[System]
Age: 18
Appearance:

Years in the Academy: 6

Ancestors: Steve Rogers(Captain America) [Grandfather], James Howlett(Wolverine) [Grandfather]

Powers/Abilities: Although he was born with his gifts, James hasn't fully mastered any of these powers. He still has a lot to learn.

Peak human strength, agility, and reflexes
-Since his mother's dad was Captain America, James also possessed some of the Super Soldier Serum in his blood, giving him the power to be at perfect human performance.

Master tactician
-While both his parents and grandparents are military veterans, James is a natural at leadership and command. He finds the strengths and weaknesses of every situation and team mates, and uses it to the best of his ability.

Accelerated Healing factor
-Wolverine's healing factor skipped a generation and went into James. James regenerates damaged or destroyed tissues of his body far beyond the capabilities of an ordinary human. In addition to accelerated healing of physical traumas, his healing factor makes him extraordinarily resistant to diseases, drugs, and toxins. The speed at which he recovers is dependent on the wounds he gets. Minor cuts, or stabs heal almost instantly, but bullet wounds, and deep cuts could take minutes up to hours to days to fully heal.

It is also important to note that James has never been injured to extreme points, or tried to test his limits. He doesn't plan on seeing how far his healing can go.

Heightened instincts, and senses
-Wolverine also passed down his sense of instincts, being able to sense something wrong, picking up on scents, and if angered, he will be nearly unstoppable. His rage at this point though can leave him vulnerable in many cases.

Bio: I've had a lot to live up to. My parents were in the Peace Corps after Avengers and other super heroes joined forces to finally defeat the major crime organizations and villains. My mom was the daughter of Captain America and Sharon Carter, and my dad was the son of Wolverine and and a rancher he met in the desert in California.

My parents had their own abilities, so it was no surprise when mine started to show at a young age. I grew up in a world where mutants and humans were one, they lived peacefully, and we did for years. But like I said, I had a lot to live up to.

At the age of 4, there was a giant movement that shocked the world. HYDRA had reformed, it surprised everyone since Johann Schmidt had finally been thought to be dead. My grandfather who was now older than he was, felt responsible and started to fight against them alone. To everyone's shock, it turned out my mother was behind the new movement... Grandpa Rogers eventually stopped her, and ended the movement.

She was sent to a maximum security prison, and I was left to be raised by my father, and my grandparents, as well as friends of the family, but no one looked at me or my dad the same. When I was 12, I did what anyone did at the time: enlist in the Avengers Academy, which is like a high school, but add super hero classes into it, and dangerous games of dodgeball.

For six years people either treated me as if I was some sort of god, or they were afraid that I'd be like my mom and start attacking everyone... I tried to just do my best, and focus on doing what I can for the world. I am one of the top in my class, and so I was invited to join the Advanced Training Program, to essentially become an Avenger if the world ever needed them again. I don't want to let anyone down.

Family/Relationships?: Anyone interested let me know!

Annabelle Boltagon
-Anna and James are friends, but have only had a few exchanges in their lives. James doesn't really like Anna's "I'm better than everyone" way of thinking, and he let's her know that. One day during her first year of the academy she was getting harassed by a group of kids making fun of her physical appearance. James quickly put an end to that, and have grown respect for each other.

Weapons: Grandpa Rogers taught me how to fight with shields, and gave me my own one when I was strong enough to carry it. This Shield has the ability to produce an energy blade at the bottom half, and split into two, making two shields going on both hands (top half is mostly a shield, bottom half has the energy blade).

Personality: James is very much like his grandfather Steve. He has a deep sense of responsibility, and does his best to help others. He hates people who think they're better than everyone, and due to his other grandfather, he has a bit of a temper if provoked. He doesn't let anyone talk poorly of his friends, and especially his family, but at the same time he's ashamed of what his mother did. He tries to keep the balance of being respectful and honorable, and giving in to his anger and instincts.

Other: Has a habit of saying "Bub" a lot when angered.. "Thanks Grandpa Logan"

[User]
4 Years Ago
Attilan dock

A young green girl sat on the edge of a concrete dock, legs dangling over the abyss of blue as she skimmed stones across the vastness of the sea. In a few hours she'd be on a boat to New York, and from there a plane to Los Angeles. She had never been to either of the places, and both seemed about as strange as mars to her echo chamber of a world view. Whenever she was able to visit the human world it was usually always with a set of royal guards or family members, and if not she was sure to be surrounded by representatives of humanity or dark suited bodyguards taking her around to see all of the boring historical sights. She jumped a bit in her seat as she felt the firm grip of her father clutch her shoulder. It was time to go.

Present Day
Avengers Academy
Brianstorm

Annabelle sat in her room reading an old tatty book she had picked up for less than a dollar at a local bookstore. An almost equally old record player sat on her disc, spinning away as it did almost every day. Currently she was feeling rather punk, and as a result The Sex Pistols blared throughout her room, and subsequently the room of the poor sod who lived next to her. She'd been at the academy a day early due to a mix up at the airport. You'd have thought that the greatest minds in Attilan could have booked a flight properly but it seems all their talents lay in science and philosophy rather than common sense. Her room was rather different from most students, dark and a bit untidy, her father would have gone crazy if he had seen it. Suffice to say she had shed her princess image in her first year, purposely neglecting to mention it now for the sake of hating the stereotypical image of a princess that most people would go on to associate her with if she told them.

She folded the corner of the page and tossed the book onto her desk before rising from her bed and heading into the shower. Half an hour later and she was ready to face the day as it were. She wore an open flannel shirt revealing a T-shirt bearing the logo of 'Theatre of Hate', just to prove to the new students that she was a real hipster. A pair of skinny jeans and converse would do for the lower parts of her clothing and of course as accessories go she was wearing a choker and her hair in it's usual tied-but-long style.

She made her way to the cafeteria, dodging returning students and new ones alike. She didn't like many people at the academy, but she especially disliked those who felt the need to be in such a hurry that they would shove a stranger out of the way. In her four years at the academy she had learned to dodge most students on the first day.

She entered the cafeteria with tired eyes. She stretched quickly before grabbing a tray and joining the queue that was getting ever longer. As per usual the food was sub par. When it was quiet the lunch staff were actually quite good, but having to serve a school of this size was a nightmare, and you could tell that the staff were overworked even at breakfast. She simply grabbed a bowl of cereal, before sitting down at an empty table, browsing her phone and occasionally eating a bit of cereal.

Soon after she dumped her tray and made her way to the hall of heroes, seeing Vix whom she had previously met in a few classes there. She sort of raised her hand in a lazy greeting before standing next to her.
"Hey, Vix, ready for another semester?"

[Assistant]
Will Fleeter

A decrepit, ugly grey station wagon pulled up several yards away from the entrance to the massive campus. As soon as its young passenger climbed out, the driver slammed the door at took off, leaving the small boy abandoned and staring up in awe at his new school. The boy's big brown eyes took in every inch of the gargantuan buildings and strange, futuristic architectural design. It was rather intimidating, actually. He'd never been here before, and had never imagined it would be this large. Were superhuman abilities so common they needed all this space to house the students? Impossible.

 He hesitantly picked up his old leather suitcase that was so ancient it looked like an antique, and walked into the campus. The Israeli boy had a strange way of walking. He sort of glided a bit, as if his shoes had no friction. He walked quickly, stiffly and with apprehension. He entered the main building, hoping someone could direct him to the dorms. A security guard showed him up to his room, a tiny little space that he was certain was a repurposed closet. It was comfortable enough, with its blue bed and carpet, old couch and small television. He put down his suitcase, and locked the door to the room, wanting to do some exploring before he got to unpacking.

Even though he wasn't hungry (on the contrary, he felt rather sick to his stomach), he made his way down to the cafeteria. That was where most of the other students were, and where he was probably supposed to be. He looked around shyly, seeing that there were no empty tables. He'd have to ask someone if he could sit with them. Og, crud... he thought, losing his nerve and deciding to skip breakfast and leave the cafeteria. It was around then he realized exactly how long the drive up had been, and that he really needed to find a bathroom. All the more reason to leave now.


[System]
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation/Preference: Bisexual, with an inclination towards men.
Mental Illness/Disorder/Etcetera: Borderline Personality Disorder, Psychosis

Personality: To describe Ezra as abrasive would be the understatement of the century. Inwardly self-destructive and outwardly misanthropic, the people he talks to often find themselves put off by his hostility. He doesn't abide by the rules, he doesn't play fairly, and he certainly doesn't let anyone think they can get one up on him. Ezra considers himself the alpha dog in any situation he's in, but when faced with truly confident or successful people, he can become flustered and defensive, lashing out with increasingly nonsensical insults. Despite that, Ezra is a capable manipulator when he needs to be, and has a knack for controlling people to get what he wants.

He's very often obsessive about the things he does, the things he thinks about, and the people he chooses to follow. If he likes something, chances are he'll let you know it, and if he doesn't, well, he's never been shy about voicing his opinion in that matter as well. Try as he might, he's never really had the best poker face in the world, and it tends to give him away more than not. Ezra is hard to like, much less to love, but underneath the layers of barbed distrust and anger, lies a young man deeply frustrated by his condition.

