[System]
CS:
Race (Human or Type of Fae): Human

Position (In court if you are a fae, Any fae outside of a court will be under extreme pressure): Servant to Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor

Age: 61, looks 17-19

Personality (Fae type has effect): A once proud young woman, she was bent to the task of serving O'Aenges-Mor quickly. Still she snarks at her Lord Fae, and is more than willing to question him and his orders. But she knows any out right disloyalty could get her killed and if he were to die she would wish to perish soon after without his protection in the Fae Courts. She is sharp to others of lesser rank than she, and is wise to the way of the fae. A must within their realm.

Appearance: Thick red hair falls to her waist and frames grey eyes. Pale skin from time spent with the Fall Court. She generally wears a heavy gown of dark green or brown with a cloak of grey. Dressing in the style of Victorian times. She appears and actually physically is around her seventeenth or nineteenth year. It is uncertain when she stopped aging after she was brought into the fae courts. She is a bit on the shorter side, and is petite.

Background: Aisling was born to a wealthy family and had a very lovely childhood. She never had want for anything, but when she had fallen for a young man and learned a horrible truth that jeopardized her privileged life she panicked. Fleeing to the forest she sought solace while trying to comfort herself with something. It was there she was found by Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor of the Fae. She offered him anything, if only to grant her the answer to her problem. He gave her the promised answer and took her to the realm of the Fae as payment. She has served him ever since.

CS:

Name: Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor

Race (Human or Type of Fae): Fall-born Fae

Position (In court if you are a fae, Any fae outside of a court will be under extreme pressure): King of the Fall Court

Age: Unknown

Personality (Fae type has effect): Sharp as a blade, quick as a snake, Tegvan rules his Court with a iron fist and is more than willing to employ almost tyrannical means to get his Fae followers in line. His is swift with justice, and swifter with vengeance. He has a cruel amusement and enjoys the 'finer' things in life. Not to say he is without mercy. He doesn't even know the meaning of the word.

Appearance: A tall fae, he appears as a dark shadowy form, or as a dark skinned fae with black armor some say is made of dim grey starlight. His ears have definite points and his nails as well. His eyes are the fall storms and his teeth are sharp as a blades. Ravens are said to be his cloak of feathers and his voice is said to be the rushing wind. In his glimmer spell, he takes the appearance of a tall man, with short black hair and pale blue eyes. His skin is periously pale and with high cheek bones and an arrow straight nose. His ears are however not pointed in the glimmer spell, rather human shaped and size. He usually wears something matching the current time, for the present it is dark jeans, black boots, and a loose grey shirt. His build is not bulky like the winter fae but rather well muscled and toned.

Background: Tegvan O'Aenges-Mor is a ancient and powerful Fae. Little is known about him and why he took on a human pet is less understood. He is not a fae to cross though he does have his good points. Often putting out small prizes for the fae that messes the best with Spring and Summer Court, and dancing about the politics with the grace of a falling leaf. No one is certain how long he has held the throne but all have seen the tormented Fae who tried to take it from him. Their final moments imprisoned in artwork. He has no mercy, but is more than willing to listen to the lesser Fae before considering their points. Tegvan is not a Fae to cross and he makes that well known. But within him is a deep sorrow well hidden by the many, many years he has walked the earth and Fae Realm.

CS:

Name: Giomanch "The Hunter" Yoilugh
Race: Cŵn Annwn
Position: Huntsman of the Wylde Hunt
Age: 1,762 years
Personality: He is a cruel, but loyal Fae. A excellent fighter, tracker and hunter. Giomanch is one of Falk's (The Fall King) best huntsmen. Though his borderline sadistic personality requires a short leash. Quick to the hunt and kill, he has a keen hatred for the Summer and Spring Courts.
Appearance: A black specter dog, with red ears and eyes. He's the size of a large wolf hound, with teeth like daggers. His glimmer puts him as a dark haired, Scottish man. Wearing raggedy fur clothing and bare foot. He wields a bow, sword, and dagger.
Background: Giomanch's pack was large and took up the northern portion of Tegvan's territory. When a Seelie court attacked that portion, conducting a raid, his family was slain. Giomanch fought valiantly, but was one Death's Door when the Wylde Hunt drove off the Seelie force and he was saved by his bond to Tegvan. He has served the Fall King faithfully since, as to all Fall Fae. He has seen challengers go against his lord and he as felt shame for them as they were dismantled. Horrible torn to shreds. Physically and/or literally.

[User]
Lost returned to Falk quickly. He enjoyed the scenery for what it was worth, but now the honor of helping the King was granted to him. He eagerly entered the Fall Court, noticing the King hunched forward with gleaming eyes. Even though he couldn't find any faults with his actions, seeing Falk like this sent shivers up and down his spine. He looked like he was plotting, possibly against Spring or even Summer, with whatever that token may have meant. Whether the other rulers feared, Lost feared for them.

"Lord Falk, I have delivered your token. The Summer King extends his gratitude for the gift. Is there anything else you ask?" Lost was very curious as to what the King was musing, but asking him seemed risky. If he was going to join The Hunt, he would have liked to do it on a good note.

[Assistant] As the Satyr approached and offered his news, Falk shifted. Gleaming eyes locked onto the Fae like a hawk's on a rabbit. "Tell me about the Summer King's Court. What did you see, Lositay." The last word was breathed in barely more than a whisper but the command was a command and the there was a hidden threat. The Pool swirled to gleamed as a raven croaked high above. "See! See The Fall!" The bird cackled and swooped off squawking. Falk did not glance above but kept his eyes on Lost. What this Satyr reported would decide his next action. His next move on the chessboard.

[User]
"When I arrived, two Salamander guards escorted me to his presence. The halls were green and warm, warmer than anywhere else. It held an odd comfort and carefree feeling. I entered into his court and laid eyes on his grand wood throne. I didn't look around much and the guards announced my entrance. Upon Phyre's request I gave him the mirror and explained it was a token from yourself. He was pleased with it and thanked me. I dismissed myself, and began back for Fall immediately." Lositay gave his answer.

Once he finished and regained his complete control again, he stood dazed and confused. Why did Falk use my name? Why didn't he just ask me? In front of the human, and what was that raven? Why? Hysteria was taking him as he wasn't sure what to think.

[Assistant] Falk sat back, brow furrowing. "No courtiers? Merely two guards?" Aisling watched as her Lord stared with his stony frown at the satyr. The Fae was hardly in any danger. Falk wouldn't harm his own for little reasons. But from the terrified feeling this Fae was giving off, he did not know this. Nor did she reason to inform him. Falk tapped the arms of his throne, musing of the facts before him. What he was planning she knew not but this was worrying. Sparing what she hoped was a comforting smile towards the Satyr she strummed the harp lightly, trying to distract herself from the plots of the Fair Folk.

[User]
Feoras gently wraps the mirror in a cloth before handing it to a female servant, she bows her head before taking it and transporting it to Feoras' private suite. Feoras looks back down at lyra and kneels. "Well small one, if you would give me a moment I shall be able to join you in a game of your choice" He gives a smile then straightens before turning. "Zakul and Azazel I need you" Almost as if the walls could talk the message spread, for every hearth was a group of salamanders, and every servant was quick to spread a message if a salamander did not hear. A large wolf and a magnificent stage approach him before taking their humanoid forms. They kneel before their lord. "Both of you take two whom are free each and do a perimeter run. I realize the hunt is coming but go with speed. Take heed" The tow stand and clasp their fists at their hearts before changing each grabbed their chosen before doing as they were asked.

The palace is peaceful, and the servants and guards are hardly seen, but they are there. Many of whom are salamanders, but a few are other like pixie or a type of skin changing fae. He focus returns to his small one. "Okay small one, what would you like to do" He gives a small smile to her, knowing that those he sent out took at least one salamander that can find him and tell him their reports before either the wolf or stag returns. He had a bad feeling, but doesnt know why.

[Assistant]
Lyra looked back at Ba-Ba when he mildly chastised her. She stepped back and looked down. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, not even sure anyone heard her small voice.

After the funny stranger left Lyra waited until Ba-Ba was done, shuffling her feet and biting her lip impatiently. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet as she watched the girl servant take the pretty mirror away. Lyra wanted to whine but held it in. Ba-Ba didn't like it when she whined like a puppy. He said it made her seem like an animal. This confused her because all of the icky people in the court called her an animal when Ba-Ba wasn't around. So was she an animal or was she a people? But Ba-Ba got mad when she asked that and she didn't like to see him mad. He was scary when he was mad...

Finally Ba-Ba turned his attention back to her. She smiled as bright as the summer sun. "Can we play hide and seek Ba-Ba? Please? Hide and seek outside!"Lyra's favorite game was hide and seek. Ba-Ba was better at it than the guards. They all got mad too quick and gave up too fast. They were no fun.
But Ba-Ba always found her fast. He was really good at hide and seek. Lyra was still too young to realize that running about and giggling was a dead giveaway to your hiding place, especially if Ba-Ba made her laugh by pretending he couldn't find her.

She really wanted to play with the pretty mirror...
Maybe if she played hide and seek with Ba-Ba first he would let her play with the pretty mirror later.
Or if not, maybe she could sneak into Ba-Ba's room and just look at it without him knowing...

[User]
"I do believe there were servants and advisors yes. They didn't appear special my Lord." The only thing Lost saw humans as was burdens, and the smaller they were the bigger the burden. From the way Phyre hid her, she certainly wasn't supposed to be seen by the world in the court. Lost was certain he was searching for the little one. Why though was what racked his brain. To use his name so quickly, disturbed him as well. Why have you become impatient for a human? The thought that it was for a human made it even more disgusting to think about. Though his pet gave pity and continued to play her harp elegantly, Lost's face turned more serious.

