[System]
Gender: M

Age: 26

Career/Class:Soldier / Ex-Soldier

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

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

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

[User]
Amal raised an eyebrow, still unaccustomed to seeing someone Emmaline had known in a previous life. The man had given Amal an unpleasant glance for a brief moment, then seemed entirely occupied with Emmaline. Not only in priority, but almost in disdain. The Arabyan had the distinct impression this wizard did not care for foreigners, but maybe he simply was too preoccupied with his seeing Amal's woman.

"Apprentice... so this is the one." Amal declared, fully nonchalant despite the dramatic air of the moment. He had a feeling they might run into him at some point. He'd wait for Emmaline to give a clue on what to do before he made any rash action. Or so he told himself that for the moment. The patrons of the Inn had gone back to whispering and speaking among one another, and Emmaline's magic had shut off from the conversation across the room. Whether it would have been detected by the older wizard or she was simply done with it, Amal didn't know.

"I haven't been so elated to see someone from my past in many years." Albrecht intoned. "You seemed to have ripened into a fine magician yourself it appears, if the fact you are still alive is any indication. You could have easily settled in the brothel life, or become some fool nobles mistress. Unfortunately, I have to bring up a bit of sourness that you might have forgotten about..."

"My fees..." Emmaline mumbled.

"Always a quick one! Yes, your fees. The money you owe me, plus interest." The wizard had a lightly sadistic finish to every word he spoke. "Had it not been so long, I might have given you a discount had you paid me in...other ways. But as it were-"

Emmaline grabbed Amal's wrist, knowing her lover and companion too well to not foresee the knife coming. He had already produced one of his blades in his hand, though his expression had changed only in the subtlest of ways. It was difficult to ascertain if Albrecht had ignited a wall of protection over him or not, but if he hadn't his throat would have already been bubbling with blood. Amal looked at Emmaline, seeing her hand and shrugging, letting the conversation move along. No one spoke to his woman in such a way when he was around.

If Albrecht had sensed the impending danger, he gave no sign. "-as it were I have some fees of my own, and I simply must pull rank and demand what is owed. Surely you have it, my dear?"

[Assistant]
Emmaline narrowed her eyes at her former, well technically current, master. Albrecht grinned his cocky grin at her and waved at the bar maid who approached warily with a pitcher of ale and two mugs on a wooden tray. The wizard took one mug and drained it in a single long swallow then took the other and the pitcher and waved the woman off with a playful swat on the rump.

"And how much do you think I owe you?" the blonde wizard asked, gently releasing Amal's wrist in time for the daggers to vanish. Albrecht nodded courteously to Amal and then spoiled the gesture with a belch that rattled the window. Emmaline rolled her eyes, amused in spite of herself that her tutor hadn't changed in the time she had been away.

"Two thousand marks," the plump wizard declared in a matter of fact tone.

"TWO THOUSAND MARKS?!" Emmaline demanded, not realizing until head began to turn that her voice had climbed into a shout and she had half stood from her chair. With an obvious effort she calmed herself and returned herself to her chair. Albrecht had the decency to look slightly embarrassed but he recovered himself quickly.

"That is insane, you haven't taught me anything in two years and precious little before that," she protested face flashed at the older wizards audacity.

"You wound me my dear, I like to think I played a key role in forming you into the impressive young woman you are today," Albrecht replied, moderating his leer for Amal's sake.

"And in any case the College is a wee bit iffy on what does and does not constitute teaching, some might say that I have furthered your instruction by sending you out into the world. They might also point out that you stayed away far longer than the task I set you in Tilea required. A task I note that still hasn't been completed," Albrecht tsked.

"That wasn't exactly my idea," Emmaline replied petulantly. Albrecht spread his hands wide in a placating gesture.

"Not saying it was but rules is rules girl," he said, taking another mighty swig from his flagon before pouring it full with the pitcher, slopping foam over the top and onto the table.

"Two thousand marks is still an insane figure," Emmaline responded stubbornly. Albrecht nodded, clearly having anticipated this objection.

"Guild dues are adjusted for the fact that the apprentice is expected to work for her master Emm, cooking, cleaning, helping with spells, and..." he paused and cast a wary glance at Amal, "...other things. All of which you most definitely haven't been doing for the past two years." Emmaline scowled.

"And I suppose you told all your cronies you were coming to see me before dressing up as a story book wizard in case I decided it was cheaper to dump your body in the river?" she enquired with an air of resignation. Albrecht smile spread brilliantly across his face, golden teeth gleaming in the lantern light.

"And weren't you just saying I never taught you anything?" he beamed with avuncular pride.

[User]
Amal was in an entirely different world here. In Araby there was only a small to middling middle class, and even they hardly had to worry about societal expectations...murder, for instance... that didn't have to do with how other business associates or aristocrats would see them. It was strange to him, having lived through the slums, that Emmaline did not simply want this man dead. A man who obviously had wronged her and wanted to even now take advantage of her. He instinctively knew it wasn't just because they were in a crowded area that she had halted Amal from attacking.

Maybe it was simply because Amal had always been wary around alchemists and sorcerers. Except for Em, of course. At that moment, an idea dawned on Amal. He spoke before Emmaline could.

"We'll pay you back in two days. Does that sound good to you?" Amal asked, drawing Emmaline's and Albrecht's gaze. Emmaline did her best not to look so questioning, but it was clear she was curious. The man snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"My good fellow, I'm not sure what you are to her. A passing fancy no doubt. She's always been into...spiced goods." He said, evidently considering that to be 'generous.' "But I can't hold your promise to any regard. She needs to make that promise for me to believe it. Nothing against you, but this is a transaction between her and I."

Amal looked at Emmaline, his eyes asking her to trust him. They could speak about it once they made it up to their room, but as of now they needed to make a decision.

[Assistant]
Emmaline glanced at Amal and then back to Albrecht. She didn't want to pay, two thousand marks would wipe out most of what they had but she suspected Albrecht would be shocked that she had even that much. Likely enough the old leecher wanted to bleed her of what cash she had and then enlist her in one of his innumerable schemes.

"Fine, two days," she grudgingly agreed, earning an arched eyebrow and then a beatific smile from her master.

"Well I am more than happy to grant my favorite apprentice a few extra days to come up with her admittedly laggardly dues," the older wizard said with a self satisfied grin. Emmaline rolled her eyes. It was possible to run from Albrecht of course, but it would mean dodging other wizards for the rest of her life, the College made rather a point of policing its students, and even though Albrecht wouldn't denounce her to witch hunters, there was no guarantee other members of the college would grant her the same forbearance.

"There are days," she said to Amal in Arabyian, "that I wish we had stayed in Araby."

"Is it the sand or the blistering heat you miss?" Amal rejoined with a grin that showed Albrecht his own gleaming white teeth.

"Good point," Emmaline conceded. Albrecht glanced between them suspiciously, put off to be party to a conversation in a language he didn't understand. He reached into his robes and produced a clay pipe and a pouch of tobacco. With practiced ease he packed it with the pungent herb and ignited it with a whispered spell.

"It is a real pleasure seeing you Emm, women of such beauty and natural blondes beside, you would swear Riekland is crawling with them but I make half my money selling boiled horse piss to bleach the heads of desperate house fraus."

"That one armed dwarven bastard sold me out didn't he," Emmaline declared out of the blue, having spent a few moments trying to figure out how Albrecht had tracked her. He was a wiley old dog, but magically he wasn't in the top tier of wizards, like Emmaline herself, destined for the middle of the pack. Albrecht smiled admiringly around his pipestem.

"Beautiful and brilliant, if only I were twenty years younger..."

"And fifty pounds lighter," Emmaline interjected, evoking a wince from the heavyset wizard.

"Ouch," he admitted, touching his heart to show he had been wounded by the remark.

"And had some hair," Emmaline added for good measure.

"Bit of a shrew though," he confided to Amal in a theatrical aside.


[System]
BASIC
Goes By (Nicknames): None currently available.
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Human

APPEARANCE

Face Claim (Actor/Actress They're Played By): TBA / I've yet to find an actor for this character.
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Skin Tone: Slightly pale.
Height: 6'2
Weight: 170lbs
Build: Lithe, somewhat muscular.
Weapons: Twin swords, multiple daggers and knives hidden on him.

Overall Appearance:

Dark features, Visible, jagged scar that runs down his right eye. Various scars are hidden underneath his clothing.

Ghent is often clad in black or dark grays.
Most of his clothes are made from black leather; his cloak has a hood and a mask to cover the lower half of his face if needed. He has various weaponry concealed; he often wears fingerless gloves, laced up bracers, and boots.

PERSONALITY

Likes: Gold.
Dislikes: Talking, poverty, people in general.
Strengths: Picking locks, leadership, agility.
Weaknesses: Stubbornness, Greed.
Fears: Loss, failure.

Overall Personality:

Stubborn | Calculating | Complicated | Quiet | Incredulous | Shrewd

Ghent's family was very often poor and lived in a lower part of a small, poverty-stricken town. His mother passed away shortly after giving birth to her second son, Garth. Ghent was ten years in age when she passed.

Ghent's father turned to drinking heavily and he came to blame his children for the loss of his wife. Fearing for Garth, Ghent took matters into his own hands; at the age of thirteen, he took his younger brother and left home, never once looking back.

Life on the road was not an easy one, but Ghent was determined to tough it out so that they would not have to return to their father. At first, Ghent began with petty theft; he stole what was needed in order to keep them alive, they took shelter where they could and lied whenever questioned. As the years went on, they moved up in the world. After years of practice, Ghent became a highly skilled thief. This was the start of a life he would live well past his teenage years.