Appearance: With a height of 5'7", weighing in at around 135 pounds, Ezra isn't exactly the most imposing of figures. It doesn't help that he never stands up straight, either. His posture is terrible; shoulders rolled forward, knees bent, hands inside his pockets. No matter how many hours of sleep he gets a night, it's always fitful, as evident by the dark circles under his watery, blue eyes. There is an unhealthy pallor to his skin, even more so than usual, after a year spent in Remmington. This, combined with his lanky, blonde hair, gives him an overall appearance that would be best described as "washed out". Unless he is fully comfortable in his surroundings, he is usually unsmiling. It's not difficult to notice the way he suspiciously eyes people, watching their every move like a caged animal.

History/Background Info.: Ezra grew up in Bethesda, Maryland, the youngest child to a wealthy businessman and his beautiful wife. The Pinkertons, as one of the primary shipping magnates in North America, were, and continue to be, one of the richest and most influential names from the continent. From the day he was born, Ezra had everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. To outsiders, his life was enviable. But behind closed doors, things were quite different.

Ezra's parents were far too busy with work to deal with a child, and so tended to leave him and his siblings in the care of a nanny. This detachment between parent and child, perhaps, was why Ezra's unusual behaviour went undetected. People never seemed to like staying around Ezra for long; his carers had a curious habit of never lasting more than a month at a time - the frequency and intensity of his sometimes self-destructive tantrums driving them away from the Pinkerton estate. Shrugging it off as the unreliability of the working class, Ezra's parents turned a blind eye to these so-called "episodes". As far as they were concerned, there was nothing wrong with him - well, apart from being spoilt rotten, that is.

For years, the behaviour Ezra displayed was simply swept under the rug. After all, it simply wouldn't do to have the prestigious Pinkerton name sullied, would it? Still, it was only a matter of time until things came to a head. Slowly but surely, Ezra's psyche began to turn on him. As with all things, it started out small. Shadows lurking at the edge of his vision, the occasional whisper at the back of his mind. At first, he couldn't tell whether or not it was just his imagination - but these symptoms only worsened as time went by. Soon, Ezra began suffering from full-blown episodes of catatonia, and it was only then that his parents started to worry.

After multiple trips to the psychiatrist, it seemed like they had finally pinned down just what was wrong with Ezra. Diagnosed with BPD and Psychosis, he was sent home with nothing more than a bottle of mood stabilisers and antipsychotics. But then, barely a month later - that was when things spiralled out of control. The night before his eighteenth birthday, something in him snapped. Convinced that his entire family was out to get him, he retrieved a knife from the kitchen, fully intending to carve up everyone in the house before they could do anything to hurt him. Fortunately, however, Ezra's plans were stopped in his tracks when the knife was wrestled away from him by his first target - his father.

Despite their earlier reservations, Ezra's parents finally realised what they had to do. In a situation like this, seeking professional help would no doubt be the best course of action. Thus, after an extensive round of perusal and vetting, they finally settled on Remmington's Angels. Whether or not Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton were aware of the rumours surrounding the facility is anyone's guess, but two things were for sure - it keeps their son out of the public eye, and their reputation spotless.

Favorites/Interests/Hobbies: Cigarettes. They're one of the only things that calm him down, but he finds it nigh impossible to get his hands on any in Remmington.

Other/Special: Ezra is terrified of dogs. Whilst he isn't going to run screaming when he sees a chihuahua or corgi, anything larger is enough to scare the living daylights out of him.

---

[User]
"Hey, you!

There it was. He didn't even have a chance to catch his breath yet. Arrow jumped when the thundering voice broke the silence in the hallway. He struggled to stand back up, using the wall for support. He could immediately tell the approaching man wasn't a member of the staff – he wore the same simple white uniform as Arrow had. However, his presence felt strong and menacing, making Arrow wary as the stranger approached. He struggled to remain calm, though he was already looking for his next route of escape should the situation take a turn for the worse.

He wiped at his mouth in disgust after the man's crude comment. His was spinning from the drugs he was injected with less then five minutes ago, and his vision was further impaired by the tears that had welled up in his eyes. He stubbornly fought them back, blinking hard a few times. "That's disgusting." He spat. He felt more uncomfortable as the man came closer. He definitely could beat the snot out of the poor kid if he wanted to. "Besides, who the hell are you?"

He made an attempt to sound confident, but it probably was not very effective considering his current state. If fact, he would probably just make things worse by mouthing off.

[Assistant]
Well, this was new. Whenever Ezra brought up the subject of his family name, there was usually a spark of recognition; a turning of gears as they came to realise just who he was. The Pinkertons were often said to be up there with the Waltons and the Kochs, having dominated the US shipping industry since the early 20s, and to put it gently - you had to be living under a rock to not have heard of them. Today, however, it seemed as if he had finally encountered an exception to the rule. Whether or not he was pleased by the peculiar turn of events, Ezra couldn't tell, but it was certainly a refreshing deviation from the norm.

"Was rich, and none taken. They're all a bunch of douchebags, anyway." Ezra wasn't so petty as to take an offhanded comment like that to heart. Growing up, he'd always been taught to have thick skin, and to take things with a grain of salt. Sticks and stones, right? Not like it was much help to him when he was in one of his "moods", but right now, for lack of a better term, he was too out of it to get into it. The drugs they gave him in Remmington's were good for one thing, he supposed - keeping those nasty, raging emotions at bay. "Eight months, huh? I've been here a little longer. …I think."

And then, there was the downside. With the chemical cocktail of pills and injections given to him, Ezra could barely remember what he had for breakfast, let alone how much time he'd spent at Remmington's. But if he had to decide on a certain timeframe, it'd be somewhere close to a year, give or take. Though with his addled mind, he couldn't be sure. Those trips to the 'shock shop' in the beginning of January must've taken more out of him than he'd thought.

Tentatively, Ezra's gaze flickered upwards, towards the spiky, purple mess sitting atop Alytra's head. As he spoke, his fingers finally found purchase, tearing away the flaking piece of skin from his lip. "They let you keep your hair like that?"

[User]
"Uh, excuse me?" Jason asked, all humor gone from his face. This young fool obviously had no clue who he was, nor any respect for authority. The boy appeared to be shaking, clearly immensely upset from whatever had happened moments before, and it almost evoked some hint of emotion from his cold heart. Almost. But Jason knew better than to start feeling bad for a newbie who was breaking the rules. And he could benefit quite a bit from taking the side of the staff on almost any matter, he realized, if he played his cards right. Jason practically snarled. "Who says it's disgusting? I love the taste of metal in my mouth." It would have been a comical statement if not for the absolute menace that shone through his bright eyes. He looked downright terrifying. Taking a step closer, he gestured towards the boy, still sitting on the hard ground against the painstakingly white wall behind him. The vein in his forehead bulged and throbbed, and he leaned over the boy, attempting to intimidate him. "I'll think about answering your questions after you answer mine. Now, I asked you once, and I will not ask again," Jason continued, "Who. the. fuck. are. you." The words came out hard and flat, with a bit of rage seeping into each one. He was not in the mood to be screwed with.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alytra was rather taken aback. As much hate as she harbored for her good for nothing father, and as much of a bitch her mother could be, she would never refer to them openly as "a bunch of douchebags". The term just sounded.... dirty? Perverted? Wrong, whatever it was. She was also even more astounded by the claim that Ezra made next. "More than eight months? A whole year? No offense, but that seems impossible... I know everyone who has been in and out of here since I arrived, I swear it... Or, at least, I could have sworn... Longer than me? I didn't think that anyone besides... Jason... Had been here for longer than I have... That can't be right, can it...?" She couldn't stop searching, attempting to find a rational answer to what she had just been told, but she couldn't. Maybe, she began to fear, those drugs had done a lot more to affect her mental and biological health than she had originally thought...

"Well, anyway," Alytra moved the conversation along, trying her best to shrug it off, "What do you mean? This?" She pulled at her own lovely purple and black locks, affectionately. "Like that as in short, or like that as in dyed? Either way, obviously, yes, they do "let me"... It's amazing what you can get away with around here, if you have the right connections... Speaking of which," Alytra began to recall a time where she had seen Ezra, not knowing who he was at that point in time, in possession of a cigarette. "Haven't you been getting some nicotine into your system, somehow?" She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly to the side. Perhaps, she wasn't the only one using her looks to receive something beneficiary that wouldn't be provided by Dr. Remmington or the more nefariously diligent staff members.

[Assistant]
Ezra could empathise, he knew exactly how Alytra felt. At Remmington's, without a calendar to keep track, days melted into weeks, and months into days. The place never seemed to change, either. Same walls, same people, same drugs, same everything. Each passing second felt like a bloated eternity, and some days, Ezra was sure the monotony would drive him mad. Well - madder, if you want to be picky about it.

