Despite her nickname as 'The Ice Flower', Karina is actually not that cold when around friends. Enjoying a good conversation and often seen with a mysterious, but enchanting smile on her face, she is a real treat to look at.

Despite her quiet demeanor, she certainly has a very strong personality, maybe due to her father or to the fact that she was raised in the military, but her enchanting smile can turn into a real cold stare when angry and her cold but firm words are famous around the army for being able to frighten even a seasoned soldier.

When amongst other soldiers or in a combat situation though, Karina is almost a completely different person. Really living up to her nickname as the Ice Flower, she is practical, logical and cold both regarding strategizing or fighting herself.

Quirks:
Karina has a soft spot for sweets and hot beverages such as hot chocolate.

Skills
* Fencing: Karina developed her own style of fencing. More agile and elegant than the normal fencing, it's characterized by it's high mobility, deadly lunges, feints and extremely fast movements. While it lacks brute, raw strength, it more than makes up with agility and dexterity. Hence why the Rapier is the perfect weapon for her.
* Adept of Hearing: Just like her mother, Karina is an adept of hearing. Unlike her who used it for music and to distinguish the small difference in musical notes, Karina uses it in a much finer and complex way. By concentrating herself, she can go as far as hearing someone's heartbeats or their movements in order to be able to react much faster than she normally could.
* Natural Resistance to cold: Due to her magic and the fact that she trains so much with it, Karina developed a certain resistance to cold. Enough to allow her to use her magic for some time before she needs to stop.

Magic
Cryomancy:

Using the surrounding air temperature, or even her by lowering her bodily temperature, she can create ice in a myriad of ways. Be it creating blades made of concentrated ice to control through the air and cut her enemies, lowering the air temperature in order to counter Tempraisionists or even by lowering another person's bodily temperature in case she hits them with one of her ice blades or with her rapiers. Coupled with her fencing, it is incredibly dangerous as she can overpower opponents much stronger and tough than herself by lowering their bodies' temperature with each cut.

The drawback is that if the air temperature is high, she will have to resort to lower her own body's temperature and depending on how much time she does it, she can even pass out with hypothermia. Using clothes that preserve the bodily temperature like gloves, coats & etc. can allow her to use her magic even when the temperature of the air around her is a bit higher than the necessary for her to use her magic. In the other hand, when the climate is cold, Karina can use her magic almost freely.

Weaknesses
* Heat: Exactly the opposite from normal Tempraisionism, if the air around her is too hot (for example... if she is around a fireplace or something like that) She will need to use much more energy than normal to use her magic.
* Brute Strength: Karina is not that heavy or tall. In a contest of brute strength, she will most likely loose. This also means that if someone pins her down, she won't be able to get out by herself without resorting to magic.
* Too many blades: When creating concentrated ice blades, Karina can only create and maintain a maximum of 4 blades at the same time.

Equipment

Almost a piece of art, this rapier's blade was forged with an special method. It's dark red colored blade has an intricate pattern, formed naturally due to the way the steel was forged. It was a gift from her father when she became an officer. A little something he did trying to redeem himself for being such a distant father.

[User]
Chres

---

Chres hit the ground as Týfurkh let loose an explosion different than he expected. Not an explosion of fire, but an explosion of sound instead. The resonance chamber erupted in a loud boom. Its force ripping several thinner tendrils, their severed bits falling to the ground. The thicker tendrils, however, only had chunks taken out of them.

Chres took down the heat construct around Týfurkh. The seed roared in anger. Pools of greenish-Yellow blood oozing out of the seed's wounds

"We have an opening!" Chres shouted.

"WE-WE-WE-WE..." Speech seemed to have become difficult for Nieffar after turning into a seed. "WE SEE-SEE-SEE-SEE..."

Black sprouts shot out of the Seed's wounds, twisting together like vines. They clotted the pools of flowing Seed blood far faster than a normal Sightless and worked quickly to regenerate the missing tendrils.

Chres' eyes widened. If they didn't act soon then they would lose their chance to take out one of the hearts. Chres rushed forward but paused when he noticed that the four thickest tendrils had shifted their attention to Týfurkh. All four raised high, about to crush him.

Chres cursed. Someone else would have to take a go at one of the hearts. Turning on his heels, he raced towards Týfurkh and quickly Weaved a protective barrier above them.

The first tendril came smashing down with a deafening sound. The Heat construct held. The second tendril hit. The construct almost seemed to groan from the impact. The third tendril hit. The construct cracked. Chres' heart skipped a beat.

"GO! GO! GO!" He shouted to Týfurkh in quick succession.

The forth tendril came down with a crash. the construct shattered. Chres jumped out of the way, and barely avoided getting crushed.

[Assistant]
And with that, it was over. The group had managed to overcome the sightless and overwhelm him. Sightless Talne was felled and with it they had done the incredible. They had fought and won against one of the hardest foes they would encounter in this cult. Truthfully just eliminating of them felt like a grand victory of sorts, but they were not finished yet. This was but a detour from their true objective, which was to destroy the seed, and with that its hold on the people they had controlled with their insight.

The descent downwards into the cellar greeted them with a foul odor of rotting flesh. It was a charnal house with rotting half eaten corpses strewn around this monstrosity. In the center was what appeared to Jen, a morbid, and grotesque imitation of a seedling sprouting in the basement. Nieffar would appear and reveal the truth of what this thing was. It was Lord O'Kal who had been given enough insight to become this freaky tree-monster. It made Jen's hair raise as he understood the type of fate that would befall Anís should he fail to get her in time, and also what he'd have to do with Chres when the time came.

Nieffar would then merge with the seed, which somehow didn't surprise him. Which was probably because he was expecting some sort of complication to their task of killing the seed. The fleshy tendrils would fly at everyone, and Jen responded with a lean so low the tendrils passed over him. Týfurkh would come up with a plan of attack using fire which Jen would along with. As soon he yelled "Cover!" Fiery splinters would light up the cellar as Jen to whatever would act as cover. The seed would roar in pain as the wood skewered its foul tendrils spilling its foul blood everywhere.

Chres would yell that they had an opening, and that Týfurkh needed to get a move on. One of the tendrils seemed rather low-lying and ready to be attacked. Jen would swiftly go to it, his staff would swing down on it. His swing would be endowed with sufficient strength to keep it pinned hopefully. Should it be pinned, it would mean the others could destroy one of the hearts.


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 21

Career/Class: Courtesan/Duelist

Physical Description: Camilla is a medium sized woman around 5'5. She possess the slightly bronzed skin, angular features and dark hair common among Tileans. She has the smooth clean lines of a classical statue and the lean musculature of a dancer. Every part of her seems artfully contrived, as though she stepped from the canvas of a master painter. Camilla moves with deliberate grace which is appropriate to her profession.

Mental Description/Personality: Camilla is a fiery impetuous young woman. As a child she was selected from among orphan's for her physical beauty and raised to fill the role of Courtesan in the decadent courts of her native Tilea. Among her studies were poetry, dance, repartee, song, politics, literature, art and sword play.

