[System]
vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/thiefgame..
Age: not exactly known, appears around 35

Gender: Variable, male by birth

Rank: Peasant/Thief

Species: Metamorphic/Human

Appearance: Varies based on disguise being used. In his default form he is a slim male of below-average height, with pale skin, black eyes, & dark eyes. He has a lithe and graceful body with long, elegant hands.

Personality: Thomas is a cynical and jaded loner who spends the vast majority of his time by himself. He has no friends and prefers it that way, trusting no one with information on his private life. He treats new people with anything from curt mistrust to outright hostility. Due to his distant attitude, most who do not know him find him sinister in appearance and demeanor. Despite this and his profession as a career criminal, Thomas is not callous and is capable of feeling guilt for his actions.

Thomas could be considered a consummate professional. He is solely devoted to his profession, spending all his time and effort on larceny and honing his skills as a thief into an art. For Thomas, thievery is a form of freedom from the bonds of society and law. It is a central part of his identity; he steals because he's the best there is and he values his professional reputation. Thomas will often pass on jobs if they are too easy or do not involve proper thievery, while pursuing marks without commission if tempted with alluring challenge or reward. He views himself as a devoted thief and refuses to be something he perceives as lesser, be it an assassin or a grave robber. He finds needless death or collateral damage pragmatically abhorrent, viewing it as unprofessional and brings unneeded attention to his job.

Anytime he is not on a heist, he's planning the next one. What time Thomas uses for recreation he spends maintaining the clock tower he lives in as well as maintenance on his equipment. He also has both a personal and professional appreciation for fine art and craftsmanship. He is shown to collect rare and priceless items for his own personal collection, ranging from jewelry, paintings, or rare curios of unique historical significance.

History His parents died young, and he was thrown into the streets. Becoming a thief was inevitable, he possessed raw talent that meant he quickly excelled. He made sure to acquire in-depth knowledge of the Imperial City's streets, rooftops, and shadows to get by. His very survival depended on stealing, while he was still young he learned to swiftly relieve people of their possessions while they went about their daily business, leaving many to believe they had accidentally misplaced their belongings. For years he honed his thievery skills to perfection, also learning to craft his own clothing, gear and weaponry. Around the time he was seventeen he discovered his abilities. He didn't much care for it, but he knew it would be helpful so he trained at it like he trained to be a thief.

Eventually Thomas' met a Flask, a fence who was worth maintaining a relationship; over time the two became close professional friends, at least in Flask's opinion. Flask eventually introduced Thomas to Gail. Thomas was impressed with Gail's talent so took her on as an apprentice. For two years he began teaching her the skills he had acquired and they developed a working partnership. Gail's first solo job she killed a servant that spotted her. This reckless action horrified Thomas, he ended their partnership immediately.

Extra: As a thief he uses tools to steal, he uses a wrench, pry bar, wire cutter, lock pick, razor, & a claw (grappling hook). He also carries a blackjack & compound bow with a variety of arrows (Blast, Blunt, Broad head, Choke, Fire, Rope, Saw tooth, & Water)

[User]
"Sir!"
A timid, but firm voice tore Elias from his descending panic at the hopeless situation. Startled, he turned to the voice to see the fragile looking mage staring at him, her posture tense as if itching to flee. Before he could snap at the girl for yelling at him, the hounds lept towards the carriage- more specifically, Elias's precious face- in a repulsive clump, snarling and frothing at the mouth with a hungry expression on their deformed faces. He froze as the creatures lept for him, and only his fingers twitched, as if to summon a spell.

As soon as they lunged for the carriage, the beasts were impaled, huge ice crystals shooting up to keep them at bay. Elias lept back to avoid being splattered with blood, recalling what Lady Valtoris had shouted just moments before.

"Please... you have to pay attention. Without your barrier, they'd all come in at once. I'll block you." The girl pleaded, her eyes shining. The nobleman felt a sudden urge to laugh- he had expected to be scolded by her, which would have been both humiliating and an innapropriate way to adress an aristocrat. Yet, somehow being pleaded with made him more angry. Did anything make this little thing angry? Why, if someone ran up to her and stole everything she owned, she would probably apologize and tell the crook he forgot to take her purse.

Grumbling nonsense insults, Elias pushed his glasses a little further up his nose, and once again activated the shield, this time extending his hand a touch more, hoping that this time the shield would cover the whole wagon. Meanwhile, Lady Valtoris, the coachman, and the lumbering pile of metal had busied themselves as well fighting off the hounds. Lady Valtoris backed up towards the wagon, so they were secured more or less from all sides. If Elias wasn't so terrified he would have watched much more attentively. Even from a distance, it was easy to recognize her expertise on elemental magic.

Unfornutatly, his swooning was cut short as the carriage halted abrubtly. The horses whinnied in fear in front of the carriage, and although Elias couldn't see what was causing their fear, he could definetly feel it in the way the ground shook. Elias, still extending his hands to maintain the shield, poked his head out the window to see what was causing all the fuss, and instantly wished he hadn't. Strangely enough, someone seemed to be fighting it.

" And I thought this couldn't get any worse," he grumbled, past the point of terror. At this point, he was just annoyed with this whole ordeal. The shield began to glow brighter and denser in an attempt to protect the carriage and it's inhabitants. Elias didn't need to push himself for long- an anguished wail rose from the creature as it fell to the ground with a thud. To finish off the beast, the thief blew it to bits, causing blood and guts to fly through the air like rain. Once again, Elias fought the bile rising in his throat. Honestly, was shooting the thing really neccesary? It looked dead enough to him, no need to overdo it. He glared at the thief as he climbed in, complaining on the victor of the fight, which appeared to be the strange metal being.

Elias frowned. " It might be strong, but I'm hardly convinced that hollow metal creature's even the slightest bit clever." He snorted.

[Assistant]
"I... I can try..." Began the little thing as Thomas (@Burning Kitty) ordered a larger wall of ice. Eir had already used so much power just fighting back the creatures, but if it could help she would definitely try harder. Before she could, however, Miral (@SanaChan) had taken the initiative to do it for her but rather with flames. Just for caution, Eir raised the ice crystals higher, blocking off any potential places that the undead beings could dodge around the pillars of fire.

The little thing squeaked as the carriage was forced forward, she falling onto one knee from the sudden movement. "Waah! Eir!" The stuffed rabbit, who had been terrified into being frozen scared, ran to his friend and hugged her. "You're okay, right?!"
"I-I'm fine..."

They both turned their eyes to the towering behemoth of rotten flesh that charged towards them, but as soon as it appeared it was destroyed by the other members of the group. Eir looked out in awe. Maybe I'll be that powerful some day...

She gave a small yelp as a burned, late member (@Scrivenshafts) was thrown towards the carriage. Eir and Roger used their combined strength to grab him and pull him up. "Eir, do you have enough strength left for a healing spell?" Eir hesitated, but gave a nod. She held her hands out in front of her, kneeled beside Spade. A coldness radiated down over the body, numbing and chilled as slowly the pain ebbed away, and as she retracted her hands the burns and scrapes were all gone.

"Eir!"

The girl slumped over on her side, laid on the floor of the carriage. Cuts appeared from nowhere on her skin, leaking dribbles of blood. "I told you not to overdo it! If you didn't have the strength, you should've said so..." muttered Roger, he taking her head into his tiny lap and petting her head as she slept. "You'll be fine... just rest up..."

[User]
Spade gasped as he regained consciousness. Where once had been painful burns, bruises, and scraps was now gentle cooling that seemed to pulsate with his heart beat. Second to his sudden healing his thoughts turned to his now dead horse. Stupid. He should have waited to rush past the beast until he was sure it was down. Now his horse was surely broken at the bottom of the ravine.
"I told you not to overdo it! If you didn't have the strength, you should've said so... You'll be fine... just rest up..." (@Cherrywitch) A small but bold voice brought Spade from his thoughts. His eyes flashed open he was laying on the wagon. Sitting up he saw a young girl slumped to the floor of the wagon next to him. Her white hair cascaded across her face hiding her eyes. A tattered doll rabbit sat in her lap staring at him?
Suddenly Spade remembered again that the beast had not been down last he remembered. He quickly shifted to a kneeling position to look out of the wagon. He saw what appeared to be a glowing suit of armor walking... hovering away from the scorched and ooze covered stone. A darkly garbed man pulled himself into the wagon tossing complaints about the metal golem.
"It might be strong, but I'm hardly convinced that hollow metal creature's even the slightest bit clever." (@emu) a noble boy chided. Spade's crooked smile altered his face as he saw the pale green of the boy's face. He was terrified.
 "Oh? Not clever? Surely the magic suit of armor is clever enough to hold himself together. So why can't he be clever in other ways?" Spade said pulling himself off the ground and extending a hand toward the boy.  "Oh, I'm Spade by the way. Sorry I'm late. But you all know the atrocity of the noble politics."