* * *

Ghent has an eerie calmness about him and his emotions are seldom ever shown. Because of this, he is very difficult to read -- almost impossibly so. Ghent handles matters in a diplomatic way and doesn't often resort to violence unless necessary. For the most part, he is quiet and reserved, therefore much of his past is unknown.

Deep down, Ghent does have a heart, though he does his best not to show it. He'd be the last to admit it, but he has a soft spot for those in need.

BACKGROUND

Date of Birth: ? Have to calculate that. ,_,
Place of Birth: Outskirts of Laketown. Not quite within the town, though close.

Family Relations:

- Garth (younger brother)
- Lydia (Mother; deceased)
- Vincent (Father)
- Kaiden (cousin)

[User]
As they continued to climb the tree, Fili was helping his brother climb, but the youngest almost lost his grip as the tree began to shake. The wargs were trying to knock the tree down! That wasn't going to help them at this rate, and getting down wasn't an option! A warg managed to at least climb a little up the tree, but didn't get far.

Hovering near the said-tree, the she-elf screeched at the Pale Orc's taunt before she shouted Black Speech to the creatures. After this action, the winged elf aggressively collided and toppled one of the climbing wargs, right off the cliff below. Knowing that it wasn't over yet, the female made a u-turn, before charging back and hit one of them head-on.

Thinking quick, Gandalf retrieved a pinecone, and conjured blazing fire upon it. "Fili!", he passed one down to the eldest prince below, as well as the others, and throwing the blazing object at the creatures, creating a trailing wall of fire to get them away from the tree.

[Assistant]
Kili caught one of the pinecones, quickly shifted it to his other hand, then whipped it at the nearest warg. The rest of the company helped, and soon the clearing was engulfed in a wall of flame. This earned cheers from them all, and Azog roared in fury at their show of resistance. This was not to last, however. The cheers turned into cries of fear as the roots of the tree started to give way; the tree tipped precariously over the edge of the cliff, but stopped, only inches away from the cliff.

Again, Kili almost lost his grip. Holding on at such an angle was becoming impossible, and he was frightened certain that one of them was sure to fall. As if to answer his fears, Dori fell, but he managed to hold on for dear life when Gandalf extended him his staff.

Thorin would take no more of this. Saeril could not handle them all on her own, nor should she have to. Slowly, he pushed himself up, hatred burning in his eyes. Azog would pay for the grief and torment he had brought to them all.
Through the flames, Thorin ran towards him, Ocrist drawn.
The attack never made its mark; Azog was one step ahead. With the assist of his warg, he was faster, and both attacked Thorin first. Thorin managed to swing his sword, but he was thrown to the ground, then hit with Azog's mace as the others looked on in shock.

"Thorin!" Kili attempted to climb forward in order to reach him, but any movement risked the tree falling over completely.

[User]
As Dori fell backwards out of the tree, Ori lunged to try and grab him, but fell out himself, crying out. "Mr Gandalf!!", hearing their pleas, the wizard quickly stuck out his staff the dwarf could grab on to, and kept a hold of it, with Ori hanging tightly onto Dori's foot. They were safe, for now.

Saeril couldn't believe that Thorin would do such a thing. An opportunity that could result in death. He shouldn't, and couldn't, die now. She looked at her godsons and then back to the wounded Thorin. She made an exasperated sigh before hovering herself above the fire, blowing at the flames towards Azog with huge gusts of wind, and landed on the ground a few yards away from the Orc, the reflecting blazes of the fire radiating from her figure. "Face me, creature of malice!", she hissed in anger.

[Assistant]
Bilbo was witness to the attack, and he managed to stand up on the tree. While completely unlike him, he felt a fire within his heart, one of courage. Thorin needed help, and he may have been the only one there light enough to leave the tree without disturbing it.

At the same moment, The White Warg clamped its jaws around Thorin. Kili's eyes widened in horror as Thorin yelled out in pain; the sound was foreign to him, for he'd always believed his uncle immortal. For a young dwarf like Kili, nothing had ever seemed strong enough to harm Thorin, and yet here he was, at risk of being slaughtered before their eyes.
Dwalin tried to leave his place in order to assist Thorin, but the tree branches he held onto broke, swinging him over the edge and preventing him from reaching his king.

Thorin managed to hit the warg's head with the pommel of his sword, a hit enough to make the beast roar and throw him several feet away. Thorin landed heavily, his sword far from reach, his vision going dark. As it was, he was moments from losing consciousness, and Azog knew that.
The Pale Orc smirked cruelly, his eyes locked to Saeril. "Bring me the Dwarf's head," he commanded the orc nearest to him. "This one is mine." With that, he gave a roar and charged towards her, his mace in hand.

[User] Saeril stated as Azog charged, remarkably not being phased by the approaching creature he was perched upon. Closing her eyes, the she-elf bent down to one knee as if in prayer. Sheathing out the two curved daggers, she listened to the pacing footsteps of the warg, measuring its movements, its proximity, and its weight. Her elf-ear didn't fail her, before at the split second of it biting at her, she propelled her slim body over the beast, using the blades to cut its face, nearly at its eye. "Sons of Durin!", she shouted. "Retrieve your king!", telling the Dwarves to help their leader, who was nearly dying behind her. The she-elf gave another hiss at the Orc before hovering above the Dwarven King, shielding her now-friend from harm; the fire trailed its orange glow upon her figure, making her eyes seemingly glow in hatred at the Pale Orc. "Your blood will shed by my hand", she shot at him while having a dagger pointed at him.

[Assistant]
Bilbo had jumped down from the tree, Sting drawn and ready. The sword glowed a brilliant blue, and the hobbit ran forward as an orc approached Thorin. The foul creature had plans to slice Thorin's neck in order to decapitate him, but he never got the chance. Right as he swung his sword down, Bilbo threw himself at the orc and knocked him over. In the scuffle, Bilbo managed to stab Thorin's attacker as the others came to their aid.

Kili wasted no time. The youngest stabbed one orc, then moved to kill the next while narrowly dodging a blade to the shoulder. For the first time in a long while, they were outnumbering their foes, and everyone was more than willing to defend their king.

Azog growled in anger to see the acts of heroism from all present. "Have you come in an attempt to erase your crimes?" The Pale Orc looked up to Saeril in hatred, his soulless eyes reflecting the flames around them. In black speech, he cursed her name as he swung his mace upwards to hit her. "You, and the Son's of Durin will die on this day!"

[User]
Saeril braced herself for the incoming weapon strike of Azog's mace, then she heard a screech as a great eagle swooped down from the sky, and knocked Azog off course. More eagles dove out of the sky, some attacking the wargs and orcs whilst others picked up the dwarves, including Thorin, and the wizard out of the tree to safety. One picked up Bilbo, and dropped him off the edge of the cliff until he landed on the back of another eagle. At that moment, the she-elf sheathed her weapons, ran to Kili, and ran off the cliff directly, shortly after, spreading her wings and taking flight with him on her back.

"Thorin!", she heard Fili shout, sounding obviously terrified for his unconscious uncle. Barely awake he was, Saeril managed to look at the unconcious Prince, letting out a relieved sigh that he and the rest of the company were safe. She did let out a quiet hiss of pain from her wounded leg but tried to keep it quiet to not let Kili immediately worry about her wellbeing.

[Assistant]
Kili held on, his heart pounding in his chest. The giant eagles, his godmother...they were all flying. This should have been a sight to marvel at, but he was too concerned for Thorin to truly appreciate what was happening.
Kili overheard Fili's shout to their uncle, and could not help but fear the worst. Fili was seldom scared, and Thorin may have been worse off than he realized.

As they reached the cliff, Kili was quick to remove himself from his godmother's back. Despite Saeril's efforts to hide her pain, Kili sensed it. "Are you alright?? You should sit down." The youngest was looking to where the bandaging would have been, and then the eagle carrying Thorin set him down.

[User]
"Thorin!", Gandalf ran to the fallen dwarf Prince, once he removed himself from the eagle's back. Fili was already starting to run to his fallen uncle, but he couldn't get any further as the wizard kneeled beside Thorin. Gandalf muttered something elvish under his breath, while hovering and passing his hand over the dwarf's face.

Saeril was too stubborn; funny it may sound, but her youngest godson was the same way. She risked her life by facing the most vile of all of creatures To keep the remaining Durin family, as well as the company, safe from his pack. The injury wasn't going to stop her from moving either; she made a promise, she will keep it. For Dis, and the rest of the scattered royal family. For that, she didn't listen to him, but kept a brave face saying that she was fine, and not back down from a fight. It didn't hurt as much like before, but the she-elf knew that it will be of Kili's constant concern.

[Assistant]
Saeril was stubborn, but so was Kili. Despite her telling him not to, Kili still blamed himself for her injury. "Oin had said to keep weight off of it," he reminded in a small voice. Had this been Fili, Kili would have argued more, but Saeril was a mother figure, and arguing with one's mother was much different than arguing with a sibling.

As Gandalf aided Thorin, Kili watched, his heart sinking. Surely Thorin was not dead...he could not comprehend losing him like this, he could not fathom what that would do to their family, let alone their people. Without Thorin, Fili would become king, and they would be without their only uncle. "Gandalf?"

To the youngest's relief, Thorin's eyes slowly opened. With a shuddered breath, Thorin looked to Gandalf, his vision blurred.
"The halfling...and the she-elf," he could barely string the words together, but that was the last he could remember. Bilbo and Saeril had come to his aid, and they very well may have lost their lives.