Camilla is out of place in rough and dangerous situations, and although naturally adventurous and curious about the world she is no heroine. She has a fiery temper and has a tendency to act rather than to wait if given the chance. While technically trained with the sword, Camilla's education is that of the stylized art of the sword rather than the rough and brutal style of real combat, while she is perfectly comfortable fighting a duel to the tough for the entertainment of a crowd, she had little experience with real killing.

Camilla has a passing devotion to Randald and Shyalla, although she tends to focus on the world in front of her rather than the world beyond.

[User]
Amal watched her carefully. Truthfully, he loved watching her speak, his ears picking up every word. He grinned when she stated she wasn't important enough to have enemies. Amal had around a dozen powerful and personal enemies, and he was the most worthless man in Al-Hiekk, at least according to anyone who asked, particularly those that wanted him dead. Street Rat they called him. Not that he minded. It suited him nicely.

"I envy you." He said. "At least a little. If I found my mother again...I'm not sure what I would do, to her or to me. But your parents did try to sell you, as she sold me. I guess neither of us were wanted." The thief placed a hand on her cheek, the callused hand suitably soft for the moment.

At the mention of the Witch Hunters and her wizard mentor, he blinked as if awoken. She would see the excited glint in his eye, betraying his thoughts. This was the stuff of tales he heard of the North! Grim warriors and witches burnt at the stake as charlatans spat out useless doctrine to keep the peasants in line. True, it wasn't exactly cheery. But it did lead to opportunities of fabulous wealth if one played their cards right. Dystopian or corrupt governments always bred such occasions. An Arabyan would certainly know.

"Why not get you accredited then?" He said, his hand leaving her face only to intertwine within her fingers, his large palm overtaking hers easily. "I'm sure we could gain some leverage over your old master to get him to agree. A sniffing Witch Hunter maybe?" He grinned evilly and leaned in to kiss her again before there was a small rolling tumble of a noise. It was good he was such an experienced scoundrel, else he would have caught what was about to fall atop Emmaline.

Her snake familiar had decided to heat up in the cold northern night, seeking a source of heat. Rather than slithering over to the fire, it wished to be closer to its master and managed to sinuously make its way atop the timber-made dresser. In it's slitherings, the candle it wished to curl beside was bumped and fell. Amal caught it just before it bopped Emmaline on the head or set her locks on fire. The serpent perked its head up, and looked rather embarrassed without changing expressions.

Amal's hand was callused, but he still felt the candle wax. He swiftly blew it out and redirected its fall to the side, to land holder up atop the table, as if it was set there gently save for the few hard wobbles. Amal was fond of the familiar, but he couldn't quite hold himself back.

"Hey!" He said, blowing his stinging hand. "You sneaky little trouser snake! I know she's hot as a sun-baked dune but that's a little much." Amal made a gesture of shaking his fist, but found the humor in the situation after a second. He whispered to Emmaline with a clear intent to jest. "I think he's jealous of me. He's seen you charm my snake and can't handle it. Soon he'll be out of work on the street, shaking what Allah gave him."

The thief actually halted and put a finger on his chin. "He would make a good rat catcher, now that I think of it." The serpent had not been idle, taking the time to reach the couch from above, now perched atop the arm handle as its tail slowly followed. It seemed content to rest there, though it watched them curiously.

"I'm kidding, my friend." He said to her familiar, smirking. "But we both know the deal. She's yours in the daytime but mine at night. We shook hands on it, remember?"

[Assistant]
The snake lifted and lowered its head in an approximation of a nod, tongue flickering out of its mouth. Emmaline giggled in a very unwizardlike fashion. The magic behind the familiar was strange to her, as much she suspected, of Apsah as of the winds of magic as she understood them. Asp, as she had ironically named the cobra, certainly seemed to understand her and even obeyed commands when it suited the creature and it had saved her life on more than one occasion.

"Well I'm pleased that you two are getting along so well," Emmaline declared with slightly drunken solemnity. She took another sip of the whiskey from the stone mug, savoring the smoky flavor on her lips.

"As for snake charming," she said, slipping her hand into Amal's trousers to tease him with her fingertips, trailing the tips of her nails over him.

"Both of you have given me some trouble in that regard," she went on with a curve of her full lips. She cast an eye to the door and the guards beyond, though she didn't really care about the men. She had no doubt that between her own erratic sorcery and Amal's knives they could handle a half dozen local thugs. That might cause problems later, but it wasn't as though the pair hadn't run from far worse on many previous occasions. Perhaps she should have asked Greta to ply the men with ale, having his flunkies show up hung over would irk the sheriff. That irritation would be worth a few pieces of sliver at the very least.

[User]
The possibilities of future hijinks or present problems evaporated at Emmaline's giggle to Amal. He raised his hand to the serpent, and slowly Asp's tail lifted up to press to his palm. He shook its tail ardently, his face a mask of stoic sarcasm. After that he relaxed, watching Emmaline, smiling like a fool when he felt her fingers along his length. She might have been the priestess of snakes, but his hips writhed to the side lightly as his eyes went from mirth to craving, dark eyes dilating ever so slowly in the firelight.

Why she had this effect on him, he didn't know or care. He was still new to love, but wouldn't have it any other way he knew. She would feel him stir, already half awoken from the warmth and their close proximity. Amal's back to the couch's back, his arms slid behind it to hold on to the wooden beams that kept the piece of furniture steady, broadening his shoulders and pectorals. The alcohol tingling in his throat, he smiled his mordant smile at her teasing. She could feel his eyes roving over her, his tongue curling in his mouth.

"Consider me charmed..."

[Assistant]
The snake did a surprisingly human job of rolling its eyes before curling itself around an extinguished candlestick atop the hearth, finding warmth even in this chill northern land. The magic that sustained the familiar was not truly effected by the cold, but the form of a snake carried with it some decidedly snake like imperatives.

There was a perfunctory knock on the door before the wooden panel swung open on its heavy iron hinges. Greta stuck her head through the portal looking nervous and a little skitish. That was to be expected with a half dozen of the Sheriff toughs making a gauntlet for her to walk to reach the room. Fortunately Emmaline was fully clothed and the girl couldn't see what she was doing from her position by the door.

"Ummm... will there be anything else tonight master and mistress?" she asked, clearly hoping there wouldn't be. Emmaline drew a silver piece from her pocket and tossed it to the girl.

"Keep our friends there in ale if you would," she said in an encouraging tone and then took another coin from the pouch and tossed it after the first.

"And for your troubles," she added. Greta caught the coin and knuckled her forehead.

"Thank you Frauline," she said and then vanished behind the door which closed and latched with a click. Emmaline smiled and tightened her grip slightly.

"Well... I can't say you are exactly putty in my hands," she said with a giggle.

[User]
As the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving Mannslieb and Morrslieb to fade away until the next night, Amal and Emmaline stirred on the bed. The two of them stretched languorously, sighing contentedly and feeling their naked bodies pressed, stirring further desires they had to go at it again until there was a knock at the door. It vexed Amal to leave Emmaline's embrace, but the promise of danger and the potential of profit stirred his limbs and he slid out of Emmaline's greedy grasp and placed two feet on the floor. Another knock.

"Mr. Ali Baba sir?" Greta's voice called urgently.