[Assistant]
A sigh left Miral's lips as the chaos came to an end though her ears were painfully ringing from her proximity to the Warden's attack. She rolled her eyes at the thief's complaints, "At least he's more useful than the one sitting back and merely barking orders but only attacking once the thing is dead," she said coolly as she got down, tying Ryfon's horse to the back of the carriage so she didn't have to lead it, though she wondered where the other girl's horse got to- Sugar, was it? How basic a name, though it seemed to fit her maturity level.
Miral remounted her steed before looking at the Warden, "I'm aware we're late, but we'll make up for lost time on the open plains in Waylox, provided we don't run into brigands and thieves. Though the whole bit would go much faster if you didn't wander off in the wild blue yonder on a whim," she said before turning her horse and starting to the front of the carriage. The horses had calmed down considerably with the current threat gone, and Ryfon urged them forward at a quick but gentler pace. Whenever they finally made camp, he was going to have to check the integrity of the harness to be sure the next time they bolted like that they didn't break it- and it was unlikely going into a canyon of dragons that they wouldn't try it again.
If only it would be that long before they crossed a dragon.
As the carriage made its way to the other side of the bridge, past the swirling negativity and dark energy that came out of the crag like a thick smog, though it wasn't something that could be seen or touched- Ryfon and Miral felt it settling on them like weights nonetheless-, she immediately put her hand up, wanting them to hold as she could feel something brewing. Something definitely wasn't right. She allowed them to proceed forward, and started to the think the crag was making her paranoid as the edge of the dead woods came into view- not that the view on the other side of it was much more hope-inspiring considering the war that had been raging internally in Waylox for several years now- and nothing had come to strike them. But her horse was the one to let her know she was right to be wary. Her steed reared back. forcing her to clutch her saddle not to go flying off, as the ground in front of them stirred. Ryfon stopped the carriage and stood, bracing himself for needing to actually get involved this time.
The ground poured away as a skeletal claw lifted itself from the ground, nearly the size of the carriage itself. It planted itself on the ground and pushed, lifting the bony, leathery skin covered arm out of the ground, the trees to the side of the cracking, breaking, and falling as a large mass emerged from the ground, a dim red glow filling the sockets of the giant skull of a dragon. The body was nothing more than bones and the remnants of skin hanging off the sharper corners, something vague leftover pieces of its wings still connecting the different fingers of the large appendages that were stills somehow connected to its back.
"You have got to be joking.... how on earth are we supposed to fight that?!"
"We don't, we need to run, now! Go, go!" Miral shouted at him and he sat back down, taking the reigns and snapping them to get the horses to go while Miral threw up a firewall to try and buy them some space. The dragon took a step back but overall didn't seem deterred by the fire. It reached for her, but she moved out of the way before the claw crashed into the ground where she had just been, "For crystal sake," she hissed as she looked at the giant beast, glancing to make sure the carriage had clearance before turning and starting after it as it cleared the edge of the woods. The dragon turned and started to come after them regardless, just like the dogs and the elephant beast- ready to kill them with no regard to any semblance of its own well-being.


[System]
Age: They appear as 19-year-old human boys, maybe a bit younger, but are actually 234 and a half.

Gender: Male

Species: Fae twins. A lesser form of Tricksters.

Though they can change their appearance using their powers, they prefer to remain their normal selves when not up to their usual tricks. Though it's nearly impossible to tell them apart by their faces alone and they tend to dress the same, often in casual business attire, the two are usually easily identified by the different highlights in their otherwise jet black hair. While Soren has purplish highlights, Nikolai, who is the younger of the two, has blue. They both have heterochromatic eyes, one teal and the other magenta in mirror images of each other. Note: just minus the eye patch in the picture.
Personality: Though nearly polar opposites, the two even each other out, creating a balance between them. Should they be separated for too long, their personalities spiral out of control, turning them both outwardly and inwardly destructive.
 The Not-So-Polar-Opposite: Together, they are playful and, like most tricksters, have a love for toying with mortals and immortals alike and seeing justice served to the pompous and arrogant. They enjoy teasing and playing off each other, and act somewhere between brothers and best friends.
 Soren: He is adventurous on the verge of reckless, overly enthusiastic, impulsive, and likes to talk. A LOT. His emotions can change on a dime, making him borderline bipolar. In a way, Soren has taken a leader position, always spying out their next target and finding their newest adventure. He is protective of his brother, but refuses to say it aloud. Since the presence of his brother keeps him from crossing the line and brings about a sense of level-headedness, when separated from Nikolai for too long, he becomes outright malicious, and his mental state becomes unstable and unpredictable, making him a danger to both himself and anyone who gets too close.
 Nikolai: He is extremely wary, but always seems calm, even though his mind works constantly, playing out scenarios of every possible outcome in his and his twin's current situation, and is always planning ahead in case their plans go awry. Nikolai is the quiet one, speaking aloud only when necessary and frequently utilizing the mental connection between him and Soren. Since Soren's presence brings courage and enjoyment that keeps fear at bay, if Nikolai is separated from his twin for too long, anxiety and panic become his masters, making him dangerously irrational as he tries to escape his surroundings and own mind as it continues to play out the worst possibilities, driving him to a howling insanity that is downright terrifying.

Fears: Soren: Though not a full-blown fear, he loathes dogs, and actively avoids them. His shared fear with Nikolai is also more severe than his twin's. Nikolai: Being caged, especially without Soren within sight, and has a more conscious fear of iron. Shared: Being separated from one another for that dangerous amount of time. The mere thought of entering their crazed states sends a chill down their spines.

Ability: Physical Law Immunity/Manipulation: Basically, the laws of physics and science don't apply to them. They can pretty much create their own reality, bending it in ways most deem illogical. This ability allows them to accomplish many otherwise impossible feats, such as turning one thing into something else entirely or completely change the universal laws. For example, making a cat bark, fire freeze, turn bricks into rubber, shoes into springs… all with little more than a thought. Limitations and Exceptions: While simple and quick small stuff doesn't bother them too much, the longer they maintain their manipulation or the more absurd the impossibility, the shorter time they can hold it without depleting their abilities and energy and needing rest… or food. They are stronger when together, and weaker apart until their madness sets in. They are also only capable of manipulating things within their line of sight, can't create things out of thin air or complete alternate realities, and cannot manipulate the physiology of anyone besides themselves and a select few weak-minded and –willed humans. They are also incapable of changing the reality of iron. Lastly, much to their chagrin, their abilities seem to drain them faster within the Collector's dastardly brilliant mansion, and the structure itself imposes its own limitations of what they can do to it.
 Fae Abilities: Because they are still of the faerie people, they have a couple of the usual abilities of the common Fae. This includes the simple detection of the presence of magic to an extent, the ability to see through the glamours of lesser faeries, and sensing their own ilk. However, they also have the usual weaknesses: They can be contained and/or easily killed by devices made of iron, and its close proximity saps both their powers and strength. Iron, in a greater concentration, can also burn them, but these two can force any scars it would normally leave to heal. As well, if they strike a deal with someone, they absolutely must hold to their end of the bargain, no matter what.
 Twin Psychic Connection: Soren and Nikolai can communicate with each other telepathically. They also have a sense about each other, and know when the other is hurt or distressed. Though their telepathy powers weaken with distance, they can still sense the other's well-being.

Short History: When they were first born, they were quite the spectacle; after all, twins are a rarity in the faerie realm. Growing up, the two were inseparable, and often caused havoc through both their and the human realm. Through the years, they made a reputation for themselves among the Fae and supernatural world as they struck out at society's most renowned members, dropping them, if you will, down the rabbit hole and back again.
 It wasn't until 1807 that they discovered what happened when separated for more than a couple hours at a time. Long story short, the two got cocky and were captured and separated. Soren escaped and found Nikolai in a state worse than his. Together again, their mental states mostly returned to normal. Once the shock finally wore off for Nikolai about a week of complete silence later, Nikolai claimed he remembered little of his actions after his own insanity kicked in, only how it made him feel.
 After that, they were ever vigilant and both rarely, if ever, let the other out of their sight. But they refused to let that stop their fun for the next couple hundred years. Only recently did someone manage to capture them once more, rendering them unconscious only to awaken, thankfully together, in a dank room with a stuffed, living bear and man dressed in a white robe who reeked of magic artifacts.

Other: Gravity sometimes unintentionally doesn't apply to them, usually in small, isolated occasions. It just kind of happens every now and again. Or, rather, doesn't happen. They have a thing teetering on obsession for sweets… and food in general, but mostly sugary goodies. Bending reality makes a man hungry.

[User] As soon as the girl finished her quote she would find Adrian's blade across her throat him standing slightly behind her and to the left. He truly cut a majestic figure in golden armor with enormous white wings, a halo of fire, and the burning sword. "Your darkness may run deep, but my flames are those of the light" He said calmly. The sword seemed to glow brighter at her throat "I have killed many demons before, I recommend yo do not threaten my allies again, or I shall be forced to release the truly powerful one inside myself" his eyes were dark as he spoke.

[Assistant]
Rosaline looked dejectedly down at the shattered remains of her legs, the edges already glowing with magic. By the time Adrian had defeated the Basilisk her other fractures were already sturdy enough for her to move, but he had taken it out before she could make the beast suffer. So now the Nebula sat up, looking over her injuries and checking that it all properly pieced back together, her legs reforming quickly.

The minute she was capable of standing Rosaline did so, pulling herself to her unsteady feet, her legs were still finalizing their repairs, and she continued to dust herself off as threats were thrown.

Glass orbs turned to Marianne, everything in her mind screaming danger and certain death, but still she did not appreciate the threats on the poor human. Slowly Rosaline took a protective position beside Faira, watching the confusing yet familiar woman with vengeful eyes. She held her tongue though, unlike a certain angel who decided it best to threaten whatever Marianne was.

"I am not sure what she is Adrian but I think it would be best if you not threaten someone…or something… that we have no grasp on what they are capable of." Rose said, her tone monotone but with plenty of venom when she mentioned Marianne.