[System]
Age: 23

Race: Human

Appearance: Ayse's appearance meets what one would expect from a Salamander of the Endless Ones; a red, scaled, long coat over a white chiton. Her gray eyes only reinforce this image as they smolder like coals when the flames come to her call.

Equipment: Scarlet coat, clerical tunic, sandals, engagement ring, charred staff, dagger, traveler's pack, and a planar compass.

Personality: Ayse is warm, inviting, and carries herself with an easy and unhurried manner. She loves getting to meet new people and hearing their stories as much as she enjoys telling some of her own. She's willing to give almost anyone the benefit of the doubt provided that they treat her the same. It would be wrong to assume this is naivete. Her anger can burn just as hot as the flames she commands.

History: A lifelong native of Apothicus, Ayse was promised to the Endless Ones. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Like many other families who lived on the edge of poverty, having a child promised to the church meant one less mouth to feed and a mark of prestige. It left Ayse without any support save for the cold doctrine of the church, unfortunately. She withdrew into herself, isolated as she was, and would have ended up as nothing more than a lowly scribe or clerk if not for a particular misadventure.

Vernon Rouse, a former friend of her mentor Bern Green, sought to gain access to the church's financial records through less than official means. Vernon wanted the documents destroyed so he could begin spreading rumors about misappropriated funds by the church's senior members. Without the documents they wouldn't be able to prove he was lying and he could extort them for money as he wished. The lack of papers would only make them look more guilty, like they were trying to cover it up.

He and some of his associates kidnapped Ayse to force Green to hand over the documents and fled to their hideout in the sewers. Everything had gone spectacularly except for the chance intervention of a tribe of sewer goblins. The fighting was vicious and Vernon's gang was forced to flee, leaving Ayse behind. As all this was happening Bern, unwilling to risk his position within the church for a simple neophyte, informed his superiors of Vernon's desire for the records and Ayse's abduction. He would be safe no matter what happened and from his perspective finding Ayse was the problem of the city's guards now.

Hoquin, a meln boy who was a fellow captive who tried to intervene when he'd heard the whole plot, got left behind with Ayse. Together they braved the tunnels, warrens, pipes in an attempt to return home. Ayse learned much from Hoquin about navigating the under-city and found a solid core of resilience she never knew she had. She discovered her aspect of fire as well and used her new control over flame to protect them in their trek.

Upon their return to the city proper they filled in the gaps in Vernon's plot, although the man still managed to slip through the fingers of justice and remains at large today. Bern, craven as his attitude was, maintained his position as an instructor. Ayse was admitted into the Order of the Salamander and was chosen help heal and purify travelers from the Infinity Bridge. Hoquin was taken in by the Adventures Guild and stayed in touch with her after the ordeal. Their friendship eventually blossomed into a love that resulted in Hoquin's proposal.

Promising to marry her once his latest guild run finished, Hoquin left, but never came back. His soul never returned to the blood crystal and his gear never showed up at the Magi Emporium. He's still out there, somewhere, and Ayse refuses to believe that he would just take off and leave her. Now she travels out into the unknown hoping to find him again.

Guild Ranking: Wood

Misc:
Aspect- A reflection of the true self connected to the greater whole of reality. Aspects are concepts made manifest and allow their users to tap into their innate magic.

Ayse's magic- Her flame is that of the purifier. She can burn away disease, wounds, and the wretched alike. It is a small flame to be sure, but fire readily grows when given the proper fuel.

Meln-

Tall and lithe humanoids that were trapped on this world after being left behind by a rift. They are nimble, quick runners, and good climbers, traits that make them ideal scouts for surveying new terrain. The rediscovery of their old home and people, lost among the infinity, has been the goal of many meln. It occupies a mythical place in their history, not unlike Avalon or Eden.

Planar compass- Unlike normal compasses, which align according to magnetism, a planar compasses point towards a particular person, place, or thing. To activate it, the bearer must procure something intimately related to the thing they are looking for and insert that item into the compass. For Ayse it was a shaving of Hoquin's blood crystal.

Goals: To find Hoquin and beginning their life together. She travels in the hope that in some rift her compass will react and lead her to her love.

[User]
Marianne saw the effect of the roar immediately. The Skavens immediately scattered to the four winds, as fear gripped their hearts and minds. Marianne would have said they were cowards, if not for the fact that she felt fear herself from the roar. And she was standing far away from its source. Imagine what strength would it have on point blank range.

The dwarves used this opportunity to rally their strength and morale, countering back the skavens that had them on the ropes just a while ago. However, they viewed their party as enemies too, as they aimed their crossbows towards Grendrick. She just hoped the lycan could dodge their bolts and get out of there as soon as he could.

The melee fighters of the group charged forward. They attempted to intercept the skavens running across the bridge right towards her and the other support fighters. Most of the skavens would refuse to engage and just ran past them, but a pair of brave, or foolish, skavens thrusted their spears towards the orc.

Marianne knew this would be her time to act.

She willed her insects, all of her bees, towards the approaching skavens. They all eagerly swarmed out from every hole of her dress, from her sleeves, from her feet, and some even crawled out from the white underclothes that covered her chest. They flew with one purpose, to delay the movements of the skavens as much as they could.

Marianne could hear the skavens' horrified shrieks as her bees swarmed over them. They all tried to shoo them off, but their efforts were in vain, as the bees could easily dodge their swings with their superior speed. And just after one minute, and hundreds of bee stings, the skavens could feel their muscles weakening, and their heads turning dizzy. Sluggish and disoriented, they would be an easy prey for the rest of the party.

[Assistant]
He was swept up in the throngs of war and emotion. His heart pounded in his ears, his hands were moist with sweat. In front of him, moving in such a slow state that it could only have been produced by his irrational mind, was Gendrick and the others. Behind him, was those that could not fight in close quarters. Inwardly he wondered who he should protect.

Everyone, was his gentle response.

But he knew that wasn't the priority. Trying to save everyone would lead to mistakes. His mistakes could lead to everyone's death. The decisions were back-breaking, if he was to survive, he needed to silence it all. So he focused on one thing; not letting any rats pass him.

Nove's gaze went dark, a dull copper in spite of his once-lively bronze. His longsword was held at the ready as fleeing skavens started towards him. He raised his buckler in his other arm, prepared to guard if one or more had decided to strike at him.

They rushed by and every time one came close to passing him, he engaged with above-average speed and strength. With every blow he struck, Nove would yell his victory beforehand. A battle-cry of sorts that echoed in his throat.

[User]
As the howl died down, the effects of it became apparent. The ratmen started fleeing the battlefield, all of them scrambling for the bridge. Fariha smirked, as she released her arrow. The arrow whistled through the air before slamming into the heart of a distressed Skaven. The projectile's momentum countering the forward movement of the rat's body, causing it to just flop lifelessly on the spot. The problem with most of the ratkin's movements was that it was awfully erratic. Their nimble feet carried them left and right as they ran in fear of the large beast that howled.

Fariha had disconnected herself from her group for the most part, but support was still around. Marianne's insects were slowing down the Skaven whilst Nove cut them down as they came passed him. Some of the ratkin had reached her position on the bridge, but instead of fleeing in fear, they brandished their weapons, striking out at the elf. While most archers would pull out their knife for a close quarters engagement, Fariha was confident in her agility. The wood elf jumped over a spear thrust before planting her feet into the Skaven's face, pushing off of it like a platform. She somersaulted in the air, pulling another arrow from her hip quiver. Thrum. THWACK! In one swift movement, she had nocked and fired the arrow into the throat of one of the Skaven.

Another ratkin struck out at her with his crude sword, leaping forward with an exaggerated overhead swing. Fariha sidestepped the sloppy attack, grabbing the rat by the arm before pulling him forward to put him further off balance. Her other hand unsheathed her hunting dagger in an icepick grip. In an instant she stepped forward, stabbing the beast clean through the back of the neck. She pivoted sideways, pushing the body away with a kick to the waist as blood poured out of the stab wound. Fariha clicked her tongue in disgust as some of the blood splattered onto her boot.

[Assistant]
Sylvia assessed the situation.

The Skaven swarmed the group, rushing past Grendrick and into the rest of them. For some reason, those dwarves were shooting at him with their crossbows. Idiots.

That orc was demolishing the Skaven that it could catch with his axe, blood and parts flying all around.

The Skaven were rushing towards the back, trying to escape the massacre. Marianne was swarming the rat-men with her insects, distracting and stinging them. Faria was dispatching Skaven to her right with her bow and arrow.

Given the current chaos, it was the perfect situation for someone like Sylvia. She recited an incantation which made her nearly translucent, allowing her to blend in with the nearby environment. She stalked forwards into the fray of the panicked Skaven, and as one of them raised their weapon to attack her, she quickly thrust her dagger through its hairy throat and twisted, killing the rat with relative ease.

Another one came from her left, rusty sword raised over its head. She yanked her dagger out, and sliced the rat's sword arm, through its shoulder. The Skaven's arm fell limp to its side, and Sylvia followed up by jabbing her dagger through its eye and kicking it to the ground, dead.

Thankfully, the Skaven were sloppy fighters, who didn't care about technique nor finesse. Really, they seemed to utilize pure savagery, making them predictable.

She noticed another one sneaking up behind Nove, who was distracted by the Skaven in front of him. She ran forwards and grabbed the thing by its scruff, dragging it back. The Skaven wrenched out of her grip, turning to face her. It had two nasty-looking knives in its hands, both rusted and dripping with Dwarven blood.