"Eight months, a year. What's the difference?" Sharp stabs of fatigue lent his voice a gravelly creakiness, and it was almost as if he had to heave the words from his jaw with a shovel. Still, he made a token effort of straightening his posture, draping an arm across the back of the couch. "Feels like a goddamned lifetime, either way."

As the girl continued, Ezra couldn't quash the feeling of dread welling up in his stomach. He knew where this was going, and when Alytra finally popped the question, he was hardly shocked. Not many patients earned the supposed 'privilege' of cigarettes - the fact that his carcinogenic hobby hadn't been brought up in conversation earlier was an achievement in and itself. But that didn't stop his phlegmatic, drugged-up mask from slipping. Venom. In a single, ephemeral second, however, it faded, almost as quickly as it'd surfaced. Even with his eyes at half-mast, one could still see the pupils, as dark and sticky as a tar pit.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ezra's voice was oddly clipped, and it was clear, despite the apparent insouciance, that Alytra had hit a nerve with her question. Rationalising - as he had tried many times before - would be of no use, he realised. No amount of excuses, big or small, would justify his actions. He knew that after he'd accepted that very first cigarette, there was no going back, and he'd be a fool to dig himself a deeper hole than he'd already done. Though he did find some solace in the fact that he wasn't alone in such an arrangement. "The 'right connections'… That's funny."


[System]
Age: 33
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 246 pounds
Boxing Reach: 80.0 in
Race: Human
Dominant Hand: Left
Weapons and Equipment-

*A Damascus steel Dane sword with the following specifications-
 Overall length: 58" (147 cm)
 Blade length: 42" (106.7 cm)
 Blade width at base: 1.4" (3.5 cm)
 CoG: 4" (10.2 cm)
 CoP: 24.5" (62.2 cm)
 Weight: 4 lbs 10 oz (2.1 kg)

*A 16" X 16" five pound targe buckler strapped to his right forearm with five 5" spikes.

*A rope tied about his waist just below a leather belt.

*A stiletto with an eight inch blade.

*A black steel helm fitted firmly to his head.

*Steel plating inside the knuckles of his leather gloves, inside his boots, and over his knees.

*Beneath his robes is a full layer of steel scale armor with another layer of pleated leather beneath. His full armor kit weighs in at a total of 24 pounds.

Appearance- Catskull is a large, pale-skinned man with rugged, imposing angular facial features and a black bowl cut framing dull yellow eyes. He's of a powerful, sturdy, and lithe build.

Country of Origin: Ellessar

Personality- Sometimes good guys don't wear white. Catskull is not a nice man, nor a reasonable man, nor a sane man. He prides himself on being a cultured and educated with nerves of steel. He values class and social standing, is well-spoken, and stays far, far away from those he deems to be 'peasants'. He comes off as cold-hearted, and that's because he is. He generally sticks to what's legal and doesn't antagonize those who stay out of his way, and if he sees someone in need of help, he'll help them if he likes them. On the flipside, he has no mercy for those who cross him.
Catskull has a dark sense of humor, and he's fond of making light (or dark) of any situation no matter how grim or whimsical. He seems to suffer from an inability to take anything seriously, besides not letting 'peasants' touch him. He's immensely selfish, and never shares unless it's a matter of life or death, or loss of limb. He will frequently perform random, inconsequential actions for no good reason, purely on a whim, but remains dedicated to the purpose of restoring his family's name and wealth.

Background- There existed a clan of nobles known as the Maclungs, lead by the evil sorcerer Malimore Maclung. Malimore, unbeknownst to his clan, had been slowly siphoning the life from his own kin to extend his own. When a Maclung's life force inevitably dwindled, they'd "run out of luck", dooming them and their bloodline to a life of fatal misfortune. Every Maclung, cruel in their own right due to their lack of a spirit and conscience, died before the age of thirty. There have only ever been two exceptions. The dark wizard Suliss Maclung, the chosen pupil and future successor to Malimore, and Catskull Maclung who was spared his soul. He was the only one Malimore allowed to remain whole due to the old sorcerer's need for a competent bodyguard, unplagued by bad luck and a short life expectancy.

Malimore had Catskull trained in the ancient arts of man and beast slaying, and had the many of the most fearsome warriors in the world teach him the ways of combat. He mastered the versatile Dane sword in conjunction with a targe, his already diabolical strength amplified by the weight of the targe to such an extend that he can separate a man into two halves lengthwise with a horse cut. He learned to use his blade as well as his body, and his body as well as his blade.

Catskull could have grown into a truly decent fellow, if his uncle hadn't been so ridiculously evil. Fortunately Catskull was intent on being his own man, not the bitch of an old monster, and soon he ditched Malimore and fled to new lands, seeking to establish his own house of nobility and recreate the Maclung bloodline properly. Once he has resurrected the House Maclung, he intends to slay his wicked uncle and brother and end the bloodline curse of the Maclungs for good.
Until then, he wanders, seeking fortune, fame, and worthy adversaries with whom he may hone his skills.

Side: None; Catskull is a wandering warrior.

[User]
Varian Sigmund - Outside the gates of Dalenham, Ethora

Varian couldn't help but muster a small, momentary smirk at his group's skepticism and caution. These were questions Varian was likely to ask himself, if he didn't already believe the fat merchant knew anything about the tower that could help. He was likely a prestigious merchant here in Ethora who had never stepped foot into one of the old forts of Ethora. They were far too dangerous and likely to collapse. Of course, maybe he would be surprised and the merchant may know more.

"I..." The hooded stout man began. He cleared his throat and examined the map again as if it had the answers he were searching for. "Well, I am unsure of their choices of weaponry... erhm, swords and axes and the like, I imagine? As I said, they are simple brigands from the area, so I wouldn't expect anything too spectacular. As for the fortress itself... I am no expert, but I suppose it should have a main entrance and exit? A side door or...?" He gestured with his arms on the side. "I am unsure, I apologize."

Varian sighed and stood up. He supposed he expected too much of the man. "That's all right," He began and stretched his shoulder. "We'll take it from here. You can go. And we'll keep the first half of the payment, and meet you for the rest," Varian shot the orc a quick 'what-the-hell-are-you-thinking' look before the merchant began to rise to (try and) meet the Highman's gaze and beamed.

"Excellent! I cannot thank you enough, Sirs, and mad'am. Here." He said, handing the marked map to Varian. "I've taken the liberty to mark another area on the map, on the outskirts of Curilan. When the job is complete, proceed to the inn there, known as the 'Strutting Stag'. I will be awaiting your arrival with the remainder of the payment, in full." The merchant gave the group a bow of his head. "Good luck, and may the Nine watch over you." Varian nodded his head, and watched as the merchant strode over to his horse, struggling a bit from his weight to mount it, before finally succeeding. He gave the mercenaries a slight bow of his head, and rode off to the north. Varian put the map away into his bag, and gazed upon his group, checking to see if they were all ready to go. He didn't want to say anything in front of the merchant, mostly because he didn't want the man to go back on his word after realizing the ludicrousness of his sum he offered. But at the very least, he knew (and any of these other mercenaries that have been long enough in the business) that if what the merchant said was true, they were about to receive comically high payment for minimal work.

"All right, now we can talk," Varian laid out the map again just as the merchant was out of sight and spoke up. "I recognize the area and the forts in that area. From what I saw and heard, they're all designed similarly. They're fucked." He emphasized. "Bad walls, shabby conditions. Those idiots are as likely to kill anyone that comes in there as the walls would come down over their heads. The forts tunnel down underground into narrower pathways, where numbers won't matter. My guess is they aren't protecting themselves with the fort, they're hiding in it. My guess is they won't have any archers outside. If they do," He motioned with his head toward Edon. "A few quick arrows will take care of them," Varian stood up, grabbing the map with him and adjusting his baldric to ensure it was fully tightened. "It's a week's march to the fort. You fall behind, you're left behind. Let's go."

[Assistant]
Edon Wolf
Outside the Gates
Dalenham, Ethora

When Folkmar began asking about Edon's condition, the noble gave him a confused side-long glare. Of course, he didn't know how his own complexion might have looked at the moment. He must have looked about as upset as he felt. The call from the bird and its curious antics irritated him so he shooed it away with a swat of his free hand.

"Mind your own business," Edon said. When Folkmar began to speak for the group, Edon watched for Varian's reaction.

The wool-wrapped fatass knew as much about the fort as he had assumed; that is to say, nothing at all. Once the merchant left, Edon moved closer to study the map in Varian's hands. He was capable of reading maps and the one given to them was quite detailed (Edon knew it must have cost a pretty penny to just be handed away like that). He had a good memory as well and, while Varian spoke, he quickly plotted out a course in his head.

When Varian mentioned archers and nodded toward him, Edon blinked and tilted his head slightly. They didn't have a decent form of ranged combat in the group, however, he seemed to have the only functional set of armor between the lot of them. It made sense that he would end up leading the charge alongside Drostan.

"Quality Ethorian construction," he said in a condescending tone once Varian ended the meeting. At once, he turned and began walking at a swift pace down the road. "I will take point."