"Why do you inquire of his court? Is there someone hidden amongst his realm that owes you a favor? I am honored to serve you, and I don't ask to know your plans, but I do not wish to be a tool. You are wise beyond my years, but I ask that I at least be given the respect of a servant in your realm."

[Assistant]
Aisling's playing stopped as the wrong note cracked the precious melody. The King of Fall's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in the throne made from the bones of fallen beasts and fae. Covered in the furs of those he hunted down. The angular and sharps features became drawn tight. His entire being narrowed upon Lositay. Speaking his words were no more than a breathe on the frozen air, but they cut with the presence that made those not under his scrutiny shrink back and thanks the powers that be that it was not them to be so bold. For while the King was not angry by any means he was not the kindest nor most gentle of Fae. The full weight of his attention was like being scrutinized to your very soul by a predator. For that was what the Fall King was.

"I said what did you see. I require every detail, no matter how small. Nothing in this Realm or the next that owes me a favor is lost." A raven squawked as it flew to land on the back of the throne cackling as ravens do. Several others perched in the branches joining in the bold one's laughter. "You are a mere pawn, my satyr. Why I ask, and what I plan is far beyond your ken." Leaning back he relieved the Fae of the full weight of his presence. "When it is time for you to know, you shall. Not before, nor after." He gave a sharp snap of his fingers, the raven swooping off to the tree tops of the giant trees. "Time is delicate and so are words and details. The wrong one would bring everything to a collapse." The last word was growled, that was not something Falk would allow.


[System]
Race: Centaur (sheep based)

Sex: Female

Age: 23

Class/Job: Druid/Traveler

Description: Being a sort of subspecies of centaur, she only stands at about six feet tall, and her wool is perfect for colder climates.

Biography: Growing up in a small village, Valis always wanted to travel and discover all the secrets the world has to offer. As a lamb, she showed great interest and potential in both healing arts and magic. This caught the attention of an old Druid centaur, and he decided to teach the younger his ways, Valis was taught of the ways of nature, as well some thrown in philosophy and stories of Druidism.

Upon reaching adulthood, she finally proved herself worthy for her mentor and was given permission to travel freely. He hoped that Valis would learn more in with more hands on training in the outside world.

Along her journey, she tries to help as many people could to the best of her ability. Most of the time she works as a traveling healer to villages and towns, using homemade remedies found in nature. She also manages to work in some minor tailoring, or rather making warm clothes and blankets from her own wool, often to be given to those who need them.

With no destination, she travels wherever the wind takes her, and just so happened to be heading to a small village in Itari.

Possessions:
-Seble, her sugar glider animal companion.

-Sadle bag where she carries supplies needed for travel
-herbs and other sorts of plants for medicinal purposes
-pestle and mortar for grinding up said medicines
-Knitting needles
-A wooden cane, ironically similar to that of what a shepherd would wield, mostly used as a walking stick, but as a last resort could be a weapon (she's not too fond of violence).
-Simple cloth poncho top as she's easily overheated

Demeanor: Being a caring and endearing person, Valis kind to anyone and everyone she meets. She is protective of those who cannot protect themselves, acting similar to that of a den mother. Valis sees the best in people as well situations, and often tries to get others to see it as well. She's compassionate and a born listener, meaning she's eager to hear the woes of a complete stranger. One of the downsides of her friendliness is she can't say no, as well tends to forget about taking care of her own herself. She's also not the smartest of the bunch, being rather gullible, and often not one to understand sarcasm.

[User]
The Tavern:
 The sound of large wings flapping echoed as black feathers dropped to the floor once more as the large Raven flew to land upon Vivian's shoulder. The raven looked to the two newcomers, the rat and the centaur. Strange the animal was to it. The Raven looked to Cassandra, its master and then back to the Centaur. The Raven wasn't the only one who reacted to Valis's appearance. Cassandra's attention was now set on her as well as Vivian's as she turned her head to look in her direction. The two were so focused on Valis that they didn't even notice Feiia enter the tavern.

 Cassandra did follow the pale elf for awhile with her eyes before her eyes turned back to Valis. Centaur's where not rare in this country ,but they were usually of a much bigger variety with their lower half looking more like a horses, not of a sheep.

 Vivian perked a brow and then looked to her shoulder. "Bernard, go retrieve room key,...." She said pausing and looking to Valis's scanning her size and judging her weight. "...number six." She said and the raven flew off past the bar and into the back room. "That will be ten gold for the night,.... fifteen if you want to throw in a warm cooked meal with it." She said. Vivian began to take her steps closer to the centaur. She then reached out and opened her hand to accept the coins. Her tattoos showing ever more clearly. Her white tattoos being that of webs and flowers. Even her top had some what a spider web design. The essence of the drow showing itself much more then Vivian would have liked.

 "Let me be the first to welcome you to the village of Reisui,.. is this your first visit?" She asked. The Raven returned from the back room behind the bar and landed back on Vivian's shoulder with the room key dangling from its beak.

The Longhouse:

 The Jarl's housecarl exited with the guard to see Durin. The guard taking his place while the housecarl held the door open for the dwarf. "The Jarl will like to see you,.. he want's to reward you personally." He said. However, Durin and the housecarl would not be the only ones to seek out the Jarl's audience. The two were joined by a guard who had just come from the northern gate. "I must speak with the Jarl, we just received a trader who has been attacked by a bandit hit." He informed. The housecarl nodded and gestured for him to enter as well. Closing the door behind them as they entered. He then moved to lead them to large table at the far end. Here sat the Jarl himself and his wife Arielle. The Jarl swallowed his food and wiped his fingers on a napkin as he picked up a good sized pouch of gold and stood up. The pouch was full of three hundred gold pieces exactly.

 The guard waited his turn as the Jarl tossed the payment to Durin. He then prepared to catch the sack which held the bounty. He then looked to the guard and nodded. "What is it?..." Jarl Erich asked. The guard stood straight up and proceeded to repeat what he said to the housecarl.

 "A old trader passed by the northern gate, survivor of a bandit attack on his wagon. " The guard informed. The Jarl's eyes narrowed as he sat back in his chair and sighed. Arielle looked to the guard and then to Durin. She then looked to the Jarl and leaned to whisper in his ear. The Jarl, suddenly felt his eyes move to the dwarf as she spoke. "What is your name?" He asked.

Reisui:

 Eirika and Haldir approached the village from the east. They stopped and studied the little settlement. Eirika leaned in and then leaned back whistling. "The village looks like one of those paintings you would see of the winter,... I suppose we can stop here for the night, right?" She asked as she turned to her brother. His stare fixated on the tiny village. He tore his gaze away and looked to his younger sister. He made a slight smile and nodded.
"That's the plan,... I think we will stay here for awhile and get the lay of the land so to speak" He answered. She nodded and looked back to the winter village and with her brother proceeded to enter the village. Their insignia being spotted right away by the guards.

 They gulped and looked to each other and then back forward. When the order comes to pay you a visit, it can't be good. They both hoped nothing bad will come of their home. The two elves moved their way past the other houses and eventually past the longhouse and to the tavern. They entered that tavern to come across what they did not expect. Not so much the Centaur, but two drow. He narrowed his eyes and then looked to his sister who just shrugged. He looked back towards them and tried to read them. They were not evil, but still it was uncommon for drow to be on the surface. He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and led his sister to a table and pulled out a chair for her. Once she sat down he pushed her in and then joined her. The Centaur was obviously being served first, so they would have to wait.

 Haldir scanned the tavern for any more occupants and he took note of the unusually pale elf sitting alone in a booth. He kept his eyes on her for awhile and nodded in her direction. He then turned to face his younger sister and pulled back his hood, revealing his long blond hair and the fire from the hearth reflecting ever more on his blue eyes. Eirika's hair was a red color, very much like the Jarl's wife. She had to remove the sheaths of the swords at her sides and her hand crossbows and place them beside her. They were making her seating rather uncomfortable.

[Assistant]
Durin nodded at the housecarl, following the man in. Durin could tell from the way the man carried himself that he was a fighter. As Durin stepped in, he caught something about a bandit attack. Durin grunted. Seemed he might be able to obtain more work from this place. Bandits were a menace everywhere, and the dwarf was more than happy to rid the world of them, either by capturing them or outright killing them.

As Durin approached the table, it was easy to see who the Jarl was. The man sat like he was a leader. Durin could easily see the calculating look in the man's eyes. He, too, had seen battle. Then again, there was a certain way that warriors behaved that let other warriors know that they had seen combat. It was a great way to pick out good allies... or dangerous threats.

After Durin caught the hefty bag, he tossed the Orc head right to the Jarl. The dwarf mercenary was glad he had absolutely no talent for magic, as he was sure the elf seated at the Jarl's right would be able to tell if he'd faked anything in a heartbeat. Durin had met quite a few elves in his travels. Elves and Dwarves usually got along at the very least, and Durin knew that many were potent sorcerers.

Durin waited for some sort of dismissal, as he was not one to disrespect any sort of leadership, especially potential employers. As the dwarf listened about the bandit attack, he could see the Jarl's reaction. The man must not have liked bandits, not that Durin blamed him. The man just wanted a peaceful existence for his town, probably. However, Durin saw the Elf lean in and whisper some words to the Jarl. Before he knew it, the Jarl had turned his attention back to him and asked his name. Durin nodded in respect. "My name is Durin Redfire. I'm a traveling mercenary, traveling to learn about other races and cultures firsthand." What Durin didn't tell him was that the Redfire family usually had some sort of ties to the politics of the Dwarves. Some of his ancestors had even served as personal advisors to Kings. Durin knew that he might never get rid of the itch for travel, but he figured that the knowledge he gained would somehow be useful to his family.