Sylvia and the Skaven circled around, waiting for the other to make a move. These sorts of situations were dangerous, especially for her. Her chainmail wouldn't protect much if she was stabbed, a drawback of the armor's design. The Skaven licked its black lips, snarling. Rows of rotten teeth showed through its snout. Evidently, this one was more of a fighter than the others.


[System]
ABSTRACT
 A flamboyant rascal with a fondness for electricity.
DETAIL
-Capable of controlling electricity
-Empowered by electricity and immune from harm caused by it
-Can transform his body into electricity

Tarit is first and foremost a performer. He lives to entertain an audience, whether the onlooker is one of the spectators gathered around the ring or himself doesn't really matter to him; he is content as long as one person is amused. He is carefree and laid-back with the only things he seems to puts much effort into being shocking people. While the performer is cool-headed majority of the time if anyone ever threatens anything he cares about his unconcerned demeanor will vanish, his intentions only becoming clearer as he straps you into old sparky.

HOW DO YOU KNOW LARKUS?
Tarit spoke briefly with Larkus while returning one of his captivating feathered friends. After helping him with his performance, Larkus has earned at least a few friend points.

HOW DO YOU KNOW HYPATE?
Hypate is an old flame that was more attracted to a mirror than Tarit. In spite of her vanity, there may still be something there.

[User]
Oh yes they were. Nora nodded to herself with a smile.

Nora paced around the ring with Dragon Jr. behind her. She said, "Are you sure you don't want your son to come back out Dragon? I think a few children still have their innocence intact." Her words this time met the ears of the crowd. A few laughs, a few nods, and a few parents hugging their children. She smiled and gave a shrug to the Dragon.

Dragon spat back, "After being subjected to Hypate and Tarit, I doubt Jackal's swords can scar them any deeper."

Nora said, "Well actually.." She then paused. Actually that was a fair point. Not that she was going to tell him that. With a shrug she said, "It wasn't the swords that scarred them, it was his likeness to you." Cheap of a shot as it was she was going to take it.

"Right? How about something softer." She walked next to Dragon with Dragon Jr. still forever at her side. With a point to her counterpart she said, "A song?" As though the idea had just dawned on her.

Spotlights in the circles started to move around crazily before settling right where Atla would be making her entrance. Nora whispered to Dragon, "Did you bring tissues? This song always brings a tear to my eye."

Dragon's expression turned poisonous and dark. He did not utter a word. All he did was press the blunt side of his axe into Nora to push her away. Knowing her boundaries she took a step back and rolled her eyes.

Nora for the second to last time tonight raised her voice and said, "Ladies, Gentlemen, children of all ages, and everything in-between! I am incredibly pleased to show to you our final act for tonight. A song so sweet and soulful some say it has made even Dragon shed a single tear." Nora stroked a finger down her cheek for emphasis. "A song masterfully accompanied by an act performed by my son Kendict and grandson Adir. I give to you my beloved granddaughter Atla!"

The heavy heart shaking music that had been played the entire show was now replaced by a slow melody. The music did not come from any sort of instrument but was pure magic. Soft hums played as the spotlights centered on where Atla and her family would make their entrance.

But no one came.

At least from where they were supposed to. A man came running from the opposite side of the ring. He was dressed in robes and scarves of different colors and was a bit taller than Nora. His face was shrouded from the crowd by the dim lighting and a hood he wore. An effect he always refused to get rid of.

It was Kendict.

If Nora's eyes could have shot out of her sockets they would have. Her face scrunched up in annoyance and anger. She was about to yell at her foolish son but stopped when she noticed his worried expression.

Kendict came up to Nora breathless and whispered, "We cannot find Atla. She is missing."

Nora stood still and wordless as she processed the information. She opened her mouth to give some sort of order. But she instead stuttered and found herself opening and closing her mouth like a moronic fish. An annoying buzzing in the back of her mind reminded her of the watching crowd. She turned back around to face them and gave a nervous laugh.

"HOWEVER!" She said. "Before our grand finale how about an encore performance?"

The crowd gave a slow confused clap in response.

Nora quickly turned around and gave her hushed orders to Kendict. The son then ran back behind stage right to the dressing area.

"Atla is missing! Anyone still in costume in the ring now performing. Everyone else get looking for her now." He said. Kendict then rushed off to one of the other tents giving little room for arguing.

The music again started blaring in the main tent, waiting for performers to fill the ring for the improvised grand finale. The confused murmur of the audience was getting louder the longer the ring stood empty.

Atla, the star act, had vanished. The last time anyone had seen her was earlier in the day, when she and Jackal had been seen screaming at one another at lunch.

Dragon stomped backstage with his axe and scanned the faces there with a menacing odd-eyed glare. "Someone took Atla," he snarled. "Come with me if you're up for some skull-splitting." He stormed off down the corridor, never for a moment able to consider that his grandson, Jackal, could possibly have anything to do with this.

[Assistant]
Finn was sitting backstage with the others, enthralled in a rather good book when Dragon came storming through. He looked up yawning, though he was caught of guard by what Dragon said. "Someone took Atla. Come with me if you're up for some skull-splitting." Finn saw a few people follow him, however, Finn figured he'd be more useful searching for the elf's scent around the circus. He quickly made his way outside, commanding his pets to assist the others in any way they could, and then to the back of the circus where he knew there was a secluded area. When he reached the area, confident that no humans would end up near him, he began to strip, taking off his shoes and socks, then his black shirt and pants that he wore for performance. Last he took off the underwear, then placed his clothes in a nice neat pile. Most werewolves learned rather quickly that changing while clothed was a bad idea, one that resulted in many lost articles of clothing.

Finn rolled his shoulders as he felt the transformation coming on. His blood started to pump harder through his body. He grew hot, to the point of sweating. His arms and legs started elongating, and morphing. His teeth lengthened and grew razor sharp, as did his nails. Then came the hair. Patches of brown and auburn hair sprouted up all over Finn's body, until he was covered from head to toe. His snout came in and then the transformation was complete. To anyone looking at him, it would be obvious as to what he was. He was a werewolf.

The transformation wasn't necessarily a painful process. The body flooded itself with so much adrenaline that you never feel the pain. Uncomfortable would be the better word. For Finn, he hated the heat that took over, made him sweat profusely. Most werewolves could control their transformation. All of them turn at the full moon, but it's rare to find a wolf who doesn't have the ability to change at will. He crept around the forest, stretching his new legs before lifting his nose and sniffing. There he thought. He had a faint scent, one that was definitely Atla. He got down on all fours and bounded after it, moving through the night with the swiftness that only came from the best of predators.


[System]
Age: Happens to be 709. Looks around 27.
Gender: Male.
Species: Vampire

Appearance: Mithias an pass for human, but definitely draws attention if anyone pays attention for too long. He is around 6'2" with a fit build. His skin is as you can imagine very light. He has unique long, straight black hair that ends unevenly around lower-back, and his eyes are a flashy, gold-yellow. Usually he keeps his eyes hidden, but if seen briefly, one might think they are probably just a bright genetic variation of hazel color... it's probably related to his apparent skin disease. *person goes back to whatever they were doing*
Other than that, you really don't expect Mithias to hang out in the daylight. In a public place, he'd probably be wearing a modern suit. Humans usually don't bother a busy businessman. He changes with the common fashion of the times. Shirt and tie, t-shirt and ripped jeans, leather jacket and riding boots... whatever is acceptable to the creatures around him, although he prefers to be the one better dressed. Top hats were nice, but they've been out of style for a long time. If Mithias is intentionally avoiding humans, he'll probably wear a long back jacket and jeans. Jeans are an amazing material.

Background: It was the decline of the era of the Templar knights. The holy land had been lost, more than once, and the Turks had forced the order entirely out of the Middle East. Despite a blackening name and recent losses in war, the Templars were actually quite successful on another front. It was back home in what is now modern western Germany where Mithias and his order served God, King, and Pope by defending humanity itself. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, The Templar Knights had a secretive sect that was specifically charged with hunting down supernatural beings. Witches, undead, abhorrent spirits, werewolves (or shifters), and of course vampires, were their targets. These occult hunters took their orders directly from His Holiness. Their ranks were usually filled by family members alone, yet rarely a gifted outsider would pass initiation. It was this inheritance and line of work that brought Mithias across the path of the vampire that would change him forever.

Mithias was a young man, a hunter, a knight, and also soon to be a father. He lived in a small town near the boarder with France. One day, he attracted the attention of a particularly powerful vampire, by comitting an unexpected act. He questioned his purpose. Rather than killing a young vampire, as his order commanded of him, he secretly let her go. Witnessing that incident, the elder vampire took an interest in him, leading him on futile chases into the wilderness several times and playing games with him. Mithias never had any chance of catching him, not really, and eventually, they began having conversations. The human was an interesting subject. One day, the vampire tricked him into enthralling himself and manipulated him. The conclusion of this little dance however was rushed the day the Templars were abolished.

It was Friday the 13th, October, when Mithias' life was turned upside down. The Pope had denounced them. Knights and anyone associated with them were being attacked, killed, their lands and gold confiscated, and their families imprisoned on suspicion of heresy and treason. Mithias fled but could not stop his pregnant wife from being taken. Knowing she would be tortured and imprisoned he was desperate for help. He turned to the only one he knew who might aid him, the mysterious one in the woods at night who existed above all this human mayhem.

In short, the vampire delighted in Mithias' plea. The formed an unwritten pact of blood and Mithias was given the power to save his family. He rescued his wife and saw her to safety and protected her. He killed anyone in his path.