[User]
Sir Roland Grey - Fornond, Miracia

The port city of Fornond, Miracia, was much like it was described. Being known for its vast forests, even at the coast, the green of the Miracian trees were planted across the port town's spread out marble buildings. It was beyond beautiful, but it was also strategic. Archers were among the favorite tools of the elves; standard bowmen, longbows, and ballistas hid among the trees to prevent intruders along their shores. It was ironic to Roland. The elves were always peaceful. They detested violence. Yet each tribe in Miracia had much of its own identity. While the peaceful nature of the elves held true with the tribes in the deeper regions of the country, the coastal tribes were known to be influenced by the human wars and of their limited trade with Falke; they were ready for battle.

"Twelve days..." Roland began to utter as he adjusted his bright, steel armor in preparation for their docking in Miracia. "Twelve days on this Gods-forsaken piece of rubbish you southerners pass as a ship. Tella be praised with her gift of the earth, for I have long grown tired of these waters." He hissed, glorifying the sight of land, not particular on the location. He didn't particular know much about the elves, as he hardly visited there. He had hoped their elven knight would help broker any information they would need, but the elf had left their ship the moment it hit Miracian waters. Roland never asked why he left, and quite frankly, he didn't much care. He turned his head. "Why could we not hug closer to the shore for calmer water?" The knight questioned Captain Crewe with a hint of annoyance.

"That would attract to much unwanted eyes," Captain Crewe stated matter of factly. Roland scoff as the black ship slowly pulled into a small port with a few merchant ships at a fairly kept dock. Roland saw a healthy combination of Falkan traders and eleven locals. Captain Crewe barked orders at his sailors, prepping the ship for landing and the crew for a swift yet bearable arrival. Soon enough, Captain Crewe howled until the ship anchored at the port and was tied down to the poles that were dotted across the port. As the Knights descended down to the wooden port, a rather large group of elven warriors had greeted them. They were covered in bright green light armor, covering their vital areas while hugging their skin for mobility. Roland scoffed at the elven designs. They were hardly going to prevent a single strike of his longsword on the that thin armor. It may as well have been paper. Despite their thinner armor, however, there were quite a lot of them.

Among the elven soldiers was an elf out of armor. With long black hair and youthful features, he hid his age well enough for Roland to be unable to make an educated guess. He wore a dark red silk robe with an elaborate design of golden trees embroidered on the robe. Floral designs were stitched on the edges of the robe, and a few fine golden jeweled rings styled his fingers, completing an image of wealth, importance and regality.

"Welcome, Knights of Ekilore, to Fornond," he said as he greeted the arriving knights with a low bow.

"I assume you are the 'friend' the monks spoke of," Roland said to the man, who raised himself from his bow to meet the gaze of the knight from Ethora.

"Indeed, Sir Knight," The elf answered, with a warm smile. "I am Estallir, advisor to druid Vanya of the shores. I am here to provide you council, and direction on your noble quest. Please, if you would accompany me to my estate. It is not far."

[Assistant]
He crossed the gangplank last, squinting in the sunlight. Too bright, too open, too populated. Catskull was wary. As he listened to the elf speak, he came to the decision to not attend the meeting. The others would take care of that. As the others followed the elf, Catskull dipped into the shadows between the encroaching trees and took his own route, scouting the general area and eavesdropping on any conversations he came across, studying the timing of the guards as they went about their rounds. If there was any shady business going on, Catskull bore a solid chance of finding out about it.

It wasn't likely that the elves were actual enemies, but Catskull was well versed in the art of war. If you let your guard down once, you'll be liable to let it down again, and all it takes is one slip, one mistake, one poor choice. Placing yourself at the mercy of a host may seem mundane and common, but time and time again have legions been taken in by friendly deception and massacred by those they trusted. The strong fighters of old always placed themselves beyond the reach of their enemy, to provoke and wait for weaknesses.

When a warrior stops moving, that is when he will most likely die.


[System]
Dara Kazuki
Title: Mosaic Soul

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Height: 6'2

Weight: 172lbs

Appearance:

Personality: Kazuki is rather reclusive and quiet. He opens up once he has gotten to know people, but isn't one to go out and meet new people. He is more familiar and comfortable around chasers and youkai, than he is around other humans. He is pretty often cautious of his surroundings and people. He doesn't care that much about himself or others. He will do what he can to help others at his own expense, but doesn't share pity when bad things happen. He enjoys friends company, but doesn't contribute much to parties or events. He sort of just likes people watching and occasional conversation.

Short Bio: Kazuki is a bike messenger, and stumbled into the Crimson Sky by accident a few years ago. He fortunately met another chaser and was introduced to the Hunter's Association. The association helped him discover his powers soon after. He kept his job as a bike messenger to cover for his other jobs as a chaser. He found his pocket mirror when one of his deliveries ended up being to a dead guy. The mirror was sitting in the man's hand and Kazuki decided to look at it. He heard police sirens as he held the mirror and quickly rode off with the man's mirror and package. He kept both, but hasn't opened the package to this day.

Powers: Glass Make. Can make any object he can imagine appear in front of him, but it will be completely glass. Can change the durability of the glass, as well as the flexibility too. (Ballistic glass/ Willow glass)

Weapons: Just the weapons, armor and tools he makes from glass.

Equipment: Kazuki has a treasure in the shape a small pocket mirror/watch. The mirror steals a being's soul if the being sees their own eye inside of it. The more souls it takes the stronger Kazuki gets. He's not greedy so he still only takes from beings that need to be destroyed. The clock was on a random time and it began again as he picked it up. It fits fine in his pocket and isn't very reliable in battle due to it's fickle nature. He normally uses it after he has captured the subject. The body is left as a limp shell and the soul can be placed back into the body. Different souls can also be placed in different bodies. Kazuki does have control over what soul escapes the pocket mirror and when.

Other: He's a soul stealing ginger. Not sure what's in the package yet. I may make it something pertinent to the story or another treasure at the GM's approval.

[User]
Well, that was quite a warm greeting.

Removing a white handkerchief from the rightside pocket of his dark overcoat, the immortal casually wiped a few bloodstains from his silver fist. The souls of lesser Youkai orbited around Airgetlam, and while it was rather tempting to crush those grunts' souls and get on with it, unfortunately, Rui-Ling held the belief that all immortals, being witnesses to the progress of mortal lives, should not take it so easily. So, instead, he simply smiled at Suzumebachi as the head honcho stepped up, ending the fight. Slowly, the souls drifted back to their bodies, released as Rui-Ling unclenched his fist. "Sup, bug. Still rocking that antennae hair of yours, huh? Not even anime have those anymore."

When the two of them reached the entrance to the seaside freeway, however, Rui-Ling couldn't help but let out a low whistle. A Suzuki Hayabusa, huh? Other than the shoddy yellow-and-black paint job it was give, the vehicle was quite a beauty. Not enough that it could make up for its rider's lack of skill, of course, but the immortal was willing to give credit where credit was due. Hopping onto his (or Reiko's) ride, he smirked at his opponent, revving up the engine. "It'd be a real shame if you lost that, wouldn't it? Don't worry though, after I take your wheels away, I'll be sure to resell it to you at ten times its market pri-"

But of course the two's dramatic, manly, hot-blooded race had to be interrupted by two familiar lesbians. Haruka, the apprentice of Reiko, who twisted reality with her words, and Kiara, the memory-afflicting swordswoman. Sighing at the sight of those two, Rui-Ling was about to recommend a different, less scenic race track for his duel with Suzumebachi, when the rising pop idol demanded to join in instead.

Trying to impress Kiara with her motoring skills, huh? Ah, young love was nice to see indeed. Well, all he needed to do was beat the leader of the Yellow Jackets. Nothing said that he couldn't let Haruka take first place. After all, her master did own the bike he used.

He turned his attention back to the road as Haruka lined up on the stop line as well, when she spoke of his pants. Looking down at his zipper, only to realize that, having worn sweatpants today, he didn't even have one, Rui-Ling faked a laugh, faked a smile, and said, "Ahahahahahaha, you got me, Haruka-chan! Nice trick!"

He should have seen it coming, really, but, well, it's just water under the bridge now. Can't really do much about the Universal Language, after all, outside of killing its user.

[Assistant]
Jun Kaiki

Jun approached the lake, both of his guns loaded and ready for whatever Yokai should arise.

When he arrived and saw that in fact there were some odd lights dancing around on top of the lake.

He was quick to go into hiding and observe what the lights were doing. Some went up and some others dragged all the way to the edge of the pond.

Jun flinched a bit they first time they did so, thinking he had been discovered, but then saw that they were coordinated to do that. Interesting.

Jun stepped out of his hiding spot, being careful to tiptoe all the way to the edge of the lake to make sure not to make any noise.

He would've definitely wanted to see everything from above, but building an ice staircase stealthily was out of the question. It would take too long and a big structure wasn't exactly stealthy.

"All right, then. I hope this goes well enough." Jun whispered and then placed a single foot in the surface of the lake, which quickly froze over to provide footing.