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 16

Appearance:

"Which one of us is the mask?"
Arcana: Temperance

Personality:
On the surface, Shizuka may be the stereotypical "ojou-sama" (young mistress), from her formal speech to her delicate mannerisms with a blend of shy and soft spoken side, but do not let that deceive you as the class dismissal bell rings and Shizuka's part time hour begins, the counterpart she created for herself, Shizu-chan, takes the spotlight with her lively demeanor, friendly smiles, and undying passion of being an otaku.

Equipment/Skills:
Twirling Baton (Cosplay prop, can be upgraded to Rod weapons)
Sewing, professional make up, baton twirling, which were all gained from her experience with cosplay.

Background:
Being a balanced student with an appropriate amount of intellect and proper physical fitness, one would say Shizuka is an average high schooler if it weren't for the fact that her family was of a higher class compared to that of an average student. Like most children coming from a wealthy family, Shizuka was left alone most of the time, with the exception of servants, by her parents in their mansion with no one to play or interact with. Not necessarily neglected, but she didn't mind either way as she was an obedient child and she understood that both her parents were flooded with work which needed to be taken care of.

This is why she sought out a hobby to preoccupy herself with. Flipping through the channels as a curious child, she abruptly stopped when an animated female character on the screen magically transforms, with all the colorful lights and sparkles, and shouts, "In the name of the moon, I will punish you!" Eyes widened in amazement, Shizuka could not take her gaze away from the television screen while her thoughts were of how exciting whatever this was and how she wanted to become like them, hues of hair she's never seen before, costumes of different variety and color, and the dynamic personalities each one had.

Years had passed since then, but her love and excitement for anime never wavered. What remained though was her calm, delicate nature she presented towards her fellow classmates, friends, and parents. Her passion for anime (and now manga) was to not leave the four corners of her room. Shizuka would occasionally show hints of interest when her classmates discussed about them but no one, and she means NO ONE, should ever find out about how "otaku" she was.

Keeping all of this within her had limits and before she was about to breakdown, someone on the hallway of the school uttered the word, "cosplay". It took quite awhile for her to learn the meaning and to take enough courage to disguise herself in the colorful costumes and hair she once saw years ago, to find people of similar interests without them ever finding out her true self.

With the positive reactions given by the people she has met, Shizuka continued to create more disguises by her own hands, to the point where she landed at her current part time job at the cosplay cafe as Shizu-chan, the persona she presented to the people of the otaku world.

Persona: Inari Ōkami

Appearance: Illustrated by: Sho Minazuki

Abilities:
Twin Slash - 2 light Slash attacks. (1 enemy)
Tarukaja - Increases 1 ally's Attack.
Tarunda - Decreases 1 foe's Attack.

[User]
Kitsune Inn

These girls were handling the news better than she thought they would. Though in all honesty, yakuza weren't just gangsters. As long as Jun gave the word, none of her father's men would harass the pair of girls. Unless they were drunk, in which case her fist would be a decent reminder. The blonde haired girl chuckled before letting her down and draping it over one shoulder, letting the end of it soak in the water.

"I suggest you don't do anything of the sort unless you want to end up in real trouble." Jun warned the pair when their 'defense strategy' was mentioned. "I'll be here tonight, so if any of them get too friendly with you, just drop my name and tell them to sod off. I'll probably be having tea in my room after my part in this whole meeting is done, so why don't you join me if you want to avoid the mean gangsters?"

The menacing demeanor she carried was softening a little, now that she had her fun scaring the pair of them. She got up to leave, seeing that the time was near for her to take her place at the meeting. She turned back to the pair. "I'm not sure if you'll find me scarier than them though, after watching what happens in the gardens." She commented cryptically on her way out.

---

Kitsune Inn Gardens//Evening

For most of the evening, she had her hair bunned up neatly, sat poised and elegant in her yukata as she entertained the guests her father was meeting with. Pouring them sake with a faked smile that they took to be charming and genuine. All of it grated on her nerves.

So when the time came for her demonstration of her strength, she had a lot of steam to let off. She walked into the gardens, dressed in her kendo gear and armed with a bokken. A ring was loosely demarcated by the spectators, her opponent stepping in at the same time she did.

"It is an honour to see your skill firsthand, Himarua-sama. I shall not insult you by going easy on a young girl." They bowed, exchanging compliments, though Jun couldn't tell if her opponent was being genuine about his compliment or if he was trying to make a veiled insult.

"And I shall absolve you of the shame of losing to one." Jun replied flatly, all of her irritation channeled into her fighting spirit.

The first exchange took place right after the judge declared the start of the match. It was vicious and brutal, neither party willing to hold back, especially not in front of the audience they had. Every blow was both testing their opponent's guard and a punishment for slipping up. Jun managed to dodge and sidestep most of his blows, but at the same time none of hers were really landing anywhere critical.

They broke off, the crowd cheering at how serious the fight was getting, while each combatant sized up their opponent. Jun was faster, more agile, but she couldn't match the raw strength or experience of her opponent. It would all come down to skill and who made the first mistake. Of course, she made the mistake of assuming they were going by conventional kendo rules.

Because when her opponent attacked a second time, he was aiming below the waist, at her knees, trying to knock her off balance. She stepped back nimbly, cursing her mistake. So that's how you want to play, huh? She cursed silently as she stepped back in and proceed to draw on all of her training. Her kendo instructor had been paid to teach her how to fight with a sword to injure someone instead of just for sport, and apparently her opponent was going for the same. Well, in for a penny, in for pound.

It was over in one movement. With impossible speed, Jun landed nine strikes successively, comprising the basic attacks one used to lethally wound an opponent with a real sword. Kuzuryusen., her mentor had called it. There was a racuous cheer of victory from her father's side as her opponent crumbled to the floor and gasped out the yield. Silently, her father was glaring at how her opponent had gone for her unprotected leg and possibly tried to cripple her.

Jun just turned and left, eyes scanning to see if the two girls really had come to watch.

[Assistant]
Ayano Wakahisa:Kitsune Inn
Ayano could do so little as her cousin faked that smile, making her grit her teeth. Seeing as there was no choice but to go along with her plan, she mustered up the most fraud smile she could, "Y-Yeah...It'll be t...t-totally...wacky!", the girl said with an obvious look of pain in her face, realizing her poor choice of words, the girl immediately said another word to replace her last. "I-I mean fun! Yes! F-Fun!" As Jun spewed more words fit for someone such as herself and made her leave, Ayano just faked the smile until she was gone and when she did...

She burst and flopped her arms open and laid down on the water, making her float lightly. She groaned and put her arms over her head, like a child being grounded. "Don't tell me we're actually going to see this freak show, Chi-Chi?" Ayano said as she glanced back at her cousin. If anything, the wisest course of action right now would be getting all of their stuff, go back home and make plans to move to the nearest prefecture. Sitting up in the springs, Ayano motioned to Chiaki and splashed some of the spring water in her direction.

"Look, you probably want to watch her cause she's all lonely and broody, right?" She sighed and stood up, slowly walking away from the springs. "Fine, I'll come with you, if it makes you any happy. But I won't enjoy it!"

[User]
Shizuka Otonashi || Ferrero Mall || April 26 SUN
After the dismissive response the spiky haired boy gave, Shizuka's worry grew. With the pale, ill complexion the face of the boy had, there was no way to proclaim that he was perfectly 'fine'. The stumble just now could have proven this point but before the female student could point out anything, he introduced himself. To return the courteous gesture, she politely bowed with her hands clasped in front of her as she made her own introduction. "Li-Likewise, Saji-san. My name is Otonashi, Shizuka, a high school student." The soft tone of her voice made her timid nature audible.

While internally debating whether she should bother him any further after his clear disinterest of any assistance from her, Shizuka stuttered 'Um's while shifting her gaze from the ground to the boy, back and forth. Perhaps he could be well aware of his current condition? Did he just not appreciate help from total strangers? After a moment of conflict for what she should do in this situation, the raven haired female decided that she could not simply leave a troubled person alone. Maybe he had to see for himself how fatigued he appeared to be convinced he might require some assistance.

"I-I don't mean to trouble you any further bu-but your face shows clear signs of exhaustion. I believe it would be best for you to take ample rest, i-if not visit a doctor." While speaking, she dipped her hand into her purse to pick up a compact mirror, facing it towards Masahide to take a look at himself.

[Assistant]
Ferrero Mall26/4/2015

Masahide raised a brow curiously, eyeing over the girl as she spoke. He noticed her rummaging through her things, though he offered no reply- merely watching to see what she was after. Once she withdrew the mirror, Masa couldn't help but chuckle. 'This is a random time for her to check her-', seeming somewhat surprised as she turned it in his direction. At first, he was disinterested, glancing away as he nearly turned and walked away... However, upon closer inspection of himself, he now knew the reason for her worry.

Honestly, it had been awhile since Masa took stock of his appearance. The dark circles forming under his eyes, the pale complexion, and the dazed look in his eyes. His daily routine didn't give him any time to preen himself too much, merely running a comb through his hair and putting on his best suit of clothes. Seems time was finally taking it's toll. Shaking his head with a subtle sigh, he'd turn to face her fully. Though still seeming somewhat rigid, he'd offer a subtle smile as he swept his hand through his hair.