If the nebula was in her rightful form then she would have already lashed out herself, though if that were so she would not be here in the first place. For now though Rose was content of devising multiple ways that she would rid the world of this terrifying creature when she finally regained her beautiful mist-like form. While she did so her eyes began to look around the ballroom, only to freeze on a painted portrait at the top of a set of stairs that had not been there a minute ago.

It was not the stairs that confused her though. No, it was the being in the painting. It was a man with slick black hair and ice blue eyes, eyes that felt like they were laughing at her. He had a thin face with a long nose, big eyes, and thin lips.

It was a face she could not believe to be seeing again, and after spotting it her anger turned towards another. Rosaline would have her vengeance on the man who did this to them all, and if she got the chance to wound Marianne afterward then all the better.


[System]
Class: Troubadour

 Age: 19

 Sex: Female

 Appearance:

 Equipment: x1 Heal Staff, x2 Vulnerary

 Personality: Niya is not one to talk much, finding her words wasted on most people. Generally only speaking a few words at a time, sometimes far fewer than is appropriate, one could consider her bedside manner as a healer rather lacking. What little she speaks, is made up far more in actions, being a woman that prefers to let actions speak for her rather than hollow words. Coupled with a complete lack of a sense of self preservation, she is one who will have no problem riding her horse into a fusillade of arrows and magical spells to bring a comrade back up to their feet, because its her duty to do so. A sense of duty drives her actions, more so than anything else, although to whom this duty is sworn to is hazy, at best. But still, she will generally heal before harm when it matters, but one should not expect her to be nice about it.

 Biography: Born to Feroxian family, one would be surprised to hear this on first meeting the woman, but one word or action out of her casts any doubt of that aside. Both her parents were descendents of those who immigrated to Ferox after the wars over 70 years in the past, having progressively grown more adapted to the climate of the land, that much so with their own single daughter Niya. One would have expected a far more warlike occupation for a Feroxian, but her family had been apothecaries and healers prior to their immigration, and all the warriors in a war can only go as far as their wounds allow.

 Niya was trained in both apothecary and healing magics, usually acting as an attendant at arena battles and with bandit hunting patrols, ensuring battles did not end lethally (Without undue reason), and that the hunters and their quarry made it back alive (For the quarry, not necessarily alive AND well, just alive). Her quiet, harsh exterior was not unduly noticed by those she tended to, as the Feroxian woman provided far too vital of help to worry about her attitude. Spending much of her life either healing, or in the saddle, it was unsurprising that she would eventually not return home, just riding onwards with travelling supplies enough to get her to another land, and do more work there. Duty drove her on, as always.

 Niya had heard much about the Church of Naga, its teachings and plans for the world. A load of madness, lies, and hatred, the lady had decided quickly. This Champion of Naga, however, did not sound like the rest of the church, on a gut instinct's decision. That, and she suspected War would follow this Champion and whoever he ended up leading and siding with, and that meant the sick and injured would be there as well. So it was a natural fit for her to make her way for warmer climates, following the trail of this Champion of Naga as best as she could, the proud woman high on her horse taking time in each village to mend the injured and cure the sick, never giving a name or purpose, just asking one or two questions, seeing to the unwell, and moving on, earning a monicker of just "The White Lady" on the way.

[User]
Jacob was unsure whether to run, scream for Marius, or join with this crazy jester, after the wild ride that had been his arrival the young man had to sit down, planting himself in a nearby chair he gazed at the strange man. "Ummm hello then, I gather your name Cinna, I'm Jacob the man also known as the Champion of Naga. I hope you don't mind but could perhaps speak a little slower and explain a little more. I'm sort of confused." The Tactician was not found of court jesters, he had heard of three that had turned out to be serial killers. So he gulped and hoped the man could make more sense soon.

From what he had understood so far he wished to fight with them and strike back against the Church, perhaps he had a personal grudge or really dis-liked religion. Well at least he wasn't doing puns, he could take anything but puns, so with this strange new member of the group he almost relaxed, compared to the others he had met, he closer to normal, normal was nice, normal was safe... Normal didn't blow holes in his walls, at least not yet.

[Assistant]
"Lad, I wasn't aiming to be terribly subtle. IF ye had mucked up a wee bit more, I was waitin' to step in to try and save yer sorry hide." Jerod smirked, arms crossing over his chest as Jacob dished out his 'punishment', and laughed at the final threat of a half cut pay and shrugged in a good natured way, conceding the point for now as he turned to walk away, a good natured tone of voice even after the threats and orders. "Aye lad, I hear ye loud and clear. I'll give ye this round Jacob."

Watching him leave, Jerod turned to the knightess as she addressed him, still stuttering as ever. He frankly wasn't sure whether it was endearing or irritating. WEll, first off, he needed to cut that bowing and Sir stuff off at the pass as soon as possible. Her question on Marianne got a chuckle out of him, shrugging in a easy way, despite how awkward things had been when she was screaming to string him up from the top of the castle via his intestines. "Aye lass, an' two things. One, don't be usin' sir with me, just a merc meself. Second, no bowin' like that. Same reason as b'fore. Now, as fer the dark spell spitter, she's already threatened ta string me up by my innards fer all to see. At the top o' the castle. But I reckon she's jus' stark ravin' mad. An' the ol' laddie champion thinks this is done, I'll be talkin' to his grandmaster, he seems to have some good ideas."

"Well lass, shall we? I reckon ye' should meet the lass sooner or later. A word o' warnin' though. Don' mention her bloody eyepatch, yea? She loses it if ye do." Jerod opened the throughway for Thalia, and would move off at a brisk pace, whether she followed or not was her perogative, he had a insane dark mage to find and hopefully not find another rage trigger for. He wasn't personally looking forward to heading back up north towards Feroxian lands, for his own reasons, but he wasn't bringing them up until they reared their ugly head, assuming they did. In the interim, though, to shake his thoughts, he yelled down the halls, seeing if he got a response. "Oi! Dark Spell Lass! Ye around 'ere at all?!"

[User]
"Oh. But--" She automatically opened her mouth to protest, but bit down on her lip to stop herself. Bowing and referring others as "sir" or "lady" had been practically engrained in her by this point, but trying to be polite seemed pointless when the other party preferred that she dropped these habits around them. _If anything_, she argued with herself, _It would be impolite if I were to ignore them and insist on formalities._ They'd be traveling companions from here on out as well, so perhaps it'd be better to be casual with one another anyways.

"Very well...Jerod, then?" The last bit was spoken tentatively, but her lips were curved in a light smile, "Lady Marianne certainly sounds like quite the character. I'd definitely like to meet her." She sounded quite feisty as well, if she had threatened to, er, string Jerod up with his own innards. Truth to be told, she didn't think it sounded too far off from something her own princess would say.

Although puzzled by the additional note about Marianne's eyepatch, Thalia simply nodded obediently. With that, she hastily followed after him, trying to match his pace and cringing a little as his voice echoed within the halls. Well if the dark mage was around here, she was sure that she'd hear Jerod calling for her.

[Assistant]
Isacc quickly found the barracks and within a few minutes came across Jacob and a jester? huh maybe he's a mage or something joining up regardless he may aswell say something.

"Hey Jacob hope this isn't a bad time but my friend Meline here wants to join up with us is that fine with you?"

Meline in a slightly quite embarrassed voice unlike her usual energetic voice said "ummm..H-hi so y-your the champion of n-naga then?"

she then took a better look at Jacob and got oddly more embarrassed and began to think "he's kinda cute I was expecting someone big and strong then again Isacc is strong and he's rather small and handsome himself."

Isacc while waiting for a response form Jacob pondered why a jester would want to join up was he an assassin or something Isacc was nearly killed by a jester assassin before so it's possible but unlikely.

[User]
_"Oi! Dark Spell Lass! Ye around 'ere at all?!"_

Hearing her companion call her out in a rather loud fashion, Marianne blinked once before turning her head in the direction of the summoning. Locating the source, she bowed humbly before the Ferox man before making way for her departure.

"Apologies again, but it seems that my comrades require my presence. I hope I get to see you around sometime," she said, turning to leave. She only stopped to call out one last thing to him. "Oh, and I like your eyes! Mind if I stick some needles in them sometime?"

With that last morbid, albeit eager, statement hanging in the air, Marianne skipped merrily down the long corridors until finally catching sight of Jerod. And with a woman no less! Her sudden appearance brought a bright smile to the Dark Mage's visage. More friends were always good to have, especially when they could be used for fuel and art.

Walking to the both of them, Marianne nodded in acknowledgement to Jerod before bowing once more to the other female.

"Hello there," she greeted. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Jerod's Lady Friend. Ah, is there something you needed? You see, I was just in conversation with a fine man further down the hallway. Oh Jerod, you wouldn't believe the quality of eyes he possessed in my midst! Not as high to caliber as the fearless leader of course, but Ferox folks do have the most _**exotic**_ bodies…"

She turned to the girl now and extended a hand, this being the palm that was never stained with blood, in respect.

"Forgive me for my eccentric hobbies Miss Jerod's Lady Friend! I simply find the human body to be so…interesting to study. Wouldn't you agree?"

Despite the disturbed content laced within her words, Marianne's tone was calm and friendly, exuding that same sense of lady-like professionalism.