He slowly started approaching the shining lights, making more frozen footing for himself as he kept moving, and making sure to unfreeze the water behind him so as to not leave a trail. This way, he could approach the balls of light without being too noisy, such as if he had just walked in the pond, splashing and whatnot.

He got near enough one to inspect it. Hopefully, it wouldn't leap unto him to attack him or something, but if it was the case, then he'd just shoot it.

[User]
-Katherine Sinclair-

Kat made it to the playground easily enough, though she kept her eyes and her ears open for any sign of trouble. Getting ambushed by something wasn't one of her ideas of a 'fun time'. As she approached she took in the layout of the place. She spotted a few chess tables, likely used by some old people who didn't have anything better to do. Or egg-heads who didn't know how to have fun. Either way, it wasn't likely they were of any consequence. So she turned her attention to the swing sets.

They were, indeed moving without a breeze or any seeming force of an outside influence. If that wasn't odd, she didn't know what was. The creaking of the other attractions weren't helping in the slightest to stave off the feeling that she was being watched, or that something really bad was going to happen. Though what happened next...was not what she had expected at all.

A soft sob filled the air, followed by a torrent of sand washed over her without warning. Thankfully her force-field kept sand from getting into places that would be uncomfortable. Mostly. The wave still pushed her, however, knocking her off balance and momentarily making her lose her footing from the surprise attack - well, she assumed it was an attack, what else could it be?

Which made what happened next even more strange. The sand formed a six-foot wide mass, taking the form of something she had never seen before - being someone who didn't really play video games that much and spent most of her time working, polishing her guns and drinking, she didn't recognize the vague shape the creature had taken, but that wasn't important.

What was important, was the fact it was attempting to hug her.

Just...what the fuck? Just what?

The turn of events was strange to say the least, but...if this thing was hugging her, maybe it was intelligent in some way - or at least didn't have hostile intentions? Still, she wasn't just going to let it do what it wanted too until she knew for sure. So, she expanded her force-field outwards, hopefully shoving the creature back and giving her enough time to draw her gun with one hand, and grab that ice-grenade with her other. Aside from probably exploding and alerting the others, it could also probably slow this guy down a bit if she had too.

"I'm gonna ask you reaaaal nicely once. What do you want?" Of course, that was assuming it could understand her, and speak itself.

[Assistant]
As Kazuki made his way to the shell he began to hear a song. It was an easily recognizable childrens melody, and it was very nice as well. It had a calming effect which fought the eeriness of the whole situation. The theatre was very large and rather impressive. As the song got louder he continued to look around for anything that could be the source of the sound. It certainly wasn't the other two. They didn't seem the types to be singing right now, and it was coming from the opposite direction.

He took note that it wasn't the statue as he walked past it. That would be creepy. He thought to himself, but something much creepier was coming. As he walked behind the last aisle to the center row he looked over all the seats to see if he could see annything. Nothing was coming into sight, but as he reached the aisle his attention turned to the stage itself. In the center of the stage was a small toy, and immediately he felt that was where the noise was coming from.

He began his approach to the front of the stage, the music didn't necessarily get louder, but it became more clear. He couldn't be certain that it was the toy singing the song, but there didn't seem to be any other culprits. As he got closer he noticed it was a plush bunny. it was very cute in any other situation, but here he was half expecting it to grin with giant scissor teeth when he got close enough. Nothing that absurd could ever happen though, right? He made it to the stage and climbed up the front. He was very alert for anything to happen as he approached and picked up the cute toy.


[System]
"I have an eye condition."
Age: 18
Appearance:

Rank: Ensign
Personality: Cairo Casablancas isn't sure what to make of people. Through a mix of a naturally aloof personality, personal failures at socialization, and a mistrust of her gum-flapping squadmate Yemi, the G-Fighter pilot is her own one-woman circle of trust that seems impossible to pierce. Any trials, tribulations, or secrets she holds in her memory are stored there under lock and key, and any attempts to pry them out will be met only with an icy stare through the lenses of her "prescription" sunglasses. Though she keeps a veneer of politeness up when confronted with the prospect of human company, it is easy to tell that she is not a young woman easily coaxed into displays of extroversion.

It is surprising, then, that Cairo is such a self-assured and confident girl from the cockpit of her G-Fighter. She communicates calmly and concisely with her fellow Federation pilots and, though careful not to defy orders or needlessly risk a mission, is not above engaging Zeon mobile suits unnecessarily for her own enjoyment. As dogfights and mobile suit engagements are her only publicly disclosed hobby, she will gladly open up to the other pilots on the carrier whenever she is asked for her opinion of their battle prowess.

Privately, Cairo Casablancas enjoys boom-bap hip hop, punk music, black comedy, reading science and technology publications, and drinking sambuca or paxtaran with seven coffee beans per shot, a popular pair of drinks in her native Europe. She will sometimes break out a bottle of sambuca from her private stock in order to produce a caffè corretto with the help of the coffee makers in the ship's galley.
Backstory: Cairo Casablancas enjoyed a private life in Spain until the One Year War broke out planetside. Though neither of her parents had ever been to space, the Casablancas household had a number of acquaintances who lived on the various Sides, and the family's pro-Federation sympathies were exacerbated by both concern for the well-being of their friends and the series of sudden, violent successes Zeon had achieved in such a short amount of time. The war, however, quickly faded into the background of Cairo's life, for the young woman had recently fallen in love for the first time. For several months she harbored a secret crush that quickly grew into passionate infatuation. When Garma Zabi's attack force began burning a blitzkrieg path through Europe, the apple of Casablancas' eye quickly enlisted in the Federation, and Cairo followed suit in a hopelessly romantic gesture, hoping to confess her feelings to her would-be angel.

Unfortunately, tragedy struck.

Her confession was rejected. Her affections were kindly, but firmly, spurned; Cairo Casablancas, aghast and embarrassed, discovered that her sexual orientation was incompatible with that of her first love.

In a typically Spanish display of passion and heartache, she demanded an immediate transfer away from the soldier who had broken her heart before she ever even deployed for the first time. Instead of her original posting, she was shuffled through various planetside postings she found no enjoyment or fulfillment in, and eventually, her patience paid off; she was assigned a G-Fighter machine of her very own and assigned to the ramshackle crew of the newest, and final, Pegasus-class carrier to leave Jaburo.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Model Number: G-Fighter Space Type TH(CCC)-1
Classification: Space-use Support Fighter
Armaments:
* 2x 60mm Vulcan Guns
* 2x 3-tube Missile Launchers
* 2x Mega Particle Cannons

Miscellaneous: Initially designed as a support craft for the RX-78-2 Gundam, the G-Fighter is one of the rare Federation machines built and armored with the rare Luna Titanium Alloy, allowing it to sustain most physical and even beam attacks with little difficulty. Cairo Casablancas' G-Fighter is a custom model; originally designed for two pilots, it was rigged with a slave circuit to allow its pilot to operate most of its functions solo. It also sports a custom all-white paint job, with only sparse lines of red to emphasize where it would combine with a Gundam model.

[User]
Yemi Dumuzi

"Aye aye."

Yemi floated into the open cockpit of her Guncannon, twisting her body around so that she would fit properly inside the machine. The zero-g environment wasn't really that hard to get used to for someone who had spent some time living in the colonies, and not even all those years planetside could get rid of her familiarity. It was just like riding a horse; you'd never forget how to do it. So it was with ease that she settled into the seat, locking in the buckles to the harness while quietly humming a tune.

Her hands reached out for the switches, playing with after another to test out the functions of her customised mobile suit. All systems were green. The reactor was humming to life with no problem. No compatibility issues with the non-standard Guncannon parts. A smile found its way to her face. That was good. Even if she'd run a number of tests already, it was better to be safe than sorry, especially before a sortie.

Besides, most of those tests had been held back on Earth.

She breathed in.

Engineers darted out of her way as the Guncannon Custom roared to life. The prototype artillery suit, in its crimson glory, was a heavy, powerful machine. Even when under the effects of zero gravity, the way it moved ... the way it lumbered through the bay ... there was no mistaking the weight it appeared to possess.

"If the El-Tee's taking Catapult One, I'll be on standby at Two."

[Assistant] Luna sprinted into the hanger bay, she went to the back were her custom modeled Gundam resided, she nodded to some engineers prepping her sniper and calibrating the scope, she knew she would launch out last, Her entire training had been for this moments, all the practice simulations, all the target tests, but this was different. Real combat was something the sixteen year old prodigy had never experienced, she hoped her new allies, the ones she had barely even spoken too were capable of doing this without her, she wasn't sure how much help she was even going to be, but she wanted to help. As she loaded her self in, she flipped her helmet on and used her left hand to grip the rifle. "Systems are a check," she said as she watched her allies launch out. "This is Luna, I'm ready to launch captain, just give the go," she said as she stepped onto the launcher, her body was loose, something about being in her mobile suit calmed her nerves. Back at the training she was known as a deadeye shooter for a reason. But it was her calm collection that truly made her a fit for this long ranged combat. she felt the thruster begin to start up as she was given the green light, It was time for her to prove herself. It was time for her to keep her new comrades safe.