"Yeah... I guess I'm looking a little rough." Shrugging his shoulders as both hand now found their way to the pockets of his pants, "Still, I'll be fine, truly. Just a little worn out- what with my schedule and all." Once again he'd raise his brow, "A fellow student? Which school? I attend Warakuma High, myself."


[System]
Nickname: Abdul

Race: Humanoid Fable

Gender: Male

Job: Abdul makes a tidy sum as a writer of coffee table horror novels. He has written several books on alternative medicine and spirituality, to mixed reception.

Personality: Despite his history, Abdul embodies the very concept of a kindly old man. He is always happy to accept guests into his home, and holds no small amount of patience for children and pets. Abdul's voice is a horrendous grackle-squawk tempered only by a soothing tone and a thick Arabian accent.

Fable: Once upon a time... Abdul was of a scholarly mind from his birth in the early 700s, in The Arabian Homeland. Surrounded by beings with terrific powers, Abdul took it upon himself to record many of the less savory beings living in his Homeland. He traveled across his homeland, learning hushed stories from local shamans and priests, and narrowly evading death at the hands of ghuls, djinni, and other demons of all sorts.

The end result of Abdul's travels and learnings was enough to fill an entire grimoire of dark lore and sinister rituals. Abdul named his grimoire Al Azif, after the mysterious howling noises supposedly made by demons in the night. Not satisfied with the reception Al Azif got in the Homeland, Abdul moved to the Mundane World, and worked his way across medieval Eurasia, learning from the local cultures and adding onto Al Azif.

Abdul Alhazred happily shared his works with all who were curious, and found astonishing popularity as a wizard, medicine man, and exorcist. Al Azif was passed on to a wide variety of recipients, and influenced a large amount of the world's occult culture throughout the Renaissance and beyond.

 Al Azif was rewritten dozens of times by Abdul, each attempting to serve a different purpose. Some became holy instructions for demon-hunters, others became an occult recipe book for raising the dead and cursing one's enemies.

 The latest of Abdul's rewrites, the Necronomicon Ex Mortis, had found its way into the possession of a little-known English author in the early 1900s. Plagued by nightmarish dreams about what he read in the Necronomicon, the author wrote story after story based off his fiendish night terrors. At the forefront of all these stories was the nightmare-creation of the Mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred.

Due to the nature of belief and its effects on one's life, this astonishing surge of popularity not only gave Abdul great amounts of power, but it changed him immensely. Once thought of as a kindly old wizard, his public image had turned him into a snaggle-toothed warlock with a crooked back and yellowing eyes. All of Abdul's other works were forgotten, and the Necronomicon entered into the public subconscious as Abdul's greatest and only product. Now known as a mad worshipper of elder gods and sinister demons, Abdul went a bit insane. He produced many more eldritch tomes bastardizing his previous works, and personally headed a number of dangerous cults. Each time, his tome went forgotten, and each time his cult was disseminated within the decade.

In 1950, Abdul realized that his current attitude would only end in an unpleasantly brief moment of government attention, and opted to find some peace away from his homelands. He moved away from the Old World, and emigrated to America. His books on cruel rituals and mad gods found no audience beyond the tabletop wargames crowd, and so Abdul turned his encyclopaedic knowledge of the occult outwards into the fictional realm. Now a little-known writer of penny-dreadfuls and spooky doorstoppers, Abdul eked out a quiet living in New York.

 Never one to interact with other Fables, he hadn't even realized that Fabletown existed until recently. When it was discovered that he was the Abdul Alhazred, Abdul was promptly forced into Fabletown, to live with the rest of the Fables. The alternative, of course, was definitely not preferable. Abdul is certainly not a pillar of the community, but he has earned some measure of popularity as the suspiciously kind old freak living in a creepy apartment.

Abilities: Abdul has no actual combat abilities, though his fingernails are almost constantly filthy, and he is abnormally strong for someone of his stature.

Abdul's many travels have given him a wealth of knowledge, focusing on tradition, herbal medicine, ancient religions, and defense against evil creatures. He knows a wide variety of rituals for a wide variety of circumstances, though the materials necessary for them have long ago gone extinct. Only a few rituals can be reliably replicated with modern equivalents.

Abdul is a quite popular author, and his appearance is well-known to his readers. Though he is certainly not a celebrity like the (in)famous Jack, Abdul is capable of using his star power to get small amounts of special treatment from mundies.

Though Abdul is quite hideous, he is not nearly hideous enough to require a Glamor and has had plenty of experience working with mundies. Abdul is capable of comfortably fitting into mundane culture with very little effort on his part.

[User]
"Oh, the festivities are wonderful. I am enjoying this immensely.", Mr. Black said unconvincingly. Mr. Black was not enjoying this immensely. Mr. Black did not enjoy anything immensely. Mr. Black's level of enjoyment never went above very mild amusement, which in itself was very rare. Mr. Black did not tell people this. He scanned the table, and sure enough there were platters of immensely-gamey zebra meat, tough-as-leather elephant, and then another platter of what he could only assume was dragon, though Mr. Black could not read the label from where he was standing. Mr. Black looked back to Leon.

"You are a smuggler, then.", Mr. Black said, "It must be very lucrative. Tell me, is this African or Indian elephant that you have here."

[Assistant]
"Smuggler? Of course not. I am merely a purveyor; who specializes in ensuring his patrons have their needs well met, and more," Leon did his best to hide the subtle tinge of agitation that flickered within his voice as he spoke, "Though I must say business is as lucrative as ever recently. Did you perhaps have a want to get into the market yourself? I could arrange for you to speak with a few of my contacts. It'd provide a nice change of scenery I'd imagine, but perhaps you prefer snooping around and making yourself somewhat of an enigma?" Leon could only offer a condescending smirk as the final words escaped his lips. He didn't know Black well enough to say whether his remark would offend or humor, frankly unsure of how he meant the phrase himself. Still, he couldn't help but take a subtle offense by Black inquiry into the affairs of his business. He had a hard enough time merely collecting the resources for tonight's event, now having to justify the spread to a fable he hardly even knew.

 "As for your enjoyment; perhaps you should mingle with Grey and Guan," Motioning over to the rather out of place dispute as he retrieved a plate from the table, loading up the vessel with samples of his own wares, "Seems they are a lively duo this evening. Might provide for a bit of sport. Or perhaps you'd rather brood in a corner with Boogie?"

[User]
Mr. Black stiffly placed a hand on Leon's shoulder, "Oh, it is okay to be honest about it, nobody's going to arrest you for taking part in a little smuggling. After all, we're all fictional here. Ha. Ha.", Mr. Black drew his arm back, "Yes, if you could give me the contact information for your-", Mr. Black made air quotes, "-associates, that would be extremely helpful. Thank you."

Mr. Black paused as he processed this information. Mr. Black looked at Leon. Greasy dreadlocks. Relatively light facial hair. Yellow eyes. Likely of African descent. Identifying scars over left eye, left cheek, right side of nose. Did not appear to be ritual scarring. Skin tone did not match Yoruba or Maasai peoples, dreadlocks likely did not have cultural significance. No visible identifying marks from known criminal syndicates. Likely hailed from northern African or American country. Hint of an English accent pointed towards Africa. Obviously somewhat wealthy, but likely newly wealthy given apparent extravagance, egotism, and lack of taste. Aversion to direct confrontation, but also a desire to show off. Mr. Black did not know of anyone with these characteristics on Interpol's wanted list. All signs pointed to a man who had recently made it in the underworld, a small fry riding high on his success. Perhaps a name would help.

"By the way, I do not think we have met previously. Are you new here."

[Assistant] The speech was inspiring and beautiful as it was every year since the first time it had been spoken till this very day. Most probably knew it by heart by now but it just wasn't quite the same if not spoken by King Cole himself. Soon the party was in full swing, music filling the room as many people started to dance while others decided to converse on stories past. A gentle voice hummed with the music, feet gracefully dancing around guests as she made her way through the crowd with one destination in mind and only waving now and then to thoses that acknowledged her presence. Bianca happily made her way over to the refreshments, noticing Guan Yu and Dorian Grey at it once again which caused an amused smile to pull at her lips as she took a glass of champagne from the table. She glanced down the refreshments table, trying to spot other familiar faces which hadn't taken long at all. Boogie was being anti-social, looking as though he might leave at any moment and at another part of the table Leon seemed to be chatting with...um...Black was it? She didn't see that one very much but than again, it seemed as if Black preferred it that way since Black seemed so mysterious. Her bright green eyes glanced back at the party, glad to see everyone enjoying themselves and took a sip from her glass before tucking a piece of pale green hair behind her ear. It didn't matter to her if she was a wallflower or keeping away from the crowd of people since it was a delightful view just to watch the others.


[System]
ALIAS('s): Darsby
STATUS: Living
SPECIES: Human?
GENDER: Male?
AGE: ???
HEIGHT: 5' 10"
WEIGHT: ???
BUILD: Lean-Lanky-Thin
RANK: ???
OCCUPATION: ???

BASIC PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: He's attenuated, pale, entirely covered in various ebony tribal tattoos up to and including the neck, numerous lengthy blade-born scars, and holds lean muscle in quantity's just thick enough to not look emaciated. His hair and eyes are generally a somewhat luminescent rose pink, the X scar just above his right eye is of the same color. Said scar is the only piece of tissue with such an oddity. Darsby's scars cut through his numerous tattoos as if having occurred after getting ink-work done.

BASIC PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION: He's most easily related to an apathetic college student during finals week who's will to live was lost after discovering their GPA is ruined due to failed exams.

BASIC ABILITY DESCRIPTION: He can hide his presence with alien cigarettes and teleport objects from one place to another, I guess? Maybe he can sense strange magics?