"Be there in a moment." He replied as he put his trousers on.

"The guards are downstairs, and they're sort of eating us out of house and home. They're also boasting on breaking this door down when they're done. You might want to-"

"One moment. We'll be out." He said firmly. Emmaline wiggled like an annoyed serpent, unwilling to get up. Amal laughed at how cute he thought she was and then he leaped onto the bed, bouncing her a foot off the mattress, making her squeal. She reared up and glared at him, but was unable to stay mad when he smiled. They both got dressed within minutes and were downstairs. Emmaline, with her disheveled blonde locks drew some leering gazes from the guards, but the captain seemed more professional than the others at least.

"It's about time you two got up. The Baron awaits you." He said, gesturing for his guards to push them forward. When one attempted, Amal grabbed his hand and shoved him back before he even touched he or Emmaline.

"I think we get the picture." He said, taking Emmaline's hand. "Come honey, let's go and clear our names so these common thugs leave us alone. Your country is so barbaric."

"Ugh, indeed," Emmaline replied, playing along. She had the facade of an innocent, albeit posh mistress. "The service here is terrible. They didn't even offer us coffee."

Amal did his best not to snort, ushering her along outside with the watchmen in tow, muttering. One took one last apple, without leaving payment obviously and stepped outside. True enough, Adolf Vandershute was awaiting them just out the door. He looked even more severe than yesterday, likely from being kept waiting. Amal almost would have felt bad were he not planning on killing the man within the hour.

"I take it you had a fine rest? You might not get another chance for some time." The Baron declared. There was no mocking humor in his placid voice.

"On the contrary, we'll be back here before noon. It is your men that need worry. I suspect they have not faced beastman in years." Amal replied confidently.

Amal had their belongings in a moderately sized pack that looked like simple traveling gear. They weren't supposed to be walking far, but the men chalked it up to being the naivety of a foreigner. Their magic carpet was curled within, ready to pop out at Amal's instant call. More than likely they were going to use it to escape if the two of them couldn't kill the six men that were to set out.

Without further interruption they headed toward the southern edge of Delbertz, drawing the gazes of any passerby and shopkeep. Some might have thought he and Emmaline were being escorted like aristocracy with the Baron showing around his honored guests. Most likely it looked like they were walking into an execution. Either way, within minutes they stepped onto the forest path...

[Assistant]
Emmaline giggled brainlessly. She had been doing so frequently for the past hour or so of travel, conscious that it annoyed both the Sheriff and his hung over guardsmen. They had been walking for perhaps three quarters of an hour and the forest around them was growing taller and wilder. The tidy farmsteads had vanished also, giving way at first to charcoal burners huts, then isolated hunters cottages, before signs of human habitation ceased all together. There was some traffic on the road though, a merchant and a wagon of goods, a trio of trappers bringing furs to market, all of whom nodded personably at the party of soldiers and their strange guests. They were mounted on horses from the city watch stables, Emmaline, having stolen a few in her time managed to keep a saddle, though the effort made her legs ache and her bottom hurt. Riding wasn't a skill you could afford to get too out of practice in she supposed.

"We must be approaching the sight of your... alleged attack yes?" Vandershute asked as the hunter vanished out of view behind a small hill.

"You couldn't have run very far to escape beastmen afterall?" he pressed, his tone as always faultless and yet somehow mocking.

"Not much further I think, perhaps the reputation of you and your men scared them too much to continue the chase," Emmaline replied, unable to avoid needling the sheriff just a little. She didn't know what game he was playing, but whatever it was he was clearly getting ready to make a move. Emmaline didn't much like their chances, nine versus two wasn't great odds, especially if they didn't have surprise on their side, and both Vandershute and his men were clearly watching them carefully.

"There," Emmaline said, pointing to some ripped bark on a large oaktree by the side of the road.

"Claw marks from the beasts," she asserted, it was as likely a regular bear as anything else, but she had been on the look out for anything that might give credence to her made up story and this was the first likely candidate.

"Ah, then let us dismount and see if we can find tracks in the woods," Vandershute declared. Emmaline hoped he might dismount first, giving them a moment to allow their horses to bolt, but the sheriff merely waited for the two strangers to slip from their saddles to the leaf covered roadway.


[System]
Age: 16

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Appearance:

A bright eyed girl from the Steppes of the Northeastern highlands, she carries with her a brightness and optimism that would lead one to believe her a simple runaway girl with dreams of adventure. Her complexion is tanned from her time spent under the open sky, and she seems to be in a perpetual good mood, judging from her omnipresent smile. She is of a lithe build, and has a slightly bowlegged stance from her life spent riding on a horse. Her arms and legs are fairly toned and muscular for her frame, making her a lot stronger than your average girl from a farm.

She is almost perpetually seen with her hair in a ratty mess, the only restraint to it being her hairband that keeps her bangs from blocking her vision entirely. Her outfit usually consists of a traditional tunic of the Steppe, with large sleeves that give her arms free movement, a black long skirt that has been ripped at the sides to allow her legs more freedom, and a pair of leather sandals. When adventuring, she wears a leather breastplate beneath her dress for added protection.

Height: 5'7"
Eye Color: Amber
Hair Color: White

Personality:
A little ball of sunshine and happiness, there doesn't seem to be much in this life that can get the Steppe Archer down. She carries with her an almost infectious energy that brightens up the room, seemingly always in high spirits.

Her optimism is matched by her keen observation skills. In just a few minutes, she can identify the people in a room at a glance, and tell how someone is feeling by their expression. Despite her perceptive nature, she herself is very blunt, and often unable to think before she speaks. It is not uncommon for something she says to come across as harsh due to her lack of common sense compared to most other people.

Likes: Horses, Sweet Meats, and Flowers
Dislikes: Enclosed spaces, Negative thinking, and Insects
Hobbies: Leather working, Cooking, and Stargazing

History:
On the large rolling plains of the Northeastern Highlands, one is born, lives, and dies on the move. There is no pause available to the nomadic people, with each waking moment spent with focus being on procuring food, supplies, and, once those begin to run low, the focus shifts to uprooting the camps and moving elsewhere on the Steppe. Their society is organized by numerous small "tribes" that have banded together to form a Confederacy, overseen by a leader who rules for a period of ten years after a martial tournament is held between the greatest fighters of the tribes.

Before she was born, her father was heralded as the mightiest man on the Steppe, unbested in archery, and a master of wrestling. On the second year after she was born, he was dethroned and retired to his previous life of being a hunter to provide. In the time she spent with her father, she would learn the art of the hunt, and come to grow into a young girl. Life would proceed as it did, the circle of life in an unending loop, marching onwards with the beat of the people who's lives were spent chasing life. It wasn't all bad, not in the slightest. The meat was plentiful, the hunt was thrilling, and the life lead was one far from purposeless.

Eventually however, the decade-held tournament would be held, and with the rise of a new chief came new and bizarre laws. One of which being that a "bride" of each tribe was to be offered to his son, as if they were pieces of meat to be handed out. And quite unfortunately, she was "selected" as the delegated bride. Rather than accept some impish demand for her virtue and hand in marriage to some spineless whelp, she would instead flee the Steppe with her father and mother's blessings, figuring that she could eek out a living as a mercenary or adventurer.