[Assistant]
"Aye lass, I reckon Jerod be the best way ta' git me attention. And don't worry yer 'ead none, we're goin' to git her fer this inventory nonesense of yers." Jerod readjusted his armor while they awaited Marianne to arrive from wherever she happened to be creeping this time. If Jerod hadn't figured anything out yet, he might have reckoned that she was impossible to find. But he had enough guesswork he could go off to figure it was easier this way then wandering aimlessly like some drunkard. Again. But that was neither here nor there. So he took up a spot on the wall, which probably seemed a bit odd considering that he had been ordered to go and find Marianne, not yell once and wait. But Jerod liked to think he knew what he was doing some days, and this was one of them he hoped.

Jerod had his arms crossed, leaning on a wall when Marianne came waltzing along, all grins and disturbing statements. One probably gets used to that kind of thing, he reckoned, as she promptly set her sights on the knightess after a brief aside to him. Commenting on her newest spotted pair of eyes made him smirk, the commentary on Ferox making him a bit more uneasy than he would have liked. "Heh, well lass, folks go on focusin' on Ragna Ferox so bloody much, they forget tha' places and thrivin' folks exist well above 'em, fascinatin' as their eyeballs might be. Ach well, lemme introduce the two of ye. Marianne, this lass is Thalia. Thalia, this lass 'ere is Marianne. I reckon the two of ye will git on just fine!"

Jerod gave the two a chance to talk a bit before interrupting again, pushing himself off the wall. As much as he could find entertainment in watching the knightess potentially squirm under first introduction culture shock, he WAS ordered to go get stuff done, as it were, and not make things amusing for the sake of his own entertainment. "'Fraid this ain't a social call, dark spell spitter. Knight lass here says that some knight tosser wants all o' us in the barracks fer inventory. Or somethin' like that, I cannae rightly recall! Knightess lass, feel free ta correct, an' I'll follow. Reckon ye know where we need ta be more than maself."

Laughing at the thought, he was sure that the knightess lass would fill in any details he had gotten wrong. He had done his part, he found and tracked down Marianne and made sure she would be aware of this inventory nonesense going on. Not like he was hoarding bags of large bullions or anything. He wouldn't be where he was if that was the case! Chuckling at the thought of that much gold, he rolled his eyes at the thought of that much wealth. There was no way he could spend all of it, so he glanced at his two current companions and made an idle question to either, whichever was willing to answer. "So, reckon if we're workin' together, might as well know a bit 'bout ourselves, aye? So if ye'll forgive me pryin, where do the two of ye hail from?"


[System]
Age: 26

Gender: F

Appearance/Description: Taller than an average female, Czi has always had a slender body, small breasts, and stocky thighs, taking after her mother. A few tribal tattoos adorn her neck and shoulder, something she some regretted having done, but aren't going away anytime soon. Her clothing is generally simple and comfortable "street" clothes, taking jeans and a t-shirt, over anything more extravagant. Her auburn hair was always changing, tending toward a shaved undercut look, allowing one side to stay longer and straight.

Height: 6'1
Weight: Approx 150lbs

Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please, making it a challenge to get through to her at times. She tends to come off as pushy and impatient with most people. Although if she considers you a friend, then she will have your back no matter what.

Occupation/Skills: Her Ruska Roma ("Russian Gypsy") heritage is full of musicians, dancers, artisans, and general tinkers, and Czi is no different. Her love of music has kept her financially afloat for many years, focused mainly on the fiddle or violin, you would find her performing in public squares, or private events if the money was right. In addition, she is trained in moderate self defense techniques, namely Krav Maga, which her grandfather passed onto her as a teenager and something she has continued to develop.

Bio: Czigani's early life had been relatively normal and uneventful, not much different than most children growing up in Boston's lower income neighborhoods. Her parents, both of whom were Russian immigrants of Romani heritage, moved to the United States just before their daughter was born, where they lived and worked a handful of jobs to make ends meet. Her father also played guitar in the surrounding pubs, sharing traditional Roma music fused with modern current jazz influences. It was a love of music that carried over to their daughter, as she took comfort and joy in stringed instruments, focusing on the violin.

In her late teens, both of her parents were brutally beaten and murdered by a hate mob, and the tragedy altered her life and general disposition toward society, causing her to climb into herself, shying away from the world for years. It wasn't until her grandfather, who had already lived in America, came to visit Czigani and re-awakened her spirit once again. He taught her how to defend herself, so she would never become a victim to the wretch and prejudice of society, like her parents had. Her grandfather also shared a history of her Romani lineage, which stretched as far back as the eighteenth century, and were filled with mystical and supernatural secrets that she only thought of as folklore and children's bedtime stories.

Her time had come eventually, that all cards would be laid out on the table, and her fate sealed for an eternity. On a cool fall evening, Czi held an impromptu performance on the patio of a small Russian-American restaurant she was acquainted with, flawlessly playing many cultural favorites to a large crowd, many of whom had immigrated from Eastern Europe. What started out as a peaceful time of good food, drink, and music, ended in a swift and violent stroke of confusion, as a team of undercover police officers stormed through every entrance and opening, brandishing assault weapons, yelling out commands, and pinning random people down onto tables and against walls. Czigani didn't run, as many had, but rather stood her ground, protecting many of the children from the raid taking place. She had no idea what was happening, but at that moment, the fear that kept her heart pumping wildly, was replaced with a rage that she could not control. Her face and body burned with a passion and adrenaline foreign to her, and the realization didn't hit her until she'd suddenly snapped from whatever spell she had been under, and stood with several weapons pointed at her, and the bloodied remains of an officer at her feet. The violin that once produced beautiful music only moment prior was broken into countless pieces with remnants of shiny darkwood stuck in the side of the dead officer's skull, and the bow was lodged halfway into his brain by way of his eye. The tools of her happiness had ultimately become weapons of her destruction.

Czi fell to her knees without even being told to do so, as the horrors of the evening came flooding in all at once, and she sobbed uncontrollably. Tears that, since that terrible night, had never been shed for anyone...or anything.

[User]
"Eighth Street Diner" Czigani snorted as she looked up at the sign above the front entrance. "I wonder what genius came up with that novel name."

Both women strolled into the quaint diner, being hit by the multitude of smells emanating from the kitchen, some good, some not so bad, but as both were hungry they didn't care much. For mid-morning on a weekday, there were quite a few customers, mostly older couples in booths and a few stray fellows sitting up on the barstools up at the counter. Classic rock, circa 1970s, was playing in the background and two waitresses -one looking to the be in her early twenties and the other who could have worked there at the turn of the twentieth century- busily went back and forth from the dining area to the front counter with food and empty dishes. Czigani scanned the room, picking up on various conversations, some of which were nothing more than idle chit-chat as they waited for their meals.

"Seat ya'selves ladies." The older woman's voice carried boldly across the room. "I'll be right with ya."

The booth near the window seemed fine for them of both, as it gave them a pretty good vantage point to keep an eye on the small "Palm Reader" business a block up the road. The fact that it was part of a strip of stores facing the main road made it easier to keep track of anyone coming and going. A middle-aged dark skinned man sitting in the neighboring booth nursed a tall orange juice, and simply stared for a moment through his thick glasses at both women before turning his attention out the window.

"Hey Kel." Czi paused for a moment, a slight smirk formed on her lips. She never thought she'd address her new friend with a nickname already, which caught her off guard. "Um, I really need to use the restroom so...please order me whatever you're eating. Oh, and keep the coffee coming. " She gave Kelly a wink before heading toward the restroom.

[Assistant]
"I'll be right here," Kelly replied with a smile, grabbing the menu from the stack at the far end of the table. She glanced through the limited options they had, but she wasn't paying too much attention, not with her mind distracting her away from reality with intrusive thoughts of the hospital, Dr. Zvikas, and Jimmy.

"Excuse me, miss? Would you like some coffee?" The young waitress had approach the booth, pot of coffee in one hand and two white mugs in the other, without Kelly noticing.

"Yes, please," Kelly replied, watching as the young woman poured the hot beverage for her and Czigani.

"So you ladies out for the day, taking a break from your husbands?"

The question caught Kelly off guard. "No, we're not married. "We're actually dating," she replied, slightly exaggerating their relationship status. She noticed the waitress making a face, and that's when Kelly figured that the woman was more than likely a bible-thumping bigot. "Does that bother you?" she continued, annoyed by the waitress' reaction to what she had just said.

"No, it's just that—"

"You don't approve of same-sex relationships, is that it?" Kelly interrupted.

"Well, I…I don't think it's right—"

"Because of your religion?"

"Yes, exactly. Jesus talks about it in the bible..."

"Oh honey, that's all bullshit."

The waitress was visible shocked, as if the insult was aimed directly at her. "You have no right to speak of our lord using such language!"

Something within Kelly snapped.

"No, you have no right forcing your beliefs down everyone's throat!" she replied as she pointed an accusatory finger at the waitress after standing up to be eye-to-eye with her. Kelly didn't realize that everyone had stopped eating—or doing their job—to stare at the women. "Stop treating people like—"

Kelly stopped when someone placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled.

"That's enough, miss."

She turned around only to face a uniformed police officer. He must have walked in after her and Czigani as Kelly hadn't noticed any cops when she entered the diner. But Kelly knew better than to do anything stupid.

"My apologies officer. I'm gonna go get my friend in the restroom—"

"Actually, you need to come with me," he demanded, "I have to take down your information and then you can get your friend and get out of here." Kelly looked in the general direction of the restroom, then put her hands in her pockets.

"Alright," she sighed, "let's get this done and over with."

[User]
Her leg was cramping again, just as it had a few times during the car ride to Boston, but she hid it well. Why worry her new friend Kelly? The pain came and went like a light wave starting from just above her knee, then building as it surged up through her thigh, and stopping just short of her pelvic area. The bullet was still there, embedded in the center of her thigh same as when she had first been shot by that goddamn truck driver.