BASIC HISTORY DESCRIPTION: Unidscovered

PICTURE:

[User]
Anora watched Dan with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. She couldn't tell if he was just etremely eager to answer and possibly get her fully on his side, or had had too few people to talk to in his lifetime. Or perhaps both, with how he spoke.
 She inhaled, her expressive features shifting slightly with each bit of information Dan gave. At least he seemed a tad bit less skittish now Darsby had contented himself with the outside and Ahllasta was too busy in her world-hating corner of self-pity.
 "I'm going to take that as yes, I control aether," she interrupted, unsure if his 'Yes' was in answer to that question, or something else with how easily he said it.
 She listened to the rest of his response with a look of awed disbelief.
 "So, I'm not completely human, then?" she asked, her voice giddy. "But… then why am I the only one in my family who can control aether? Shouldn't my siblings or parents have the same abilities? And Darsby mentioned Olympus before," she continued on, eager for the answers he seemed willing to give. But she gave Dan scarcely enough time to breathe between questions, let alone respond. "We talking Zeus' and Hades' Olympus here, or in some sort of code? And is their 'era' something like a dynasty, then? Like, a period of rule? Or popularity?"
 She reached to fidget with the Earth pendant. A bubble of panic worked into her chest when she realizing she had dropped it on the floor when the car took flight. She quickly adjusted to search for it. She found it beside her backpack.
 With a relieved sigh, she grabbed it and straightened. Sitting awkwardly in her seat, she draped its cord around her neck. The small Earth thumped lightly against her chest.
 On the bright side, she hadn't noticed any catastrophic earthquakes when she dropped it.
 "And… I won't crush anyone in Australia by handling this thing, will I?" she asked with a slight, concerned smile. She carefully indicated the pendant, holding it from her by the cord. She didn't think Darsby would give her something she could cause mass destruction with. Not without a warning, anyway. But it was better safe than sorry.

[Assistant]
Words flowed like water into an already occupied mouth, gagging Dan with strange sputtering sounds as Anora bombarded him with question after question. The neurotic soul was overjoyed to witness an actual display of interest developing. His limbs wrenched forward with his palms upward in a show of openness to whatever it is Anora may be questioning. Just before Dan could begin speaking, Ahllasta made some obscure quip about machinery and Anora being confused about what's going on.

"No, uhm n-no, you're actually more human than m-m-most humans. The original humans were, in fact, those elementals I spoke of..-" Dan scratched the back of his head before setting his innocent gaze upon Anora. There wasn't any struggle aside from that of the self here. His anxiety and joy looked appallingly human, yet, something about Dan was still alien. He was like a kindly classmate you meet at university who must've come from an entirely different walk of life, his smaller mannerisms denoting something of a different upbringing.

"You should b-be fine with the pendant, I mean, I-I didn't make it, so there really wasn't a whole lot of p-power invested in i-t-t-" *HACK!-HACK!-COUGH!* Dan broke out into another fit of openly painful coughing. His shoulders heaved, and body trembled at the receding of his episode. Oddly, no one in the car gave that physical distress any mind. You could say they might have even ignored Dan's moment out of reverence or respect for something. By the time he was done, he had looked back up towards Anora and continued responding after a little adjusting of his glasses. His cheeks were red, eyes gilded by moisture, perhaps the first sign of common weakness displayed from any of our three wizards.

"S-so you're a sign to Pahn being active again, with your p-powers awakening and all. His m-mind and body are tied deeply to your Earth-th and it's populace, likely from some old contract-ish magics used to m-mold them, you being here in your above average form shows Pahn being in n-need of something, likely subconsciously. I m-mean that whole pantheon of people you call gods, Z-Zeus and Hades are all part of, uhm... Y-y-you said dynasty? Uhm, things didn't exactly go like how they do with most humans. I m-mean, l-like, it's not like a bunch of people flocked together to survive and called it 'history'. I mean, th-there's no need for a code or rank of popularity when the ruling being here could end all of what you c-call, uhm, like, life on Earth? Yeah, that. When he could end all of that with a proverbial snap-" Dan snapped his fingers to that last word as if he were putting on some fascinating lecture. "-of the fingers." Dan was bright and spoke quickly of these subjects. He was not surprised to say that gods existed or that some even higher power ruled them. Dan became more and more comfortable as they spoke, enjoying the act of conversating with someone, anyone. His legs had folded into his seat by this point, that smallish figure fitting comfortably into a hunched posture of gesticulating amidst further relaxed expressions.

Our group's vehicle was well over the ocean by this point, faint scents and smells growing stronger in Anoras mind the more they traveled. Blue fields of aetherial mist spread out beneath them while clouds slid over an invisible table. They were high in the sky, very high; one could say they may even be reaching some atmospheric limit. The heavens hadn't quite grown dark or shown signs of being exited, yet, they must be close with how distant the Earth has become.

[User]
Anora shot Ahllasta a glare at the woman's comment. She bit back a retort; further aggravating the driver—especially while in a car flying over the ocean—was never a good idea.
 'More human than most humans,' Anora repeated mentally, returning Dan's stare as she waited for him to catch up with her questions. "So… humans without powers have more non-human blood in them?" Her brows rose. She made a light, chuckling snort, still fidgeting carefully with the mini-Earth's cord. The implication that, once, humans were magic beings themselves was a mind-blowing thought.
 She stared at Dan for a short moment when he answered regarding the pendant. Either he was the most chill type of arrogant, or he really did have powers beyond what his appearance let on.
 Dan's second coughing fit interrupted her thoughts.
 "Are you okay?" she asked slowly when the violent cough subsided.
 That couldn't be normal. Yet, a quick glance at the others in the car showed their lack of reaction. Whether because of some unknown respectful custom or it being a normal occurrence, she couldn't say.
 She cringed inwardly in sympathy when Dan looked back to her. For a self-stated monster, his lack of monster-like characteristic was shocking.
 Anora chewed the inside of her cheek as Dan continued. She listened, gaze never straying from him as she tried to follow the rest of the man's explanations. Something about him made her think of her old high school history teacher. Only if he was an inexperienced substitute with stage fright and a stutter.
 She sighed, and reminded herself to use different terms. Terms possibly more common so Dan wouldn't have to guess so much about what she'd meant. Maybe that would help him make more sense to her. Or maybe not.
 She glanced down when Dan finished speaking, letting his words sink in. Her fidgeting with the pendant increased.
 "So… whatever it is Pahn needs, some type of magic somewhere thinks I'm the one who can solve whatever problem he has?" She shook her head. "What happened to him, anyway? Why'd he vanish—go dormant—whatever, in the first place? And wouldn't it be smarter to activate that contract in more people if someone that powerful needs help? I mean, I've had my powers for years now. But Mad—" she caught herself before she said her siblings' names. She didn't want to risk getting them involved. "But like I said," she corrected herself, "I'm the only one in my family who has them, and Darsby said I'm the only living human with that contract. Is that something that should run in families? A bloodline type deal? Or is it all determined by chance?"

[Assistant]
Dan chuckles at Anora's questions, the innocent laugh of someone excited to shed truth on subject those nearby may be unclear on. He was joyful to spread knowledge, or perhaps he was simply in the mirth of being close to someone curious about anything at all. Dan wiped his somewhat runny nose while his cheeks cleared of their rosy complexion. Grey eyes bounced before focusing in on Anora in a way most humans don't, clean of any dirtied thoughts or wishes.

"I could be wrong, b-but, uhm, I'm being misunderstood. We aren't speaking about a human, or a-anyone who lives and dies or thinks l-like you do. Pahn is s-someone who's passing thoughts bring things into existence here. P-perhaps he anticipated d-danger of some kind, like in p-passing, and your particular existence r-resonated just right with uhm, w-with his possible suggestions of a future solution. L-like, if you g-got old and decided to take a year or two off j-just to recover your, uhm, y-your thoughts, or perhaps-s uhm, like, work on a project in secret, that wouldn't b-be unheard of-f. Pahn is suggested to b-be billions of your Earth-years in age. Maybe he took a c-couple hundred m-million years off or to do, uhm, to do something in s-secret?" Dan shrugged, taking a shaky breath through a hoarse throat before continuing. His lips pursed as if he had been holding something back. He was excited to tell all but limited by the avenue of words and habits.

"That would line up with The Seers Guild's divination of a great danger here. Your celestial reverence, respectfully, may ask about something?" Darsby chimed in, having turned from his view of the outside with a slow and sanguine air. Those dark eyes loomed with faint connotations of fearful respect over Dan.
"Y-yes, sure! Go right ahead!" Dan squeaked back, not having expected Darsby to interrupt.
"Your celestial reverence, I have wanted to ask this since meeting you, does the situation truly demand a presence like yours? Has The Council's formal analysis of the 'Comet Omen' in this sector revealed greater peril than I can handle?" Darsby was focused intently on the smallish man beside him, the suitcases underneath his eyes still keeping him from looking entirely awake.
"W-well, uhm...-" Dan leaned forward an arm running slowly over the back of his neck while the other rests in his lap.

Ahllasta had white-knuckled the steering wheel again with audible groans of leather after Darsby had called Dan 'your celestial reverence'. Strangely, she quickly calmed herself and grew tense with a faint air of survival-driven fear when the question of dangers magnitude came to the table.

"-...I-I mean you're all in my charge s-so, anyways, this has to do with another d-development. I p-plead that you do not worry about it." Dan acted like he spoke of some solemn affair, Darsby mirroring the emotion as he turned to look out the window again. This time, Darsby was in thought over something different, something more immediate, his tightened jawline showed it. Ahllasta invoked a similar change in herself, her eyes looking far away for the first time since she'd met Anora.