Time went by. Evelyn soon died of disease and his orphan son had to be raised by a church with nothing but a name given to him. It was difficult for Mithias to be a father looking as he did, needing blood, but Mithias was still ever grateful to the vampire that had changed him. He was able to oversee his family lineage from the shadows for many, many generations. He literally spent hundreds of years following them, keeping track of the ever growing tree and paying little attention to the rest of the world. A lot of his energy was spent on assuring their survival and success, protecting them from the supernatural forces he had become so familiar with but also with keeping himself fed and settled and closely monitoring the corruption of the large human organizations in the area. Kings and Popes and wars came and went. Plagues, the Renaissance, the colonization era and industrialization... Mithias bore witness and influenced here and there. If Mithias could have taken out Hitler, he would have, but he had already relocated to the US and traveling overseas as a vampire was a bit difficult, not to mention the army Hitler was surrounded by. Same goes for other evil dictators. Humans, Mithias concluded, bore an innate evil that was just as bad if not worse than the witches and vampires etc. that they despised.

After 30 generations or so, following all members of a family becomes impossible, even for a vampire. Mithias had to give up. He had spent an unlife in love and had learned a lot. Now it was time, he felt, to take his place as the immortal supernatural entity that he was, an overseer, a watcher, and a protector of balance. All humans became in his eyes his potential descendants, and yet, he could not bear the threat they posed in their ever growing population and power in technology and science to what little remained of magic and other species. Internally, he struggles with morality and defining his new role.

Current Life: Mithias has established himself in a small private mansion in the upstate wilderness of NY where he runs an investment firm using multiple aliases and primarily online only interactions, and he's got a big charity thing going with the red cross. That keeps him going while he attends to his other, actual interests.

Mithias studies the arcane. His first interaction with magic was as a young naive knight back at his initiation ceremony in 1298, which mind you was very poorly done by over-zealous religious fanatics in the middle of the night while high on psychedelic mushrooms and alcohol. Ahem, but some of it was real. Human arcanists and alchemists were only in their earliest stages of understanding in their fields back then, and granted, Mithias was only the equivalent of a soldier, not a bookworm. Once he became a vampire, Mithias realized immediately that he had some kind of unexplained inclination to magic that he hadn't realized before. He could charm and mesmerize others. It took a few centuries for him to quit worrying about his family before he officially began to study it, but I'll cover what he's learned in the spells section. His sources of study have been other supernaturals, books, personal experiments, and historical research. He did do a stint of world traveling in the era of world colonialism, around the 1500's, to further his knowledge.

So of course it attracted his attention when he became aware of a private investigation firm that focused on magic and the occult. After looking into them for himself, Mithias was shocked at how much knowledge they had discovered and collected and how advanced their team members were in their specialties. Keeping a lot of his own knowledge and past private initially, he approached them with a letter explaining that he wanted to offer his services, but that they would have to accept that he wasn't human. His true goal was twofold. He wanted to learn more about magic, just out of natural scientific curiosity. Mithias is the kind to grow and change with the times. But also, the guardian in him wanted to make sure this human organization didn't amass too much power and fall to corruption down the road. He had to keep an eye on them.

I'd be ok with having Mithias know anybody's characters or have a history with them if anybody wants.

Personality: Mithias is moral, protective of the innocent and weak, vivacious, and curious. He was a knight, afterall. Unlike many other vampires, Mithias is comfortable with his nature and has accepted it. He pretty much drinks only human blood, but feeds exclusively on the wicked and they dying or donated blood. He cares very much about where his meals come from, but will chose to survive if he is forced to feed on an innocent or an animal. Is he evil? Is a lion evil for eating a baby waterbuffalo? That alone can't define him. He isn't decided whether or not there's a god, but in all his years no god has made itself evident to him. He considers that perhaps vampires are gods who just don't realize it, stewards of humankind, judges and cullers, rulers of the night. But not everything that lives is human and not every being with magic is vampiric. There is so much more to know, and curiosity drives him. He would like to know where arcane power comes from, what vampirism is, and what are the heights of such power.

Schools of Study: Arcanology, Hunter.

Specialization: Pyrokinesis/heat manipulation, plus his vampiric ability to ward his mind. Maybe that's a form of psyonics?

Spells:

Charm and Mesmerize - Personally, I'm not big on this, but it seems to be an inherent ability for vampires.

Mind Ward - Can resist attempts by other vampires, or witches, fey, whatever, to try to influence his self control. This includes possession, domination, control, emotional manipulation, suggestion, telepathy, and illusions. This power is very strong, and so far, Mithias believes it cannot be overpowered, but there could be a being powerful enough to get through it.

Fire Starter- Can start and stop fires.

Flame Shield - Mithias can redirect intense heat or flame away from him, bending it to avoid burning himself should he get too close.

Heat Sink - An offshoot of his pyrokinesis is heat manipulation. Mithias can concentrate or disperse heat in any location he concentrates on. He can boil water, or freeze water. He can do this through walls, even though he may not be able to see what he is affecting.

Abilities:

Vampire - Vampire speed and strength and senses.
One with the Machine - Likes to drive cars, motorcycles, big machinery, and small planes.
Ex-Knight - Can ride horses, but doesn't.
Voice of the Soul - Vampire-level good at violin.
Twin Fangs - Vampire-level swordskill.
Undead Tasebuds - Terrible cook.
Too-old-for-this-shit - Speaks a few European languages, but not all equally well. (German, English, French, Spanish)
Secret Sadist - Knows how to use a whip.

Weaknesses: Judeo-Christian holy stuff. Holy water. Weakened by holy ground. Slowed, pained, and half-blind in sunlight.

Equipment:

He wears a necklace with a small silver cross under his shirt that actually burns him constantly.
He has access to some guns or weapons.
Has a motorbike.
His books and computers would of course be at his primary home. He's memorized the little magic he knows so far.
Cellphone.

Other: Mithias had some involvement in stopping Dracula, he's not sure he doesn't regret it. His vampire sire was extremely good at mental manipulation.

[User]
"Oh you pitiable mortals. Not even the demon that dragged me here could trick me. Immortality has its costs but eternal knowledge is priceless. That child on the other hand… well you needn't worry about him any longer." The shade had a rasping manic laugh echoing behind his voice even though he spoke clearly.

The shade mocked taking a deep breath.

"Oh yes, yet more tinder for hell's fire. His soul is likely in the depths of tartarus by now. A shame he had such potential and was so eager to learn. If only he asked better questions. He didn't even let me get to golem seals." The shade feigned sympathy and sorrow, but it was clear he was delighted by the events, "Did you think a child could design such things? All of you mourn while I reap. Such simple minds can never stay ahead of a demon, much less my own."

The demonic entity laughed and cackled before vanishing into the pits of hell once again.

===========================================

Jaklo muttered something along the lines of "gottem' coach" in response to the general reactions around him.

[Assistant]
"That went about as I expected," Max muttered to himself. Truth be told, he felt a little shaky. He never got used to dealing with shades, and even that brief encounter had drained him somewhat.

Still, he had a job to do. Max pulled out his phone once again and dialed Mithias. "Hey, so, I might've, uh, gotten the attention of the demon that was backing that kid. But on the plus side, they've removed their sponsorship so the spell should be collapsing. How are things going over on your end?"


[System]
Yo, here it is!!!
Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Mura

Appearance:

I did warn you not to look... haha

Element Affinity: Edos, the Luminous Saint (Priest)

Magic: Seals (used in healing)

Gear: Alezander only carries with him his pure white hoodie and wears wooden sandals and a white bottom kimono. He has a stave strapped to his back and wears black gloves on his hands. He also has a pouch that carries his Seal Paper with pre-written glyphs for healing and warding off evil spirits.

Brief history:

Born into a family that still prays to Edos and has a small shrine on their property to their Patron Saint. He was raised from a young age in believing he was no Magi and would never be a Magi. His father's harsh words were not far from the mark. Alezander, Zander to friends, holds a small grudge against those who are pure Magi and need no extra items to use their magic. His father being the one he holds the biggest grudge against. His father is at large known as a master healer and doctor for his ability to make most ailments go away with a simple wave of his hand and soaked brow. Zander's mother, is a Priestess of Edos and pretends to not understand why the Church does what it does and why people have turned their back on it. Zander will not acknowledge he even has a living mother just for that notion of pure blindness.

For years Zander kept his head down, did his chores around the household. Pretended that everything was fine and nothing was wrong. He studied under his father to learn the glyphs used to heal people and animals alike. To chase away dark spirits and to never turn his back on the Church. If there was on thing that Zander needed, it was more training on creating his own glyphs to force his own magic to awaken, if it ever would.

At age 24, Zander's life came crashing down. His whole life had been a lie. He was a Magi alright, but his father was not. He only claimed to be one. He used the same glyphs, hidden around the room he treated his patient in. He called upon them and had one on his forehead to make sweet appear as if he himself was the focal point of the spell being cast. His disgust for all things related to the church and his own hatred for what he himself had become and had been his whole life.

"I'm a Magi..." he muttered to himself. He was bruised and bloody from the thrashing given to him by his father. "I'll set out, away from the Church and it's reach... I'll heal those I can. If I truly have to I'll use my own power as a Magi... through these glyphs."

Additional info:

Alezander likes to be called Zander. He is a Magi just repressed by his father trying to protect him from the outside world. He still holds a grudge against other Magi though to cover for himself. He uses the seals out of habit and only in an emergency will he use his own body as the conduit for his healing magics.

Name: Geoffrey

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Race: Mura

Appearance:

Element Affinity: None

Magic: N/A

Gear: Wearing citizen garbs, brown pants and a single black shirt. He has a pair of fingerless leather gloves on each hand to help with his Archery. Wearing a pair of simple sandals, and usually keeps his bow un-strung in his quiver along with arrows.