Why did he have to interfere? Why couldn't he have just let me leave with Kelly?

Czi gritted her teeth as she made sure the stall in the restroom was latched before reaching down into her pocket and pulling out a small clear baggie containing a dozen or so white pills with a label that read "OxyContin". Peeling open the seal, she poured two into her palm and quickly popped them into her mouth before turning on the faucet to gather a handful of water to swallow. The woman stared at her face in the mirror for a moment, as she felt the pain killers slowly washing down her throat, and would -within several minutes- begin to dull the pain that continued to pulse through her wounded leg.

"You fuckin' disgusting bitch…" Czigani mumbled, commenting on the dark circles under her eyes, the tired expression, dried lips, and general unhealthy feeling that she couldn't shake.

She stood up straight and unbuttoned her jeans to examine the wound that never really went away and slid the copper zipper down, exposing pubic hair that used to be much shorter and trimmed, back when she had a life and a reason to take care of herself and respect her body. She'd barely ever noticed the small scratches and scars along her inner thighs leading upward toward her vulva that was since obscured by the mess of dark hairs, covering any signs of sexual abuse at the hands of corrupt and debased prison guards, and -to an extent- hospital orderlies. There was nothing she could do, no where she could go, and the only way to survive where she had been was to simply allow it to happen. Allow pieces of her to be torn away by men who cared nothing about her as a human being, but rather a means to an end, seeing her as a "cop killer" and nothing more. Not a woman defending her people, not a girl lost in a sea of chaos, not a daughter of a family who was murdered by an unjust and prejudiced society. No. Murderers like her had no rights, not even to their own body.

Just as she slipped the tattered blue jeans further down her legs, both ears perked up from the abrupt and muffled sound of a female's voice emanating from the far side of the dining area outside. A voice that seemed angry as it tossed a barrage of words toward another.

"Kelly?" She whispered, quickly pulling her pants up in order to fasten them again.

The restroom door opened, it's squeaky hinges echoing through the small area, causing Czigani to flinch as she fumbled with the button on her jeans, followed by greater concern in her mind when she heard the lock on the door slide shut and sounds of heavy footsteps outside the stall she stood in.

"Come on out, girl." The male voice was low and husky, with a slight accent of unknown origin. "We need to talk…"

"How about you fuck off. Clearly you're in the wrong restroom dude, so keep moving." As bad luck would have it, the silver button popped off her jeans and went flying against the wall before plopping into the dingy toilet.

"Oh for fuck's sake…" She mumbled angrily, turning to the stall door to unlatch it and give the asshole on the other side a piece of her mind. But almost simultaneously, the large man kicked the now unlocked stall door inward, cracking Czigani square against the face and causing her to fly back against the adjacent wall, blood oozing from the gaping wound across her bruised forehead.

The man lunged at the girl who was now sprawled out on the floor dazed, his large hands grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her against the filthy tiled wall. She caught a glimpse of his face, which was chubby and rather pale, and his dark clothes -a business suit of some kind- seemed old fashioned and worn.

"I said we needed to talk." The fat sweaty man's heavy breath was like death to the girl's heightened senses, and even his tone of voice didn't altogether seem normal

"And...you want to talk...here?" Czi slurred her words, partly from the blow to the head and the other from the onset of the Oxy slowly creeping through her bloodstream. "What if I had to piss?"

"Then I guess you'd have to wet your pants, so listen up mahrime..."

Who was this man to call her such a name? She only ever heard her own people use this Kalderash term, a word she'd heard more times than she wanted. But she had no idea who he was, or why he came. Czi couldn't move, even as much as she tried, the man's iron grip against her neck and sheer weight was more than she could handle.

"Who the f-"

A sharp heavy hand flew across the woman's bloodied face. "I told you to 'listen', which means I talk."

Again, the woman tried to push against a force that was clearly greater than her own, and yet all her attempts fell short, until she finally allowed her muscles to relax and give in to her assailant. Her tired eyes finally met his dark and unreadable ones, which seemed more like windows into another dimension than physically normal eyes. The man's chalky and expressionless face was mere inches from her own, and what should have been body heat generated from such a large and robust person, was cold and clammy.

"You need to leave this place. This City. Go back to where you belong and stay far away from the affairs of the unclean. Stay away from those who are not like you..." The man's voice was heavy with an underlying sadness, subtle, but still there nonetheless.

"You have been warned mahrime."

[Assistant]
[ This RP has officially ended due to unexpected circumstances.
My apologies to those readers who were fans. ]


[System]
Age: 65
Nationality: American
Profession: US Marshall
Apperance/Clothing:

Combat Skills: Bill is a skilled marksman, either with his rifle or revolver, and is also very capable in a fist-fight or brawl, tending to fight very pragmatically with little regard for 'fair play'.
General Skills: Horseriding, tracking, and wilderness survival from his youth. He's also acquired a fair talent for investigation and information-gathering from his time as a Marshall.
Languages: English fluently, can communicate in Sioux.
Weapons: An 1873 Winchester rifle that he wears on his back, an 1875 Outlaw revolver at his belt, a knife in his boot and brass knuckles in his pocket.
Possessions: His old horse Daisy, his broad-brimmed hat, and precious litle else.
Personality: Bill is, above all things, a determined man, full of elderly grit and weather-worn toughness. He's not quite a no-nonsense guy, having a penchant for sarcasm and dry humor, and he can show a softer side around friends, especially those much younger than him. Finally, he also displays incredible personal courage in the face of danger, almost bordering on a lack of self-preservation.
History: Extensive, though I'll just provide the basics here. He was born 1819 in Virginia, and on the day of his eighteenth birthday traveled west to grow up with the country. He's had a great number of occupations on both sides of the law, fought for the Union in the Civil War, and has spent the last decade and a half as a US Marshall in the Dakota Territory. He has little in the way of family, except for a niece in Central City, Colorado.

[User]
Town Main Street

 The sheriff came storming back out of his office, his hands at his face and rubbing vigorously as he drew a deep sigh. This was too much to deal with Angpetu was going on about some guy that could apparently escape death, he had a body on the ground being watched over by his inept deputy and now as he stopped in his tracks he saw a face he did not know carrying yet another body. Grabbing his hat off his head he tossed it in the ground and stomped on it.

 "God blast it, mother loving, dagnabit. I'd beat the devil around a stump to pass the buck on this here damned blowed up situation!" he exclaimed out of frustration before yanking his hat off the ground and swinging it through the air. "Now what in tarnation happened to this here bloke? You know what, dun't care a continental. Fuck it, this burg done gone to hell in a hand basket and I am apparently yur' tour guide through the boil on the butt of humanity known as Brogden," he snapped before he actually took note of the newest arrival and grumbled.

 "Marshal, yeah, well he be gone. Up and flew the coop. I guess he didn't want ta' wait for no burial and the formalities. He figured he just go ahead and stroll on down to hell of his own accord. You want answers, you can talk to Ang in the office cause I am washing my hands of the whole situation. I just jail them I don't have no need or want to go chasing those that won't stay dead," he said as he waved his arms around like he was half crazed.

 "Sean, you take that body and the lead this here, who were you?" he asked Twain before waiving the question away. "Know, what, don't care. You follow Sean and take them bodies to ol' Seamus and get them nailed in a coffin before they decide to join the last bloke and have a good ol' fashion hoe down in the middle of me town!" he said before pushing passed the group and heading towards the saloon. "I need a drink…."

 Sean didn't know what to think or what to say he just stood there confused and nodded quickly as the Conner told him what to do. "Right boss, see right to it," he stammered before grabbing the body and lifting it over his shoulders. "Yeah. Um, this way," he said towards Twain and began slowly trudging off towards the undertaker.

The Sheriffs Office – Back Room

 Angpetu looked around slowly, shaking her head as she heard the sheriff start yelling in the street. She had warned him he didn't want to knot but he didn't listen and now he was doing what several had done in the past. Gone to have a drink and pass off the information as only a drunken dream from the night before. Rubbing her temples she looked at the two new additions in the back room and rolled her eyes. Having to bring one into the fold was enough, now two more on top of this Cyrus character?

 "Yeah, swifter than you can imagine," Angpetu muttered under her breath before turning her attention to Cyrus and nodding at the information he gave her. "Actually, yes, very helpful," she said. Her eyes narrowed and she went over the information both in her head and verbally as she began to walk in circles.

 "Okay, not damaged really by lead, so that could mean any of them. Too damned dry out here to be an Asrai. Went down but was back up in an hour means not an elder but old enough to know what he's doing. Didn't move out of the way of the bullet, so ain't no Daemon(pronounced Day-mon). Inuits be friendly, especially out in these parts. Pengallen would have left their body and just went off with their head," she muttered as she continued to walk.

 As the sheriff quit his rant the place got quiet and Angpetu could hear a whistling sound coming from out back in the darkness. "Nakani, son of a bitch," Angpetu growled as she stopped in her tracks. "Okay, you – go find me a couple of bottles of liquor and some rags. Then follow us," she said to the woman that was there in the back with them.

 "You," she said to the Sioux. "Follow the sound of that whistling but don't attack him, trust me, just ready a knife or ax" she sad in Sioux before directing her attention towards Cyrus. "Next time you fire, aim for the knees. We gotta keep him from running," Angpetu quickly said as she loaded with rifle with an oddly colored cartridge that looked like it was made out of some strange metal composite. Grabbing the handle of the back door she flung it out to open and looked around slowly as she brought the rifle up, stepping out slowly.