Dan had withdrawn himself inward for several moments before looking back up at Anora via youthful exuberance. He was ready to continue with her questions; these talks of danger doing nothing to dim his spirits in the moment.


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 21

Career/Class: Courtesan/Duelist

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

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

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

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

[User]
Amal wanted to attack then and there, but he knew he needed to be patient. The Arabyan had a very good sense of memory and direction, and as Emmaline was escorted out by spearpoint, he could guess at least somewhat accurately where she might be taken, though he couldn't guess if there was any eldritch locations or pocket dimensions. He doubted it, however. He knew little of spellcraft, but even powerful sorcerers only did it when necessary or showing off. From what he could tell, it took energy to make things, and why make a pocket dimension in a mountain when you could just use rooms?

Luckily for him, he was right. It took Amal sneaking past a few patrols, servants, and sleeping guards. He waded through overpacked storage rooms at chilling temperatures and rudimentary sleeping chambers for the goblins. He passed through an armory with the weapons the goblins used, though he found blades that glimmered in shadow and dulled in light, with edges that could cut hairs in two, and swords that had the green tinge of warpstone. Thankfully, he merely had to slink through one kitchen past a plump goblin in a strange hat that prepared a meal and sang to itself, and he made it to a corridor connected to an antechamber where he heard a familiar voice.

"I'm so good at this," he whispered to himself, and appeared in the doorway before Emmaline's eyes, behind the dwarf woman but right in front of Emmaline's face. Her eyes lighting up and the beaming smile she gave him was worth all of the gold in Araby, but he pressed a stern finger to his lips. She buttoned her lip.

Amal pointed at the dwarf, and gave a quizzical look as he slid a finger across his throat. Emmaline shook her head. Amal shrugged and pointed past her, indicating with his chin for good measure, before giving the same gesture. It was easy enough for her to tell he meant the sorcerer, and she nodded. Looked like there was no reason to keep him alive, at least. Amal gave a thieving cant gesture to be patient, placing his left hand flat and vertical with his right hand mirroring it just above. Amal then gestured past her once more, and mouthed the words' play along.' With her nod, he gave a wink and a grin, and then playfully looked her naked form up and down before fading into the shadows again.

Now all she needed do was distract the sorcerer, and Amal would take his shot.

[Assistant]
Emmaline's relief at seeing Amal alive was immeasurable. A leaden weight which had been lurking unrecognized in the back lifted. How he had found her and how he had gotten here so quickly remained good questions, but they hardly seemed immediately pressing. For a moment she regretted not having him cut Zwili's throat, just so they could have talked together, but that seemed a rather uncharitable regret. Amal was no fool, and he must have a plan. All she could realistically do was play her part as best she could. She raised her arms and allowed Zwili to continue to anoint her with oil, hoping it didn't result in her sprouting tentacles or something. It didn't or it least it hadn't by the time the dwarf had clothed her in a white and gold garment which Zwili said was called a kimono. Once this was done a white paint was applied to her face, accented with dark eye mascara and cherry red lipstick. The whole effect struck Emmaline as slightly ludicrous, making her look exceedingly pale and washed out with her fine gold hair, but she supposed that an insane chaos warped wizard probably wouldn't be that interested in her fashion advice. Once again she tried to rouse Asp, but the snake remained stalwartly inked on her arm, unwilling or unable to manifest.

"You are ready," Zwili announced in a dull listless voice. Her face worked mightily and she managed to add, "I am sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Emmaline responded, "Half the girls I knew growing up got married at the end of a pitchfork with their bellies swelling. I suppose I'm better off than they are." It seemed impolitic to remark that at least they weren't marrying psychotic wizards.

"Not," she added with a grimace as she plucked at the kimino, "that it is without its challenges." The garment had clearly been cut for someone with a figure significantly less generous then Emmaline's. The belt that cinched around her waist pulled the fabric in ways it hadn't been designed to do and she had to make frequent adjustments in order to prevent her cleavage from making a made dash for freedom. A result she doubted would be looked upon with favor. Asking for a shift seemed unlikely to go over well however.

"Alright, lets get this over with," she announced finally, figuring she had delayed long enough to give Amal a chance to make whatever preparations he needed, without giving the inhabitants of this strange fortress too much time to stumble over him.

"A… wedding…. gift," Zwili ground out, reaching into a pocket and producing a small knife. The dwarf was twitching so violent as she handed it to Emmaline that she seemed about to vomit. Emmaline tucked the blade away in a fold of her kimono, greatful for the effort. The dwarf seemed disappointed that she didn't stab her with it and try to escape, but the dullness stole over her before she could make further comment.

"This way."

***

A lot, it seemed, could change in an hour. The throne room, which had been majestic bare stone, was now draped with blue silks of every hue. Some were bright as the sky, others the dark grey black of a storm tossed sea. Others Emmaline had no name for and made her slightly nauseous to look upon. An eye searing sigil was emblazoned on many of them, perhaps some kind of coat of arms of Zar Tan Zhou, or perhaps a sign of his blasphemous patron. The wizard himself was also transformed. Gone were his simple robe, replaced by armor that seemed to be wrought of dark blue ice and edged with gold. It had an improbable number of hooks and points that seemed to limit its practicality, though he showed no signs that it hindered him.

"Step forward my dear, let us speak the words of dedication before mighty Tzeentch," he grinned, showing his pointed teeth and beckoning her. As sthe stepped forward the ground began to glow as it was lit by strange sigils on the floor. There was an odd smell, like sandal wood and old pine tar. Emmaline swallowed, hoping that Amal knew what he was doing. Against the unarmored wizard, Zwili's knife might have been some use, but against this armored warrior of chaos she didn't much like her chances.

[User]
Amal pressed the goblin's nose to the chakram, threatening to cut its face on the honed blade. It squirmed, but was powerless to be loosed from Amal's grip. Had it been any other greenskin, Amal would have listened to it and then slit its throat, but he had decided to save on time and go back to gather the one he had knocked out. He wasn't exactly growing fond of it, but he did find it funny in hindsight.

"Yes, this one! Yes!" It cried, and Amal dropped it. Behind him the carpet trudged around as if it were perusing the weaponry itself, but when Amal snapped, the carpet sprang to action and floated upwards. The thief leaped atop it with the disk in his hand, and the two zipped away, the goblin hyperventilating and cursing its luck. If Amal died, Zar Tan Zhou would skin the goblin alive and keep it breathing through magical means even as he cut out his beating heart!

Luckily, Amal didn't intend to lose.

As the procession went underway, Amal watched from the darkness of one of the dozen corridors, and he had mixed feelings on the whole affair. On the one hand, he was glad he had thought ahead when he saw the armor, and he had seen Emmaline in some nice outfits before, but she was all but bursting out of this one (and the hair suited her too). But of course, the dark sigaldry of the tapestries and unnamed, eldritch signs, not to mention someone trying to marry his woman...that didn't sit well with Amal.

"Don't I get an invitation?" Amal asked in his smoothest riekspeil. He liked to think he cut quite the figure when he cleared his throat, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, cloaked but unhooded. Zar Tan Zhou spun in bemused bewilderment, blinking at the sight of the Arabyan thief. Chilling hatred entered his eyes for so brief a moment, it was almost as if it had never been there at all. But then the chill turned into cold curiosity.

"So, you're the one." The sorcerer calmly stated, the barest flicker of recognition in his eyes. Amal wasn't certain what he meant, but he supposed dead, cut up goblins drew attention at some point. "I should have come looking for you myself, but I incorrectly thought my minions would solve the problem for me." As Amal yawned, Emmaline was suddenly scooped up by the carpet and ferried to the other side of the room. It was far more gentle, but it felt as sudden as a hawk plucking an unsuspecting rabbit off the ground.

Amal indicated the sorcerer look behind him with his head. Curiously, Zar Tan Zhou did, and to say he was angered when he saw Emmaline gone was an understatement. If he was enraged there, however, he would be even more pissed once he realized Amal's plan. A discus chakram was flung through the air with a deft flick of Amal's wrist, landing to horseshoe spin atop the chaos chosen's helm, which caused the item to begin to glow a vicious red and white as the armor began to shift and change before their very eyes. It looked like the goblin's tale had been truthful. The armor of Hanra was a sacred metal suit for a chosen of tzeentch, unbreakable and unassailable in all ways, and Zar Tan Zhou had taken precautions to gather up all the items in the Old World that could possibly dispell the armor. Unfortunately, he didn't plan on someone fighting him with it within his sanctum, so the key to the dispellment was very close for any would-be attackers like Amal.

The armor melted, Zar Tan Zhou cursing Amal in his native tongue in frustration. To everyone'e surprise, the armor's disappearance left the sorcerer utterly naked at the alter, and Amal burst out laughing when he saw the man in his birthday suit.

"Tzeentch did not bless you in all ways, did he?" Amal chortled.

With a word of power, the robes he tended to don reappeared upon the Cathayan's form, his staff materializing into existence. He had a noticeable lack of mutations on his torso and legs, but as he spoke, Amal could see his tongue was forked and slithering as if it had a mind of its own.

[Assistant]
"Perhaps you can discuss it with him when I feed him your soul," Zar Tan Zhou snarled, leveling his staff. Before Emmaline could react a bolt of ravening energy ripped from his staff. Amal, moving faster than anyone expected, dodged aside and the bolt blew a smoking hole in one of the walls. Emmaline raised both her arms and began to chant, but the chaos sorcerer, sensing magic directed at him, flicked an irritated wrist. An invisible hand swatted Emmaline away and she avoided crashing to the ground only by virtue of the carpet coiling around her to break her fall, its fabric snapping taught and flipping her onto her feet like a prize fighter being pitched back into the ring by his supporters. Zar Tan Zhou slicked his hands in angry gestures, deflecting two thrown knives away in showers of sparks.