Brief history:
Geoffrey has no idea who his father is, and it doesn't bother him in the least. He's unsure of what he wants to do with his life, but he's always felt the call of the wind. The urge to go out and see what the world has. When a young Priest appeared at his Inn Doorstep, offering healing in exchange for a room over a week ago, Geoffrey took him directly to his mother.

Later that night, the two bonded over ale and Zander for once let his walls down and let Geoffrey into his life. That same night brought them even closer together. Before all that; however, Geoffrey helps his mother and his not really twin sister's who are quite a bit older than him. "Thirty-five is OLD!"

Having worked at the Golden Coffer Inn most his life, he's heard wild tales of adventurer's, guard patrols, and a few bandit's that his mother, Olga turns a blind eye too. A few have helped him learn the ways of a bow, a few have offered to make it Demacite Arrows and Shafts and has always refused. He has nothing against Magi or Demacite users, but finds it a bit cheap to hard work with his weapon.

With a choice before him that he doesn't even realize, he tends to his few time lover in hopes he'll awaken.

Additional info:

Geoffrey HATES being called Geo. His mother and Zander are the only two he allows, save for the two barmaids who call him that in a mocking tone and luscious winks. His bow is re-curve, a throw back to earlier hunters and his want to show people hard work earns more. Though he will defend Zander, he doesn't agree with the way he treats others.

Editted to change the backstory a little to match and show he is a Magi not Mundane... heh Mundane I like that.

[User] A man had approached the group, and the party stopped again. Wyth's tail lashed. His girl was in trouble, and why wouldn't they hurry up and find her?! And then the Dimuran was back, and with someone new -- another Ydran. Was she going to help too? The cobra fox with her went right up to Ethan, and while Wyth didn't attack her, he moved to loom over her and show just enough fang to make it clear these were /his/ people, and he was protecting them.

[Assistant]
"Asta huh? Well nice to meet you, and thank you again for helping us. We really appreciate it!" The woman had no reason to do this other than the fact Amuné was one of her own, but then that was all the reason they needed. "Right, we should get moving as soon as we can, before they get too far away. Which means sir...? Do you know where their hideout is?" Ethan sure hoped so, otherwise they were wandering blindly for a little while longer.

The guard nodded his head before glancing around to get his bearings. "Let me see... They've been spotted about four streets over fairly often, coming and going from some unknown building there. We haven't quite singled out which one it is yet, but we know the general area. I'm sure if we went around and looked we'd stumble upon it." The guards had to have explicit permission from the mayor to do anything, but with these children outside of the man's command they were free to come and go as they pleased, and he would be there to make sure they didn't do anything drastic. "I should warn you though, there's been more than one man we've had reports of, several in fact. It could mean there's quite a few slavers waiting for us and I doubt they're going to hand over their cargo if we ask nicely."

"It won't be our first time dealing with some bad people, don't worry. Everything will turn out just fine," Ethan said confidently, smiling as he prepared himself to get moving along. When something cool and damp brushed against his ankle he jumped slightly and looked back, puzzled to see Asta's pet sniffing at him. Just what kind of animal was that? He'd never seen anything like it, and if he weren't so uncertain about it he'd probably give it a petting. "O-Oh, she won't attack me? Well then I guess it's a good thing she likes me!" he laughed, thanking his lucky stars he hadn't inadvertently done anything to earn the animal's ire.

"Yes yes, everyone loves you. Now if we're done could we get moving? We're wasting time, and if you know where to go," Nymira said as she looked to the guard, "We should get to work. Please, lead the way if you could."

"Of course." If they could successfully find these men then it would solve a huge string of crimes and kidnappings, a lot was riding on their victory today. Taking the children along with him he led them further up the road and over to the next, getting some strange looks from passerby and fellow guards alike; a Ydran woman, two animals, a Dimuran and two Muran boys, it was as motley a group as one could have. Fortunately no one would get in their way as they crossed street after street, at last reaching the neighborhood that should be housing their base of operations. Before bringing the group any further along he stopped at the mouth of the road and held up a hand to signal for them to stop.

"Before we go on I must make something perfectly clear to you all. I'm willing to help, but know that we are technically doing something illegal. If we succeed and we save your friend then I'm sure no one will mind. If things should go south though there's little I can do to get you out of trouble, I'll be in trouble as well but I accept that. If it means bringing these men in then I'm willing to risk my career for it. Are you still willing to go through with this, knowing all of that?"

That wasn't even a question, of course they were willing to do it. Amuné was in trouble and they had to rescue her, there was no backing out even if someone was having second thoughts. When no voices of dissent were heard Ethan inhaled silently through his nose before putting on a smile, nodding to the guard before looking past him down the road. So she was down there somewhere, in one of those buildings or another one nearby. He didn't care how many men might be waiting or who might be among them, they were going to save Amuné no matter what came up.

"It may be best we split up then into pairs, search the buildings and then report back to the others if you find something," Nymira spoke aloud, figuring that was their best course of action. She already had pairs in mind as well, and she doubted there would be any complaints. "Geoffrey and Zander, you two should work together, since you know each other so well. Ethan, why not work with the guard? Even if you find it I want to make sure you can actually find your way back to us. And take Wyth with you," she added, glancing at Cecil then before frowning, "And take Cecil as well, since you're unarmed. I'll work with Asta."


[System]
Age: 26
Gender: Female.
Race/Nationality: Irish-born, with Roman lineages. Weak accent.

5'8", 166 lb, slender physique. Heterochromic, with one blue eye and one normally green eye, the latter changing color upon her power's influence. Her very light blonde hair covers that green eye, and shines an almost white color under certain lights. Typically wears in either neutral color schemes, very regal clothing or military uniform.

---

Personality:
In this world full of sorcerers, heathens, god-maniacs and skeptics, she is perhaps one of the very, very few to worship God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, let alone any god or godly spirit. Even while the Vatican is now all but a tiny institution, Margaret herself remains firmly rooted in her Catholic faith, and still puts much of its devotional principles into practice. As such, Margaret can often be seen contemplating on the mysteries of the Rosary in the morning, suddenly stopping to pray exactly at noon and 6 in the evening, fervently praying when encountered with adversary, and carrying devotional scapulars, prayer leaflets and relics of saints. Her continuous faith can be attributed to an incredible coincidence of her family's deep religious traditions and the holy-like nature of her power, and even her family continues to hide any trace of their newfound irreligion should she contact them.

Consequently enough, this deep devotion has also compelled her to gain some notorious traits of the typical zealous Middle Ages crusader. In particular, Margaret often believes herself to have the right to damn anyone to Hell, and most especially condemns Novodeans, GAUs, and, to much hypocrisy, self-righteous people. Margaret believes the rise of humanity's power as God's test on whoever is virtuous enough to use God's gift wisely and gain right to Heaven, and whoever is wicked enough to use God's gift for nefarious intentions and earn damnation. Among Margaret's list of what constitutes as virtue is the fervency to purge whatever she deems as sin... which would in turn spell quite some trouble in this age.

In general, Margaret is very disdainful to the brash, but kind to the gentle. She, in turn, is gentle-natured most of the time, but thinks highly about herself and can come off as arrogant occasionally. Margaret, though, is willing to rend her abilities, especially the Spirit, in servicing people for the better.

Besides religion, Margaret has actually quite a knack for games both video and board (though not really good with the former), drinking, and dining to the point of gluttony (while surprisingly staying fit). It seems much of her morals are simply quite focused on the issue of superhumanity and is willing to let it be loose, if not totally absent, when it comes to other aspects.

Abilities:
 Divinity
A luminous form of magic that comes in three forms, altogether making Margaret angel-like in power. She has named the forms after the aspects of the Holy Trinity:

The Power of the Father - Simply referred to as the Father, the energy of Divinity is conjured into forms able to hurt and kill. The Father can damage anything that lives with extra effectiveness against any creature of a summoned background (except intelligents), but is not capable of doing damage to nonliving things.

The Wisdom of the Son - Simply referred to as the Son. Luminous wings made out of Divinity and capable of flight and highly effective shielding.

The Love of the Holy Spirit - Simply referred to as the Holy Spirit or Spirit. Performs the exact opposite purpose of the Father: to heal. Rends wounds at a very quick rate, but may not be able to resurrect one that has sustained an injury severe enough to deliver quick or instant death.

All three abilities derive from the same energy pool. Should one ability sustain overuse, other abilities may be rendered unusable upon the depletion of Divinity. One can read how exhausted her reserves are by her heterochromic green left eye: increased use reddens it, and turns black as her energies go less and less.

Biography:
Born within the more Catholic confines of Ireland, Margaret was raised by a wealthy family whose faith was rather empty; despite a large collection of religious icons and even relics of saints, most of them simply didn't have the motivation to attend regular Masses nor take any prayer seriously. This was Margaret, too; the girl used not to have a care in anything.

Around 11, however, Margaret suddenly started heading to a life of "sainthood". From a simple fascination with icons and relics, it all then spiraled into full-blown devotion, something so sudden her parents started thinking what the hell has gone wrong.

Cue hell breaking loose.

Concerns grew even deeper. What if Margaret was to become one of those maniacs on the news? Her family had already began packing their bags in case she did prove herself to be one. And when they finally saw her floating around the rooms, bearing wings of light, it was then decided that it was high time they got the hell out of here.

Just as they were about to leave, however, a crazed telekinetic decided it would be fun to join on the rampage, starting with the Vergilias. When they were then cornered and as her father had just sustained a blow to his shoulder with a rock, Margaret raced quickly out of the house, struck the attacker in the face with a beam of light, and fixed his father's shoulder in a snap.