With no military willing to accept such a young girl despite her demonstrated skills, she was left with no avenue but to become an adventurer, arriving in Palisade town on the Frontier due to its closeness to home.

Adventuring Rank: Porcelain

Equipment:
Nomad Bow: A composite recurve bow of Steppe Archer's own making, made out of horn, wood, and sinew. It is well used from the years that Steppe Archer has spent hunting. Due to its smaller overall size compared to a normal bow, it is ideal for shooting on horseback and while moving, while not sacrificing the power of a full bow.

Nomad's Sword: A steel curved sword resembling a slightly less curved scimitar. Ideal for slashing things apart, or gliding past something with a slash. Has a large enough grip to be two-handed.

Torchfire: A beautiful mature auburn colored horse that Steppe Archer rode into town on. Despite the fact that she isn't able to bring it on many adventures due to the danger, she still insists on keeping it stabled up in Palisade Town, just in case she needs it. She is Steppe Archer's pride and joy, and her greatest asset in battle on a more open plain.

Skinning Knife: A small knife that's sharp enough to cut through flesh. Usually used by Steppe Archer to skin the beasts that she slays, in order to sell the pelts for a sizable sum. Steppe life taught her never to be wasteful.

Steppe Ensemble: Steppe Archer's protective leather breastplate beneath her folk-style dress. Her clothes keep her cool in just about any climate, and the leather armor beneath provides enough protection to shield her from light damage.

Porcelain Adventurer's Tag

Skills:
Horseback Riding: There are few that can match the riders of the Steppe when it comes to equestrian based combat, and as a proud Steppe child, Steppe Archer can ride with the best of them.

Trap Setting/Disarming: Much of the Steppe's hunting is done using traps to catch prey. As such, Steppe Archer is proficient in finding the perfect spots to place traps, whether that be to aid her friends, or harm her foes.

Handy Woman: On the Steppe, work is divided amongst the men and women equally. As such, Steppe Archer is skilled with physical labor, capable of many tasks that many in the realm would consider "men's" work.

[User]
As the group delved further into the den of the goblins, Steppe Archer couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She imagined the others were experiencing a similar sensation...albeit she didn't know if Big Red had any hairs TO get tingled. Regardless, her anxiety was gnawing at her as they walked along. Her sword was clutched tightly in her hand, the spear she had received in the other.

The sight of the fallen adventurer was a gruesome one indeed, given that he looked to have been injured insanely badly. But...it didn't make sense. His injuries should have thrown him to the floor from their force...yet here he was, neatly sitting as if he hadn't been torn apart. It was then that her eyes widened, realizing that it was a trap. Before she could even yell anything towards the Druid Girl, arrows flew, and Big Red flew into action to block those arrows with body as a shield, and the corpse of the adventurer.

The archer would follow the words of her lizardman companion and get down, readying her spear. She would take up position behind her lizard companion once he was close enough for her to shimmy behind, ready to stab from behind him at the goblin archers. Right now, using her bow was too risky, especially since she could hardly see.

[Assistant]
"Hyah?!"

That was all of the noise Druid Girl could make, before burly and scaled arms swooped down, grabbed onto her and pulled the girl into a forceful embrace. It wasn't very pleasant, nor comfortable, but then again, neither was getting perforated by arrows. Speaking of, Big Red would soon learn that arrows already launched from bows moved much faster than even his reptilian reflexes, and een though one of the projecticles missed the mark entirely, the other found their way into the lizardman's massive frame. It seemed that despite their supposed weakness, goblins - or at least their archers - had enough power to pierce the hide and scales of a lizard.

Fortunately for the giant warrior, the arrows truck non-lethal areas of his body, with one imbedding itself in his great, big, broad shoulder and the other in his upper arm. As the giant grabbed the corpse of the deceased adventurering priest before himself and his sheilded maiden-in-distress, another volley of three arrows came whistling. Luckily, these three all struck the rather cold corpse-shield, rather than either of the live adventurers.

Shrieks and garbled noises could be heard from further down the tunnel, and soon the pitter-patter of tiny feet was heard. Within seconds, a group of no less than five goblins, each wielding their own weapon, ranging from a hand axe to what looked like broken-off femur to a dagger dripping with who-knows-what. The goblins using bows however, seemed to have stayed behind, not advancing with their fellow kin to rush in attack their invading enemies. The five attackers ran at somewhat different pace though, meaning they weren't all moving at the same speed, nor were they lined up next to each other in unified order either.

Druid Girl, having witnessed Lizard Fighter's rather macabre use of a fellow fallen adventurer as an impromptu barricade, was about to let loose a barrage of scolding words, but were thankfully interrupted due to the arrival of the new wave of goblins. While she was thankful that the big oaf had saved her supple butt from being turned into a pin cushion, she wasn't exactly thrilled about how he had managed it. Still, now wasn't the time for such matters.

The little fairy that the nature mage had summoned flew off, racing at the goblins and then beginning to however and circle above them, shedding its light over the quintet and making them less obfuscated by the glooomy dark of the cave. Reaching for her hip, Druid Girl unlatched her sickle - the spear she had been given by Big Red wasn't going to do much good right now, nor was she going to have time to start chanting and casting a spell, what with the little monsters almost already upon them.

The young girl scooched a bit away from Big Red, though not far, standing a bit to his left side. As the creepy, long-nosed freaks got close, three of them leapt at the red lizard, yelling and cawing like little madmen, while one raced towards Druid Girl and the other seemed to want to squeeze past the two frontliners to get to their archer-friend in the back.

[User]
Druid Girl let out a strange yelp when he shielded her with his body. Two arrows struck him, in the meatier portions of his arm like his shoulder and the other in his bicep. It hurt but they didn't cause much damage to the musculature beneath his crimson scales. Growling he pushed forward with his meat-shield, which received three arrows from the archers. Technically he could just keep the body up until they ran out of arrows, but they'd probably wise up after the third volley.

More goblin sounds came from ahead, which revealed more goblins. Roughly five more came charging ahead, just how many were there in this cave? Whatever, they'd die and nothing would miss the little green bastards. The mishmash of weapons didn't affect him, they each had their own style of movement and he had a rather large 'shield' that they'd have to work around.

Two of the three, their movements revealed by the little fairy, went for his allies. Sure he could interfere with the goblins attacks, but he'd have to trust the two women to handle themselves as he took on the remaining three. Their move speeds were different than each others, but that didn't matter. If they had clustered up they'd be more difficult to handle, swarm tactics could best the most skilled fighters.

The first goblin to approach was met with the dead body of the priest being dropped on it. A sudden dead weight of over one hundred pounds dropped on a child was a good way to keep it busy and struggle. The second goblin launched itself up, trying to stab his jaw from beneath with its femur dagger. Leaning to the left the crudest of crude knives went past. Whatever sludge was on that thing was pretty damn rank. Still his face turned as the knife went by and with a loud meaty snap his jaws closed on the goblins forearm. The third goblin, that had a rusty hatchet, came up last and swung its small limbing axe at him, only for that buckler to catch the blade. The wood thunked as the blade bounced off, leaving a notch in it.