 "Do not let him touch you, no matter what," she warned as she began to walk slowly out the back door towards the sound of the whistling. The moon was high in the sky and it was a cloudless night, she hated hunting at this time of the day but they didn't have much of an option at this point. She just hoped they listened to her because she didn't want any more dead on her hands than the one she was after. It would take a bit to find Westbrook but once they did they would find him with his back to them pummeling a man with his fists in the chest as he had him pinned on the ground: straddling him. A soft glow would come from his hands every time his fist connected with the unconscious mans bare chest where the shirt had been torn away. The sound of the whistling growing louder and louder as they got closer. It wasn't coming from Westbrooks lips but seemed to be swirling around him as it did.

 "Hold it right there Nakani!" Angpetu called out as she took aim with her rifle. Westbrook held his hands up in the air and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glowing like his hands were a moment ago and a deadly grin coming over his features as he slowly stood up and turned around to face the group fully.

 "Well my my, if it ain't a Kin Bane," Westbrook chuckled. "Out of your league here girl," he added as his fingers fanned out and from the tips of each finger bone seemed to grow out of the flesh and slowly curved into sharp claws.

 "Well, let's just about that Nakani," she said as she held her position.

[Assistant]
Mark Twain let go off Paul Blake, and the dead man toppled over onto the sheriff's floor. He jutted an accusatory finger at the night chilled carcass and complained, "I had found this man dying without a license, not paying his taxes, and swilling copious amounts of gin."

 "I went to confront him about it, but found him quite handicapped, so I figured it was more of this uniforms forte," He nodded slightly not talking to anyone in particular. He perked a dark brow of recognition and cocked a thumb over at Maeve, "oh and my nurse over here can confirm my story and sign any more of the legal papers should it come to that."

 When Twain saw that nobody was really listening and were rather preoccupied with a low whistle, the doctor fit his hands into his trouser pockets and stood upright, "well I'm glad we have this settled then!"

 He watched silently as the group quickly hurried off to take care of something else. In the back of Twain's mind he felt the itch of curiosity, and the urge of adventure. With a glance to the left, and then a stare to the right, he spun on his heel, patted Maeve a good luck pat on the shoulder followed by a sly grin, and exited the building.

---

 The chill of the moonlit night contrasted the day's sun, and the gentle breeze bellowed under Marks dark city clothes, sending a wild energy down his spine and perking the corners of his sly smile. After what seemed like a short journey, he surrendered his shoulder onto a large grey rock and leant on it as he observed the group that had left the sheriff's office.

 His blue eyes released its gaze from the shadowy group momentarily as he scanned the otherwise wild grass of the flat lands he now found himself in, the silhouette of the town backed by the moonlight in the distance.

  Only devious things take place at night so far from home, He thought to himself as he turned his attention back onto the group.

 Sure enough soon the pounding struggle of an aggressor was made known by shouts and taunts, and even the pointing of a gun. The words of the people in question were blurred by the soft breeze in Twain's ear, but otherwise understandable.

 A soft spot in Mark's heart suggested to leave this scene for a quieter one by the warm glow of a lantern next to a hot bath and even more pleasant company. However, the thought was quickly rebuked by a vulpine grin and the sense of adventure that so often swelled in the Doctor's chest.

  After all, Mark thought to himself while he continued to watch the scene unfold before him,  You only live twice.

This is probably one of my laziest and terribly written posts in a long time, I apologize.


[System]
Ansgar seems to keep finding copies of his attire that fit him, or making them, something that people tend to note on a routine occasion. These thing are not as hard as one might think, however, he has reached the end of his growth spurts and will likely not grow much taller through natural growht. However, he loathes the fact that the gift of magic has Tainted him, and routinely covers every inch of his body as to prevent this from being shown to the outside world. Under his mask is a rather serpentine appearance, green eyes narrow and reptilian in form and face lean, with a predatory look that is at odds with his normal way of acting. From the neck down, he has a great deal of scales covering his body, a dull sort of iridescent that, despite the normal glean such color has, does not shine if exposed to light. Beyond these scales, his gloved hands are rough, almost dangerously so if forcefully applied, hence the gloves.
Age: 15

Gender: Male

Background:
As far as Ansgar knows, he has always been at the Orphanage with Old Man Fritz leading the way, not to say that Ansgar always got along terribly well with his caretakers. Not to say he disliked the old man, not by any stretch, but the boy always preferred his own methods and flexibility towards happenings, unwittingly taking after his biological father, who's fate was hidden from the boy. Despite being told little and growing up alongside other orphans, Ansgar knew things were awry. He never seemed to excel in any field he applied himself to, unlike many of his peers, yet never seemed to be abnormally weak either. However, two key things seemed to drive him, and prevented him from leaving the Orphanage since he was convinced of his ability to do so already, despite his early years. As such, he tended to hold himself to a standard of maturity above his peers, wearing a mask of hand crafted design to hide himself, from what was as much of a guessing game as anyone could guess. Yet, every morning he had not left, despite mutterings during arguments or disagreements of having no good reason to remain.

Despite the stand offish nature, Ansgar will go and help those around him, often times tending to clothing, injuries, or miscellaneous things that seem to be often forgotten. He prefers to keep himself busy, oddly focused on work for his age, keeping himself focused on one task or another. During his free time, he often practices his Gift, or his needlework, repairing his clothing or mask with needle and thread. Quite the busy body and needlessly serious, are two very good ways to describe the lad. What humor most do hear from him is often an early form of gallows humor, poking fun at things that really, really are not funny at all, which creates dubious amounts of response from peers. He does mean well by it, it just rarely comes across as such.

Equipment: Sturdy old Cane, personal locket, sewing kit (needles, thread, bobby pins, small rusty scissors)

Level: 1

Attribute: Fluid

Skills:
Intuitive - Ansgar is not necessarily the smartest person in the world, some might even mock him for being below average. However, what no one can argue is that he has a natural knack for feeling out a situation or problem with people, not literally mind you, and just seems to know things at times, though the explanation of such is often beyond him. Deception seems to not be as effective as average, Ansgar picking up on tells on an instinctive level, and either calling them out on it or otherwise not bothering to believe a word coming out of their mind.

Dexterous - When it comes to fine motor skills, whether it be needle work or handling delicate materials, Ansgar has a naturally precise, steady hand. The lad seems to take a great deal of pride in his deft, steady handiwork, even when it is benign or otherwise simple things such as stitching up someone's torn clothes or putting together a broken toy. He even has some basic locks figured out, enjoying the challenge of getting into places he should not be rather than merely trying to get into places he isn't allowed for ulterior motives. Often times, he confirms he has it unlocked and leaves it, much to the chagrin of any who have found their things unlocked but undisturbed. Mostly others who also don't have terribly sturdy locks.

Slippery - Not in a literal sense mind you, but in a figurative manner. Ansgar is hard to pin down, and harder to catch when he doesn't want to be. He has this way of worming his way out of someone's grasp, evading others that try to catch him at games, and just seems to be right infuriating to catch. This is further compounded by his intuition, which leads him to instinctively avoiding trouble he is trying to evade, ducking and dodging when others are getting grabbed. To be fair, he has no qualms with brisk cheap shots to unmentionable areas to get out of someone's grasp, but who's counting, honestly?

Affinity: Water

Gift:
Ansgar has a knack for mending the wounds of others, but not in the traditional method of focusing himself on the injury and closing the wound. Rather, he finds himself able to manipulate blood, specifically the water content of blood, his own most naturally but, if he were to lay hands on someone else right now, he could tweak their blood. Most of the time, he can convince blood, whether his or that of someone within his grasp, to be more cooperative towards the healing process, not so eagerly rushing away from its container or aiding in the binding process more easily. He could theoretically do some damage with this, or even reach out farther, but for now, he is limited to one person at a time, and they have to be within his reach.

[User]
Fritz's Room, Dirt Town Orphanage

Nim stood off against one of the walls of the room, watching carefully from the shadows. She wasn't the type that liked to be right up with the crowds of other people. As much as she would have liked to see Fritz before he passed, or even as he did, it hadn't been worth pushing through the other children. Now that they were wailing? Definitely not.

It wasn't that Nim wasn't sad. Tears ran down her cheeks, her emotions clearly readable for once. She was still only eleven and unlike some of the older kids didn't need to keep up appearances and didn't care that anyone would see her crying (though she was hidden well enough). She wasn't about to break her normal quietness by wailing, however. That just seemed futile. Fritz was dead and it wasn't going to bring him back.

She wasn't looking forward to being on the streets again. It was undoubtedly what would end up happening – as young as she may be she knew the gangs wouldn't respect this area as an orphanage anymore. The streets would probably be safer than just staying here.

Nim noticed one of the older orphans speaking to Mary, Zahn if she recalled correctly, and strained to hear what he was saying over the wailing of the young children. When she couldn't catch more than a word she shrugged, giving up. It was time to leave the room anyway, she was beginning to feel just a little bit on edge with so many people around.

Keeping to the edge of the room Nim made it to the door and slipped out, still staying in the shadows. Outside she found three more of the older children and moved slightly closer to them – to listen to what they were saying, trying to stay unnoticed. It wasn't that she was feeling particularly nosy but if they managed to organise themselves, or even any of the others, she'd tag along.

As much as she may not love other people's company Nim knew it would be better for her to stick with others.