Though some of the rest of the family acquired their powers, Margaret was still best suited to guide her family while they roamed around, before settling on Mundin months later. This proved to be a wise choice; the city-state would later become one of the few remaining safe havens of the world, and for the rest of the years the Vergilias would then live in peace without a care in the world... while Margaret had her own duties to pursue, as a soldier of the Defense Unit and "most importantly, as a soldier of God".

---

Specialties:
Adept at memorization, and knows the entirety of the Catholic Pastoral Editon Bible, all known Catholic prayers, and the encyclicals of St. John Paul II. Strong-willed and motivated. Fluent in Latin and English.

Equipment:
Regularly keeps with herself scapulars, a Rosary and a Miraculous Medal, along with money, IDs and other necessities.

Has tons of religious icons and relics of saints in her home. Mostly retrieved from her old home, but some new ones are in there as well.

Other:
Margaret is stationed at the long-range defense placements on the coast facing Britain.

Prefers wines, but will still occasionally take beer.

Very much loves steaks. Dislikes fruits, but likes leafy greens.

[User]
The evening looms, ahead...

---

Within the horizon, the sun was already well on its way to setting, as brilliant hues of red and orange lit up the western sky. The celebrations were to begin at evening, and already St. Jeanne's Plaza was bustled with thousands.

There were those eager to see stunning firework displays, and then there were those awaiting the massive feast of sumptuous meals within the stalls. Some were eager to set up shop and earn bucks big time, and some were awaiting the massive sale of whatever bits and pieces they wanted within the stalls.

A long day awaits.

---

The Prime Minister was a rather seclusive man, still reluctant to attend the festivities. And though he had tried to have that hidden, one could still clearly see his displeasure from, well, the fact that his left hand was shifting repeatedly to molten claws and back. He had the irritability of a demon, but had, otherwise, the heart of a kind man.

But he had no choice; he was the star of this grand celebration, and shame was on him if he didn't hold that true.

In front of his office, hundreds of Defense and Police Unit men stand guard. They were to escort the Prime Minister soon and partake in the ceremonies afterward. The Prime Minister was taking too long, however, and in the meantime the impatient infantrymen had gone to doing their own respective businesses, while he was still preparing himself and his attire rather... sluggishly.

[Assistant]
GILBERT HALLORAN

Every now and then, Gilbert wondered if the end was nigh — or if that Biblical end was already upon them. He could not but help himself as he looked over the scene in the plaza. Thousands crowded the heart of Mundin to experience the celebration of its founding, a popular event, of course. The sun loomed in the sky for the final stretch of daylight, filled with a bubbly, orange energy which characterized that day quite nicely. The tentative peace, which the government labored so much for, was so heart-warming.

Still, with beating hearts and beaming faces, Gilbert, who counted himself among them, was all too full of ennui at the same time. Painful dissonance in his mind — did others ever tire of the almost utopian atmosphere? 'Mundin remains secure; but threats knock on PM's door,' the headlines read on the newsstands. Wrinkling his nose with skepticism, Gilbert also eyed a neighboring tabloid which described 'the Prime Minister's secret love affairs.' Sighing and reaching into his pocket, he spared the peddler some currency, and he took one of the leading newspapers. Things aren't ever all that perfect, are they? The college student mustered up a weak smile and whispered to himself, Relax. Today is supposed to be about joy.

For now, Gilbert eased into one of his few days when he could unfocus, unwind, and think about something that was not a homework assignment for a weed-out course. He saw some fellow students, some old acquaintances, all blended in the sea of strangers. This was as good as it got, a small, relatively privileged (to the rest of the world), and peaceful existence. No grand adventure or pursuit for thrill. No oppressive, tyrannical government. Mr. Halloran looked up to the sky and remained optimistic about the future. In fact, he joined the crowd — most gladly, in fact! — in awaiting for the fanfare and fireworks. Though he knew this good time was doomed to a short life, the inevitable misfortune was conquerable.

[User]
Janice raised her goggles off from her eyes, inspecting her work. She was already a bit late to get going, truth be told(as the ringing egg timer furiously reminded her), but she wanted to make sure the last few adjustments were working right. She had a shipment of shielded vests and pulse batons for the MDU, as it was, which meant that as much as she needed to get going, she needed to make sure there weren't any defects more. The basic design wasn't hers, but she always made a couple of improvements in the process of manufacturing on the house...The Inspiration didn't come as easily for her while working off a blueprint, but small whispers came, finding small ways to improve efficiency and make a better product. The hard part was always filtering out the ones that she couldn't produce en-mass or would be too difficult for the troopers to maintain...but she felt this iteration was a good compromise between ease of maintenance and functionality. Now, all that was left was to pack everything up, throw that damned egg timer at a wall, and get going to make the delivery-according to the instructions, they should be gearing up in front of the PM's office.

The drive was fairly boring, if long. She'd debated just taking out her Jetwings to bypass all the traffic, but on a day like this the police would be enough on edge without worrying about identifying people flying around on jetpacks(also, the cargo was heavy and she hadn't quite worked out the kinks on that Hammerspace tote bag yet), so she'd have to make do with a hovertruck and get stuck in traffic for a while. Figures, holidays are always among the busier days of the year. Nevertheless, she slowly managed to inch across the byways and may have possibly taken a couple less than acceptable shortcuts through a alleyway or two, and cut off a couple of people with a probably-not-legal red-light left turn, but she made it only ten minutes later than the agreed upon delivery time and, fortunately for her, it looked like the good ol' minister was taking his sweet time as well. She found a place to park the truck and practically jumped out of the front seat before walking up to one of the troops with a smile on her face and laid back demeanor-she had enough goodwill built up with the police and defense departments from building equipment for them(sometimes at cost, no less) that she felt she could usually be casual dealing with them.

"'Evening boys and girls! I know I'm a bit late, but the new toys are ready. Don't suppose one of you can point me over to the officer on duty? I know they'll want to make sure to get the new inventory logged before I start unloading for you all to pass out the new vests."

[Assistant]
Nothing can stop Margaret from kneeling on a corner and recite the Memorare, not even anyone thinking she should've already put her imaginary friends back in the past. And this was what the girl had just finished wrapping up. Today's special requests for intercession was, of course, for things to run smoothly as the city-- the country, begins busying itself for its annual celebrations. Not to mention, too, an intercession for the Prime Minister to just finish picking his clothes and combing his hair already. She had on herself the Memorare leaflet among countless other leaflets in her front pocket, the white devotional scapular of the Most Blessed Trinity, and a relic of St. John Paul II, a tiny strand of hair encased in glass and decorated with a wooden inscription bearing the pope's name. Whether they actually had mysterious powers, most especially in this age of warring wizards and psychics, is subject to dispute.

Going back to the parliament's courtyard, a bored platoon of troops continued to lie in wait while the good 'ol PM was still wrapping up things on his end. In fact, even the officer on duty himself was keeping himself entertained through his holophone, playing the latest installment in his fancied side-scroller franchise. Though as soon as someone-- one who appeared to be their supplier of sophisticated equipment and gizmos, came hurrying right up to Margaret's face and asked where he was, the officer on duty put his holophone aside and started making his approach as the girl started to explain things back.

"The officer is just right there, walking to you." she replied, her voice faltering faintly as she pointed a finger.

The officer, a tall and mustached, but rather lean man in his late thirties, briefly flashed a small grimace of slight annoyance before walking up to the lady.

"...and you're the one making shipments, I suppose. Where's your load?"


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 27

Race: Aasimar

Standing a little over five foot ten, Lilianna presents the picture of a perfect Aslin Aasamir, moving with a grace that years of practice in her noble house drilled into her. Her noble lineage gifted her their signature blue eyes and her Aasamir blood gave her the platinum blond hair. Small burn marks mar her arms and legs, remnants of failed training exercises. Trained as a combat medic, Lilianna forgoes her family' traditional robes in favor of plate armor with the same designs and keeps it well polished and clean at all times.

Personality:

Despite being of Noble blood, or perhaps because of it, Lilianna developed quite the abrasive personality. As quick to curse a person out as to say greet them, Lilianna knows her place in the world and has no problem shutting anyone else down when they get in her way. As with the noble families of the Aasamir, Lilianna is consumed by the need to learn- history, magic, biology, anything that she doesn't yet know. She looks down on those who dismiss learning as a waste of time and loves engaging in scholarly debate over the littlest things. Often times, she'll purposely play the devil's advocate just to push someone's buttons.

History:

Amongst the Aasamir, there are fourteen nobles houses. Each one is ranked by magical aptitude and importance in society. House Aslin, strongest in healing magics and head of rituals and ceremonies, ranks at four. Their house colors are black, red, and gold. Black for their lost immortality, red for the blood lost in the wilds, and gold for their eventual redemption. They kept the lores and legends of the race and lead everyone in prayers and rituals, reaffirming their gratitude and loyalties to the Gods regularly.

Lilianna was born as third child of the main family. Although the family attempted to raise her as all noble families do, Lilianna was never one to be contained. Her magical aptitude and thirst for knowledge became quickly apparent and she out paced her tutors with little regard to their teaching methods, ignoring her family's chastising for failing to follow the traditional route. For a short period, she even refused to learn healing magics and the Traditions and forced the next ranking house to outfit her in plate armor and teach her swordsmanship. And although she never gained much more than average proficiency with a blade, her instance in wearing plate armor never faded. Her father and Lilianna have repeatedly clashed on the subject.