His leg went forward, kicking the goblin away as its weapon rebounded off his small shield. A clench of his jaw and a bone breaking snap rung out before he grabbed the screaming wounded goblin by its head as he released its arm from his meat-tearing teeth. Without missing a beat the goblin was thrown at the wall.

[Assistant]
There wasn't anything to do, save for kill so that they could not be killed. Her spear in hand, the Steppe Archer wasn't hesitating at the sight of Big Red's onslaught. The Lizard had the three facing him under control, leaving the one coming for the Druid, and the one coming for her up to them. Steeling herself, the Archer would ready her spear and, seeing an opening as the goblin charged. She would step forward and with a twist, run the goblin's chest through with her wooden spear. Letting go, she wasted no time in advancing on the now-dying goblin that was sent reeling from being run through. It wasn't dead, but so long as its hands could move, the archer would fight it. Pulling her sword free of its scabbard to drink of goblin blood, the archer was swift in her movements, cutting the reeling monster's throat before it had a chance to retaliate.

Hurriedly drawing her bow to try and shoot back at the goblin archers faintly illuminated by the fairy's light, Steppe Archer would let one arrow loose to try and thin their numbers before turning to see how the Druid Girl had fared with her goblin, hoping that her arrow in the dim light had met its mark on an archer.


[System]
Apparent Age: 19
Actual Age: 35
Gender: Male

Race/Faction: Human "Sanguinist" / Aligned with Vampires

Height: 5'5"
Weight: 120 lbs.

Appearance
Sindile looks much younger than his actual age due to his lineage as a Sanguinist. His hair also takes on a supernatural appearance, favoring colors from a dark bluish purple to black. His skin is milky white and his eyes are a dark shade of violet.

Bio: Petros Januarius was born from the ancient Lazarus line of Sanguinists, humans blessed with supernatural properties in their blood. At a very young age, Petros was orphaned when his parents and most of his family were murdered by fanatic werewolves. At the same time, many other Sanguinist families were slaughtered for their association with vampires, when it was believed that they would disrupt the balance of power between the three great inhuman races. On the same night of his family's murder, an African Blackblood vampire rescued the young Petros, and rechristened him as Sindile Eleazar.

Hiding under his new name, Sindile was adopted by a coven of vampires somewhere in the mid-east coast of the United States. As he grew, the young Sanguinist learned how to harness the power of his supernatural blood. Though without any surviving Sanguinists to teach him, which was the tradition that a Sanguinist mentor takes an apprentice, Sindile had to rely on ancient texts which his vampire foster family acquired for him. Sindile then left foster care, and forever grateful for his night-walking allies, decided to transfer to New York where he would assist the covens at the city that never sleeps.

Sindele Eleazar is employed by Noctis Progen Inc (stylized as NP), a multinational media corporation secretly run by vampires. Officially known as a "Business Relations Consultant," Sindele actually works as a field agent and liaison between NP and vampiric covens. His job is to keep the peace between inhuman entities such as vampires, werewolves, and hybrids.

Personality: Charismatic and alluring, Sindile has come a long way from his tragic background, making himself easily approachable and irresistible--thanks to a few tips from female nightwalkers. He is enthusiastic about his job, and loves meeting new people. While completely human and associated with vampires, Sindile values all walks of life.

Powers: The Blessing of the Sanguinist- According to legend, the resurrected Lazarus of Bethany, by the power of Christ, was the first Sanguinist. Descending from the Line of Lazarus, Sindile's abilities lie within the supernatural properties of his blood.
* Blood Reserve- Through centuries, never has it been known for a Sanguinist to die from blood loss. Sindile can slowly bleed for days and only feel mild fatigue. In the past, this made Sanguinists incredibly valuable to vampires, who could act as a virtually endless blood supply. However, there is such thing as bleeding too much. A Sanguinist can fall into a short coma if fed on without intervals of rest.
* Increased Healing Rate- Sanguinists can heal at a much faster rate than normal humans, depending on the severity of the open wound. Lacerations from blades weapons can close over a good night's rest, with scarring taking place immediately after and disappearing in a couple of days. Fractures will take just a few days to heal when properly cast.
* Peak Human Condition- Sanguinists have evolved over the centuries in order to compete with their inhuman contemporaries. No stranger to danger, Sindile has learned to outrun inhumans, and could hold off on his own in a fight against one or more of them for a short while. As a survivor, however, Sindile focuses on ending fights early through dirty tactics and brute force. He would bring silver laced weapons and UV ray emitters to a standoff against one with fangs and claws. He does this to compensate for the reality that he is truly weaker than a blood-deprived vampire and a starved werewolf.
* Clairvoyance- By touching the blood of another, through skin contact or tasting, Sindile get a glimpse into their memories. The experience can be described as seeing through another's eyes. This ability is the most useful to Sindile's job as a peacekeeper, helping to bring to justice any wrongdoers that he can implicate through his visions.

Other: The name Sindile is of African origin, meaning survivor.

[User]
"I don't understand why I shouldn't come back? You're in danger there Adalaide. I can protect you if I'm actually there." Adalaide's closest sibling, her brother Francis, had called her exactly forty five minutes ago, and yet they were still on the phone and still basically on the same subject as what he opened with.

"Francis I will say this one more time and this time I expect you to listen to me. By myself, I am safer than if any member of our family were here. If you were here, instead of focusing on protecting myself, I would be focusing on protecting you and vise versa on you protecting yourself. I need to be here, you do not and by being here you would just put an unnecessary target on your back. Enjoy Milan brother, it's truly a beautiful city and I worry you're not benefiting as much as you could be. I'll keep you updated with this situation, I promise. Give all my love to mother and Aunt Annalise." Adalaide gave her final word and Francis sighed before giving in to her argument.

"Fine sister, if you think you know best then I will trust you, but at the first sign you're in trouble I'm coming back to New York and dragging you out of there kicking and screaming if I have to. Do you understand me Adalaide?" Francis and Adalaide managed to get off the phone with the call coming in just under an hour.

"We've arrived ma'am." Adalaide smiled appreciatively at her driver, Thomas. He had been her driver for 25 years now, and she paid him generously for his secrecy. She also paid him for doing things like knowing when she was about to end a call and arriving at their destination just as she finishes.
"Thank you Thomas. I don't know how long I'll be so just go home. I'll see you tomorrow." Adalaide smiled at him as she exited her car and made her way to the door of the bar. She flashed her fangs at the guard before entering. She didn't immediately join Anya and what looked like Norman Perry, mostly because she didn't particularly enjoy either of their company. She came because she knew her particular skills would be needed eventually and she wasn't one to avoid the inevitable for an extended period of time.

After she lingered for a smidge under rude, Adalaide joined Anya and Perry at the bar.
"Cognac, neat please." Adalaide asked the bartender as she sat on a barstool. She made eye contact with both Anya and Perry.
"Why am I here? I'm not a fighter, I'm a mediator and if he's here, I have a feeling you're not in a mood to talk with anyone." Adalaide raised an eyebrow at Anya, since she was the one to call the meeting.