[Assistant]
Thames tapped rhythmically at the side of his trousers with his right index finger. Every six taps the minute hand of his pocket watch ticked up by one minute. He stared, watching mostly quietly at Mr. Fritz who began what were very much his last words, as spoken of by himself. Concepts of things such as "future" were a trivial matter to Thames. After all, his dominion was over time itself! Little did he care for what this man had said. Indeed, when he finally passed, in spite of emotions running high in the room, Thames looked toward the decrepit corpse of the old man and the girl crying over him, feeling no more worsened by such turn of events. Thames had never taken the man for granted. After all, Mr. Fritz was the first human being he had spoken to ever as far as he could remember. Sentimentality, however, was not something Thames cared too much about.

Thames's eyes wandered around the room, not wanting to focus so much on the dead body. The first person he noticed was Senna, who Thames had always regarded as a crazy person. Judging by her pent up body language and her facial expression, the particular positioning of her muscles as seen by Thames, she was evidently angry.

The next person was Ansgar. Thames always hated him, though he could never really fathom any particular reason as to why. He hadn't expressed it openly, though had many a time "accidentally" left an ice cube or two out of his drink, or left a particular spot uncleaned if he knew Ansgar was the next person to clean after him. This was not out of spite though, at least not as far as Thames was concerned.

"Oh. And they're talking to one another." Thames grimaced, wanting to spit if there weren't so many people around, instead swallowing his saliva as he watched scornfully as the two interacted with one another. When a third person; Sai, who Thames also disliked; joined in the conversation, he looked away, not wanting them to drag him in as well.

After them, his focus was turned to the distinct cawing noise which he had associated with Dodo, who like Senna, Thames believed to be a crazy person, though for different reasons. Even if he had the mind to approach her, she had already left the building. Thames rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if she'd have anything substantial to say anyways.

Then, starting a commotion, Zahn. For whatever reason, he felt the need to rally everybody together as if his words had any weight to them. Thames certainly didn't care. Thames didn't quite like this person either. He thought him stuck up. Plus, Thames didn't like cats. He always thought them unnerving and disliked the way they glared, and Zahn was certainly cat-like, up to his pompous attitude.

Nim was not someone Thames ever bothered with, in fact he had hardly even bothered to remember her name. After all, time was a precious thing for Thames and he didn't want to waste it on such a person.

The boy, not wanting to be in the room any more, fled quietly through the window, the same place that Dodo had made her exit though in a different manner. Thames, after all, didn't have all the handy bird features at his disposal. Using his powers, he slowed his fall enough to grab onto a pole, turning around it burn off the extra energy before dropping to the ground.

"Hmph" he thought, hands in his pockets as he wandered off in search of nothing in particular.


[System]
Age: 32
Gender: Male

Nationality: Russian

Occupation: Gun for hire

Branch of government worked for: He was hired to do some dirty work on the DL, but when the media found out about him, the government claimed that he was just a rogue and that they had no connections to him.

Personality:

Described as intense and driven, Sasha is not a guy you want to make an enemy of. He's intelligent, level headed, collected, and when he sees fit, unnaturally cold. With the heart of a soldier, Sasha will stop at nothing to complete a task he's set his mind on. His sheer will and determination make him a valuable ally.

The softer side of Sasha isn't something many people get to see. For one, he doesn't have many people to show it to, outside of his very small friend circle. Afraid of getting too close to other people, lest he be jaded, Sasha doesn't associate with others a whole lot. But when he's decided that your his friend, a warmer, gentler giant begins to emerge. He values close bonds above all else, making his friends the most important things in his life. He doesn't have many, but those he does have, he'd protect with his life.

Appearance: Sasha is a very large man. He stands five inches short of seven feet tall, solidly built and muscular.
He has pale skin and dirty blonde hair that is kept in a neat buzz cut. His eyes are a gray-ish blue, and cold as ice. He wears mostly old military pants and shirts, in drab green and tans.

Other: Sasha speaks with a Russian accent. He speaks several European languages fluently, Russian and English being his best of course.

Skills: Your usual military training applies. He's proficient with most guns, but is particularly skilled at hand to hand combat. Has been known for one punch knock outs. He also has some experience in leadership.

Likes: Gardening, traveling, cool weather, reading, tinkering with electronics

Dislikes: People who are general assholes

History:

Sasha grew up in Kazan, Russia. His mother overdosed when Sasha was 5. He was left to be raised by his father, who fell into depression after the loss of his wife. His father wasn't the kindest, and often times was abusive. After Sasha's mother had died, he had essentially lost interest in being a father. He would often invite his loud and obnoxious friends over to watch soccer games, drink, and play poker while Sasha hid in his room and pretended not to exist. Sasha wanted to get out of the house as soon as he could, and joining the military seemed like the best option. However, Sasha had something of an authority issue when he was younger. His father's poor job of raising him had turned him into a rebellious punk.

After six years of service, Sasha slowly lost some of that punk kid attitude. He was eventually promoted to a second lieutenant and given his own, small platoon. They were deployed to Ukraine, where Sasha and his men were given orders that went against his own set of personal morals. When he refused to carry them out, he was threatened with everything in the book: treason, discharge, prison, the works. Instead, he just quit. Sasha and several of his men went AWOL. He picked up work as a mercenary, doing things that he knew he wouldn't lose sleep over. Most of the time, he did dirty work for various governments who didn't want to wait around and get things done the 'diplomatic' way.

One such mission sent him to Mexico to gut a base that served as a drug lord haven. The mafia style group had made several threats to attack the lowers US border, and government officials had good reason to believe that they meant business. The base was located right in middle of a ghetto, and any move against the drug lords risked injuring civilians, and thus pissing off Mexican officials. So Sasha was hired to lead a 'rogue team' to destroy the base. They were successful, but when a civilians was, indeed, injured, the media caught wind of mercenaries working for the US government.

Sasha was on his way out of dodge when he was captured by Mexican special forces. He threatened to sing like a bird if the US didn't get him out, so they did. He then conveniently 'disappeared'. Sasha was shipped out to the island a little over a year ago.

[User]
Sasha read his book for about another hour before he finally got too antsy to sit any longer. He needed to get up and move around before he went to bed, or else he'd never sleep. The man stood and took his tray back up to the line, where he dumped the trash off and set it with the other dirty ones. As he left, Sasha noticed nurse Nancy coming in with one of the guards. He was glad that she was feeling better, at least.

He passed them and headed out into the hall. Sasha wandered a little, pretty aimlessly, around the hallways. He found a nice window to stop at and look out for a while. The sun was setting and the moon was slowly raising into the sky. He watched for a while until he got bored with it, then strolled off again. He ended up at the common room where a lot of the patients came to play games or just socialize. Sasha liked to come here because it was one of the only rooms that had a deck of cards. He had his various skills at card games: poker, black jack, spades. But his favorite to play here was solitaire. Mostly because it didn't involve another person.

He walked in, acknowledging the two other people in the room with only a nod. He sat down on a couch with a table in front of it, the cards neatly stacked there. Silently, Sasha began to lay out his game.

[Assistant]
@unfallenangel

As the huge Russian entered the room Xander's head perked up. Looking at Jo briefly before his head returned to Sasha he said, "Hey Jo if it isn't the biggest baddest son of a bitch this side of the Iron Curtain." Shooting his hand up in the air with a slight wave he hollered, "Sasha my boy have you crushed anybody's skulls recently for the good mother Russia? If you haven't I take back everything I said and would hope you would spare my head for another day."

Xander had noticed the larger Russian wandering the halls. If he remembered correctly a few words, grunts, and what not had been exchanged between the two of them. However, he had a feeling that he liked Sasha. It was just the aura around the man. Strong, simple type, that was the kind that he could get along with. Even with Xander's babbling brook of a mouth he could always show respect to the right people.


[System]
Age
270 years. Minnel looks like a human in his 50's.

Gender
Male

Position
Information hoarder, forensics. He loves to do research.

Species
Leprechaun, An Irish gnome. Like most of the gnomes, Leprechauns like to help people. But they're also greedy, so they take a payment and hoard a treasure from good deeds they've done. They have a magical aura that helps plants grow and injuries heal bit more rapidly.

Appearance
3 foot and 5 inches tall makes Minnel half an inch smaller than your average gnome. His weight is 105 pounds. Some of his hair has already started to fall of from his head. His ears aren't as pointy as they were when he was younger. His eyes are bit dreamy with small sacks underneath. But there's most of the time half a smile in his face. He's doesn't seem overly athletic but gnomes are surprisingly strong.

Minnel's usual outfit is comfortable woolen trousers and a light sweater or a dress shirt. His favorite combination is white trousers and red shirt, though green shirt is not too uncommon. Despite the day he wears black reel shoes that give a decent sound as his heels hit the floor when he's walking. When he's in overly good mood he enjoys wearing a panama hat and a cane made from bamboo wood. He also has a pair of round glasses when he reads.

Personality
Minnel is a helpful guy who's usually relaxed with half a smile and quite polite when it comes to people. He's uncommonly on bad mood and it's rare for him to get angry from anything. Though when it comes to giving a helping hand, he's not the first one to offer it unless there's a price, even a penny, offered. He prefers to do his life without exercise on his older days.

Minnel loves reading. Depending on the case he hoards himself with loads of information from books and internet, gets distracted in his own thoughts and snaps his fingers as he thinks stuff hardly. After the cases are over he remembers the cases fondly with his pals, though he likes to exaggerate his own part on cases. His favorite drinks are coffee and whisky.