"Come minions!" Zar Tan Zhou shouted, the words ringing unnaturally loud. Emmaline tried her spell again only to have Zar Tan Zhou snap his fingers. The blue tapestries shot out, grabbing at her wrist and she yelped and leaped away, avoiding the enchanted fabrics grasp but loosing the focus of her spell. All across the chamber the tapestries reached out, forcing Amal closer to Zar Tan Zhou. The wizard snarled and shouted a word, tendrils of mist reaching out to seize the thief. Amal slashed at them with his blade and there was a flash of light and a grunt of pain from Zar Tan Zhou. Quick as a whip the wizard lifted his other hand and blasted the thief off his feet. Amal flew backwards, but twisted in the air like an acrobat fingers catching on one of the columns, and landing horizontally on it, cushioning the shock with his feet before flipping down and back to his feet. Emmaline could see shapes moving through the entry hall now, the greenskinned servants of the magus coming to his aid. Ahead of them, almost being dragged by her collar was Zwili, eyes filled with hate, teeth bared in useless defiance. Emmaline raised her hands and began to chant, gathering Charmon to her as greedily as she could. The snake tattoo on her arm writhed and extended out into the golden staff. She leveled it at the dwarf and shouted a word. The iron collar around the dwarf's neck shattered explosively, spraying fragments of hot metal all around. The goblins howeled as their own enchanted collars flew to pieces. They came to their feet, wiping at the cuts and contusions the spell had wrought.

"Oi, the fuggin' collars gone!" one of them hissed. A dozen pairs of yellow eyes turned towards Emmaline and the wizard beyond her. She swallowed hard and stepped to the side.

"He did it," she declared pointing an accusatory finger at Zar Tan Zhou.

"Da' blonde bint is 'it! Git 'em!" one of the green skins snarled and then they were surging forward, some brandishing garden tools, one wielding a pastry roller.


[System]
Kynna of the Heavens
Age: She appears around the age of 18, though she doesn't know for sure.

Race: Human

Inherent Ability: Toughness.

Acquired Abilities:

Healing: Kynna is able to heal with just a touch of her hand and pure will. Though this leaves her weakened when healing a large or otherwise deadly wound, and she is unable to heal anyone too close to death.

Intuitioni] Kynna has very strong intuition. These will eventually lead up to occasional visions, but the intuition on things is still stronger. This intuition is her driving force, and she's always pulled to where she needs to go. Unfortunately for Kynna, she doesn't yet realize this is an actual gift.

Heaven Song: Arvas has bestowed upon his daughter a very unique gift. Because of her hatred for taking life, Kynna is able to change the mood of those around her. (She will be unaware of this for a while). By playing a flute, she is able to calm the very souls of people and spirits. Although, if a sad tune is played, they become saddened, just as a shrill sound might cause severe pain.

Appearance:

Personality: Kynna is a quiet young woman with a gentle nature about her. Soft-hearted, she cares deeply for those she considers her friends and is willing to risk her life to help them. She can't bare the thought of taking life, and for this reason, she does not kill for her food.

History: Not much is known about Kynna, even to herself. All she knows is that she woke one day in the middle of a field when she was very young. At the age of sixteen, her adoptive father was badly injured by bandits. She healed him. She has been on the run since the discovery of her magic, and has finally entered the Blackwood.

[User]
Oh for fuck's sake...

It was like there was some sort of cluster fuck palooza that he wasn't invited to. There was already a bunch of people when he first got there. Four including himself. That was reasonable. He showed his dominance, made sure nobody messed with him, and he went to go take a nap. He would look around in the morning and search for whatever the spirits had been leading him to. It was a great plan.

But apparently the asshole patrol came out in full force in what was supposed to be the deserted woods. He knew before they came that they were coming, the spirits around would not stop bugging him about the approaching individuals. The short man on a pony was coming, however slow that the short legs would take him. He didn't seem much of a threat, maybe a lost midget dwarf type person. Strange, but alright.

Now this asshole centaur came galloping his happy ass over, decided to be an absolute dick and just treat everybody like they were beneath him besides the attractive looking elf. Why did everybody like her so much? Even he didn't feel as hostile as usual towards her, yet, although their strong-willed personalities were sure to collide. But this half horse half man son of a bitch interrupts his nap, mistakes him for a barbaric human, and completely ignores him?

Oh but no, oh no it wasn't over. Some voice was calling from the shadows, over in a tree not far away. From what the spirits told him he was over there, holding a bow, some kind of half-elf half breed abomination that decided to make fun of their lack of stealth. He seemed to be the only one needing to hide, as Cedran could easily break him in half. The fact of the matter is, Cedran was scared of nobody and did not need to hide.

And finally, some teenager simply walked up to their group, strolling along, coming up to the younger human girl like he was hey boyfriend. Jesus Christ he couldn't take this. Too many people. Too many people talking. Too many weapons pointed at him. There was so much ignorance and not enough IQ points around him. That was it.

Cedran slowly rose, his skin melting into a much darker shade, a tint of red as jet black wings grew on his back and flexed outwards before folding on his back. His black hair grew longer, tougher, also tinted with slight red. His eyes glowed a fire red. It seemed like he grew slightly as well, a much more scary and intimidating figure, this was the true look of a demon. He stood directly in front of the centaur, looking down upon him in disgust as his low booming voice echoed.

"How dare you look down upon me and call me some worthless human scum, halfbreed. It's quite funny how you try to impose with your shield and spear, acting like you own this forest. Telling me I have little chance to leave. You should address me first you worthless creature, and if you beg for your life you have a little chance of keeping it. If you hate humans so much, I should do you a favor and rip your human half off of your patethetic horse half. Or maybe you'll run, take your little aquestrian hide away from death. But first, get your toy out of my face."

Cedric pushed the centaurs spear tip away from him, roughly brushing past the centaur as if he was a lowly servant to a king. He directed his focus to where the voice in the woods was coming from, looking up towards it.

"And you, you seem to be a pathetic half breed as well. Who gives a fuck why any of us are here, it certainly is not your business. And you would be a fool to rob anybody here. The reason I choose not to hide is because I do not fear, I do not need to hide from anything. Like a man I take any challenge and laugh in it's face. But you are the one who needs to hide in the shadows, for you are frail and I could crush you under my boot. Go ahead, shoot me with a bow if you like. It will be the last thing you do. The only people who hide in trees any point there bows at people out of fear are cowardice half-breed bitches like yourself. A spineless bitch."

Cedran made his way away from the camp, venturing deeper into the ruins, looking for a place as far away from this place as he could. He could not deal with such stupidity. He did not want to senselessly murder people, and he would much rather take a nap somewhere. Going from missing the sight of people to not standing the sight of them. Maybe he should carry this out alone, people always seemed to drag him down.

"I will not associate myself with such lack of worth. The majority of you are imbeciles. You all can have your nice gathering, kill each other for all I care. I attend on finding peace and quiet before I decide to start rolling heads."

And with that, Cedran made his way further into the ruins, glad to be gone of that whole mess. A few of them, especially the more reasonable ones, he could handle. But he needed to get out of there before he started trying to murder people. Truth be told, he tried not to kill people for little reason. He wasn't that angry. Yet. Senseless slaughter only made him the monster that people claimed demons to be. He was a monster. And trying to change that was proving to be more difficult each passing day.

[Assistant]
The girl reacted nicely to Fredrick's offering as she gave the dead rabbit back to the elf woman, much to the centaur's dissaproval who insisted that she should eat it. She returned the favour and gave Fredrick a handfull of red berries, saying that they taste like vanilla then going back to her place and munching on the apple. Fredrick looked at the berries as he took one and put it in his mouth. "Thank you. They're good." He said as he took one more and put the others in his bag as he took out the waterskin and took a sip of water and putting it back in the bag. "I agree with the centaur for once. You really should eat that rabbit. Meat is important to our diet. Why do you think people eat all kinds of things? Because one type of food can't offer us everything. And besides that...I don't know about you but I would get bored eating the same things over and over again." He said as he chuckled.

But just as the tense athmosphere seemed to be calming down a voice from the shadows heats things up again. Fredrick grabbed one of his swords and pulled a quarter of it out as the voice kept talking telling them how vulnerable they are and how easy prey they would be. Normally in this situation Fredrick wanted to call him out and make him prove his words but the girl literally exploded, throwing harsh words at the mysterious man. Amazed, Fredrick put the weapon away and sat back down. "Congratulations. It seems you have guts after all." He said applauding her. But there was much truth in her words. None of them didn't belong here. They were all invaders.

And to make matters worse yet another person, a teenager, by his looks even younger then the girl pops up out of nowhere and talks to the girl who was clearly familiar with him. Then the arrogant guy rises up from the ground, clearly bothered by all the events taking place, transforms into a demon and starts a huge rant as he directed very harsh words towards the centaur and the mysterious person from the shadows. Fredrick was shocked. He knew about the existence of demons but never actually saw one. Or perhaps he did, but they were disguised like this one was. After the demon finished his rant he walked away.

For Fredrick this was the drop that filled the glass. Although the centaur and the mysterious guy from the shadows totally deserved every word that the demon directed towards them, he just couldn't take it anymore. "You know what girl? You're right. We're nothing but invaders and we don't belong here. Which is why i'm gonna do the right thing and walk away, like our demon friend did." He said as he rised up, took his side bag, putting it on his shoulder, checking his weapons and taking his cloak from the ground as he shook it hard once and equipped it while he was walking away, covering his head with the hood. "And I advise the rest of you to do the same." He said to the rest of the arrivals without looking at them as he took a first step back inside the forest, followed by the other, dissapearing in it's darkness.