[User]
Kat Staten

"Lt. Staten, Jim Spartan; launching!"

The electromagnetic catapult sprang to life, rocketing her mobile suit forward and out of the ship. The force was sufficient to push her back against her seat, a silent reminder to take this seriously. She'd had simulated training for zero-g combat, but that didn't change the fact that this was new. Might even be a little disorienting, but Kat'd adjust quick. She had to set an example.

The Lieutenant didn't waste time either; the instant she was clear of the hatch her Spartan was dispersing Minovsky particles, creating a dense area where traditional sensors didn't work. Even her own IR radar was less precise, but a whole hell of a lot more specific than anything else. And the old Mk. I eyeball was still working perfectly fine. Said eyes narrowed as soon as she got a look at the enemy, directing her Jim to bring its minigun to bear.

"I count two Zakus, two Rick Doms, a Gelgoog, a Gyan, and a Zaku Cannon. Never seen the Gyan variant, but it looks quick." A grin spread across her face while she moved her shield to guard the Spartan's torso, opening the throttle wide and sending the machine rocketing forward already spraying fire at the Gelgoog in the lead.

"Engaging the Gelgoog! Let's see how well he dances."

[Assistant] As she finally launched out, her suit raised her arms up to scope out the enemy. As she saw in her reticle there was some zaku's flanking Lt. Staten, she brought a frim grip to the sniper and BOOM! the large beam blasts the head off a zaku on her side as she pulls back the system to let her canon charge once more, Her eyes surveying the entire battle field, she was seeing and confirming what Kat had said. "Captain, I can confirm. One Zaku down, I will stay in position and wait for the order to approach if deemed necessary." her face calm, her voice cold and emotionless. Anyone who knew her outside of combat, knew she was a bubbly and energetic young girl, but out here she was cold. She had been trained to look at a situation and remove all emotion. Her rifle finally recharged she turned and aims at the Gyan, the barrel begins to light up as BOOM! another shot fires. The Gyan dodges out of the way completely as it continues what it was doing previously.

[User]
Yemi Dumuzi

"Ensign Dumuzi, Guncannon Custom, heading out!"

Her machine rumbled beneath her hands as the catapult rapidly accelerated her off the Troy Horse, revealing the vast sea of stars before her. It was a beautiful sight to behold, each shining point of light in the inky darkness a reminder of the greatness that was the universe. But Yemi wasn't here for sightseeing, so the view didn't matter. What mattered was the increasing density of Minovsky particles thanks to the mothership and the El-Tee's machine. She carefully moved her mobile suit back. It wouldn't do well to get caught up in her squadmate's jamming.

Two Zakus, two Rick Doms, a Gelgoog, some Gyan variant and a Zaku Cannon. She could definitely confirm the enemy mobile suits that Staten had seen. Nope, only one Zaku - no wait it'd only lost its head. The beam hadn't been aimed low enough. Yemi pulled down the targeting visor, squinting slightly as her Guncannon Custom's targeting computer locked on. If the Zaku could still move, then she'd need to make sure that it was 100% gone. She squeezed a trigger.

A beam shot out across the darkness, striking the headless Zaku dead-centre. Blammo.

She'd thought that Gundam pilot was a close-range type of fighter. Not a sniper.

Ah well.

Her sensors, even through the Minovsky, began to lock onto another target. She reached up, adjusting her visor once more before her cannon's sensor suite identified her next foe. The Zaku Cannon. Was it modified too, like that Gyan variant? Yemi couldn't actually tell from where she was, but if it was just another normal Cannon, then she'd take advantage of its inferiority of her Custom. Their sensors wouldn't be a match. Not from this range.

Target locked.

The more mobile suits she took out, the better her reports'd look.

Her shoulder beam cannon fired, light streaking towards the Zaku Cannon.

[Assistant]
Cairo Casablancas
Now Playing...

"Ensign Casablancas, G-Fighter Triple-C."

...She needed a cool, unique catchphrase of her own.

"Back in a jiffy."

Oh my God.

There was absolutely no taking that one back. God damn it. Fuck! How was she supposed to be cool when sh-WUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH

BLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH

It seemed that 'back in a jiffy' was, surprisingly, acceptable enough to launch her anyway. Cairo was flung out into space right after Lt. Staten's Spartan, with much less in-cockpit grace than her fiery commanding officer had displayed. That was to be expected, though; the Lieutenant was far more of a veteran than she was, and didn't display an ounce of trepidation at the thought of Zeeks lining up to kill her. That was just who she was.

Cairo wondered if it was her that came up with the designations for her unit.

I should be so lucky...

She was yanked out of her thoughts by the sight of a beam lancing through the sky, then another in short order; though the Gundam and Yemi's Guncannon had worked together to destroy a Zaku, the Pixie's second shot had gone wide of the odd-looking Gyan. The jousting mobile suit had recovered quickly, and was now clearly sizing up the four Federation units to see which would fall victim to that beam lance.

Watch him choose the Gundam.

Anyone would choose the Gundam. In the shadow of the distinctive mobile suit, a girl like Cairo would wilt, unnoticed, for the rest of her life. There was only one way for such a wallflower to get the attention of her prey.

I shall seduce him - aggressively.

On paper, the Gyan was a threatening high-mobility suit with a weapon that could pierce through either a ship or multiple mobile suits with no difficulty. In practice, such a suit came with its own heavy drawbacks as well - namely a lack of maneuverability and an inability to properly wield the weapon as easily as a suit like the Pixie could wield a beam saber, daggers, or even a rifle. A beam lance, like any lance, was meant for jousting. Traveling in a straight line and taking out its targets head on.

A G-Fighter like Cairo's would eat it for breakfast.

A lush, confident smile grew on the wallflower's face.

Cairo's twin-engine G-Fighter screamed in a straight line towards the Gyan as it charged forward, only spinning down and to the left when it appeared as though the lance would strike her. The fighter craft spun on a dime, as nimbly as she could ever ask for from a machine, and flew with its back right in her cross hairs.

Her mega particle cannon cross hairs.

Even someone with a hundred bajillion times Cairo's luck wasn't going to block a mega particle cannon with a Gyan's shield. They'd tear their mobile suit in half vertically just trying.

Oooh, this was so exciting. I need a pun.

"..."

I'm locking up!

"Hope you're ready for the next episode."

...

...

God, I suck.

With a wistful sigh, the totally-lame G-Fighter pilot fired both mega particle cannons squarely at the center of the Gyan's back.


[System]
Death Korp Trooper Number:
Trooper 17431

Appearance:

Height:
5'6"

Age:
27

Sex:
Male

Class:
Death Korp Grenadier

Equipment:
- Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) -
Also known as a Hellgun or, more rarely, a Hotshot lasgun, the Type XIV (Heavy) is the standard issue weapon for all Grenadiers serving in Death Korp regiments. They are, at least by the Grenadiers themselves, intensely disliked due to perceived unreliability in the field during extended operations and a Krieger's general preference for the default Type XIV Lasgun (More commonly known outside of Krieg as the Lucian Pattern Lasgun). However, with the proper maintence that each Grenadier performs routinely, the weapon performs its intended role as a high power Lasgun, capable of punching through heavier armor and providing, on full auto, a withering rate of fire. The Type XIV (Heavy) utilizes a backpack unit to power it, and a Quick Recharge Generator included in the backpack unit is generally overtaxed, due to the design of the weapon and its power output. Ansgar, like many Grenadiers, would have preferred a Type XIV Lasgun over the Heavy variant, but as a Grenadier, he is required to carry it.

- Grenadier Carapace Armor -
Intended for deployment where the fighting is fiercest, Death Korps Grenadiers are equipped with heavy Carapace Armour that has been integrated into the standard Krieg kit. This comprises the Mark IX helmet, a rebreather facemask, three-piece shoulder guards, a chest plate with additional abdomen plates and shin and knee guards. All are made of Plasteel and reinforced with a layer of Ceramite for additional strength, heat resistance and weight reduction. The armor, coupled with uniform and Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) makes a very heavy loadout, adding in the miscellaneous equipment they carry as well, however, the protection is vastly appreciated by the Grenadiers in general, due to their role as the leading edge in storming trenches and hostile emplacements, needing the protection to get close enough to do their jobs, not so much concerned with survival.

- Explosives -
As his former squads Demolitions expert, Ansgar carried the standard explosives load out alongside extra tools, for when the Engineers could not keep up with the assault but were preoccupied elsewhere. Besides several Frag and Krak grenades, Ansgar also has several demolition charges, rated for taking out hardened bunkers when put in place. Ansgar modified the charges so that, in a hurry, he can pull a detonation cable and heave the charge at a target, the normally delicate and precise procedure for arming the charges ditched in favor of emergency target removal. And, as a Krieg Engineer before he was assigned as a Grenadier, he has learned to build improvised explosives that served him well in the trenches when supplies on conventional explosives were running short, as well as utilize Chemical weapons safely.