[Assistant]
Hector Calava, who was seated at Bastian's left side, nodded thoughtfully. Letting the cops deal with this was reasonably close to standard procedure. Running headlong into a gang war was downright suicidal, especially compared to giving some choice hints to the police and giving them the information and motive they needed to put the boot to whoever's antagonizing them. At times, it was best to simply let nature take its course. However, this time was a bit different.

"Unfortunately," Hector said brusquely, "we may not have time to let the police figure this out for themselves."
Hector crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Whoever's doing this has got our colors and knows where we work. With all due respect, chalking it up to hunters or vampires is only one of many options-- it would be best to aim for the simplest answers first."

Hector held up one finger.
"Either we got some goons knuckling in on our territory," Hector held up a second finger. "Or we got someone on the inside."

Hector didn't bother to look around the room for anyone's reactions. That avenue of investigation generally did nothing to score a reliable conviction. He spoke up again, matter-of-factly.

"I say we should mount an investigation. Check out the crime scenes and find out how they happened, and decide who's doing this from there."

[User]
Anya had simply continued to watch the patrons of the bar for quite some time, she was about ready to leave when Norman showed up. She arched a brow quizzically at him when he asked her about some plan, "Plan? Uh...I was about to..go home and take a shower..maybe?" She told him, confused entirely.

What plan? she thought to herself. Things got increasingly more confusing when Adalaide asked why she had been called her. "Uh...." Anya started. What plan? Why are they asking me for a plan...I thought they just came by to say hi..uh...Shit gotta think of something. She thought to herself.

Did I call them here and just forgot?.... "Um..right..the uh..plan and reason I called you guys here." She began nervously, staring at her drink and sloshing the contents around absent mindedly.

"Um..well....I was going to..ask for your opinions?" She said, half smiling, her face red in embarrasment. "Uh..I..I'll be honest. I don't remember even calling you here. I'm not sure if I did or not." She finished laughing nervously.

"Buuuut. Asking for your opinions does sound like the most solid thing to do..so...opinions?" She asked, looking between the two. She absolutely hated being the center of attention, she would have never called a meeting by herself, the question remained who did?

Outside the Zone, several rooftops away, was a shadowy figure in a long coat watching who entered and who left the Zone. "Everything is going according to plan..." The man spoke with a rough voice, a grin plastered across his face.

His cellphone rang and he answered, "Silver Moon is currently in a meeting, confirmed." The mans grin grew wider, things were all going to plan, and quite perfectly so. "Set the charges for 10 minutes and activate them, be sure to send me a picture of the fireworks." The man replied, closing his old burner phone and pulling out a small detonator.

With a press of the button on top, 10 bricks of C4 hidden around the Zone were activated. What the explosion didn't kill, he would move in to mop up.

[Assistant]
Bastian let out a long, deep laugh at Alissa's suggestion.

"Ahahaha! Still getting acclimated, I see. Hector's right. Even if we could ask the pigs for help, they'd take far too long to dig anything up. It's also true we need to mount an investigation. And though it pains me to say this..." the werewolf's face grew solemn. He instinctively reached for a cigarette, before stopping himself and entwining his fingers.
"Alissa, you're a pup, and your face isn't known. This layer of anonymity makes you perfect for spying. The leeches know my face, otherwise I'd do it myself. I'd like to send Hector, but his reputation rivals my own. Still..." he leaned back.

"She'll be vulnerable by herself. Eavesdropping and spying would be safest if Alissa took the lead, posing as whatever alias she needed. Hector could tag along in case it goes south. Obviously, you should both keep your identities hidden, but if Hector's recognized talking to her in public... try to pass her off as your human friend. Or girlfriend; it doesn't matter as long as you keep your stories straight."


[System]
Age: In her mortal form, she appears to be in her mid to-late 20s.
Race: Elf/Dragon (Guardian)

Inherited Abilities:

Elf Form: Shadow Jumping

Dragon Form:
-Death Fog:Like all dragons, Unamia has a special breath ability. Unlike most dragons, however, who typically breathe fire, Unamia's breath is different. Death Fog is an ability given to Unamia by the God of the Abyss himself. A noxious fume flows from Unamia's jaws, coating yards of enemies in a sheen of fumes toxic enough to kill.

-Banshee Cry: The Banshee Cry is a sound no one wants to hear. Although Unamia can direct it toward an enemy, the cry itself causes one's blood to run cold, and those in its path soon find themselves lost in madness.

Acquired Abilities:
-Shadow Warrior: Not quite foolish enough to go completely un-armed in mortal form, she does much prefer hand to hand close-quarters combat. While she cannot always overpower her opponent with brute force, she can typically use her speed and agility to out-maneuver them. Her weapons of choice, when armed, are a flexible enchanted staff and short dagger.

-Spirit Perception: All of Unamia senses are heighted compared to those of normal mortals. She can see as clearly in the dark as on the brightest day, and hear the sound of a falling stone in the midst of a crowded market.
-Spirit Consumption: Wandering spirits cover the earth now, and Unamia is able to tap in, or consume their essence. With every nearby death friend of enemy, she grows stronger, faster, and even heals rapidly in the midst of a battlefield.

Appearance:

Personality: Unlike most of her elders, Unamia does not have the patience or wisdom one would associate with living for millennia. She retains a rather youthful demeanor; good humor offset by her own pride, vanity, and quick temper. The resentment she once held for mortals has mostly faded, to be replaced with a sort of amusement; a similar regard most would have towards kittens or small children. Despite the restrictions to using her dragon form she enjoys her time on the mortal plane for its newness and constant change: She adores excitement in all forms and can even be optimistic when things don't go according to plan; granted something hasn't come about to raise her temper.

History: Unamia is the second the carry the name 'Death Bringer'. The first was her own mother, Desrem who had the title for a very different reason. Desrem did Ral's purpose; she led the dead to the afterlife, but was killed in the early days of the great purge. Despite orders and many advising against it, the mere centuries old Unamia went on a rampage of vengeance in Darrodell. The destruction and havoc she caused play its own role in helping old king persuade the other kingdoms to join him in the purge, thus leading to more deaths of her kind; a great many of which where Ral's remaining guardians. An injury severe enough to force Unamia to sleep for several years saved her from the final purges. Upon wakening, Ral bestowed her mother's title on her and she became his chosen guardian until there came a time the dragon lords could return.

[User]
Clop clop clop

Denrig's pony clopped lazily along the cobbled path. Seemingly oblivious to its rather ominous surroundings. Or maybe as a Dwarven mining pony it was just more accustomed to the enveloping darkness offered by forest than the light of the open sky. The way the tree branches seemed to intertwine together until they formed a single, roof like structure almost reminded Denrig of home. But the roof of his hold was made out of stone. Not wood. And while the dwarves did have lumber parties to harvest wood from the trees in the mountain ranges. It was nothing like this. Just just being surrounded on all sides. They made more noise than stone too. Stone was quiet and hard. The only noise stone made was when it echoed other noises. But trees groaned. They rustled and even creaked sometimes. It was unnerving and Denrig didn't like it.
This enclosed forest was just as foreign to his mind as a wide open meadow. Luckily he wasn't claustrophobic, something that would be quite impossible for a dwarf to be. But still this wasn't like the tunnels and enclosed hallways of a stronghold. This was different. More sinister. The the roots of the trees writhed and swarmed over the the ground in such a way that it made moving any faster than the leisurely clop he was currently moving impossible. He hated trees and he hated forests. How the other races tolerated these things, much less lived near them or gods forbid in them. He would never know.