Background
Like most leprechauns he used to work hard in Ireland for payment and kept hoarding his treasure. People usually try to capture the poor fellows for their treasures, so he never did anything but gigs. Despite this, around 100 years old, he was captured and forced to give away his treasure, so he had to start again. He moved to England, took a disguise and worked there for a time as a barkeeper and a gambler before going to america to find his fortune.

In America he tried to find his living as a Cowboy, Teacher and spiritual creature for Native Americans. Eventually he settled down as an antiquarian keeper for some decades. He moved from town to town before finally finding himself in Pine Hollow. There his decent collection of old books proved useful for local law enforcement, and so he works at Pine Hollow Investigations.

At work he does the research, searching for information from internet and books.

Miscellaneous
-They rumor he still hoards a new treasure somewhere in Pine Hollow. Some have taken their time to tail him, but so far nobody has found his secret treasure.
-Outside work he enjoys gardening, dancing and hosting poker nights with his neighbors.

[User]
Pine HollowChapter One: Nightcall

---

---

It is Sunday, September 13th, 1987. The air is crisp and cool, and most of the trees have turned orange.

Pine Hollow Paranormal Investigations has been hired for a minor clean-up job, removing ectoplasm causing paranormal occurrences left by a recent cleansing. The few employees there are ones missing hours, though the rest have the Sunday off. Things go well until Bill, their irate sasquatch manager, receives a concerning message.

---

---

"Why do you think they call Nessies Nessies if there's others besides the one in Loch Ness?" Oz asked, speaking over the vacuum. "I mean, I guess they call Jersey Devils that because that's where they were discovered, but the Loch Ness Nessie wasn't the first. It wasn't even the biggest, now that you think about it."

Bill didn't respond. He was preoccupied with running a vacuum through a small crawlspace to clean it of any residual ectoplasm that had been left by a recently exorcised ghost, and was hoping that his lack of any response would make Oz think that he couldn't hear him over the vacuum.

"And you know what else I think about? Alright so, you hear 'Chupacabra', and the first thing you think is Mexico, right?"

Bill shut his eyes for a moment, gathering an abundance of patience. He wasn't even supposed to be doing this job. The building was practically older than the dirt it was built on, and Bill's Sasquatch proportions meant that he had been squatting nonstop in the small space. However, Oz arrived for cleaning that day in white pants, and so his job had consisted mostly of holding the frayed extension cord of the vacuum up and off of the flammable, ectoplasm-soaked floors above the crawlspace.

"But they're not specifically from Mexico! I was watching it on a documentary last night. They're actually just reptile-like mammals that live in deserts. A lot of 'em in West Africa too. More than Mexico! Ain't that something, Bill?"

Even with a literal floor separating them, Bill found himself unable to hide from the magician.

"Yep. That's something. Say, how bad is it down there?"

Bill clicked off the vacuum and raised it up the small entryway for Oz to grab, turning around for a moment to admire his work. Today was a "Make-up day", for the few at Pine Hollow Private Investigations who were missing hours that quarter due to sickness. Even Bill, who was rarely even late, wasn't safe from make-up days. He had taken two days off weeks ago for to attend an old college professor's funeral, and was now working on the last few hours he hadn't already made up with overtime.

The crawlspace was now clean, albeit stained green from the ectoplasm that had seeped through the floorboards. A poltergeist had been exorcised in the house a week ago, and the residual ectoplasm was still causing what PHPI had been hired to clean -- A Class III Haunting, the most minor of the three to come up. They were usually caused by ghosts or the remnants of poltergeists, such as the foggy, cotton-like bits of ectoplasm Bill had been vacuuming, and only made for minor occurrences; Floating spoons, books falling off shelves, spooky messages written on bathroom mirrors after showers, et cetera. PHPI mostly covered Class III's nowadays. A month ago there had been a Class II, and a few weeks before that they had been hired to take down a mother Wendigo, but other than that, the PHPI hadn't handled any major cases in years.

Bill sighed -- Not a worried sigh, but a content one. When all was said and done, he preferred things stay quiet.

"You coming outta there, Billie? Billie Jean? You still in there?"

Bill sighed again. This time, an exasperated sigh.

"Is this some kinda bigfoot hibernation thing? Should I leave?"

[Assistant]
Adra pulled up infront of the old house and checked her map. It had been a heck of a drive but at least it hadn't been that difficult to find the place. Adra stifled a yawn as she sat in her oversized van. It sure wasn't the most stylish thing with its "I'm a serial killer" exterior but it certainly made things easier when it came to moving personnel. Checking her watch Arda kicked her feet up on the dash and took the revolver off her hip by sliding the leather holster off of her belt and settling it in the console next to her. Still in easy reach. Not that Adra expected all that much fuss any time soon but it paid to be cautious because you never knew when something was going to try and eat you. Closing her eyes and leaning the seat back Adra settled in for a nap, she still had maybe forty minutes until Oz and Bill were suppose to be done and the 4 am shift had been a real drag.

Before she went for her nap; Adra flipped open a weekly planner and scanned her schedule. She'd been relatively lucky with her shift for the county that it didn't interfere with PHPI. It also helped that she worked on call for the county most of the time since the Sheriff didn't have that many bodies to deal with. Which meant Adra largely helped with other things around the County Sheriff's office and then spent the majority of her afternoon's and evenings working with PHPI when they had cases. Putting it that way, she really did work on call for both agencies. Not that PHPI had really had all that much to deal with lately in terms of the supernatural. Adra kept flipping to see if there were any important dates. None came up other than her weekly feeding. Guess it was back to the Pine Hollow Lake resort. It was a real drag to drive all the way out there but letting her beast loose in Pine Hollow proper could spell trouble since a large portion of the residents were supernatural and it was not good form to feed on their nightmares. Best simply to make the drive, scare the bejesus out of some drunk resort goers, remind them that the depths of the lake we NOT safe, and then make the drive back.

With that Adra settled in for a power nap. The area she was in was wholly uninteresting from the primal dream so instead of jumping to her Lair she simply went right to sleep. Straight down into a black dreamless nap while she waited on her two co-workers.


[System]
Runan Isles Savior Corps

---

Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps.

Character Info

Name – Besca Darroh
Age – 35
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered.

She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own.

Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was.

Character Info

Name – Dahlia St. Senn
Age – 18
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help.

She had no idea.

Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels.

Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken.

Character Info

Name – Hadrian Ghaust
Age – 38
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots.

However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind.

Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him.

Character Info

Name – Safie Calhan
Age – 22
Affiliation – R.I.S.C.

R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots.

While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do.

Character Info

Name – Lucis Abroix
Age – 25
Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C.

Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage.

As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix.

Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.

[User]
Besca took the brush from Quinn with a nod, and led her to the couch. She stood behind, pulling Quinn's curtain of hair over the end, and got to work. Long, easy strokes, pausing when she reached a knot to straighten it out gently. She still hesitated, still made mistakes here and there, she was certainly much better at it now than she had been before—even if she couldn't quite manage the braid yet.

"Deelie told me about lunch," she said, and her tone was very deliberate. She'd had time to think, and time to make sure she didn't convey even an ounce of disappointment or frustration. Only measured concern, and understanding. "She wanted me to tell you she loves you, and that she's still proud of you. I am too."

Finishing up, Besca set the brush aside and came around the couch. She knelt down in front of Quinn and took her hands. Small, and there was a cold there that she couldn't feel, but that she knew anyway. She'd been thinking about this, too.

"You're Quinnlash. That's who you are, that's what you are. If I have to remind you of that every single day, I will, because it's true. You are not a thing, you're a person." She reached up, gently thumbed the dried tear streaks on her face. Smiled. "You're one of the most important people in the world to me. You'll never be anything less than that."

She wanted nothing more than to keep Quinn here, to just let her be and decompress, but it wasn't her call. Patting the girl's cheek, Besca got up and went to grab her coat from the kitchen counter.

"Alright hun, we're due at the elevator in a few minutes. I'm gonna be right with you the whole time; I've been on the set before, it's not too big. I'll be right off-screen, I'll even stand behind Mona."

[Assistant]
As she deftly twisted her hair into the long plait that it had become so known for on the Aerie, Quinn almost started crying again.

But it was a different kind of 'crying' than before.

Besca and Dahlia. Her family. They were so nice to her. So, so nice. She had never imagined that anybody could be like this before. Never, in all her wildest dreams and fantasies. They helped her when she was at her absolute worst. No matter what she did, how she messed up, they were still always there to help pick her up when she fell. They made her smile. Dahlia had even made her laugh. They were the best family anybody could ever ask for, anywhere.

And for one delicious, impossible moment, Quinn let herself believe she deserved it.

She was quiet as she finished the braid, bringing it around the front to check it before she snapped the elastic on the end to tie it off. Satisfied, she flicked it behind again, settling it against the jacket until everything sat comfortably. The nerves were still tearing at her. Anxiety was still bubbling deep inside her and setting her heart pounding. But Besca would be there. And she and Dahlia were both proud of Quinn. She would pin it to her chest and wear it like a badge if she could.

You're one of the most important people in the world to me.

"Um...Besca?"

She took three long, deep breath. One. Two. Three. Then she stood, moved to the door to wait, and turned, looking at Besca as she plucked her coat from the counter. And she put a smile on her face.

It took so, so much effort. It was fragile. It trembled as she tried not to cry. But it was still a smile. And it was still there.

"You're, um, really important to me too." She paused. "And...thank you. For...you know."