She refused the Traditions. In fact, her father nearly disowned her when she expressed severe skepticism with the concept of the Gods. Not necessarily that they don't exist but why enslave themselves to their forgiveness? The past is the past. Learn from it, use it, but why bother glorifying it when you can move on and make something better. The rest of her family by and large ignored her issues with the Traditions and let her go her way. After all, she was the youngest of three and wouldn't be handling anything the House required. But her father, a Traditionalist through and through, refused to back down. They fought bitterly and one day, she left. She studied magic and science as she traveled and, after years of learning and wandering, decided it was time to use her talents. She entered the Inquisition voluntarily as a medic-in-training and quickly earned her spot in the organization after fervently pushing for changes in their medical procedures, including updating and standardizing medical kits carried by units, updating record keeping policies, and forcing a tiny bit of healing magic down any surgeon's throat.

It wasn't until her fifth year that the Blight, its causes, and its beasts caught her scholarly attention. She watched as the squadron she was assigned to circled and killed several of the beasts. Her journals filled with observation after observation and she decided then and there to become the foremost expert in even the Inquisition on the beasts and their afflictions.

The day she became an Inquisitor was the day she went back home. She stormed into the family home, grinning like a mad woman, and shoved the blue cloak right into her father's face. And after a shocked moment of silence, they laughed together. Her father had a new suit of armor and a longsword ready for her a few months later and to this day,

Aslin House Plate Armor: This armor was a gift from her father after she proved her worth by becoming an Inquisitor. Comprised of all three house colors, the gold accents over lay the black and red metal plating in the same geometric designs as the house robes so as to act as conduits for casting magic. She wears this mostly to spite those who think mages wear robes and cloth.

Medic's kit: A standard supply of bandages, gauze, ointment, thread, three empty glass vials, and a few tools.

Dawn Blade: A folded steel longsword set with a fire opal in the hilt. When drawn, it shines like a torch and once per day, it can explode in a dazzling orb of light as bright as the sun.

Blue Cloak: The standard Inquisition blue cloak.

Side bag:: Carried a journal, ink vials, quills, a little money, a good chunk of beef jerky, and other small daily necessities.

Healing Magic: House Aslin is one of the most powerful healing houses of the Aasimar and that gift did not skip Lilianna. Her magic stitches together skin, helps set bones, and soothes away pain under the glow of golden light. With this school of magic allowing the user to examine a living organism with their mind, Lilianna can work on patients even while they are unconscious. Lilianna was first noticed as a medic when she slowed a critical patient's metabolism to a crawl, ensuring he survived the trip from the field clinic to a proper hospital.

Storm magic: Although much weaker in it than Healing, Lilianna can conjure arcs of lightning and blades of wind when she must. Though this school drains her rather quickly so she generally uses it only if she is in danger.

Other

The Seraphim. A race exalted above the other mortal races, given both gifts and responsibility in equal measure. Six winged and ethereally beautiful, the Seraphim were given immortality, six wings so they may return to heaven at their whim, and the Sight. They were also given the task of guiding the mortal races on a just and righteous path. And for millennia they did. With the Sight, they singled out individual after individual, guiding them to leadership and teaching them magic and might. In the dark, the Seraphim fought creatures that threatened the tranquility they had cultivated through the mortals. And it was that which became their downfall.

Although Aasimar scholars disagree on exactly who was to blame, it is universally accepted that their hubris, their pride and their arrogance, cost them their place in the world. Over the years, the Seraph forgot their powers were derived of the Gods. They changed the course of mortal history to their own benefit. They attempt to rule as God kings and the Gods were horrified.

The Gods stripped the Seraphim of their immortality, of the sight, of their wings so as to bind them to the Earth forever. They were outcast into the unexplored wilderness and the Gods turned their backs. The Seraphim realized their errors and attempt to persuade the Gods of their forgiveness. Their pleas went unheard.

Until recently immortal, the Seraphim struggled with their newfound mortality. Despite having kept their supernatural strength, they struggled to secure food and water outside of civilization and the race nearly vanished after several centuries. The Gods took pity on them when they saw. Guiding the remaining Seraphim to what is known as simply the Mount, the Gods gave them leave to settle in peace. But at a cost. The Gods stripped them of their divine magic and might, leaving them as frail and weak as the other mortal races. They became the Aasamir

The Aasamir hid themselves away from the world, building cities across the tops of the mountains the Gods had gifted them and hiding them with ranging storms and illusionary passes. As time wore on, they developed an aristocracy to rule with fifteen noble houses ranked by magical prowess and importance of responsibilities. Each of the fifteen houses specialized in a branch of magic and focused on a societal role, each one with nearly complete autonomy over those sections of society. And despite the grumblings of the younger generations, the Aasamii steadily progressed towards a time when they would once again join the other races. Little did they know, it would be the other races that dragged them out.

In the century before the Blight War, the dwarves and elves managed to pierce their magical defenses in the name of exploration and expansion. Startled and aggravated, the Aasamir brutally drove the interlopers away from their holy grounds and down out of the mountains. The other races took this as a declaration of war and reacted accordingly. Blood was shed on every side and the Aasamir became more and more unsure if they ever wanted to rejoin society. Until they were forced to for mutual survival. The Aasamir lost an entire Noble house to the conflict.

[User]
_______________________________________________________________________________

Irritated at the beasts reluctance to move, he had to give him some credit for he was smarter than he appeared. River grit his teeth, eyes dancing about the battle field looking for some edge in the fight or a way to use less energy. Finally his eyes settled on the slate of ice he had created moments before deciding this was the best way about it for now. His hand waved over his grimoire as his fingers danced to his incantation commanding the ice to melt and move. River piloted the water down into the earth and moved it about until it was underneath the beast. He carefully, yet quickly, shot half of the water up to surround each leg while the other half remained underground. Once affixed each leg he froze it over once again in order to anchor the giant in place,having the ice not only around the monsters legs but also beneath the ground rooting him like a tree.

[Assistant]
Cyterius watched the giant warily as their fellow Inquisitors hit it with a relentless barrage of attacks. Ardur had gotten back on his feet and barked commands to coordinate their battle. Without being given direct orders by Ardur, Cyterius decided the best course of action is to continue their diversionary maneuvers to give the others the opening they needed.

As Kharne wrestled with the best, Cyterius signaled orders to the Falcons. "Equip wrist-bows and tighten the noose! Aim for the eye slits and launch volleys on my mark!" He ordered, advancing carefully closer to the giant as he reloaded the bolt magazine on his Salvo-Arm. His team did the same, advancing and equipping the ranged weapon while keeping enough distance from the giant that they wouldn't be in immediate danger should the creature lunge at them suddenly with its uncanny speed. They would have at least a few seconds to dodge if they see it coming.

As their crossbows were locked and loaded on their arms, Kharne was shaken off the giant and the Falcons braced themselves for evasion if needed. However, water suddenly erupted from the ground and entangled the giant with large root-like appendages. The water froze almost instantly after enveloping the foe, keeping it in place. Cyterius didn't bother checking who cast the spell, he read the situation and capitalized on it quickly.

"Now! Unload, reload, and repeat into its eyes! Every bolt you've got! Give this beast no chance to rally!" Cyterius commanded his team as he fired a flurry of bolts into the trapped giant's eye slits, before detaching the emptied magazine and slamming a new one into place with the practiced precision of one who has used the Salvo-Arm extensively. He hoped that at least a few among his team's shots makes it through and hurts them. They intended to distract the beast as an insect would, biting and pricking at it to keep it from focusing its attention on freeing itself and counter-attacking. In turn, providing precious seconds for their allies to renew their assault and finish off their enemy before they exhausted their ammo supply.

[User]
Lanithil Valkas

---

There were few things in this world worse than feeling helpless in a dire situation. Yet that was exactly how Lanithil felt as he watched his and every other arrow bounce off the monster. No matter where he fired the results were the same. The only real upside to this was that it was not hard for Lanithil to call a ceasefire when a few of the men boldly charged the beast. Holding up his right hand in a fist he yelled out "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

Immediately the archers restrained themselves and the volleys stopped. Lanithil watched closely as his allies engaged the armored mass desperately looking for an opening. His eyes followed every hit of magic and attack hoping they would reveal some sort of weak spot they could use. The tension among the archers grew as they waited. Each one praying they could come up with a way to assist their fellow inquisitors.

Their moment came soon after Gil pulled the spear and the beast was peppered with magic attacks from every direction. While most seemed to have little effect, a fire spear from Ardur drew the wood elf's attention to the spot where Kharne had hit it with acid. As the steam settled, he began to see the large cracks and missing chunks that part of it's armor had. It was impressive damage, but they could do more if that spot was completely exposed.

Hearing Ardur's command to focus on that spot, Lanithil and the archers raised their bows. "Archers ready!" He called out. All of them took aim and waited until their allies were clear and the beast was trapped in ice by River. "Fire!" A volley of arrows flew straight at the breaking chest piece. Hopefully the plate would be weakened enough to shatter at the force of a dozen or more arrows; just like it's weapon had.

[Assistant]
"What, do we sail the seven seas now?" Lilianna responded dryly as Ardur turned his attention away. All hands on deck indeed. She watched it turn from attacker to attacker as they assaulted it, her interest in it waning quickly. Nothing more than a nuisance really. Its only strength seemed to be its size.

"I'll let the others handle that then. No need to burn my magic with plenty of others here." Lilianna stood back to observe, sword in hand just in case. She was much more interested in examining the bodies littering the field and what may lie inside. After of course she made sure their headstrong commander got himself proper attention.