The hardest part about living on the surface was getting used to the sky. It was just so.... so open and just there. There was nothing at all above his head and for those first few days especially he white-knuckle gripped his reins as if he would fall upwards into that nothingness. But soon fear turned into annoyance because open sky also meant unpredictable weather. One thing that Denrig realized he took for granted in the mountains was that weather 'inside' a mountain was always the same. Always the same temperature and rain was and storms were obviously not concerns in the slightest. Even cycles of day and night were more represented by the hours that there were less torches and fires lit than when there were more. But out here it took some hard learning to get accustomed to the changing weather. And he got soaked to the bone twice before he learned what darkened skies and grey clouds meant.

He pulled out the old parchment map that was given to him before he embarked on his journey. It was probably older than his father, maybe even as old as his grandfather but it represented the only records of non Dwarven lands that his stronghold had. Two hundred years of isolation left both sides with woefully inadequate understandings of the other sides landscapes. While the Dwarven hold's didn't change significantly in location in that time he was told that it might not be the same in human lands. Two hundred years was along time for humans and entire countries could rise and fall over such a period. So he was pretty much screwed and now this dated map that was supposed to lead him to a once thriving village that his hold had extensive trade relations with once upon a time, was now seemingly buried under foliage and tree roots. If it wasn't for the fact that there clearly was a road under all of this he would have thought he was moving in the wrong direction entirely this whole time.

He swore at length in his native tongue. A string of harsh flinty words that were spat out into the air from bearded lips. He kept grumbling until he heard voices up ahead. Voices that definitely were not Dwarven. He assumed they were human even though he had never met one or heard one speak. But it was the most likely assumption to make. His back straightened and he perked up. Maybe there still was a village in this depressing forest after all! It was a good place to start.

"Come on girl."

Spurring his pony off in the direction of the voices. The beast was short and muscled from years of labour in dwarven mines. As much of a 'dwarf amongst horses' as Denrig was a dwarf amongst humans. Luckily it was also docile and was easily spurred to it's riders bidding. Only neighing once before trotting off in a new direction.

[Assistant]
The young woman responded negatively at his questions. This made Fredrick very upset as he closed his eyes and looked the other way. After opening them he saw another guy in the distance, coming close to this place. "Well it looks like this fire is attracting all kinds I see." He said turning his view back to the girl only to see her extremely scared and backing out towards what seemed like a hole or something. Although the hole was kind of small, her slender figure could probably fit inside. Fredrick rolled his eyes at her reaction to him. "You have no reason to be afraid of me okay? I only hurt those that deserve it." He said. "Here. I'm putting my sword away if that's what scares you." He said as he slided his sword back in it's sheath.

Fredrick decided to face the facts and give up on chasing that thief. He had slim chances or catching him in this darkness, even though he was hurt and likely to be bleeding, and besides, he got his stuff back so that's what was more important. He took one more look at the guy in the distance and then back at the girl. "So what do you say if I use your fire for the night?" He said as he sat down in front of the fire. "I was going to make one for myself but it's a shame since this one is already available." He continued as he removed his cloak, placing it on the ground next to him and putting his side bag on his lap, opening it, putting the waterskin inside and pulling out something covered in paper and tied with a string.

He took one more look at the girl who was still standing next to that hole with her stuff in her hands and a terrified face. "You can stay there all night if you wish, it matters less to me! Once the morning comes i'll be on my way anyway." He said as he removed the paper, revealing a large piece of beef, preserved with salt so it dosen't rot. He then put the paper that covered it on the edge of the fountain and put the meat on it as he pulled out his dagger, started cutting a piece and then stabbing it with a stick that was near him, putting it to roast on the edge of the fountain. After all that he wrapped the meat back in paper, tied it with the string and put it back in the bag.

"So? Are you really gonna stay there all night?" He asked as he grabbed his dagger and put it back in the sheath. Then he went back to his bag and pulled out a nice green apple, showing it to her. "Apple? No? Suit yourself!" He continued as he put the apple back in the bag and grabbed the stick, checking on the meat. It didn't take long for the cold and refreshing air of the night around too fill with the smell of roasting beef. "It looks like we have a shy one over there." Said Fredrick as he kept taunting her, hoping to get a reaction, and he pointed to the strange guy in the distance. Whether or not he was dangerous it didn't matter to him. If he was enjoying his life he better not be.


[System]
"You're a disease, and I'm the cure."
Alias:

Age:

Appearance:

Power/Skills: Very skilled rider on his motorcycle. Also quite an expert at wielding his primary weapons of choice. Beyond that, not much beyond a seemingly ghostly or phantom-like aura about him.

Equipment:
Mauser C96
Ithaca 37
Side-Bar Police Baton
Harley-Davidson Flathead motorcycle
Bowie Knife with a strange symbol engraved on the blade

Personality:
Dedicated, Determined, Angry, Mysterious, Merciless

Brief Bio:
Hector DiLorenzo was an officer with a promising career in the SCPD. He was a motor unit, and thus issued a standard flathead motorcycle to serve as his primary transportation for patrols and pursuits. But he was also known for carrying a couple of personal weapons as a preference, namely his Mauser C96 which he first used when fighting in the trenches of The Great War. But he also carried a bowie knife with a unique engraving on the blade, a keepsake and family heirloom that just so happens to also serve as a suitable backup weapon.

But all that changed after a few short years on the force. DiLorenzo accidentally discovered corruption within his own motorcycle division. Apparently they were sharing a cut of the profits from a local mob boss's bootleg operation. But because DiLorenzo wouldn't let himself be paid off, he was marked for assassination. His own former partners sabotaged his bike in order to arrange an accident, then shot him for good measure. By all accounts, he should have died.

Instead, he heard what sounded like the call of a woman's voice. Telling him to awaken, to rise and take his vengeance on those who had betrayed him. He awoke, alive against all odds. He'd been found and nursed back to health by a man who owned a dairy farm not far from the site of DiLorenzo's "accident". The ex-cop remained there for a brief time, enough to heal and to repair his wrecked motorcycle. After that he rode off into the night, becoming the spirit of vengeance known only as "Lawman". And while his ex-partners were his primary targets, he decided there was no harm in dishing out some retribution to other criminals along the way.

Notes: The bowie knife he carries once belonged to Nathan H. Bedford - Hector's grandfather on his mother's side. Nathan had fought against the forces of General Sherman during the Meridian Campaign of the Civil War. He, too, was shot and left for dead only to miraculously survive and live to fight another day. He was carrying the bowie knife when it happened, and the knife has remained in the family as an heirloom ever since.

[User]
In the 1930's, Steel City was 'the place to be.'

Rules:

1.) My word is law.

2.) Obey the law.