[System]
False ID Name: Anna Slaski

Nationality: Polish

Age: Seventeen.

Height: Four feet, nine inches.

Weight: eighty-nine pounds (BMI 19.3)

Appearance: Her shortness being her only notable trait, Kazia is in most other ways fairly average. In part due to her height, and in part due to the way she styles her appearance, she is often taken to be several years younger than she actually is. She has an average, if slightly on the thin side, figure, dull hazel-blue eyes, and unremarkable wavy medium brown hair that hangs to the middle of her back. Aware that it's too long for practicality, she normally keeps it braided and rolled into a low bun, and the flyaways held down with a colorful headscarf, though she has also been known to plait it into pigtails when attempting to appear more childlike.

Other Appearance: Kazia has fairly unblemished skin, save for a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a small vertical scar at the very corner of her mouth, from once being too close to an exploding window.

Superpower(s): Kazia's power is rather passive- vocal mimicry. She can mimic nearly any sound she hears, from the full range of human voices to various bird songs and animal sounds. She has also proven adept at mimicking alarms, though she's fairly useless at many other environmental sounds. It should also be noted, though she's not entirely sure if this counts as part of what makes her special or if this is just a quirk of her mundane brain, that she has a nearly-perfect photographic memory. The combination of her memory and her mimicry is such that she is sort of a human tape recorder – she can listen in on a conversation and repeat it back days or weeks later, verbatim, and with the voices of the people who had originally spoken. Given the passive nature of her powers the only real limitation on them is the strain on her vocal chords, but an interesting quirk of them is that she doesn't seem to have her own voice- whenever she must converse with someone, she uses phrases that she's heard spoken around her in a variety of other people's voices.

Skills: Kazia is conversational in Polish, reasonably understanding of Russian (As she was required to study it in school, and has some (broken) understanding of English, French, and German due to listening to the people around her. The nature of her power is such that she can use full sentences of any language she's overheard with no accent or hesitation, but a lot of times what she says will not be entirely fit to the scene at hand, as there is no promising she understands all the words in all the sentences. She's physically fit, though never properly trained, and a decent runner with good endurance. Also, she is known to be quite resourceful, if a bit impulsive.

Personality: Kazia is, to be summed up in one word, very reserved. She always prefers to listen rather than talk- though once she decides she can definitely trust people she will at least begin conversing with them, if not ever really "open up." Her outlook on life is rather cynical, and she is normally rather sarcastic- though she does a good job of (externally, at least) seeming to be perfectly docile and naive. This said, she is decidedly not a killer, never having taken a life despite working in and around the front lines – if the resistance could even be seen as having a "front line". Above all, she is fiercely loyal to whatever cause she puts herself behind.

History: Born in Warsaw in 1924 to an upper-middle-class family, Kazia lived a relatively normal childhood. She has one elder brother and a younger brother and sister, and her family is devoutly Catholic. She went to a public school for all six years of her primary school, and three years of grammar school.

In regards to her power she, and her family and friends, have known about it since she was little more than a toddler. She distinctly remembers one day in particular as the "onset" of her ability. She'd been toddling around the house while her mother was cooking and singing along to the radio, and then for whatever reason her mother had stopped and turned the radio off. She had wanted to hear more of the song, but didn't have the words to ask, so instead had mentally replayed the song and sang along with her mother's voice. Understandably her mother was absolutely confused, as her daughter who had never made a sound before had suddenly perfectly mimicked her voice, but they assumed it was just a quirky talent. They didn't think it might have been something more until a few days after Kazia turned eight; she had overheard her mother and father arguing about something, and a few weeks after the argument confronted her mother about it by reciting it verbatim and then asking in her schoolteachers' voice, "Now what was the meaning of THAT?"

Rumors of "magic" and such were prevalent, of course- but this was Poland, full of hyper-superstitious Catholics. And in any case, whatever this… quirk or power that Kazia had was, it seemed mundane enough to pass as a normal talent. She was everyone's favorite study partner in school, given that she could repeat verbatim her teacher's lectures, no matter how long ago they had been.

All in all she had a rather happy childhood…Until, that is, the bombs started falling, on September 1st, 1939. Kazia had been walking home from school, minding her younger siblings and entertaining them by singing various songs from the radio in the artists' voices. A flight of aircraft, not like any they'd really seen before, flew in formation over the center of the city, dropping what she would later realize were bombs, though she wasn't aware of that at the time. The blast, though they were over a kilometer away, was still enough to knock them off their feet, and immediately they saw the columns of smoke and fire. Fleeing to their home on the outskirts of the city, the younger children were the ones who had to describe to their mother what they had just seen.

Kazia's older brother had recently enlisted in the Polish army, and her father- a reserve soldier – was soon called away. The church soon became a sanctuary for their family, a place they could go no matter what, and for a few hours at least shut out the terrible thought of what was going on outside.

On September 28th, the city was surrendered, prisoners of war taken. Kazia had no idea if her father and brother were in that number, dead, or perfectly safe elsewhere. The following Sunday found the family in church, of course, and that same Sunday the Germans marched in, took everyone at gunpoint into the courtyard, shot the bishop and priests and anyone else who dared make a sound of protest.

At first it seemed like the people would be broken by it. But then, not even a month later, there was a not-so-quiet rebellion, the secret Polish army. Quiet whispers that they were seeking people with "unusual skills" circulated. Finally, Kazia mustered her courage and went to TAP, convinced her ability would be outright rejected- it wasn't like she had something terribly useful. It was much to her surprise when they seemed glad to have her, and even more to her surprise that she was shuffled around to increasingly more-important reconnaissance jobs. It seems she underestimated the value of a small, quiet listener.

Finally, she was shuffled over to a French operation that was working alongside the polish resistance, and then over to a British operation working alongside them, and now she's landed here, still slightly befuddled as to what, exactly, is going on.

Equipment: Standard British issue, an assortment of the crude, handmade smoke and noisemakers that youth in the resistance were so fond of.

[User]
Óscar raised an eyebrow as the popsicle escaped from his mouth "Eh, niñata!" he said, frowning as he looked at her older brother "What's the matter with her, can't she enjoy a joke or what? Agh...", the Spaniard really didn't like when someone took a joke south or just wasn't the kind of person that enjoys humor overall. He closed his eyes, looking at the splattered popsicle and instantly boiling it to clean it, looking back at the kid "Alright, Jesús, sorry for yelling..." he chuckles, tapping with his foot on the ground.

"Cards? Mierda, I used to play poker with some friends...and mús, but eh, I went over to music..." Óscar smirks slightly "I mean, if we get to a café I used to work, they may still have my old guitar." he grins once again, as the road gets slightly cleaner and he hears the planes, quickly raising both of his eyebrows and opening his mouth, nodding softly and leaning his head back onto the "wall" of the truck.

"Anyways, as Ms. Bianco said we should...you know, get to know each other? I'm Óscar Guijarro, but in the field you'll call me Tony Bamanaboni...or just Tony, seh." He then accommodated his pompadour, taking a look at his tattoos before rolling down the sleeves and covering them, either afraid or ashamed of them, scratching his magnificent black beard "Well...at least we won't be bored..."

[Assistant]
There was a moment of silence as Henry waited for the young woman next to him to reply. In that dreadful moment he thought that perhaps she had not heard him, and that he would be forced to sit in the awkward quiet of the truck while other members of the group observed his blunder. Thankfully, during the interim a voice came from beside Henry, and he turned his head to regard the young man who had spoken. A minute earlier the same man had patted Henry on the back and joked about catching him after their planned para-drop into France - he had chuckled at that - but before he had a chance to respond the man's attention had been drawn to the laughs of the young woman sitting on Henry's other side.

"Nice to meet you, Izkry," Henry replied. Izkry looked young - he couldn't have been much older than Henry himself - and along with a broad smile and bright brown eyes, his laid back demeanour instantly put the young man at ease - but to an extent also concerned him. The idea that someone could be so calm while en route to Nazi occupied France was almost unimaginable, yet here such a person was, making jokes and warmly greeting men and women who he had never met but may well die beside. Come to think of it, so many of those who sat in the truck bed seemed alarmingly calm. Still, to see a friendly face was warmly welcomed. "And nice to meet you as well, Belasý," said Henry, leaning forward to see her. She appeared rather timid, but as they made brief eye contact he was struck by the vivid blue of her eyes. In that instant his pale green eyes washed over with the ferocious blue of the woman's own, perfectly replicating their cellular structure for but a fraction of a second before once again giving way to the much less remarkable green of Henry's own eyes.

Hoping the incident had gone unnoticed, Henry quickly withdrew his gaze. It was not unheard of for him to subconsciously mimic the physicalities of another person, much like the way he had assumed his mother's face while just a young boy. While studying his abilities Henry had become acutely aware that he tended to do this when he was particularly fond of a trait, be that the colour of a person's eyes, the shape of their nose, or even their hairstyle. It's something I need to work on, he noted.

Izkry spoke again, this time of aliases. "Well then, you can call me Tommy," Henry said. Tommy was a nickname that had come about after one of his nannies began to refer to him by the name, believing it was his actual name for whatever reason. Likely the result of moving from house to house, caring for the children of various families in his hometown. At the time Henry was too young to understand, but ever since he was often referred to as Tommy in casual situations - never outside of the estate. "Tommy Ashwell, will that do?"