- Melee Gear -
Ansgar carries two weapons for melee combat, one obligatory and the other actually used. The obligatory is his bayonet, which the Type XIV Lasgun (Heavy) lacks a mount for, another reason it remains unpopular among Grenadiers, and typically serves as much as a tool and last resort weapon than anything else. His actual go to is a Entrenching Tool, edges sharpened to allow him to carve through hostiles as well as bludgeon them, and retain the intended purpose of digging trenches and other necessary fighting positions.

Notable Deeds:
- Tyranid Assault on Thresis IV -
Raised from birth to be a Death Korp Engineer, Ansgar Staudinger, or known by his Trooper designation 17431, will never state when he was sent to war, something that tends to bother people who ask that are outsiders to Krieg and their necessary methods of providing the Imperium the soldiers it needs. Assigned fresh to an Engineering Platoon, Ansgar would spend a great deal of time digging trenches and laying mines in the defense of a Shrine World, Thresis IV, directly in the path of a Tyranid Hive Fleet Splinter. The Tyranids, despite being vastly reduced in numbers compared to a true Hive Fleet, descended like mad locusts, slaughtering over 90% of the Death Korp forces deployed on the planet. Of that 10%, Ansgar Staudinger was one of the survivors, the only from his platoon, found near death after turning an entire trench line into a raging biochemical inferno, equal parts fire and chemical weapon that was effective on the Tyranids. Sharing the compound make up with other Death Korp Engineers, the biochemical fire was used to great extent to halt and drive back the Tyranids, making the then rookie Staudinger's trial by fire a literal, and resounding, success.

- Nightmares Beneath Thrasis II -
As part of the Thrasis campaign his regiment was assigned to, and the arrival of Tyranid complicating greatly, Ansgar Staudinger was deployed with a fresh Engineering platoon to assist in the breaking of a siege on Chaos held factories on the system's forge world, Thrasis II. Utilizing conventional tunneling and, when they detected they were almost at the entry point, Hades Breaching Drill, to punch into the Chaos held Foundry, Ansgar and his fellow Guardsmen stumbled into something straight out of the most feverish of a heretic's nightmares. The Warp had bled over into the belly of the foundry, with daemons and mutants in equal measures assaulting the woefully unprepared Krieg Guardsmen. However, they had a job to do, and they were able to hold their ground, keeping a secure tunnel long enough for support to arrive and push deep enough into the Chaos corrupted foundry, to the dark heart and plant enough explosives for the resulting explosion spotted from orbit. Whether it was the sheer amount of explosives put in place, or partially due to Chaos corruption was never decided. However, as one of the only survivors again by virtue of Luck or being Blessed, Ansgar was reassigned by a surviving Commissar to the Death Korp Grenadiers.

- Hellscape of Thrasis I -
Nearing the end of the Thrasis System Campaign, Ansgar found himself a freshly minted Grenadier, no longer an Engineer although he often worked closely with them during breaching actions against enemy defensive lines. However, upon touching down on Thrasis I, the Kriegers found something unlike anything anyone could be prepared for. The Foundry was merely a foretaste of what was to come, as planet spanning rituals had allowed the Warp to taint and corrupt great stretches of the planet, forcing Guard forces to struggle through conventional defenses one day, and make a mad dash through Daemon infested hellscapes that should not be the next. What Ansgar refuses to mention to a soul, due to an oath he was put under at the end of the conflict, was the arrival of Grey Knights, of the Emperor's most holy Ordos Malleus. Alongside Adeptus Sororitas support, which Ansgar learned to have a deep, healthy respect for, the combined arms forces stormed the capital of Thrasis I, a den of pure evil and corruption that made the rest of the planet look like a Shrine World in comparison. Once again, whether by luck or the Emperor's own intervention, Ansgar found himself as one of the only Grenadiers, and Krieger's period, to survive the assaults into the city, arriving at the Hall of Governing as it had been christened during Thrasis I's founding as a colony, only to find horrors so unspeakable even the Krieg born Grenadier refuses to speak of them now. But, between the Grey Knights and Sisters of Battle alongside his own humble contributions at that point, which mostly consisted of survival, Ansgar lived to see the end of the hellish campaign on Thrasis I. With literally no regiment to return to, and having become aware of the most secretive of Space Marine chapters, it was decided to induct him into the Inquisition, sending him to serve where needed most.

[User]
The loud crack of the two warehouse doors being kicked open drew the rioter's attention away from the Rhino they were trying to break into and onto the man and woman that now appeared before them. It was clear that they were quite well armed and one of them even appeared to be a psyker. There was a short moment of discontent among the mob once both Adrianne and Herold had issued their warnings, but men are not easily swayed from a goal they believe in, or what they are told is a righteous cause.

One of the rioters yelled out in defiance to both of them, mocking their foolishness to follow the false emperor. "We have been gifted the strength to fight against the heretics of the false emperor, not even your guardsmen posed a threat to us. You two are the ones that should be laying down your weapons and handing yourself over to us. Our new Emperor will welcome you with open arms, he shall lead us through the stars on a glorious conquest to wipe out all those unworthy. Give in to chaos and be reborn anew!" Something pushed back against Adrainnes own powers, an uncomfortable wave of energy and presence that made all besides the rioters feel disturbed.

On top of the warehouse where both Solares and Ansgar were observing the rioters below, a low rumble could be heard. Solares glanced over at Ansgar and nodded her head at him once, "I've heard enough of this heresy." Stepping forward and off of the top of the warehouse, she used her jump-pack to slam herself into the ground feet first, creating a shockwave and a large cloud of debris that formed around the area. She had aimed to land on top of the most condensed area of the rioters, resulting in a grotesque shower of viscera and a cloud of crimson mist. There was no time to waste, as soon as she hit the ground, Solares had opened fire with both of her heavily modified auto pistols.

If anyone could have seen Solares's facial expression under her helmet, they would have seen joy mixed with the fury she unleashed upon the heretics around her. Through the clouds of smoke, bright flashes of light could be seen as loud gunfire echoed through the streets.

"Engage at will!" Celestian Andromedai yelled into her microphone over the pandemonium that erupted outside of the warehouse. She quickly made her way into the street and opened fire upon the rioters, it was clear though that these were the cultists they were looking for. Aiming down her sight, the heavily modified bolter that she used fired over and over again, hitting her targets dead center or in a critical area.

"Psyker Adrainne, do not use any area of effect abilities that could put us in danger, be wise with your attacks." Celestian Andromedai was concerned about a repeat of what happened with Adrianne in a museum upon a pleasure world many years ago. The thoughts of that day had stayed with her, teaching her many valuable lessons.

[Assistant]
"Psyker Adrainne, do not use any area of effect abilities that could put us in danger, be wise with your attacks."

"Ohhh, I WILL CHOOSE MY ATTACKS WISELY ALRIGHT?! ... "

*BANG**BANG**BANG*
*CRACK-A-BOOM*
*BAM*

"Right... "

For a moment, Adrianne had taken a step forward, extending her hand as she prepared to unleash her own powers. However, that was a course of action she had promptly left on pause as she was left to watch the carnage that was unfolding directly in front of her.

As it would turn out, unarmored and 'mere' normal humans clustered together in a tight mob in a completely open area were NOT very resistant to high-powered military grade weapons, bolters and grenades. This was a fact that was made abundantly clear as Adrianne stared forward in front of her and Herold, as the heretics in front of them were torn apart in a sudden flurry of shots coming from the rest of the group.

What had been a mob had been quickly turned into a pile of bodies, the luxurious paintjob of the Rhino covered in blood and dents!

Adrianne merely watched as some of the cultists tried to fire frantically back, before they got gunned down; the only apparent survivors seeming to be the ones who had bolted it immediately, and were running desperately away!

"I don't think you're needed here... " Adrianne whispered to Herold after she leaned sideways in towards the Arbites, all the while making an offhand finger-pistol gesture towards one of the heretical stragglers, just before his head was suddenly vaporized by an off-camera shot from Andromedai's new rifle!

" ... unless you are going to arrest the dead, that is."


[System]
Age : 16 years old
Appearance:

Personality:
Akasha is a very light-hearted girl. The way she acts is purely out of innocence and mean no real harm to anyone or have any devious back thoughts. She is very playful, love to pull pranks on people and a good soul in general. She is a cheerful person; it is very hard to make her upset, to the point her good mood seems to spread to others.

However, she gets very serious when bullying and physical harm are involved, either towards herself or at others. Her survival instincts kicks in when she is personally targeted, turning her into a ball of fury. When it comes to friends and family, it's her protecting nature that drives her to kick offenders' ass. Even though she is a good-hearted person, she does not shy from fighting, as her animal instincts are what makes most of her personality.

History:
Akasha is a child of the jungle, raised by amazons and toughened up by the beasts that inhabit the harsh environment of the jungles. Her childhood was spent by learning how to survive in the wilderness, how to hunt for food, how to become strong to defend oneself and what is dear to her.