3.) No back-to-back posting.

4.) PAY ATTENTION TO HEALTH AND POST COUNT! HEALTH SHOULD BE LISTED BELOW EACH ATTACK OR DEFENSE MOVE!
 a.) Health will be reset every two Levels [10 posts].

5.) Make sense. If your hero used basic melee punches and kicks along with other moves make sure it's clear in the post! ROLEPLAY BETWEEN THE LINES! Meaning don't be scared to get a little descriptive when not in the throes of battle.

6.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions or just ask to collaborate in the discord. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys!

7.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC.

8.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story.

9.) "I was waiting for [insert player/character] to make a move" is not an excuse to halt posting.

10.) There is no rule #10.

11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the deputy GM (none ATM) will take control and their word will then be law.

___________________________________________

It was a little past two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and a pair of individuals couldn't wait to get away from Eisner High School. Just on the edge of Kings Bay, it was the largest of three high schools in Steel City. Unknown to the students and faculty, there was more than one hero under their roof. Several weeks ago Jake Johnson found one of the mystical instruments of the Piper and soon after adopted the identity of Boy Blue. The other just so happened to be a decorated war hero turned history teacher and the hero Professor Ironside. Both of them caught one another glancing up at the clock on the wall. There was a large flash of light down the street, and it was obvious who was causing trouble… Mister Brightside.

"Can I go to the restroom, Mr. Warren?" Jake asked from the back of the classroom.

"Class ends in thirty-two and a half minutes. Be patient, Mr. Johnson." responded the metal handed history teacher.

The teacher knew the boy wanted a way out to go play hero, he wasn't oblivious. In the weeks since Jake found the mystical instrument, Prof. Ironside saved the boy no less than six times. The kid was just too damn curious for his own good. One day he'd challenge the Copper Kids Gang, the next he was trying to take on some costumed idiot downtown making a scene. After he wore some blue clothes the Tribune gave him the alias Boy Blue and he started wearing a simple mask to help conceal his identity. The clock continued to creep ever so slowly towards two forty-five… and freedom.

Across town an undead man staggered through Kirby Park. Most of the locals just assumed the man had been drinking. They could never imagine that he was once dead and reanimated as a puppet of Doctor Death. Death sent letters to the police and taunted their every move. He had ties to the Tribune and sent letters to them as well, and not all of them were reprinted for the masses to read. Now his creation, his 'Death Man', approached a small child playing roughly twelve feet from her mother who was busy talking to another parent.

[Assistant]
Murphy sat on a park, drinking from a flask of water. He nervously adjusted his coat, looking around as if he was waiting for something. Which was, of course, what he was doing, but even to him, it was unclear what he was waiting for. There were probably better things for him to be doing - the professor had sent him out to grab some prints, the custodian was looking to schedule a visit soon, and Vincent had asked him to pick up some donuts on the way back. But Murphy... had a feeling.

Oh how he hated the phrase, so frustratingly vague and undescriptive. But even if it dealt in vagueries, the Moth God had been right every time. He didn't know what would happen, or when it would happen, or precisely where it would happen. For someone like him who liked to be right on time, it was a hairpulling experience. But something always would happen, some disaster would strike just when Murphy convinced himself he had imagined the impulse, and he would throw himself into the fray once again. Whatever occurred in the park today, the Magnificent Moth Man would be there to help. It was what he had to do, and the occassional Tribune headline focused on him didn't hurt either.

Murphy checked his watch impatiently. He hoped that whatever it was that happened, it would happen soon. He hoped that he could at least get to the print shop before it closed.

[User]
It didn't take James long to hear about the commotion in town and it took him less time to jump into action. He'd lucked out by not having anything on the agenda for the day, simply spending it mulling around home and taking a load off after an eventful weekend. The calm was luckily interrupted by some real action with the flash of lights seen from his home's window and an intercepted call to the police.

Rushing to his wardrobe, James removed the faux back panel to reveal his costume, of which he quickly donned. There was another flash as James scrambled upstairs and onto his roof. Through athletics, trial and error James now had a good idea of how far he could leap roof to roof before needing to clamber back down to street level and make the rest of his journey the layman's way. Luckily for James his route let him stay atop the building until he was a block away from the commotion. Deftly moving down to the street, James would lurk around the corner or one of the nearby building and scope out just what Mister Brightside was up to before making his own move.

[Assistant]
"This is where the Law stops, and I start."

It was the cold of night. The sun had set over Steel City over three hours ago. The outskirts of town were pitch black, lit only by occasional flashes of lightning as the rain poured down and thunder rumbled in the distant skies. On the old road approaching a dairy farm, a patch of road was dimly lit by the flaming wreckage of a motorcycle. The dim light revealed a masculine figure laying nearby. Shot in the back, the uniformed policeman lay face down in a muddy puddle of blood and water. His right hand clutched the handle of a Mauser CP6 pistol, while the left hand clutched the handle of a Bowie knife.

The symbol engraved on the blade almost appeared to pulsate with a soft glow in time with the flashes of lighting and flickering of the nearby flame. A haunting wind whispered its way across the scene, washing over the surely dead man. And when mixed with the pattering and splashes of raindrops, one could swear a distant voice could be just made out among the blowing wind.

"Rise."

After moments of nothing happening, a bolt of lighting struck much nearer than any previous. The accompanying thunder roared alongside the now-howling wind. The distant whisper became a closer, more sharply-toned command.

Rise!"

Hector's eyes shot open and he bolted upright in his cot. He looked around at his surroundings, confirming that he was indeed in the abandoned barn that he had repurposed into a hideout. It was spacious enough to park his bike inside of like a garage, and located outside of town where he would be allowed solitude and privacy. Hector wiped cold sweat from his face and stood upright. Sunlight peaked through the occasional cracks and spacing between planks, informing him that it was daytime - though he wasn't sure what time it was specifically. Even so, he set about his usual wake up routine.

He grabbed a bucket and used it to draw water from a nearby well outside. Then hung the barrel onto a simple pulley system he constructed in order to dump it on himself so that he could wash and clean himself. He turned on the radio of his bike, allowing himself to listen in on SCPD radio chatter while he went about getting dressed. At this time he picked up on some dispatch chatter, officially being labeled as a "drunk and disorderly" incident but with a certain code number attached to it that Hector recognized. It meant that there was a possible Doctor Death connection to this incident that the police were keeping quiet from the public until further investigation.

Hector had heard that name before, as anyone might have. And while he had yet to encounter Death personally, Hector had been diligent in trying to keep the reports of his activities on his radar. Perhaps Doctor Death was just another psychotic freakshow... or maybe he wasn't. Hector had been investigating his "awakening" on the side, trying to piece together how and why he was able to survive something he surely shouldn't have. And there was a possibility - however slim - that this Doctor Death character had an answer. Or, if not that, a clue at least.

In the next moments, Lawman was suited and burst out of the main doors of his barn/hideout aboard his motorcycle. Going on "rides" like this during the day wasn't his usual M.O., but he was willing to buck his own patterns if it meant getting a shot at Doctor Death. With his bike's engine giving its signature haunting roar, he sped into Steel City en route to Kirby Park.