But there came a day when she was but a mere 13 year old child, that would change her life. Akasha's tribe had for many generations a ritual to teenage hood, to celebrate one's first steps to becoming a warrior. This ceremony was to leave the child alone in the jungle for an entire night. Many would not come out alive of the jungle, but those who did would be renowned as future warriors, and ensuring their place into the tribe. Akasha never was that strong to begin with, and even cried on that fateful day. She feared the night, and what might be lurking in it. It was with dread that she was left all alone in the night of her 13th birthday.

During that night, she was visited by predators of the night. Panthers, hyenas, snakes, scorpions, all kind of beasts that would mercilessly hunt her and eat her. But each time an animal came to her camp, they would only circle around the child, and eventually go back from where they came from, as if they had lost the will to prey on the young amazon.

It was but when morning came, that the truth would be revealed as to Akasha's survival during that night. The amazons did not expected the young one to actually survive; they knew she was too weak of a girl to make a warrior. But when they saw the young girl curled up, asleep, fluffy feline ears sprouting up from her hair, black feathery wings enveloping her body and a scaly tail curled up underneath, the tribe realized that she had survive because the animals treated Akasha like she was one of their own. While many feared the young girl's strange powers, some were actually fascinated, and started praising the teenager as "Gods' Gifted".

Skills:
Akasha is well-versed in survival in the wilderness. For what she lack in education and does not know about modern civilization and technology, she makes up for making a living in areas left untouched by humanity. Her survival skills include hunting (restricted to easy preys, such as deer, antelopes and such), gathering plants and herbs (mostly edible wild fruits and mushrooms, with the exception of a few medicinal herbs), making fire without fuel and lighter, basic navigation in forests and constructing temporary shelters and camps.

Magic:
* Name: Wild Awakening
* Type: Transmutation
* Description: Akasha's ability is to transform herself into an animal. While in her animal form, Akasha loses the ability to talk, as she will make the sound of the animal instead. However, she gains traits common to the choosen animal, such as improved scent, touch, hearing and/or sight, as well as their physical abilities and their method of moving aroung (swimming speed, flight, etc.).

As she does not fully understand her powers and how they work, Akasha is only able to have a full transformation. However, there have been hints in history that she could be able to get a "hybrid" transformation in order to gain an animal's powers and some major physical traits and still remain in human form, but she does not have enough control to use that degree of ability. At best, Hybrid transformation happens unconsciously in dire situations.

Since Akasha just recently discovered about her power, she can only transform into what her tribe would call her "Spirit Totem", which is the black panther, a menalistic African leopard. Despite not being the strongest and largest of the big felines, the panther is one of the sneakiest predators to hunt in the jungle. Transforming into a panther, Akasha gains improved smell, hearing, night-vision, enhanced agility (panthers are superb tree climbers and quick), stealth in dark areas (with their pitch-black fur) and silent.

Unlike many other magic users, Akasha's Wild Awakening ability isn't draining to her physical health or stamina. Instead, it takes toll on her will, her sense of self, her humanity. The more frequently she transforms into her animal self or the longer she stays in such, the more she will succumb to the animal's instincts. The worst case scenario that could happen is staying too long in animal mode would make Akasha lose all sense of herself, effectively becoming a real but more dangerous version of the animal she has become, staying this way until someone or something makes her regain her human consciousness.

Inventory: Nothing besides the clothes she is wearing and a necklace sporting a black feather ornamented of some predators' claws and teeth. Her hunting spear and dagger were conficasted at the airport before coming to Japan, much to her dismay.

[User]
DONOVAN HORSKA

Donovan was worried for a second there. The girl didn't seem impressed, offended even. He prepared for the worst which, coming from a girl who could transform into a deadly predator and probably maul him with a wave of her paw, was bound to be really fucking bad. Thankfully his heart was put at ease, figuratively and literally, as the girl seemed to give in to her animal instincts and take the bait. Donovan immediately rolled off of Glasses and lay in the grass next to him. Ah, now that was much better. No weird lumps to elbow in this well-kept lawn.

He rested as the girl played with the string. He was bloody exhausted after that emotional rollercoaster. A puma-girl, losing his powers, a nerd just straight up flipping out, all within a few minutes of each other. Guess that was magic school for you. His heart was still racing from when his powers shut down. He placed his hand on his chest, noticing that Glasses' imposed sigil was fading while his own rune was slowly regaining its usual gleam. Donovan frowned at the memory. He actually felt scared. Scared. That was a foreign feeling. From flying fists to horror movies to homework stress, nothing had ever triggered as big a reaction as what just happened. It was … unnerving. If he could help it, Donovan would try to never feel like that again. It was fucking awful.

His eyes narrowed in annoyance as he remembered who exactly caused all this. The loser who was still groaning from the ordeal, looking around for his glasses while nursing the area that Don elbowed (he still wasn't sorry). This wimp somehow managed to make him feel so pathetic. He glared at the unfittingly cheerful looking sky. This didn't go the way he wanted at all. He was supposed to measure himself against all these magical folks, prove that he was top dog even among all these magic users. He wasn't supposed to get flattened by a jungle animal or get psyched out by this pathetic excuse for a man. How was he supposed to know that Glasses would flip out when he had his shit stolen? Hadn't he ever had a friend steal some of his fries before? That is to say, if that loser even had friends. Or ate fries. Donovan bet that the nerd was on one of those shitty vegan diets, the ones that kept count of his calorie intake and shit. The point was, if he knew that taking his stuff would cause such a fierce reaction … well let's be honest, he would have done it anyway.

Donovan was really itching to finish what he started. But he couldn't do it while the threat of getting squashed again was playing with string in such close proximity. He valued having intact limbs too much. His egotism was returning gradually with every passing second as his powers came back. He felt the aura return, felt safe in it. Felt a lot cockier too. And while he wasn't brash enough to pick another fight with puma girl there, he still wanted to get one last dig in. He made sure to disguise his tone, taking advantage of the language barrier to make sure that he didn't piss off the girl. He turned his head to see the girl returning the string to Glasses as some sort of friendship offering. God, it looked like it was ripped straight out of one of those cheesy depressing movies where the dog dies. If today's sudden flux of emotion didn't make him throw up, this was certainly going to. Donovan shook himself out of his snarky thoughts and back to the matter at hand.

"Oi Glasses~" he exclaimed in a friendly tone that did not at all complement the content of his words, "Fuck with my magic again and your face is gonna look a lot more like that precious string of yours!"

Did he get the message across clearly enough?

"I mean I'm gonna break your fucking nose. Just so we're clear."

[Assistant]
NICO LEHMANN

When the cat-like girl grabbed the thread, Nico almost gave up hope. What was wrong with people here? (Rich, coming from you.) How did this situation even get this far? And did that girl really turn into a panther and back?

With the weight of two people suddenly off of him as Asswipe rolled off immediately after the girl jumped off, Nico sucked in a breath he had been trying to catch since the girl had barreled into them. In panther form.

A magic school--fine. But the hammering heart in his chest was not having any of that rationality, especially when Nico's version of Prozac was being toyed around with by someone other than him.

His eyes followed the small patch of vermilion as much as he could, though without his glasses he wasn't quite sure what he was trying to discern. And then the blob of tan skin moved closer and he could finally make out the clear details of her face. If his mind wasn't in such a state at the moment, Nico would have blushed at a girl coming that close to him wearing that little. He wouldn't call himself conservative, but he was suddenly glad his glasses were off.

The most surprising thing was the vermilion thread she proffered, her sympathy clear on her face as she gently spoke in a language Nico couldn't understand. He squinted a bit to get a clearer view of her features, but ended up just blinking back the tears that had almost come out. Pushing himself up as much as he could manage at the moment, he tentatively took the thread from the girl's open hand, reaching out carefully as if he was afraid she might renege on her offer.

When the bundle of thread was safely back in his hand, Nico cracked a small smile at her through the dirt and slowly-forming bruise on his temple.

"Thank you," he said quietly, almost too quiet for anyone to hear.

And the tightly wrapped length of thread back in his hands seemed to set the world right, silencing the deafening keening of sound in his mind that sometimes threatened to overwhelm Nico. He took several deep breaths as the sigil on his hand dimmed further and finally disappeared. His eyes flicked to Asswipe's right hand, which was now also free of that mark.

That was when Asswipe spoke up, referring to him as 'Glasses' and threatening more bodily injury if Nico used his powers on the douchebag again.

But with the thread back in his hand, Nico hardly cared. He nodded reflexively without really paying attention to the contents of the threat and instead turned back to the girl.

"Thank you," he said again, his voice a bit louder now. Fumbling around some more, he finally felt the cold frame of his glasses almost a meter away and quickly shoved them back onto his face. The left lens now sported a thin crack running diagonally across the surface, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

With a clear view of the girl now, and a clear view of everything else about the girl now, Nico turned red and then turned away, trying not to think...thoughts.

Wow, she's really cute all over.

Dammit.

Looking around for anything to distract him, Nico remembered Asswipe was still nearby and with a scramble he picked up his bag and backpedaled away, keeping his eyes on the worst human being to ever exist. He didn't want to be surprised by that meteoric asshole again.